landsofardania | Test Drive!

Soren picked his way across the rocky desert. He was lightfooted, which helped his cause somewhat, but it was also damnably hot -- especially with a tome or two tucked under one arm.

"This is a fool's errand. We should be traveling at night, not roasting during the day. Likely the other travelers will have picked through most of the treasure already."

"You shouldn't have worn black," Perrilon said, glancing back at her companion. "And the creatures about these ruins are fonder of darkness. Besides, the gold isn't the only treasure to be found."

She herself was in a long cloak, but a flowing white one rather than Soren's black and black on top of black... which was not only bad for heat, but dead boring too. Some of these outlanders had no style.

"It is the only treasure I'm interested in," said Soren. He picked a small tangle of dried-up brush from the sleeve of his robe in the manner of a cat cleaning itself. Disdainfully.

"You know this area better than me, do you not? Lead on, then."

"No?" Perrilon raised an eyebrow with a faint grin. "I suppose you wouldn't be interested in any history that's to be found, but there are some potent and potentially valuable magical artifacts... not easily recognized by the typical lair-bashing hero."

She proceeded towards a low clump of masonry sticking up out of the hardpan. Thankfully, desert ruins meant very little in the way of damp and slime. Behind the stones was a stairway into the darkness, quite narrow and steep. "There are bats, but they're not a threat if you don't disturb them," she said. Other monsters had difficulty getting in and out of the place.

Soren began descending the stairs, watching his step in case some of these stairs weren't quite as solid as he might have liked. Why did she have to mention bats? That more or less guaranteed that they'd have to deal with them during their time underground.

"You're sure this structure is stable?"

"I've been here twice and it hasn't collapsed on me," Perrilon said, giving a dismissive wave. Now thrice might be a different matter, but what was treasure-hunting without a little risk involved?

The interior was cool and dark, with a few gaps in the ceiling that let light (and heat and sand) into the narrow stone chambers. Perrilon led the way into the closest, where a crumbling altar stood at the far end--this place had likely been a shrine of some sort, though to whom she hadn't discovered yet.

Behind them, an insubstantial figure detached itself from the shadows and hissed ominously. Apparently, having two people invade the ruins was too much for it to handle.

"All the more reason for haste!" Owain followed behind the mage, sweating through his clothes but determined to keep up the appearance of a stalwart hero, which meant not letting on just how badly he wanted to be anywhere but in this desert.

"We cannot allow the fabled sacred spear of the Enigma King to be plundered by baseborn brigands and looters! Should they befoul it with their unworthy hands, fearsome shall be the curses that rain down upon humanity! We must find it first! And it is here still, I know it." He turned his face to the wind, closing his eyes and cupping his chin in his hand ~~dramatically~~ thoughtfully. "Hmm... yes, its voice calls to me on the breeze..."

Soren kind of hated Owain. You know. Just a little bit. It didn't keep him from working with the man -- he had skill and experience and occasionally it paid to hang out with someone who was a little more used to navigating the morass of unspoken upper-crust social conventions than Soren was, but god the shouting. And the theatrics.

"The Enigma King, is it? I thought it was only yesterday that you were going on about the famed sword Sieglinde. Well? What is it telling you, then?"

Owain, for his part, was quite oblivious to any contempt Soren may hold for him. He actually rather liked the grumpy little mage. A good sidekick served to balance out the temperament of the hero, after all--a dark to his light, a yin to his yang. Together, they made an unstoppable duo!

Except when it came to navigating deserts, apparently.

"The message is vague and mysterious," he answered gravely, "as if oft the way of legendary weapons. But if I understand if correctly... we must seek out the hidden village, and there learn an ancient rhyme that will guide us to its resting place."

That was how the last desert Owain had traversed had worked, anyway. And how different could deserts possibly be? Same sand, same rocks, same... sand.

"...Hidden villages are usually located in sandstorms, right? So all we have to do is find a sandstorm, and Sieglinde will be as good as ours!"

(Sieglinde, spear of the Enigma King, what's the difference?)

Soren managed to keep his palm from his face, but he wasn't quite able to keep a long-suffering sigh from escaping his chest. "A hidden village? In the middle of a desert sandstorm? We aren't even prepared for that kind of -- "

Just over a rocky bluff, he caught it: the glint of desert sunlight on metal. Soren quickly took cover behind a cluster of tall boulders, grabbing for Owain's jacket to pull him along.

"Gah--HEY!" Owain was tugged rather ungracefully behind the cover of the boulders, and he glanced at Soren in confusion for a moment before peering out from their hiding place, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

"What is it? Bandits? Risen? Risen bandits?" He caught sight of it then--sunlight reflecting off of what was probably either weapons or armour. Or perhaps both; it was too far away yet to be certain. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and he smirked.

"Hmm. They think they can claim the treasure before us, do they? We'll see about that!" He turned back to Soren. "So, you're thinking of ambushing them, right?"

"I believe it's our only choice," said Soren quietly, sneaking a quick glance over at what looked like a small band of brigands. "Circling around them will be difficult. The question is the location of their watchman. If they're halfway competent, they will have posted a sentry somewhere... ah."

There on a tall, rocky outcropping and half-obscured by scrub brush was a lone bowman. He was drinking something out of a flagon and looking bored -- probably why he hadn't spotted them.

"Great!" Owain grinned. It wasn't often that he got to take part in ambushes. His comrades were always against bringing him along, for some reason. "I am a champion of the element of surprise, a veritable master of stealth," he declared. Loudly. "I shall strike like the viper and fade like a sigh on the wind! Let this henceforth be known as Operation Fangclaw Dragonflame!"

...Thank goodness for strong desert winds whistling through the rocks, or no doubt the sentry would have heard him by now, drunk or no.

The brigands were drawing close enough now to discern their number; only about ten of them, but that didn't mean there weren't more hanging around nearby. Owain gripped the hilt of his sword eagerly, looking as though he was barely restraining himself from leaping out from his hiding place and into battle right then and there.

"So, O wise and insightful tactician, when and where shall we strike first? ...I call dibs on that big ugly one."

Fuu felt quite out of place... a feeling that was all too familiar, really. She wished that Hikaru and Umi were here, but there wasn't anything she could do about that--at least she had been lucky enough to keep her armor and weapon.

Now she moved with some wariness around the streets of a true medieval city, noting every sight and sound (and smell). There was a distinctly storybook quality to the place, but she pushed down on those instincts. Instead, she made a beeline for the first fellow Outlander she saw. Strength in numbers, because surely there were pickpockets about and she'd heard of the giant sewer rats. "What an active place this is!" she commented by way of conversation.

Fuu may feel out of place-- and to someone from a distinctly medieval-ish-fantasy-ism land himself, she certainly looks it as well. While the tall Nord had settled in well, laughing and sharing a drink with the locals, fitting in with his long, unwashed hair and heavy armor- the clean-cut young girl definitely stands out. So at her exclamation, he grins and lifts his half-full tankard in greeting.

~~hey maybe it's a tavern with a patiom i dont know maybe he just stole a beer someplace~~

"You're not a city-girl, then, are you?" It's a guess, if the sheer activity and business had her surprised. "Where do you hail from?"

Well. Truth be told, she was from a city, one that was far more populous than Valmorgen. But there was nothing about Tokyo that was similar, so the man's assumption was roughly correct.

~~idk man Valmorgen would have swanky patio'd taverns~~

She deliberated for a moment on how to answer his question... he probably had no idea about either Japan or Cephiro, so she might as well say the first. "Tokyo," she said. "We don't have many wizards there... ah, is your homeland similar to Valmorgen?"

"Tokyo-..." It sounds and feels foreign on his tongue, and he shakes his head. Not to say 'no' to the question so much as to simple concede to the fact that he has no idea where she's from. Because- yeah, his own home is pretty similar.

"Aye. Perhaps a bit colder and bleaker- but Tamriel has its own sort of charm." Maybe there was little bit less magic and the like everywhere, but that may have to do with the standard Nord's take on mages and the aftermath of the Great War, more than anything.

After a pause, brings a gauntlet-plated hand to his forehead. "Ah! My manners! Come, have a drink, tell me about your Tokyo." He's so curious about all these other Planes, after all. The few he's visited had been nothing like what he's heard of so far.

"Ah! Well..." Perhaps she should have named Cephiro after all? Fuu wasn't sure how to explain a modern metropolis to a medieval warrior. She would have rather asked him more about Tamriel, but there was little room to dodge a direct question like that.

Or, perhaps, having a drink. Liquor wasn't as strong in the past, right? She was sure she had picked up that fact in history class at some point, but she didn't especially want to test it. Still, she took a seat at the table. "Tokyo is a town of merchants and fishermen," she said; it had been mainly the latter at its founding, of course. "We do see many travelers, but hardly any wizards or elves, you see."

"Do you think so?" Christmas tilts her head. She's not too familiar with a place like this. It's so...interesting. Whipping around she watches a merchant go past with a train of donkeys. "Oh!"

And then she turns back around to watch a juggler. "Oh!"

Turning again to watch── er wait she's dizzy. She sidesteps into Fuu. "It's amazing! So amazing! Have you ever seen anything like it?!"

Fuu took a step back to keep her balance and gently took her shoulders for a moment to steady her. "Be careful, or you might get a close view of the cobblestones!" she teased, though with a friendly smile.

At least she didn't seem frightened of their new surroundings, though being overenthused could cause its own problems. "Only in the movies," Fuu said. Video games certainly weren't this vivid, and Cephiro was mostly villages. "Apart from the wizards and temples, it's just like stepping into a history book."

"Yol--" The word is an inhale, and despite it's low tone, resoundingly powerful- maybe just due to the nature of the language itself, the words carrying a sort of power- "TOOLSHUL!" And on the exhale and shout, flames erupt from the tall man's very breath, spreading over the massive green beast and singing its flesh.

And one of the cloth banners from a marketplace stall. But-- hey, no more damage than the beast would have done if left unattended?

The man in the bulky armor steps back, a wide grin breaking over his face and stretching the scars there as he calls out in a thick accent. "Come, now! Face me and be slain, monster!" Asvaldr... almost seems like he's having fun with this, reaching back over his shoulder to unclasp a long battle-axe and hold it at the ready while the troll composes itself and roars in fury.

Now he definitely feels right at home.

And with a certain sort of joy, he'll call out a rally to any around him who may want a piece of the beast themselves: "Who is with me?!"

Gloriously rushing headlong into battle would be a lot easier and more glorious without a stream of panicked villagers rushing in the opposite direction, but Owain determinedly weaves and darts (and occasionally shoves) his way around them, intent on reaching the massive troll that appeared without warning. This is the opportunity he's been waiting for--the chance to prove himself a great hero to the entire town! Maybe there will be a frightened damsel he can dash in and rescue. Maybe the townspeople will erect a statue of him in gratitude!

He eventually works his way past the fleeing masses and draws his sword... and sees that someone has beaten him to it. But before he even has a chance to be annoyed or disappointed, the armour-clad man breathes fire and Owain's jaw drops.

...That. Was. AWESOME.

The man is a stranger to him, and Owain decides he needs to remedy this immediately. "I AM WITH YOU!" he shouts, raising his blade above his head, before turning to point it at the troll as the beast recovers its bearings.

"FIEND! Now taste the righteous wrath of the legendary blade Mystletainn!" And with a wordless yell, he readies his sword and charges.

They may be strangers, but the same burning fire clearly smoulders in their veins- A light glance to the side, and Asvaldr nods, acknowledging Owain's presence and his faith in the man. They will fight at each others sides and defend one another's back, clearly. This is the sort of instant bond that can only be forged in dire battle.

"Well said!" And the axe is lifted up with a vigor, immediately following Owain's lead. These two brave champions will stand firm and defend the fleeing townsfolk from the beast, sheer hot-blooded fighting spirit exuding from them! And so he brings the weapon down on one of the beast's knees, hacking and hewing with grunts and roars of challenge.

"Let us see who can land the final blow!" A grin and a glance to Owain- because hey, maybe he's a betting man. Maybe the loser can buy and winner a drink. It could happen.

Edited 2015-01-16 20:12 (UTC)

Owain attacks the creature's other leg, stabbing his blade deep into the muscle of the thigh, then twists away and ducks as the troll swings at him with a huge, powerful fist. It may be strong, but it's slow, and his lack of armour is hardly a concern when he can simply evade its attacks. It bellows now, in rage and in pain, and Owain follows up one of Asvaldr's blows with a slice to the beast's arm and a shout of "Dual STRIKE!"

There's nothing quite like battling a common foe to bring people together. The troll wavers and stumbles, unsteady now with both its legs either hacked up or pierced, and Owain takes a moment to return the stranger's grin.

"Ha, you're on! Be warned, though, I'm an expert at critical strikes!"

Test Drive!

Scenario 3

Re: Scenario 3

psst soren's archsage costume is white

well SHE STILL THINKS IT'S GAUCHE

Re: well SHE STILL THINKS IT'S GAUCHE

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1, but hey, 2 can easily happen

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

LETS TAKE ON A TROLL GUYS COME ON

AW YEAH

no subject

no subject