Tavern Rumors of Peltarch
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_More rumours about the Shaundakulite Krovel, this one claiming that the Vanity-addicted priest chose a new look of such villainous appearance that a zealous Guardsman opted to club him repeatedly and haul the decorated war-hero off to Gaol, no questions asked.
The rumour goes on to detail the ardour and righteous rage of the priest's paladin paramour, Darvan Roth, in trying to spring the wrongfully accused from behind cold prison bars._
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_In the wake of the city's grand medal ceremony feast, the partying seems to continue. Waves of drunken revellers with goat's masks meander through the streets singing and occasionally decorating the nearest gutter in shades of puke, on their way to and from the center of celebrations - Ashald Park. Here, shocked tongues wag, an actual Satyr hosted the wild revelry with much abandon of propriety and inhibitions.
A more specific snippet of rumour circulates around the Shaundakulite clergyman Krovel, who was carried off to the Bardic College by a gaggle of giggling girls in goats masks…_
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The dwarf Brumir Silverhammer could be seen heading into the Regal Maid in during the middle of the night. At sunrise, he could be seen running out of the Inn covered in scars and bruises screaming and yelling about a monster!"
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King George made a brief appearance in the Commons last night, greeting some adventurers and asking how they were doing. After they discussed the devastations of the dragon Rass, the King opined that he would rather deal with a dragon than the quarrels of the four princesses in City Hall.
He was referring to Aino Harthgroth, the barbarian; Elisa Horgath the Thayan, Maurina of Thar, and Princess Patricia of the Vaasa. Each provided strong support to Peltarch during its time of need, and each now hopes to replace the current queen and become mother to the heir to Peltarch's throne. Shortly after the King left, two of these: Aino and Elisa had an altercation in the Commons. The haughty Elisa called Aino a barbarian with no father and told her to "Fark off!" Aino responded by punching the Thayan in the face, knocking her down and breaking her nose.
Guard Captain Lisa was called in to restore order while Nathan and Shesarai came to the aid of the fallen Elisa. Captain Lisa, upon hearing of the violence, fined Aino 100 gold. The barbarian asked if she gave 1000 could she hit her again. The two rivals then departed (separately), probably to renew their feud elsewhere.
AubreyMaturin
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_A rumour grows about the old queen of Narfell, Rass, having made her appearance once again at the gnoll woods. As the story tells, four adventurers were demanded to bend their knee and offer tribute, of which two, either bravely or stupidly refused to comply.
Cormac the Skald and Nuwairah the Shieldmaiden stood in defiance against her tyranny and they were brutally met in a battle of claw and flame where the two warriors eventually fell to the might of the queen.
To some, she proved a point - those who don't bend down to the queen will be stomped by her might without consideration. To others, there was a different point proven - there are those who won't just bend down to the will of the ancient dragon, and if their blades can tell something from what happened, is that she can bleed._
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In the wake of the great battle, an exhausted calm settles over the city, though rebuilding efforts soon kick in, keeping labourers of all kinds busy. Everything seems as well as can be expected after such an ordeal, though the reappearance of the mighty Rass cause the collective sigh of relief to catch in many a throat. The ancient red scourge is said to have circled overhead on at least two occasions, flaming already scorched land to the south while making the following demand: Deliver to her the copper dragon, or see all of Peltarch in flames.
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_After the battle for Peltarch, Dodger, her armor stained with blood and ichor, staggers into the first tavern still standing, orders wine, and proceeds to methodically drink herself into a stupor.
Then, swaying but still collected, she staggers upstairs to a rented room and doesn't emerge until her next shift a day later._
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In her combat leathers, rapier held firm in her hand, Isolde steps up to the walls or whereever a good number of the city's defenders are gathered. Her beautiful face is pale and hard with determination, her posture straight and fearless in defiance as she sings the following air, voice ringing out loud and clear:
"Forth to the battle!
Onward the fight,
Swift as the eagle in his flight!
Let not the sunlight o'er our pathway close,
Till we o'erthrow our fiendish foes.
Strong as yonder foaming tide,
Rushing down the mountainside;
Be ye ready, sword and spear,
Pour upon the spoiler near.Winds! that float o'er us,
Bid the tyrants quail,
Ne'er shall their ruffian bands prevail!
Morning shall view us fetterless and free,
Slaves ne'er shall Peltarch's children be!
Heavens our arms with conquest bless,
All our bitter wrongs redress;
Strike the harp! Awake the cry!
Valour's sons fear not to die!"
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_While some fear the fire that comes, there are always those doomsayers who have something to say. Cormac Randolph, brave Skald is one such doomsayer - or is he a soothsayer with a song to embolden the heart, and get his the soldiers and adventurers on his side's blood pumping with manful warlike energy. Naturally, it is Cormac's belief that all men should think as he thinks.
With the red glare of the descending crimson star falling as his backdrop he ascends the steps onto the city walls, his magical axe humming with energy as his fingers find the points of resonance on the unique instrument. Fully helmed, and with his cloak hanging like a lead weight atop the windless wall he begins his powerful song.
He plays with a heart filled with fury, his voice raw and dry with the heat of the falling ball of fiery doom. His muscled body coated with a glistening film of sweat. He bellows out loudly over the commons, his noisy instrument sending banshee-like wails and demonic-low bass tones out over the Commerce District._
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ap1agRjSJOo
The wait is soon at end
Always charge never bend
Morning is here, make your stand
Live for honor, glory, death in fire!Total war is here
Face it without fear
Age of sword, age of spear
Fight for honor, glory, death in fire!See the fire rise
Flames are raging high
Soon all will burn and die
Burn for honor, glory, death in fire!Storm of lethal flames
Only death remains
Ragnarok is closing in
Die for honor, glory, death in fire!Forces of chaos is on the move
Everyone, choose your side
And know the end is coming soon
The day for all to dieThe day is here when Bifrost breaks
Nor sun or moon will rise
When the dead rise from their graves
And Surtur spreads his fireAll you know will wither away
And sink into the sea
A new world will be born one day
Where everyone is freeTotal war is here, face it without fear
Age of sword, age of spear
Fight for honor, glory, death in fire!Storm of lethal flames
Only death remains - Ragnarok is our fate
Die for honor, die for glory
Die, death in fire!
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_Blistering heat beats down from the heavens, there are some who claim to hear the roar of fire as the 'star' descends from above. It has drawn near now, and it may only be a matter of time until it impacts. Steam rises from the Lake and fills the Docks district with no mere skein or wisp of the stuff - but a full on fog so dense that one can barely see beyond the end of one's nose. The hot fog sticks to clothing, it coats everything. Untreated timbers, boats, bow and crossbows may rot in these conditions. Leathers and clothing also may suffer, and anything that is held to by glue is sure to fall apart very soon.
The unbearable heat of the falling 'star' seems unavoidable. Windows and doors are flung open in spite of curfew, biting insects are attracted from the swamplands and appear to be breeding at an alarming rate. Heat sickness and exhaustion are rife throughout both military and civilian populations. It appears this Primordial has made it his business to make every man, woman and child suffer before their inevitable end…_
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_As if the top side of the city weren't bad enough, certain rumours would have it that down below, a veritable flood of ooze rose, drenching the unfortunate few present in a thick green gunk that will not, no matter the washing, scrubbing or magical means of cleansing, ever quite rinse off.
Other rumours insist it's not the ooze you must be wary of, but the rising tide of undead, shambling and groaning ever closer to the surface. Thank goodness for the shiny - or perhaps not so shiny, considering the slime rumours - sewer patrolling heroes!
Finally, the more well-to-do may well titter and gossip about the fierce northern beauty, Princess Patricia of Vaasa, who allegedly approached King George with an offer of marriage to herself or one of her many sisters. While it's clear no such arrangement is yet in place, the princess did leave the city in her longboat with a considerable sum of money from the city coffers…_
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_While patrolling the wall near the city garden, Marty saw a young boy climbing up to the battlements. Spotting an orc drawing a bow, she took up a position on the parapet and unleashed a hail of arrows. The orc returned fire, cruel arrows piercing Marty's armour and sinking into her chest. Knowing that if she ducked for cover the orc would have no other target but the boy, she stood and continued firing, her hand drawing arrows and firing them in a continuous circular motion. Each launched arrow after arrow, both combatants taking serious hits, multiple arrows protruding from each of them.
Just as the demonic orc was about to fall, another joined the the exchange. Marty hastily drew a potion, bit the cork out of it and spat it out. Another arrow hit her as she was drinking. She threw the bottle at the orcs and resumed firing arrows at them. The magic from the potion forced a few of the arrows out of her body, but the orcish hail continued._ "GET OUTA HERE KID!" _The rate of Marty's fire increased. The first orc fell, then a second. And elderly man hobbled up in an attempt to get the boy off the wall, but the boy wasn't going to co-operate.
Eventually a third orc fell to Marty's fire. Totally spent, Marty slumped down behind the battlements, casting healing magic upon herself as she yanked barbed orcish arrows from her body._
((OOC: Happened IG. Pretty sure those NPC commoners, the boy and the old man, are still up there on the wall. Orc archers are dead though. Plenty of the commoners down in the garden would have witnessed it, so posted it here.))
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_During her shift on the walls, Dodger regales her squadmates and anyone else in earshot with tales of a winged kissing wench who appeared in the commons and proceeded to perform unspeakable acts on man and woman alike.
This seems good for morale, although some of the more straight laced mutter about succubi._
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The black-lipped Cormac, often-times referred to as a Skald, offers surprising good tidings despite the burning sky and imminent doom. He tells of a furious battle at the south gates where only handful of heroes (referring to them in point as heroes, not adventurers or warriors) were lifted over the city walls and dropped into the heart of a besieging Demon-Orc force. His tale involves much blood and gore, and he tells in great detail of how he - while the others in this small band raised their shields and pushed out a wide circle amid the anarchy, had swung his axe through the belly of an advancing Demon-Orc to spill its black guts upon the ground and within the same whirling motion had rendered one of their siege catapults utterly useless. Yes, it was Cormac's bold action that had ended the siege. Not Dermin's or Gnarls, who earn only small parts in the long tale of how he had won the day.
"…and not a one walked off the field alive, archers lined the walls and shot them all down before they, the Demon Orcs, could quit. My arrows too split the air and toppled many a wicked foe; for I took no rest when my ax's work was done - and so I killed them with my bow..."
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_While the fire in the sky likely dwarves all other rumours, there is one persistent and disturbing tale that circulates, warning any and all from the temptation of seeking solace from the heat by visiting the bath house. The Peltarchian stronghold of cleanliness, it is said, recently played unwilling host to a demonic orgy, their unearthly screeches of pleasure and pain drawing the attention of a handful of adventurers passing by.
While details of this tale may vary, a recurring few insist Hezrous like it rough, Vrocks spew spores when excited and three out of five Succubi prefer Succubi…_
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There's little distinction these days between day and night in Peltarch, even in the wee hours when darkness should be upon the city there is instead a dull orange glow, like the last moments of sunset, painting the sky. Central to this unusual light is a fiery white object, at this distance a mere small thing. No larger now than an apple, or a fist. The days and nights grow warmer with the passage of time.
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With the great red star looming over head, endless days could grow ever hotter. With spurts of chaotic flames, some of the local clergy encouraged others to do what they could to protect the citizenry and defenders with blessings of elemental endurance and protection. White robed Ilmatari among them, at the very least one of which seemed to be torn between words of encouragement, chaotic babblings and doom-saying. The toll of war is a great one, on body, mind and heart alike.
Who is there?
Lady fair, do you need care?
Pathetic, so pathetic… Oh gods... this is hectic..
But we must weather the weather, before we weather.
Its laughable really! Oh yes, how they cackle, its silly....
Let them laugh! Its true... But those of us who can, we should do.
Oh how I do so miss the tear-hiding rain.... Someone... Please end this pain?
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In the wake of the great battle, the air still hazy with smoke from the funeral pyres, Isolde steps into the commons clad in a regal red robe. Her crimson hair is braided in a crown-like circlet ontop of her head, a few carefully selected strands allowed to fall down in soft corkscrew curls. The usually light-hearted bard adopts a stern and commanding poise, her chin lifted and an unfamiliar fury shining in her dark blue eyes as she begins to sing, no drum or yarting in her hands:
"I must contain my anger, or I won't control my power,
But gods! How long I've waited just to see this very hour!
It's just as well I'm not the one who calls the storm of fire,
Or I would turn this battle plain into your funeral pyre!The priests all say I must not hate, but I will not pretend.
I saw the wreck you made of her, my Jewel and my friend!
The scars you left in stone and wall will be so slow to fade,
Oh, would I had your coward heart beneath my naked blade!I must control my rage, or lose ability to plan,
I must direct the fight from here, not charging in the van!
As you will likewise do, no doubt, for all that you are cruel,
And revel in shed blood and pain, I think you are no fool!But in the name of all the gods, you're all that I despise,
Who planned to take by vicious force my kingdom as your prize!
My throne, my land, my people. All, you plotted to despoil,
By tricks that only desperate fight enabled us to foil!I must control my fury or let slip all that I've sought,
But vengeance would not be enough for all the grief you've wrought!
Gods grant this day you fall beneath the steel of me and mine,
And drink full deeply of defeat, that cold and bitter wine!My crown is on my brow, my naked blade within my hand,
My army like an eager hound lies waiting my command!
With how you tortured, killed and lied revealed to them this day,
By all the stars that ever shone,
By all the gods, known and unknown,
For goodness plight and my Jewel's own,
I swear that you will pay!"
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_As if the commotion of a war was not enough, more seems to hit the city. Some of it good, like the three masked Witches of Rasheman showing up in the commons with close to fifty beserkers at their side to aid the city.
On the bad side of things, it seems Rass appeared again after years and took the time to burn some of the enemy fel-orcs to ashes as well as a few siege engines and a couple unlucky Defenders on the southern wall. The mighty red dragon took to the skies shortly after, the noise of the war likely waking her from her sleep and the appearance she made a show of her displeasure at both sides for disturbing her slumber.
As the citizens of Peltarch brace for more attacks, they can't help but keep their eyes on the skies to see if the mighty wyrm returns, most seeming happy though very little damage was done to the walls or the Defenders numbers._
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Following news of the great battle in the streets, word of a minor skirmish within the sewers spreads. It seems a group of adventurers ventured forth into the subterranean maze of tunnels and stumbled upon cultists in the middle of flaying some of the fine citizens of Peltarch! Though the fine citizens in question were eventually saved, the fact that they had to first stop at the morgue would seem to indicate that the trip did not go 100% ideally.
