Open Chronicles Call of the Dark Arts

Harrier

Necromancer
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Apart from homeopathy and similar nonsense, like speaks to like. When I opened the Book-


-I felt the call. I heard it, smelled it, tasted it, and knew I wasn't the only one. This little swamp town-


-in the Bayou Garramarisma, south of the Alliria trade nexus, had just caught the mental eye of any dark-magic practitioner who was paying attention. For hundreds of miles around, possibly.

Now, my first instinct was to run. I thought about it hard, but several cups of cheap wine later I decided this could work to my benefit. The negative side of magic always attracts people who like to barter power and curios, make plans, be audacious - useful people.

So I made a habit of sitting at that table, reading the Book, with a skeleton watching my back. There aren't many better ways to say 'necromancer open for business.'
 
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Imamu

Fire of Lions
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Maho had only travelled to the great city of Alliria once when we was young. It had been many years since then, but the grandeur and sheer size of the structures were immense and incredible, the traders bustling through the city, handing off goods of all sorts, ranging from anything: fine materials, great jewellery, weapons, even edibles for those of a more strange disposition...

In any case, he knew what he was there for. He'd heard news in the Magic college of Elbion that there was a necromancer hanging around the Bayou, somewhere Maho wasn't particularly looking forward to going to, as if you were going there, you wanted one of two things; a ship, or something you couldn't get anywhere else. He knew if he were to expand his knowledge of all of magic's facets, he'd need to meet this 'necromancer', and learn whatever he has to offer.

__________________________

The smell was awful, with many suspicious looking characters scattered left and right, but when he followed the directions he'd been given, he'd eventually come to a small opening, with what looked like a table with what seemed to be a summoned skeleton. He's found what he's looking for.

He approached the man, albeit hesitantly, and gestured if he could sit down.

"Mind if i take a seat?"

Harrier
 

Harrier

Necromancer
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Maho Spahawk

I closed the Book - it's common courtesy - and handed it to the skeleton. Not a bad-looking man, all told, though the scar was a bit much. He had rough hands, working hands. I wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Go ahead," I said, and leaned back in my creaking chair. Something about him reminded me of my trip to Cerak At'Thul, and I couldn't say why.

"You smell like a wizard, friend. But what kind, is what I'm wondering."
 
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Imamu

Fire of Lions
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"How friendly!" Was the first thought that popped into his mind. He never thought he'd approach someone who'd be so... well, unapproachable.

"A wizard is a wizard, doesn't matter what kind" He brought a draught out of his bag, and began to draw some wine from it. The Woman was clearly someone who was well educated in magic; a summoned skeleton, a great weapon, and an air of someone who had something to prove, or moreover, something to gain.

"Sparhawk, what do they call you?" he gestured, offeringher some of his wine.



Harrier
 
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Harrier

Necromancer
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Maho Spahawk

"Pleased to meet you, bird to bird." A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. "I'm called Harrier Wren." I waved away the wine with half-mouthed thanks; I don't take open drinks from people I don't know. Last time I did, I wound up drinking a curse. Not a good time.

"Full disclosure: it wasn't me that sent the beacon out. Side effect of the book over there, a new acquisition. But I decided to stick around and see who turned up. Like calls to like, see." I indicated my bulging packs. "You a bartering sort?"
 
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Imamu

Fire of Lions
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"Bartering eh?" He laughed a little, he knew not only was he a terrible trader, he was a worse barterer.

"Well, after i'd heard about that book, i thought it might be worth first aquisitioning whether it existed." He took off the heavy burden of a bag from his Mounts back, and placed it next to him. It wasn't that he didn't have a wealth of knowledge to offer him, it's just he hated giving away books he'd collected over many years, especially those given to him by the college.

"Well, i've got a book on the dying language of Oskavosh.. Won't find a tome like that in this age." He continued rustling through, seeing if he had anything.

"Anyway, what are you after? Hard to imagine a fellow mage hanging around places like this..."

Harrier
 

Gerra

Son of Molthal
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A troop of blight orcs entered the bogtown, armor darkened Molthal metal, emblazoned with the flame of Menalus. At the center of the small band stood a Half-Giant, unmistakable with his pointy ears, red hair and eyes, ashen skin, and obscene height. But more importantly, he had a cold.

Gerra glared around imperiously, as half-giants are wont to do, but he took time every so often to sneeze into a rag and noisily clear his throat, which rather dampened the overall effect.
 
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Shade

Rythal Tenebraeus
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Shadow covered the faces of the next two to enter the the settlement. One was a dark mage known simply as Shade to most who knew of him, the other was his lieutenant, Sarai Thacer. No matter how they moved once they came within sight of both the bastard son of Menelaus, Gerra, and the building within which Maho Spahawk and Harrier sat, the sun never touched the skin of either.

Shade was in a close fitting, high collared tunic that came down to mid thigh over breeches that tucked into tall black boots. He carried no obvious weapons, though the same could not be said for Sarai. She wore full armor, and moved as if the weight bothered her little, if at all. She had a sword over her shoulder, and a hand crossbow at her belt, and a hood pulled over her head that did little to disguise her pale features.


Shade paused a moment, his eyes roaming the village before settling on the building. Being far closer now, he sensed active necromancy, as well as that which lit up the senses of every dark mage for leagues around the Bayou Garramarisma. The necromancer inside would likely be able to feel the presence of Shade's lieutenant in a similar way.

Shade was about to head into the building when he caught sight of Gerra.

"Intruiging..." He spoke softly as he looked from the building to the obvious half fire giant being.

"Hm?" Sarai replied, her eyes scanning the village quite overtly, as she knew her job quite well.

"One of Menelaus's..." He inclined his head towards Gerra.

"What of the beacon?" Sarai was ever mission focused.

"That appears to be more complicated than coming and taking it." Shade severely disliked not knowing what had caused the beacon, but he knew it was powerful. "There is a necromancer nearby..."

Sarai grunted in response, merely an affirmative noise, but Shade knew from long years of association how to read his companion. Not much ever caused an inkling of fear within vampires, but a necromancer always gave them pause. A mage so familiar with the arts of death and unlife could very well unmake a vampire if their will was more powerful.

"We are in no rush, The Forbidden City didn't fall in a single day." He grinned and walked toward Gerra, now nodding his head towards the bastard of Molthal in greeting.
 

TTamark

Steve Will's son
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Steve had felt the dark energy and nearly jumped with joy. This was so exiting he had never really met fellow practitioners of the dark arts. He was just so nervous, should he have brought a gift? Oh he really wanted to be liked, who knew when the next time a chance like this would arrive. He quickly laid down his bundle of potatoes, planted some and caused them to flower real quick. There now he had something nice, And his father had always told him a flower is the easiest way to their heart besides a good potato meal, but as Steve didn't have any potatoes he would have to settle with the flowers.

He called his undead chickens to follow him once more, and stepped into the building where the signal originated from and stopped immediately, it's not like he could have gone very far in there were a bunch of orcs, some giant oddly coloured man thing, an enormous fighter, and some noble ass looking chap. Past this crowd by the door he could see a female necromancer with a book talking to a sage looking fellow, over some drinks. The crowd by the door looking at the two who were seated and looking at the crowd.

Steve decided maybe this wasn't a good idea. He quickly turned yelled,

"OOPS WRONG BUILDING"

And began trying to herd his undead chickens out as fast as he could.
 

Imamu

Fire of Lions
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"You know, when i first arrived in Elbion i thought---" He could see from outside the door, several people hanging around, and not being a regular, Maho thought they could've been there for anything, but the Necromancer outside said something different.

"I think there may be some others interested in your... goods... If you'll excuse me for one second." Maho got up from his seat, put down his Book on the Oskavosh language, and made his way past some of the people drinking, getting some dirty looks as he knocked someone with his shoulder.

He got out from under the cover of the roof, into the bright sun. He rested upon his staff slightly, his legs soar from the walk there.

He turned to the Necromancer, along with his 'armed-to-the-teeth' companion

"I hope you don't mind me intervening, but are you here due to the beacon by any chance?" He explained, the undead chickens running through their legs away from them.


TTamark | Shade | Gerra | Harrier
 
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Harrier

Necromancer
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Maho Spahawk TTamark Shade Gerra

Elbion. Interesting. Someone else with College connections - not what I'd expected to find this far southeast of my old hometown. Then again, though, we weren't far from Alliria, were we.

And as little as I'd expected another scholar out here, that was nothing. Because a small army of orcs had just squelched into town.

There's a certain kind of unscrupulous, petty, grasping pragmatism that annoys all rational adults. I'm not typically in the habit of doing things I despise in others, but the opportunity seemed tailor-made. I could have walked off with the book, or set my spirit-scribe to work.

Instead, I just drank my rum and watched. My one visible skeleton still held the book-slash-beacon, which might help me figure out which of the new arrivals were magicians. I'd walked a handful of skeletons under the mud at the nearby shoreline, so I had some backup if the orcs got frisky. I didn't need the other scholar's goodwill.

But I could use it.
 
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Gerra

Son of Molthal
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"Hmm."

The Giantspawn - who appeared to lack eyebrows entirely - frowned heavily and crossed his arms. Eyes like smoldering embers swept across the gathered ensemble.

"Wait here," he growled to an orc lieutenant, who replied by stamping his polearm into the muck emphatically.

The small circle of orcs parted and Gerra lumbered forward to tower above the grimly clad elf.

"Salutations," rumbled the son of Menalus in a voice like a rumbling volcano, "what do they call you?"
 

Imamu

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Hearing footsteps coming from Harrier, he wondered where he was going to? Maho looked around and-

Is that a giant?

Across all of Maho's journey's, through the slave towns, the vilages, the lakes and valleys, he'd never come across a creature of such stature and might. It stood in massive posture, peering down at the people gathered. He was oddly magnificent, knowing he could have fought any man in that city, and stood more than a fair chance, even against a wizard.

He clenched his fist nervously, standing as tall as he could to retain some confidence in his ability to defend himself. He decided to simply watch on, as he didn't want to be stomped onto the cobble pavement.

TTamark | Shade | Gerra | Harrier
 
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Shade

Rythal Tenebraeus
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"I hope you don't mind me intervening, but are you here due to the beacon by any chance?"
Sarai stood between the scholar and Shade, though not doing anything more threatening than being in the way at the moment. Shade raised a single eyebrow at Maho Spahawk, and was about to speak, when Gerra came forward.

"Salutations," rumbled the son of Menalus in a voice like a rumbling volcano, "what do they call you?"
Shade grinned, and looked up at the half-giant with a friendly smile on his shadowed face.

"Colloquially, I am known as Shade." He replied, with a slight tilt of his head. "Who do I have the honor of speaking with?"
 
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Gerra

Son of Molthal
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“Shade.”

Gerra looked the Elf up and down, noting the way light never seemed able to reach him.

“Apt. Most call me Gerra ... of Mothal. Ah, an unnecessary addition. I can see it in your eyes. And you two?”

The half-giant stared down at the armored warrior and the rather ordinary bearded human, but then most humans looked ordinary to Gerra.

Behind him, one of the bored orcs started poking at an undead chicken with a spear.
 

Imamu

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A part of him didn't want to reply. The beastly size of the creature, combined with his face, with eyes that seemed to peer straight into the soul, peering with an incessant power of will.

"Uh, Sparhawk. Pleasure to meet you..." He bowed slightly, trying to be as polite as possible, hoping he wasn't going to be squashed.

"Where do you---Hail from?"

TTamark | Shade | Gerra | Harrier
 
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Harrier

Necromancer
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Maho Spahawk Gerra Shade TTamark

Half-giant, orc warband, wizard scholar, a couple of lithe and all-concealed assassin types, and a small horde of undead poultry.

Suckmud: what a town.

I whistled low, more in the back of my mind than with my real voice, and half a dozen skeletons lurched out of the shoreline mud. They held the same rusty old weapons they'd clutched as they died, years ago in the trackless bayou. Much like their owners, the blades weren't in the best of shape.

With the skeletons at my back, I headed out of the open-air tavern and made for the gathering.

"Giants and wizards and ghouls, oh my."
 

TTamark

Steve Will's son
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Steve scooped up the last of his chickens, and glared at the the orc that had been poking it. He place it down with the other chickens and pulled them off to the side for a quick role call:
"Alphabet" "squawk"
"Buffy" Buffy seemed to glare at Shade's companion for some reason, as much as a skeletal chicken can glare. "squawk"
"Chicken number 3" "squawk"
"Dennis" "squawk"
"Eeyore""squawk"
"Frank""squawk"
"G-dog supreme" "squawk"
"His Royal Majesty Sir Henry III" "squawk"
"Igor" "squawk"
"Joe... Joe... JOE!" Steve heard a squawk just behind him, "Oh there you are, where did you come from? Where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton eye Joe?"
"Killer"
"squawk"
"Leroy Jenkers" Leroy proceeded to charge the orc that poked him. "Oh shit he just ran in. Stick to the plan guys." He yelled at the other chickens as he ran after Leroy "Gosh darn it Leroy. Why do you do this shit Leroy?" Steve scooped Leroy up again, and let out a sigh of relief "At least I got chicken... oh er... I mean, my chicken."
"Margret, Norton, Opra, Paul"
"squawk""squawk""squawk""squawk"
"Queen Elizabeth" "squawk"
"Randle" "squawk"
"Sorry" "squawk"
"Thank you" "squawk"
"Uncle Jim" "squawk"
"Victory" "squawk"
"Weasel" "squawk"
"XxX_Edge_Lord_XxX" "squawk"
"You" "squawk"
"Zombie" "Braaains"
Now that he had all his chickens he felt it might be prudent to not be standing
between a troop of blight orcs, and skeletons, and necromancers, and whatever the two chaps with a distaste for sunlight were, so he and his chickens moved to the side, where he wouldn't be near the people with weapons.
 
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Shade

Rythal Tenebraeus
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"This is my companion, Sarai Thacer." Shade said, introducing his lovely, pale companion.

More speech was interrupted when the magic in the area grew darker still as more skeletons were called. Shade now knew they had been hiding beneath the muck of the shoreline, but had not felt them as he came in. His estimation of the mystery necromancer, Harrier, grew considerably.

Sarai, beside him, eyed the necromancer as she stepped toward the gathering with necromancers at her beck. Shade could feel her unease, but knew better than to try to publicly console her.

Shade turned to the necromancer and bowed his head in greeting.

"I believe you are the one who called us here," Shade eyed the skeletons, despite their age and wear, they were all responding very well to the necromancer. "I am Shade, and this is Sarai Thacer. My friend here, " he indicated Gerra, "is Gerra of Mothal. If I miss my guess, you've already met Sparhawk." Shade spoke in his normal cadence, slipping past the long drawn out introductions that would have repeated.
 
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Gerra

Son of Molthal
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“The Molten Halls of Molthal, Master Sparhawk,” Gerra spoke, voice rich and indulgent as thick molasses, pleasing to the ear in depth and resonance. He sounded the way a caldera smelled: hot stone, clean and bubbling, mesmerizing to sight and smell.

“And greetings to you, Lady Thracer.”

Abruptly, the attention of all, including Gerra, shifted to the dark haired human woman who emerged from the ramshackle building. Even as Gerra watched, there came a rattling sound, as bone to bone a mass of bodies began to rise from the boggy muck like so many toad stools. They rose to walk behind her, a host called to life again.
 
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