Legend Event First Act: Scales and Webs

Fog rolled in from the sea and Sigfrith pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he slipped inside his inn. Foul weather was no place for a Dwarf. At least, he didn't think there were any who really appreciated such things. No, to live inside the mountains was to have unchanging weather all year long.

That he had no issue with. In fact, it seemed preferable to human cities and their apparent love for dwelling in extreme climates. Yet, for now, they were the ones most successful in living upon the land and the wealthiest, at least for now. That would change in the future, he was certain, when the Dwarves reclaimed their holds and once again were able to mine the riches of the Spine.

But that was not yet. Its time would come, however.

Acillio Nazzaro stood by the doorway to the inn, he was laughing along with another patron. Fog rolled in as a lone rider approached on a white mare. The swordsman from Elbion clapped the stranger by the doorway on the shoulder and bade him farewell. Acillio walked inside, a half-empty tankard in hand as he rejoined the table where Douglas Haley awaited him. "Just in time," he announced to Douglas as a buxom maid approached the table with two plates. He paid little heed to what was on Douglas' plate as he eyed off his juicy meal.

A serving of mashed potato alongside diced carrot with half a chook. The skin was a crisp golden brown. He took a crude iron fork and pulled away at the chickens skin to reveal the perfectly cooked flesh. "It's always these type of taverns that serve the best meals," Acillio claimed, pointed to his plate with a knife, and then towards the retreating back of the maid, "And the most beautiful best women." He made a small show of mockery, "Those places in the inner city with stick-thin wenches who are too snobby to even give you a glance and they serve you a quarter of a meal for triple the price."

OOC: not the same guardsmen as opening post, different location

Aurra had been trailing the three guardsmen for a few minutes now. It wasn't difficult to keep out of sight whilst following the sound of their heavy footsteps and the occasional clang of a spear against a breastplate.

This was Rutland territory and the guards were paid handsomely not to come here during business hours. Those hours being when between sun down and sun up. A thick mist was rolling in. Or a fog. Aurra didn't really know the difference. The moisture clung to her robes giving them an extra weight she could feel with every step. She could barely see the lights of the keep on the far side of the river. She couldn't remember a time it had been this thick.

This was her responsibility to deal with now. There was a business meeting going down in a house maybe fifty metres away and they didn't need the guards patrolling and worrying their associates. If she had more enforcers around it would have been easy enough to drag them down and drown them in the river, but she was alone. If they were useless third or fourth sons of wealthy merchants then she could likely take them alone. If, however, they were seasoned soldiers picking up extra coin because they wasn't enough mercenary work going then it would be a mistake to challenge them. Aurra was quick, but a pair of knives wasn't much use against experienced fighters with armour, spears and short swords.

Aurra heard a clatter and a sharp cry. The silhouettes she was following shifted. It was hard to tell what was happening, to interpret the shapes cast through the mists.

Approaching carefully she found the three guards crumpled over one another on the wooden planks. Someone had dealt with her problem, but who?

Instincts honed from years on the dangerous streets of the shallows told her to move. There was a hiss and she felt something hit her cloak. Aurra darted for the cover of darkness, squeezing between two wooden houses, suspended over the half-drained shore.

Looking down, she saw a dart hanging from her cloak. With particular care she pulled it free and set it down. Aurra stayed very still. Her grey cloak was pulled right around her pale features and she watched and listened.

Two more figures appeared. They weren't humans. It wasn't the mist that made their forms seem to shift, their skin was changing colour to adapt to their surroundings. Aurra realised she was seeing their shadows as gaps in the mist rather than their forms directly. A reptilian species she didn't recognise. One of them held a blow pipe and the other a curved sword. Aurra stayed very, very still.

The boat's hull creaked and cleaved but not so much as to have it splintered. It docked to the port side bridge as its ropes were tugged to the timber piles. The process was slow and laborious but more importantly, the excursion was put to a comforting halt. Derenar's eyes drooped a hint of sleeplessness which caused him to lose his balance from the rolling motion of the vessel. He cursed as he nearly stumbled against the wooden deck before he could regain to a stand as he held on to the boat's rails.

The sailor shuffled himself to the cockpit and grabbed the boarding plank. He tossed it to the bridge's end, reaching across the bow's tip. Once the mooring ropes were in place and the plank steadied, the sailor gave a quick nod to the sorcerer and made his way back towards the cockpit. Derenar was too tired to affix his flattering remarks, though he would primarily think that it would be quite unnecessary. Instead, he eyed the man for a brief moment before climbing up to the docks.

"Gone so soon?" Derenar asked, noticing the sailor's preparation as he hoisted his voyage back to the open seas. Underneath his breath he whispered, "Is rest something you don't need?"

A stretch of silence was the only response, but Derenar knew well that it was none of his business. So he left the man to his own act of willing and proceeded to make his way to the inner city of Alliria.

Alliria. It had been years since his last visit. The memories of his priesthood came to him like an unwavering breeze, yet the thought of it was nothing more than a breathe of air to fill an empty space. He, however, didn't recall nighttime to be this murky. Something might be amiss or perhaps this could be the city's new adornment. Whatever it was, it certainly provoked his inquisitiveness.

Daemon Vorell

"I never was much good at card." Thren said as he threw down another set of cards with a scowl. His lips thinned, head shaking as he realized that he would lose yet another round.

They called the game "Allirian Five Hand", though he knew that in other cities the game had different names. The object was fairly simple, there was a dealer every round and said dealer put cards on the table, you then got two cards and tried to create a combination of several different cards in order to win.

Different combinations made more points.

It was a simple concept really, and in truth Thren should have been able to play it better but...well he just couldn't. The fact alone didn't really bother him, mostly because he had the strength to rip this table in half and smash half the players in the face with it...but the loss of money was getting to him.

"We should play dice." The Barbarian suggested. "I like dice."

He'd always been lucky.

Even if he was completely unaware of the invisible enemy beginning to crawl all over Alliria.

Areck Slums
Interacting With Acillio Nazzaro
______________________

"Fine dining," Acillio grunted, "Waste of good coin." He took a chicken wing and began to gnaw at it as his eyes turned from the table to admire the barmaids, that was until the owner and barkeep cast him a warning glance. Acillio took the suggestion and drew his eyes back to Douglas. "Bah," Acillio said and waved off the notion, "Those sorceress' see my cat eyes and swoon over me."

His bright golden eyes with thin slits for pupils. Douglas' master, Angron Salim, had given him such eyes. Blessing or curse, he still wasn't sure. He had survived a devastating plague thanks to Salim's magic, although it had affected his physical form. Curse because for many he was an outcast. Not all trusted those eyes of his. Acillio the Cat.

A wry grin shot across Daemon's face as he settled himself in a seat across from Thren.

"Oh, c'mon now, don't start sulking again! Who knows? Maybe this'll be your lucky day." He offered in a joking retort, hands drumming expectantly for a dealt hand of the cards. "If you wanted to play dice, you should've brought that instead."

The Anirian chuckled happily as he now used his boot to push his steel helmet beneath the legs of his wooden seat; a precaution to keep one from stealing it should he get absorbed in his game. Daemon had always been a man for cards, facing off against many far and wide in the taverns across the lands of Aniria.

Something was just so enticing about sitting on the edge of your seat and selecting the right mask to wear. Should Daemon make Thren think he had the right combination? Or should he make the man think he'd been dealt a foul hand?

Alas, before the two friends could even get absorbed into another battle of wit and luck, the heightened cries for guards had sounded. Daemon shot Thren a worried look, likely sharing it with the man for several seconds before they'd exchange a nod and rise to their feet.

Daemon bent over and recovered his helmet, his other hand gripping the hilt of his trusty sword. The alarms had sounded. "What in the hells is going on?" He called out to his friend. "An attack? In Alliria?"

The man didn't quite believe it. Nobody besieged Alliria.

Nobody.

Thren

For Livyatan, or as his shipmates would have known him, Lee, the fog was an ill omen. Few times had such a dense fog rolled in and not been accompanied by some form of disastrous event in his experience. And his experience spanned centuries.
He was currently in the harbor area of the city, leaning against a pole and observing passersby. None knew a dragon was in their presence, and he would prefer to keep it that way, but all the signs were pointing in the direction of chaos tonight; though he could not see them, he could definitely smell them. Geckans.
He was training his ears on the sounds around him, to detect anything amiss...and then the alarm bells came.
He swiftly began to move. Standing still in a combat was the best way to get oneself killed...and Lee was no fool. As the attack began, he was quickly jumped on by a pair of the Geckans. Baring vicious claws, he tore open their throats, sparks of electricity flying into the air. He hoped nobody had seen him through the mist.
He began to run.
Along the harbor he moved, cutting down enemies as he ran, and narrowly dodging a dart or two before making his way back to the ship he had been working on for the past few months...only to discover it had been overrun.
There was nowhere to run.
He had to fight.
This was going to be a very long evening.

The rustle of leaves, a quiet crunch beneath a nimble hoof. A healthy doe sought out sustenance, a small cluster of elderberries piquing its interest. Silently Loras watched, fingers deftly grasping the taut string of his bow as he waited for the right moment to strike. The Elf had been stalking the creature for over half an hour hoping to shore up his supply and perhaps gain some coin upon his arrival in Alliria. It was no small matter, a trek not often undertaken by those of his kin. Oh, there were elves in the city of Alliria to be sure but they were distant relatives at best - certainly far removed from their roots. Fal'Addas was a city in its own right but it was home. A true home to those Elves who clung to tradition, to the very Falwood itself.

Another rustle of branches fell upon Loras' pointed ears. The deer had begun to sup. Though his view was not obscured the Elf hesitated as a thick fog rapidly began to descend upon him, weaving between the trees as it headed towards the city - his final destination. Breathing in a silent breath the Fal'Addas native prepared to let his arrow fly. Had he not been interrupted it might have found its target. Instead, fate had a different idea.

Across the still night air and traveling fog the sound of a scream could be heard. Echoing from the direction of Alliria the sound drew Loras' attention away from his shot for just a moment.

The sound of the bowstring resounded unnaturally loud against his ears, the solid *Thunk* as the shaft found itself embedded in the trunk of a tree just beyond the doe. A whispered curse was muttered under his breath as the now alert deer bolted off into the fog. Releasing a sigh of frustration Loras' attention was turned to the strange sounds he heard. The scream had definitely come from the direction of Alliria but now it was hard to tell, even with ears as keen as his. "The fog must be distorting the sounds, thick as it is." he thought. Something was going on. What it was however was anybody's guess. Annoyed at the loss of his quarry, he felt it would be remiss not to investigate - he was headed there after all.

Keeping his bow strung he set off, intent on retrieving his arrow. Keen eyes had seen the small splintering of bark as the arrow embedded itself. Now if he could only get it out. As he struggled to work the wooden shaft free of the ash tree Loras could hear more sounds muffled by the dense fog - hardly could he see beyond a few meters without trees fading into shadow. Now a dull clamor of odd noises assaulted through the shroud. "Something is definitely going on in the city." Loras decided. Pursing his lips he made a sound of his own, the singsong hoot of an owl filtering through the trees. Behind him the gentle steps of his own hoofed companion, Elvellion, reached his ears. The two had been together since the birthing of the chestnut mare, companions for years now. Finally working the arrow free Loras replaced it within his quiver, reaching up gently to brush the horse's snout.

"Afraid?" he whispered in surprise. "What bothers you?" The two had a very rudimentary understanding of each other. More feeling than verbal but the Elf knew immediately that the fog had put Elvellion into great unease. "Something lurking out there perhaps..." Loras thought out loud. The echoing noises from the direction of Alliria were strange on their own but with the addition of a tepid Elvellion, something was afoot. A few calming presses of his hand along her neck seemed to reassure the mare. *Shhh* "I'm right here." In a moment Loras had swung up onto the horse's back, gently urging her forward towards Alliria. The Elf's advanced hearing coupled with the distance sound traveled in the still of night suggested that they were only a few minutes away from Alliria's gates. Speed of importance, he urged Elvellion faster, gentle trot breaking into a gallop as they reached the main road they had wandered from in tracking the doe. "Only a little further." he whispered into the mare's ear as they ran. "Only a little further."

Whenever Kaori wasn't on a job, she liked to sit on the rooftops and watch the sun set.

This night, Kaori remained a little longer than normal, a small baton of iron rotating through her fingers idly while she watched the city from the roof of the tavern Daemon Vorell and Thren were in.

She heard the same shout of a guard that the latter men noted, only a bit distorted due to the height she was at. She drew into the shadows of the nighttime rooftops around her as she stood and looked in the direction the cry had come from.

The Herald said:

"GUARDS! GUARDS!"

Click to expand...

The thieves guild she worked for didn't have an official relationship with the constabulary, but many of one organization had understandings with those in the opposite organization. You didn't get to be a major trade city like Alliria was without having organized crime.

Everyone had vices.

The best you could do was keep it civil and quiet.

Attacking guards wasn't something anyone guilded would do, and anyone without a powerful organization wouldn't attack guards without being blind drunk.

More cries from different points of the city, and Kaori could see things moving in the shadows.

Alliria was under attack.

Slums

Douglas Haley Acillio Nazzaro

Aurra had stayed stock still for several minutes after she could no longer hear the geckan. She had never left the outskirts of Alliria, had only even ventured into the western side of the city once. She couldn't read and had never owned a book. She had no idea what the creatures were.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, they were the naga she heard people talk of. Those had always sounded more like giant snakes than lizards.

Even with the mists her feet knew these paths on their own. From the creaky boards of Fletch Street to the cobbles of the relatively upmarket (for the slums) Queen Road. Aurra saw bright lights and heard loud voices. A bar full of people was the most safety she could find out here. At least for now.

As she approached she saw the light filter through the fog as the door was opened. The noise spilled out onto the streets, muffled by the fog A single figure stood framed in the door until it was closed.

Aurra heard those clicking sounds again. Something moved through the mists. She saw the man's silhouette against the window and then the shadow of a geckan leaping up at him. A curved blade held high before coming down with a wet thud. Another one of the reptiles appeared and the man screamed.

There was a loud crash and the volume of noise from the bar increased again. The sailor, blood pouring from several wounds had crashed back through the window into the pub, carrying two geckan with him.

The bitterly air cut through every slit of Derenar's cloak, forcing a shiver. He pulled its tattered hood over his ears as he trekked through one dim alleyway to another. Allir Keep wasn't too far away, covering merely a distance from the docks and the pristine residences in between localities, yet the travelling haze made it all quite difficult for him to reach the other side of town. Streets became barely visible, lamp posts obstructed, and in the distance, indistinct clashes of battlecries can be heard. Derenar glared to his left, suspecting an ominous trace as footsteps clapped against concrete and a sound of steel rasped from a speculated leathery scabbard.

Without a given window to counter, Derenar staggered a step then stood still. He raised his arms in an immediate concern for his safety, letting the opposing party know he was unarmed.

"What's your business here? Is this all your doing?" The man asked, brazen and quite certain about his own reckoning, his sword trained to Derenar's back. Derenar could laugh if the gesture wouldn't be the end of him. Instead, he shook his head. Words alone won't ease the man of his conviction and with good reason, especially once he would see a known face that defiled a sacred order and thus labeled as a murderer.

Silence followed. The man seemed eager for a verbal response.

"Should my business be something of your concerns? I suppose a man of your stature should be helping those who are in need, and yet here you are. Is idling part of your job? " Derenar finally retorted, adding derisive hints to his tone.

"Don't be so snide, stranger. I won't ask twice!" The man hissed which suggested his impatience to validate his accusations. There seemed to be something about these lands that never changed. Derenar could see himself facing the same circumstances should he give Elbion a visit next time. What a joy, he'd thought.

Behind, an amorphous blob took form from the mist, manifesting itself in its lizard-like shape. The creature shrieked and charged at the man, lunging its blade to the back of his armour with such haste that it took him by surprise. Immediately, the man retaliated, turning to his attacker. He clutched his sword to his side, darting at the creature. The creature vaulted away but was caught with the swing of the man's sword, slashing its neck. The might of the strike was enough to take the creature down. Purple ooze gushed and pooled all through the ground where the creature fell. It jerked for a while, uneasy with the pain it felt until it eventually sank cold and lifeless. Derenar craned his head to get a view of the fight only to realize it was quickly over.

The man turned to Derenar with a cold stare, now convinced of how such creature emerged. His sword was held on one hand, his other pointed at the sorcerer, resuming the assertion in his mind.

"You summoned this creature! You shall answer for the atrocities you have brought upon this-- Argh!" Before he could take action, a swift nudge of pain struck him like a piercing arrow. It was potent, forcing him to drop his sword as he crumbled to the ground, clutching his back. Derenar suspected something as he stared at the creature's corpse and its used weapon.

Poison! He'd thought.

The man groaned in a frenzy of pain. He rolled to one side then to the other. His breathing were shallow and brisk. He twitched and breathed, continuing for mere moments until he was weakened and gasped his last breath.

The man fell, his eyes were still wide open as if detailing his final moments buried in pain and manic. Derenar's raven appeared out of the murkiness of the mist, landing itself at the man's corpse. It opened its beak and released green ethereal tethers that strapped themselves around the man's body. In less than no time, the corpse dissipated into a dusty waste. What was left was of it was the man's armour and the sword he equipped.

"These creatures are ... impressive." Derenar glanced at the creature's dead waste one last time before gesturing the bird with his outstretched arm. "Come, we're wasting time here. Our new acolytes might change their minds."

Daemon Vorell

Thren pushed himself up from the table. "Must be!"

His voice boomed throughout the inside of the inn, surrounding those who sat with him. His fingers immediately latched around one of his daggers as he drew it. The Barbarian's hound, Larik, whom had been sitting under the table beneath him seemed to perk up his head for a moment with interest.

"We have to defend the city!" He called out, his voice a boisterous bluster of tone.

Of course, his friend would likely see right through him. Thren didn't give a shit about Alliria, he didn't care about it's citizens or anyone else that might be within the reaches of the city.

For The Barbarian this was an excuse to stop playing cards. This was an excuse to slip away and do something that he was actually good at. During a fight he could kill, he could lead men, and most importantly he could loot. Of course that wouldn't be mentioned to anyone, but to Daemon his intentions would likely be more than obvious. To everyone else in the common room? Probably not.

"Let's go!" He called. "Battle awaits!"

With that he turned and headed towards the door.

Areck Slums
Interacting With Acillio Nazzaro & Aurra
______________________

Shattered glass raining down. Blood curdling screams of the dying. The ear-piercing shriek of a Geckan. Shock and surprise from the patrons. Acillio heard all and none. His mind raced to focus. He didn't even register Douglas' surprise. He threw out an arm across the mages chest and shoved him back hard. He was already propelling himself towards the Geckans. A free hand smoothly withdrew a dagger from his trousers. In a single sweep of his hands he brought the place through and past the Geckans throat, slicing it with a clean cut.

Acillio kept his blades well oiled and regularly sharpened. His daggers were to the point that it required no effort on his part to glide the blade through flesh. With some force, he could sever limbs. As the blade swept through one Geckans throat, he performed a pirouette and spun around to slam the dagger point-first into the other Geckans skull. It stiffened and relaxed instantaneously, going limp atop the sailor. The other Geckan was struggling on the floor, grasping at its own throat as it tried to breathe. Acillio barked at the sailor, "What the fuck is going on?" He grabbed at the cuff of his shirt and lifted him from the floor, only now seeing the deep wound that was bleeding. The sailor died in his grip, Acillio let go and the body hit the floor with a thud.

Acillio Nazzaro Douglas Haley

When their assailants now inside the bar Aurra was less inclined to head inside. However, as the commotion inside the bar increased, her keen hearing detected more of the faint clicks and hisses that these creatures seemed to use to communicate. Shapes moved through the mists. Aurra thought she could make one of them out carrying a spear. For all the knives she carried on her person they were about as effective as bare hands against spears.

Aurra slipped through the door and slammed it shut behind her. She cast her gaze around the room looking for any of Rutland boys. The two geckan were already dead. They chose the wrong kind of bar to crash. She spotted Garn, a street thug who worked the secret docks. She gestured at him to help her slide a table against the door. Everyone still on the streets could get fucked as far as she was concerned.

As he made her way over towards him a shape appeared in the smashed window. There was a hiss and Garn fell away, clutching at a poison dart in his chest. A pair of bottles went flying back the other way. The sound of them shattering was followed by a high-pitched shriek. Well, that was one way to fight back.

"Someone help me block the door and windows!" Aurra cried out, pushing her weight against the door and trying to stay out of view from the smashed window.

Areck Slums
Interacting With Acillio Nazzaro & Aurra
______________________

Main Harbour

A Geckan squealed in puny defiance. A moment later a bright blade took its head clean off. A tall figure stepped over the corpse after it dropped to the ground. "Filthy creature" she muttered, wiping her blade on her cloak. The surviving two lizards broke and ran rather than face the elf.

Angharad allowed a brief smile to flash on her face, amused by their terror. It disappeared as her keen eyes marked more of them coming through the fog, their squeaks and croaks emboldened by strength in numbers. Discretion was the better part of valour here. She saw no glory in one of the Firstborn falling to these foul beasts. This was no glorious battlefield. She moved back into the shadows, sheathing her sword. Searching for an exit, she chose up, nimbly scaling a wall and onto a roof.

A ship was approaching the docks but even her eyes could barely make out more than the outline. Squinting in the mist, she began to string her bow with practiced motions, nocking an arrow and readying herself.

Angharad's ears pricked at the sound of screams in the mist, the sounds blood curdling. The ship smashed through the docks, moving forward with irresistible force. Nothing seemed to stop it. She could make out one figure at the bow, lit by a baleful glow. The ship came to a shuddering halt before it started to reform.

Angharad was a scion of nobility, a line that she could trace back over millennia. Her bloodline had defended Fal'Addas and the elven nation for generations. But she would not stand against what came from the ship. A nightmare boiled out, a seething mass of legs, eyes, and fangs. She shot her arrow, it was swallowed up instantly in the black mass. They tore through the sailors on the docks, their cries and shrieks making her spine run cold.

She stared in horrified fascination for a few moments. Breaking from her trance, she ran along the rim of the roof, hearing the terrible clicking and skittering coming up behind her. The elf nimbly vaulted the gap to the next building, hopping to a balcony before somersaulting to the ground. She landed on all fours like a cat, eyes narrowed.

Her blade flashed once, then twice, the spider twitching in its death throes. Angharad gave a quick smile, sheathing her sword before breaking into a row. She darted through an alleyway, then into another street. Risking a look over her shoulder, she went sprawling as her legs went thump against something quite solid. Angharad fell forward, hitting the dirt with a grunt.

"Rhaich!" she swore, rolling off whatever she'd hit into. She blinked to see a halfling woman sprawled on the street with her. For a moment she let herself forget the many limbed death she'd fled from as her upbringing surged to the fore. "Do you ever look where you are going?" she demanded in a haughty tone.

Gilabree Gandy

"Ohf!"

Trampled upon yet again, much as the smallfolk are used to, it never hurt or startled any less. Gilabree was, quite sloppily, strewn across the cobble, tangled within the long armored legs of another tallfolk. She coughed and gently pulled herself free, noting scraped knees and bloodied palms from catching her fall.

"Ouch-"

"Do you ever look where you are going?"

"Apologies!" she squeaked, large and round eyes turning upwards at the beacon of grace and power in a heap on the ground before her, "Miss Knight! Kind Knight, strong and gleaming! Please you must help - my shop, they've broken in and are making such mess of things and my book," a shaky hand reached out, "they've taken my book! My life, my whole life, please help me get it back!"

Angharad was more irritated than hurt though she'd skinned her knees as well as her palms. Elves as a rule did not trip, they left to that to the clumsier races. She was just grateful that no one else had seen it. It would be a bigger mortification than wearing the wrong shade at the Solstice festival.

The halfling's apologetic squeak made her feel some remorse as she sat up. "Lady" she corrected absent mindedly but she seemed mollified by the servile tone. She listened to the pleas, nodding slowly. With a groan she stood, offering a hand to help the halfling up. She towered over the other woman, looking the very image of a hero.

Not quite the glory she anticipated but she firmed her jaw, looking down at the halfling. "They would be the lizards then?". She drew her sword. "I will aid you small one but you will need to guide me there". Her tone softened a little, not so gruff now, "Are you able to walk?"