3. ( OOC ) A game of sorts, the mysterious Hin

( OOC ) A game of sorts, the mysterious Hin


  • That was much appreciated.

  • ?

    She'Avel approached the commons, setting down his staff and opening his book of prayers, hoping for a quiet day of contemplation. Setting his staff against the railing and opening the book, he began to read through the hymns and prayers to Corellon, occasionally whispering the prayers or quietly singing a hymn.

    A wisp of a shadow came across his page, concealing some of the words. Looking up, the small form of a halfing had appeared behind his prayerbook. Whispering quietly, she offered several small items for sale. Closing his prayerbook, only slightly annoyed by the interruption, he looked at what she offered.

    In need of provisions, She'Avel soon made his purchace of food from her stock. The quiet halfling bowed and slowly moved away, apparently praying by means of a necklace of beads. As She'Avel watched her depart, her robe slipped slightly at the shoulder, exposing the '-3' of a tatoo on her back. Recognizing it as the marking the Defenders of the city put on their prisoners, She'Avel invoked the name of the Father, amazed that they would do such to so small a creature.

    He asked about their origin, she explained the circumstances of the markings. He became amazed at their actions, and angered. However, his amazement only continued when he saw how calmly she appeared to accept what had happend to her, how she went about selling items of aid to others to ease their suffering.

    As he offered her the aid of Corellon should she be taken by the Defenders again, She'Avel quietly asked for her name, to pray for her before his Father.

    "I have no name to give you," came the quiet reply.

    Curious of this, he fell silent, wondering at the remark. The power in a name was significant to the the Children of Corellon, often defining their lives from their first moment to the last. That one could not have a name… the possibility had not crossed his mind.

    And then he thought also how he himself had guarded his name in this land. How he had not given it to any but other Children or trusted allies of the Father. Yet there was a difference, for he had a name to give, though he was wary of sharing it.

    As she walked away, She'avel whispered a quiet prayer to Corellon, and looking up to the stars, he perceived the will of the Father towards this small creature. "If you can give me no name, then I give you the name Verae'ahel (The Peaceful Whisper of Sadness), for you have suffered, and yet you live quietly, in peace and dignity with the lot given you. May Corellon stand guard over you, small one, in all your days."


  • grin Thaks Cotton!


  • Half dead and staggering out from the Spider Forest, Cotton leans her weight on Belenar for support, trying to make their way back to the Gypsy campfires to recover. All the friends wanted was to gather some Birch wood in order for her to craft a new walking staff, but the inhabitants of the forest didn’t appreciate their intrusion.

    They had made their trek deep into the dark forest, fighting off giant spider after giant spider; this was nothing new to the skilled Ranger or her Dwarven mage companion. But what they didn’t foresee was the swarm of enraged spiders that would be waiting for them on the return trip.

    The two had never witness such a mass of arachnids on that fateful trip back, spiders of all sizes dropping from the trees and crawling up out of the gorges. Deadly spells were being thrown as Cotton’s bow shot with rapid precision, dropping one as countless others arrived to take its place.

    Belenar urged Cotton to run as she struggled to make any headway trying to flee along side the Dwarf. Suddenly every spider froze as the ground started to tremble from impact trimmers. Something huge was attracted to the conflict as it slowly made its way across the forest in search of the sounds that drew its attention.

    It did not take long for the spiders to scurry a retreat from where they came, which gave the two companions time to escape with their lives. Belenar was the one who caught sight of the colossal beast as his old frame ran with speed of a much younger Dwarf.

    The two managed to make way to the fires, an inch from death and barely able to walk from exhaustion and being ripped apart. Belenar with Cotton in arm gently set the elf next to the fire, staring down at her with helpless eyes. He quickly steeled himself and began surveying the camp, looking for anyone who could help. All he could think about was saving the poisoned friend and soon shuffled off in search of a healer.

    Not long after his return with no luck finding any person of faith a small figure approached the fire. Her demeanor was calm and controlled, eye reflecting wisdom beyond her years. She took in the situation with lightning speed and knew exactly what had to be done. Quiet gently helped the dieing Cotton to her feet and took her within the camp’s inner cottage, laying her gently in front of the roaring fireplace.

    Her visage calm and voice soft and controlled she coached Cotton through the procedure that soon followed. A box from her back was hastily removed as she heated it within the fire. A certain amount of time was calculated for this sterilization, the Hin seeming to know exactly when to remove it.

    After it cooled Quiet began to measure precise points over Cotton’s body and head, slowly and perfectly sliding needles into her nerve centers. Using the ancient art of acupuncture from her years of training in the monastery.

    At first Cotton was not to sure about being a pin cushion, but with Quiet’s soft tone and confident visage, she weakly accepted the treatment. Needles were placed along her cheeks and neck, one even being slid into the upper spine, causing the elf to go completely motionless.

    Quiet finished the treatment by removing the needles and coaching Cotton of what to expect after she was done. Her own body was beating the poison as the needles had done their job by stimulating her immune system.

    Cotton knew what she thought of this kind-hearted lady who helped her without a second thought or need for some monetary payment. Quiet went by no name, she told Cotton one would find her and in Cotton’s heart she already had the Hin named.

    “Sweetzy”


  • (((Bri Edit: There is a story missing from the forum changeover. Reference to that story deleted.)))

    Within a few days, the Quiet hin is seen consulting with Baba Katya about the mild alergic reaction that the ink in her new tatoo is causing. The tatoo seems to be resistant to removal by magical means… She has taken to dressing very lightly and putting ointments all over her back.

    The new tatoo and the resulting rash is clashing badly with the other ceremonial tatoos on her arms and legs...

    The tatoo starts in the middle of her back and stops at the base of the neck. It says "1265-3" and the "-3" is visible while she is wearing her typical off-the-sholder robe. It would be much less outstanding if it was seen on a hunman, as it is about the length of a human hand. On someone so much smaller though, it seems... oversized. On human prisoners, it would be applied elsewhere, typically a thigh, but on a halfling the back is the most unterupted stretch of skin available, considering her other tatoos.


  • That was Grand.

    Totally over the top, I love it!


  • ((Conversation text from chat log. I have of course taken the liberty to spell check my own speech because it's common knowledge that I can't type "ing" (along with many other things) consistently to save my life. The "missing" periods have been left out because they contain certain things I'd rather not have as general knowledge.))

    The trek through the Nars had been more eventful than Oil would have liked. A half score bandits now lay scattered along the Pass with glazed eyes unseeing, but too much of the half-orcs own blood seeped through his armour for it to be counted a victory.

    Upon reaching Peltarch, Oil sought a secluded place to recuperate while brooding over the futility of losing blood for no gain in coin. It irritated him and, as with most thoughts negative, he chose to wallow in it.

    A shadowed area beneath a large stone stairway looked to be the perfect place to rest safely so the half-orc began making his way towards it just as a voice spoke behind him.

    "Pardon me?"

    He whirled in surprise and anger, chagrined that someone could have come so close unnoticed. The sudden movement tore at the wounds in his side but he ignored the pain and drew up to his full height to confront the speaker. Thin air.

    A split second later it occured to him that he should perhaps look down. Before him stood a small figure. A young hin woman in bright yellow dress and hat. She held a sack of sorts that bulged with odd shapes.

    Thief. Cut-purse. Footpad. The half-orcs judgement was swift and he much doubted he would be proven wrong. What else could she be, afterall? No person with honest business would approach a bloodied half-orc with a great sword strapped to his back and a myriad throwing axes hung about his person.

    Fixing her with a withering stare, he fully expected her to turn and leave after giving up on him as too dangerous a mark. His initial suspicions and foul mood were made evident as he grated out a reply. "Talk fast."

    The halfling appeared concerned as she hefted the sack and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "I have things to sell that will aid you, would you like to see them?"

    Oil vacillated briefly but his injured state decided him so he refrained from indulging the instinct to chase her off. Clenching his prominent jaw, the half-orc shifted his gaze from the sack in her hands to her now hesitant face. No doubt this was her front, he thought. Ply the mark with wares and then rob them while they are browsing distractedly.

    He held no scorn for those who made their way through life by swindling others. But that neutral outlook had never yet helped earn a thief a pardon if caught trying it on him. And so he loomed above her menacingly while closing his gauntletted fists with a metallic clank. A tacit warning that this would perhaps be a wise time to stick to the honest part of her plan.

    "I will look, but keep your hands clear."

    A slight frown marred her brow as she offered up three items for his perusal. A medicine bag, a bottle, and a food ration. "I have several more of each!" she assured him as he inspected the wares.

    Indicating the the medicine bad with a tap of his finger Oil asked, "How much?"

    "I sell those for six each. Much cheaper than the local merchants…but please don't tell them. I don't want my thumbs broken."

    At that moment pain lanced through Oil's side, the price payed for keeping himself erect and at his full imposing height despite the way that posture pulled at his wound. His already brutal face twisted into an animalistic grimace until the twinge passed.

    Obviously this display did little to reassure the hin who saw no more than a half-orc snarling silently in reaction to her stated price. She trembled visibly and it occured to Oil that at this point she must truly regret having approached him in the first place. Well and good, he thought. Prevention is better than a cure. And when it comes to dissuasion, fear tends to be very efficient.

    Reassured that they both knew where they stood, Oil was now willing to evince interest in another item. "What's in the bottle?"

    "A... A... A rejuvinating dr-drink to make you feel better..." Came the nervous reply.

    Oils nostrils flared briefly as he half fancied he could scent her disquiet. It was a distraction that took a conscious effort to ignore, but he was ever forced to fight his innate tendancies and so he ruthlessly quashed the burgeoning urge to increase her unease. "On your word?"

    "Y-y-yes. It is H-Horgan's blend. Ask for it by n-name."

    Rolling his massive shoulders gingerly to ease some of his stiffness Oil nods curtly, "One of each, then."

    "The bag and the bottle? That is twelve c-coins. The food br-brings it to sixteen."

    The half-orc shook his head as the hin neatly attached the food to the deal with mercantile acumen. "Of food I have plently."

    Oil now lowered his voice and spoke casually. His neutral expression somehow enforcing the fact that his next words were in earnest. "But if the brew is not what you say...Then I will find you and break your thumbs."

    The wares were exchanged for the gold in mute silence, the hin all the while under the weight of Oil's auguring stare. Her small hand shook as she tucked the gold away into a fold of her robes. Grasping the medicine and bottle in one hand, the half-orc withdrew to the shadows beneath the stairway with no word or gesture of farewell as the halfing gathered up her sack and made her unsteady way back to the commons.

    Now at last alone, the half-orc propped himself up against the cool stone of the stairway and finally allowed himself to acknowledge the searing in his side. Hunching over to relieve the pain, Oil examined the bottle dubiously. Make you feel better, she had said. He grunted to himself and shook the bottle before popping the cork and sniffing at the contents warily. It smelled of honey and cloves. Oil spared a moment to call himself a fool for having half expected being able to smell poison in it. There would be no way to tell other than drinking it.

    Pausing long enough to solemnly promise himself that he would resist any poison long enough to find the hin in the yellow dress and dash her head against a stone, Oil drank. The brews pleasant taste seemed to mock him and he frowned in annoyance even as he felt an easing in his body. He waited long minutes for a secondary effect to become evident but eventually was willing to admit that the hin had been true to her word.

    Wasting no more time, the half-orc swiftly tended to his own wounds. The slash that he had earlier been convinced would require stitching was now mild enough to do with no more than a good bandaging, thanks to the brew. Once done, he allowed himself a soft snort of satisfaction before levering himself to his feet and stalking off in search of the hin.

    It was evident to Oil that they now had the beginnings of what might loosely be described as an understanding. And he had a job for her, if she was willing.

    Entering the commons, it did not take Oil long to spot her amongst the many people lounging about. Her yellow apparel stood out like a beacon. He did not call out to her but instead waited for her to look his way. As soon as she did, he beckoned briefly before moving off to await her in a side street.

    He knew there was a good chance that she would ignore his gesture and remain safely where she was rather than risk approaching him once more. But it wasn't long before she made her way timidly to where he waited.

    Just as he drew breath to explain why he had called her over, the hin did a curious thing. She closed her eyes tightly and raised her hands up to him. Somewhat nonplussed, it took Oil a moment to realize the motive behind the gesture.

    His face falling into a stoney mask, the half-orc briefly considered that she might be mocking him with this apparent offering. But her bearing made that hard to believe so he spoke flatly, "Your thumbs are safe."

    The hin's relieved sigh was proof enough that she had been unsure whether or not he had called her over to collect on the threat, and yet she had been willing to submit to a thumb breaking if that is what he had in mind.

    Oil tilted his head slightly as he regared her assessingly, "Do you want to make more coin?"

    "How so?"

    Pausing long enough to make sure no-one was close enough to overhear, Oil dropped his voice and explained what it was that he required.

    sometime later

    They stood on a pier in the docks district. A gently breeze brought the smell of freshly landed fish and salt brine and other less pleasant scents to them. The half-orc had positioned himself so as to keep the hin out of sight from any casual observer standing by the warehouses. She herself had taken to wearing a red ensemble.

    "You havn't marked up the price?"

    "No."

    Oil had asked the question rhetorically. Despite her calm denial he was still convinced that she had. There was nothing to be lost by doing so, and all the chance to gain. To his mind, such a situation would always lend itself to deceit. And so he nodded irritably, his skepticism plain.

    She closed her eyes tight and lifted up her hands to him. He stared silently at her for a long moment before finally asking, "What are you doing?"

    "If you do not believe me, then break my thumbs," came the quiet reply.

    The hin still kept her eyes held tightly shut, so she did not see Oil's nostrils flare or the irritation flash across his face. Not deigning to reply or even acknowledge the gesture, the half-orc instead unslung his pack and begain removing items. She had done what he had asked, after all.

    "As said, you will be rewarded. Choose one."

    The hin took little time in deciding which of the four items on offer she wanted. Oil nodded and lost little time in returning the rest to his pack.

    sometime later

    "If you get a commission from my talk, you know where to find me."

    Though obviously not entirely satisfied with the outcome, the half-orc nevertheless nodded curtly. "Done."

    "I cannot honorably take your money yet for that. And my Honor is not for sale."

    The half-orc snorted noncomittedly. The hin had by now realized that this was his way of showing skepticism when he did not feel the need to speak it aloud. She inturn once more closed her eyes and offered him her hands. This passive method of affirming the truth of her words was beginning to grate on the half-orc.

    "One day you'll make that offer and it'll be taken up. Do not make it lightly."

    "I do not. But I am prepared to face the consequences for my actions."

    The half-orc exhaled through his nose explosively, nonplussed. He truly could not begin to understand how her mind worked. And so he gave it up as a hopeless cause and asked something else instead. "Do you deal in rumour?"

    "I do not set a price on words. I speak without thought of reimbursement. If you ask me what I have heard, I will tell you without expecting coin."

    "I trust not those without motive. There is always a reason, even if it is unseen."

    "As is your choice. But I am a simple Monk. I obey the laws and the Traditions of my Order. And while charging for information is not against the Laws that I follow, it is also not traditionaly done."

    "It is something to be sold as much as anything else."

    "There are many things I will not tell you, but those have nothing to do with what my ears hear."

    "Then we are done. The docks grow dark. I will escort you back to the plaza."

    They left the docks district in silence, the half-orc tense and alert, the halfing worrying her prayer beads. But no-one accosted them along the way and it wasn't long before they reached the crowded plaza where they would part ways.

    Dropping his voice to a grating whisper once more so as not to be overheard by those nearby but also unconsciously mimicking the halflings own manner of speech, Oil asked the last question he wished answered. "One more thing. Your name."

    The hin gestured helplessly and said, "I don't have one."

    The half-orcs bony brow lowered dangerously at that. He immediately felt the beginning of anger within, particularly given the fact that he had given her his own. Nevermind that he had given his name for his own possible gain. Factual points such as those made little difference to his temper.

    The hin had by now shut her eyes and Oil breathed menacingly, "What do you mean?"

    "As is the tradition of my Order, I left my name behind me on the journey from the student to the Master. I walk nameless untill my Master Name finds me."

    "You need not lie. You don't want to tell me."

    She presented him with her delicate hands. "If you think me a liar then break my thumbs."

    A thick ropey vein appeared on the half-orcs forehead and his temper snapped. Rearing back with a snarl he spat words at her, "Then that is what you are. Thumb! That is your name."

    The haze that often clouded his vision when in a rage had fallen over Oil's eyes and he clenched his jaw as he stalked away from the confounding hin.

    "Hey!?"

    A feminine high pitched voice sounded behind. Surprised that she would raise her voice, Oil turned despite himself, his face a thunderhead. But it was not she who was hurrying after him. It was infact another hin woman, all puffed up with indignation and self-righteousness.

    "I hope you were not mistreating one of my Kin. It would be best to apologize if you did…"

    Oil felt the reassuringly familiar contempt welling up inside him in response to her words. Far better than the frustrated confusion caused by the other. He grimaced sourly, feeling no inclination to humour her with anthing other than an oblique response.

    "And I hope you are not meddling." Those words spoken, Oil turned and left, his patience spent.

    ((cough Umm...Sorry. Kinda got a little out of hand... :oops: You can chalk up "Thumb" as one of your tags now. Oh, and I'll save my cool points until I can cash them in for return airfare tickets.))


  • Quiet goes out on one of her daily walks to Peltarch to sell camp goods… But she doesn't come back that night. A day passes... then two.

    Four days pass…

    On the night of the Fourth day, a small hin in tattered robes staggers into the camp, limping and clutching her side. Her face is a bruised mass of wreckage, and she grits teeth with occasional gaps…

    She heads straight for a nearby waterfall and strips off the scraps of cloth that do little to cover her broken form. As she soaks in the stream, clearly visible is a fresh tatoo.

    It says 1265-3.

    Those familiar with Peltarch realize it is how they identify former prisoners…


  • ( that drunken stumbling could only be the work of Davies! )


  • Which one in your list said that?

  • ?

    A thud Is heard followed by a growl
    Sorry Abouts that Scrapsy boy! Didn't see you there
    More growling
    Aw don't be like that boy, here ya go have some meat.
    Chewing, Then a shreik
    DAmnit boy! Tha Wash me HAndsss! Don'ts they ever feeds you?
    Silence
    Soo….. You'se wanna beer?
    more Silence
    Man… erm.. Dog of few words aren't ya Scrpasy! Reminds me ofs that lew littl one in the camp.
    A bottle sounds like it is emptied in a single gulp
    Yep, she be a right lookier, Seems freindly enough, You met her.
    More Silience
    Yeah, She replied the same way, But seemed friendly enough.. Not like you though You just keep showing me them teefe…
    Growl
    Look All I got left is a spider eye you want that?
    Chew
    ….They MUSTN'T feed you much. Wonder if that's why she never talks...
    Another gulp Followed by a thump
    ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ


  • Kallethen, that was a splendid insight into both our charicters. Thank you for participating.


  • Back in her home in the Rawlinswood, Tindra laid down on her bed, pondering all the old friends that have left her recently. The disappearance of her mate, A'Lan, and the passing of her mentor, Attentus, especially weighed heavily on her heart.

    Tojan, the pixie familiar who thinks Tindra to be her pet, fluttered over and sat down on Tindra's chest. She could sense Tindra's sadness through the bond they share, and decided to cheer her up.

    "Come on, Kitty. Things can't be as bad as you are making them out to be."

    "Hrrmph," was the reply.

    "People come, people go. It's like the changing of seasons. Trees loose leaves but will soon grow them back. Likewise, you've lost friends, but you make new ones each day."

    "I suppose…"

    "How about that little hin you met. She was interesting. What was her name?"

    Tindra grinned a bit. Indeed that hin was interesting. "She doesn't have one. Said she was searching for herr "Masterr" name. I guess it's parrt of herr trraining to find a name that suits herr. Forr now I call herr Grrandlin."

    "Ah. Wasn't that the name of Grivel's wolf?"

    "Yes."

    Tojan scratched her head, "But... wasn't the wolf a guy?"

    "Picky, picky." Tindra swatted playfully at her pixie friend, who easily lept out of the way. The half-elf sat up and inspected her leg. There was a bit of a scar from the bite she received from a demonic wolf, but otherise, it healed nicely.

    "I still don't know how did made the pain go away," Tindra spoke. "She just squeezed in certain spots and beforre I knew it the leg was numbed forr a little while at least. She spoke of manipulating my engerrgy. She said my enerrgy flowed oddly and it wouldn't do exactly as she wanted."

    "She know why?"

    "Nope. I think I know why, and you prrobably do, too. I want to see if she can figurre it out though."

    Tojan giggled, the sound coming out like twinkling bells. "You each are a mystery to the other."

    Tindra couldn't help but laugh as well. "Aye. She intrrigues me. Those prrayerr beads, and that scrroll with funny wrriting, herr quiet naturre... Everrything about herr is a little secrret that I want to figurre out."

    "You will, Kitty, in time. And in doing so she will figure out you. It should be interesting."

    "Aye. Two completely differrent worrlds. Yet I sense a good frriend in herr." Tindra got up from her bed and headed to the door. "Come on, I'm hungrry. Let's get something to eat."

    Tojan smiled and sat on Tindra's head, proud of herself for helping her pet out of a sad mood.