6/19/08
Great Helm Tavern, Dragon's Gate District
It had been drizzling lightly all day as the man approached the doors of the Great Helm Tavern. He was a tall man, wearing a grey cloak and hood. Black hair could be seen framing his face beneath the robe. Blue eyes focused on his surroundings as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Quietly, he made his way to a table. He sat down, put his elbow on the table, laid his fingers on his chin, and stared out the window.
“Welcome to the Great Helm. May I be of service to you?” said the bar mistress.
Slowly he turned his gaze towards her, and said, “Not quite yet, thank you.”
“Do let me know”, she said, and returned to her tender’s stool.
The man returned his gaze to the window, and began to slowly massage his temple, as if deep in thought.
Not long after, Xanth Van Bokkelen strode into the Tavern. Xanth was wearing his trademark black robe and hood, black leather gloves, and black boots. The details of his face were hid beneath the shadowy recesses of his hood, and all that could be seen were two red lights that appeared to be eyes. The dark figure saw the grey cloaked man and stepped over to his table. Slowly he drew out a chair, and sat opposite him, folding his arms across his chest and focusing those red lights intently on him.
"Welcome back, sir. May I be of service to you?" said the bar mistress.
Xanth did not shift his hood in her direction. “I have no need of your services”, he replied bluntly.
Her eyes flashed in annoyance at Xanth’s answer, but she replied, “Very well”.
The man had not stopped watching Xanth with his blue eyes, but he had lowered his hand from his temple.
“So, Ranger, we meet face to face. Forgive me if I am not overwhelmed.” Xanth spoke in his gravely voice.
“I do not expect you to be”, he returned.
“I have seen you prowling around my places of research. I do not welcome this intrusion. What business do you have with me?”
“I think you know why.”
“No. I do not. Enlighten me.”
The man took a deep breath as if to steady himself, and had not broken his gaze with Xanth. “Very well. There was an incident. A year ago. In Kilkenny Alley, someone saw a black robed creature with red lights that seemed like eyes.”
“There are many such . . . "creatures" . . . who appear as I do in RhyDin.”
“I wasn't finished. This creature found a dead body, and raised it from the dead.”
“And?”
“They said it shuffled off after the creature, like a zombie. That means this creature . . . is a Necromancer.”
Xanth's red lights suddenly flared dangerously.
“Necromancy is a great evil. I've been tracking this creature down. And apparently . . . my search has led me to you”, the man finished.
A low, gravely, growl begins to emit from Xanth’s hood. “You watch yourself, Ranger. You have no proof of this. You have mere hearsay and rumor.”
A slow, thin smile forms on the man’s face, seemingly out of place in the tension filled encounter with Xanth. “Do I, now? Maybe I don't have one hundred percent proof, but the forest has eyes, and we will be watching you.”
Angrily, Xanth stood upright, throwing his chair backwards with a loud clatter, his red lights flaring bright. “How dare you speak to me in this manner! I have destroyed mortals for far less than this!”
The man tensed, his gaze remained intent on the shadowy figure in front of him, ready to defend himself in a moment should Xanth spring forward.
If You Meet Xanth Van Bokkelen, Pray For Your Death
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Gren Blockman
- Expert Adventurer
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- Joined: Thu Jun 19, 2008 9:00 pm
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If You Meet Xanth Van Bokkelen, Pray For Your Death
Last edited by Gren Blockman on Sun Jun 22, 2008 4:23 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Gren Blockman
- Expert Adventurer
- Posts: 743
- Joined: Thu Jun 19, 2008 9:00 pm
- Location: The forest, the woods, the trees
6/19/08
The bar mistress’ eyes flickered bright, and she raised her voice at the two. "NO VIOLENCE IN THESE WALLS. Settle yourself or leave."
Xanth whirled his hood towards Izira, lights bright red, fingers clenching, then he shifted his hood back towards the man, slowly relaxing his fingers. “Be thankful you are within the walls of this establishment, Ranger. Pray to your God that you do not cross paths with me again. For the encounter will not be a pleasant one.”
Xanth gathered his black robes with his gloved hands and stormed towards the exit, the door making a loud crack as it banged against the wall, then the dark figure disappeared into the night.
The Ranger sat through the exchange, stone faced, blue eyes not wavering until Xanth's figure was gone. He then let out a slow, shaky breath, drew shivering fingers across his face, and slumped backwards into his chair. After a moment he stood up, wavering a bit as if unsure of himself at first, then crossed to the bar.
“I think I will have that drink now, miss.”
"Is there a certain drink you desire or shall you leave that up to my whim?"
The Ranger could tell that the near-violent confrontation had upset the woman. Noticing her hesitancy, he removed a silver noble from his pocket and placed it on the counter.
“A simple ale will do.”
The bar mistress stood up from her chair. The coin was taken and tilled. She took down a mug and filled it with ale, which was then set before him with a thunk.
"Your ale."
The Ranger took the ale with a shaky hand and drank it down as if he'd been lost in the desert for weeks, then set the empty mug on the counter, lowering his head and drawing his hand across his face as if collecting himself.
"Is it your mind to bring trouble here?"
“I apologize, miss. I did not think that our . . . meeting . . . would turn violent. I needed to ascertain if he was the one I sought.”
"And did you?"
He sat slowly on a bar stool and gazed at the far wall.
“It would appear so.”
"Then keep your next meeting outside."
“There are stories of a creature dressed in black, prowling the streets of the city at night, searching for bodies to turn into zombies for research purposes. Whether these people are killed by him, or whether he looks for those who are already dead is not known yet.” The Ranger offered by way of explanation, then he focused his blue eyes on Izira. “I know what our next meeting will be like, and I have no wish to harm innocents. Of course I would not have that happen here.”
"Very well then."
The man gazed at his empty mug for a few more moments. “Well. It seems the excitement is over.” He stood from the bar stool. “I apologize again for the ruckus. I should be going now.”
The bar mistress nodded to the man. "Do come again. Bring friends. Non-violent ones. It's good for business." She smiled, it didn't reach her eyes.
The Ranger did not make eye contact, but turned towards the door, opened it and stared out for a few moments, as if making sure the coast was clear. He then pulled his grey hood over his head and stepped into the night, blending into the darkness, and disappeared.
Xanth whirled his hood towards Izira, lights bright red, fingers clenching, then he shifted his hood back towards the man, slowly relaxing his fingers. “Be thankful you are within the walls of this establishment, Ranger. Pray to your God that you do not cross paths with me again. For the encounter will not be a pleasant one.”
Xanth gathered his black robes with his gloved hands and stormed towards the exit, the door making a loud crack as it banged against the wall, then the dark figure disappeared into the night.
The Ranger sat through the exchange, stone faced, blue eyes not wavering until Xanth's figure was gone. He then let out a slow, shaky breath, drew shivering fingers across his face, and slumped backwards into his chair. After a moment he stood up, wavering a bit as if unsure of himself at first, then crossed to the bar.
“I think I will have that drink now, miss.”
"Is there a certain drink you desire or shall you leave that up to my whim?"
The Ranger could tell that the near-violent confrontation had upset the woman. Noticing her hesitancy, he removed a silver noble from his pocket and placed it on the counter.
“A simple ale will do.”
The bar mistress stood up from her chair. The coin was taken and tilled. She took down a mug and filled it with ale, which was then set before him with a thunk.
"Your ale."
The Ranger took the ale with a shaky hand and drank it down as if he'd been lost in the desert for weeks, then set the empty mug on the counter, lowering his head and drawing his hand across his face as if collecting himself.
"Is it your mind to bring trouble here?"
“I apologize, miss. I did not think that our . . . meeting . . . would turn violent. I needed to ascertain if he was the one I sought.”
"And did you?"
He sat slowly on a bar stool and gazed at the far wall.
“It would appear so.”
"Then keep your next meeting outside."
“There are stories of a creature dressed in black, prowling the streets of the city at night, searching for bodies to turn into zombies for research purposes. Whether these people are killed by him, or whether he looks for those who are already dead is not known yet.” The Ranger offered by way of explanation, then he focused his blue eyes on Izira. “I know what our next meeting will be like, and I have no wish to harm innocents. Of course I would not have that happen here.”
"Very well then."
The man gazed at his empty mug for a few more moments. “Well. It seems the excitement is over.” He stood from the bar stool. “I apologize again for the ruckus. I should be going now.”
The bar mistress nodded to the man. "Do come again. Bring friends. Non-violent ones. It's good for business." She smiled, it didn't reach her eyes.
The Ranger did not make eye contact, but turned towards the door, opened it and stared out for a few moments, as if making sure the coast was clear. He then pulled his grey hood over his head and stepped into the night, blending into the darkness, and disappeared.
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XanthVanBokkelen
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Posts: 417
- Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2007 8:40 pm
- Location: Currently Unknown
6/07/07
6/07/07
Kilkenny Alley, Old Market District
Frank had remained hidden behind a pile of wooden crates in the alley behind Blair’s Inn while the fight reached its bloody conclusion. Two burly men had come spilling out of the rear entrance, punching and kicking, until one of them drew a knife, and stabbed the other dead. The man stood there, looking down at the dead body of his opponent, as if the realization of what he had down had just sunk into his brain. Then, shifting his head around quickly, as if he was looking for witnesses, he ran off down the alley, into the jumble of run-down houses, deep within the old district.
Luckily for Frank, he wasn’t spotted. Frank was a homeless man that lived in a box in Kilkenny Alley. Sometimes, when he would get enough money from begging or scrounging around the streets, he would get himself an ale in Blair’s Inn. This night, he was just trying to get some sleep, when the altercation erupted. Hiding was usually his best course of action, as sometimes when the fighter’s blood was up, they didn’t want to stop after beating up their rivals, and they began to look elsewhere to further take out their aggressions. Frank hesitantly peeked out from behind the crates as he heard the footsteps continue down the alley. Apparently, the danger had past. He then looked at the dead body lying in the middle of the alley. If he was quick, he might find some money in the man’s pockets. Quietly sneaking over, Frank rummages through the man’s pockets. He looked to be in his late twenties with a rough black beard. The pool of blood was slowly widening around his body. Frank found seventeen silver nobles, which to him was a veritable jackpot. Chuckling happily to himself, he was recounting his newfound wealth when he heard another sound of footsteps coming up the alley from the direction the other man had fled. Frank froze for a moment, eyes wide, then hurriedly scrambled over behind the crates and hid himself once more.
The footsteps were heavy and deliberate, creating an ominous sound that echoed through the dark, dingy alley. Frank would not have seen the figure cloaked in black if it had not been for the two red lights that seemed to be eyes. Slowly but surely, the figure approached, and Frank could see its attire more clearly, black robes, black gloves, black boots. Frank cowered behind the crates as the footfalls stopped as it reached the dead body. There was silence for a few long moments.
“Well, mortal, it seems that you have no more use for life. I, however, can find some use for you.”
The dark figure swiveled its hood around, as if making sure the coast was clear.
“It would not be wise of me to be seen carrying a dead body around the city. However . . . “
He then bent down, and withdrawing a piece of chalk from its robes, it began to draw a curious pentagram around the dead body. Rising back to its full height, bright red energy began to form around its hands, and it began to chant in a strange language. The dead body began to twitch and squirm as the magic reanimated it. In jerky movements, like a puppet being brought to life by a marionette, the body stood, head lolling, arms twitching.
Frank was too afraid to breathe.
“Hmm. Not perfect, but it will do. Just another inebriated citizen making his way home. Now, servant, you will follow your new master.”
The dark figure began to walk towards the wooden crates where Frank lay hidden. Frank scrunched down behind, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. The dark figure’s slow, ominous footfalls were followed by the zombie’s erratic stomps, as the pair moved down the alley into the RhyDin City night.
Kilkenny Alley, Old Market District
Frank had remained hidden behind a pile of wooden crates in the alley behind Blair’s Inn while the fight reached its bloody conclusion. Two burly men had come spilling out of the rear entrance, punching and kicking, until one of them drew a knife, and stabbed the other dead. The man stood there, looking down at the dead body of his opponent, as if the realization of what he had down had just sunk into his brain. Then, shifting his head around quickly, as if he was looking for witnesses, he ran off down the alley, into the jumble of run-down houses, deep within the old district.
Luckily for Frank, he wasn’t spotted. Frank was a homeless man that lived in a box in Kilkenny Alley. Sometimes, when he would get enough money from begging or scrounging around the streets, he would get himself an ale in Blair’s Inn. This night, he was just trying to get some sleep, when the altercation erupted. Hiding was usually his best course of action, as sometimes when the fighter’s blood was up, they didn’t want to stop after beating up their rivals, and they began to look elsewhere to further take out their aggressions. Frank hesitantly peeked out from behind the crates as he heard the footsteps continue down the alley. Apparently, the danger had past. He then looked at the dead body lying in the middle of the alley. If he was quick, he might find some money in the man’s pockets. Quietly sneaking over, Frank rummages through the man’s pockets. He looked to be in his late twenties with a rough black beard. The pool of blood was slowly widening around his body. Frank found seventeen silver nobles, which to him was a veritable jackpot. Chuckling happily to himself, he was recounting his newfound wealth when he heard another sound of footsteps coming up the alley from the direction the other man had fled. Frank froze for a moment, eyes wide, then hurriedly scrambled over behind the crates and hid himself once more.
The footsteps were heavy and deliberate, creating an ominous sound that echoed through the dark, dingy alley. Frank would not have seen the figure cloaked in black if it had not been for the two red lights that seemed to be eyes. Slowly but surely, the figure approached, and Frank could see its attire more clearly, black robes, black gloves, black boots. Frank cowered behind the crates as the footfalls stopped as it reached the dead body. There was silence for a few long moments.
“Well, mortal, it seems that you have no more use for life. I, however, can find some use for you.”
The dark figure swiveled its hood around, as if making sure the coast was clear.
“It would not be wise of me to be seen carrying a dead body around the city. However . . . “
He then bent down, and withdrawing a piece of chalk from its robes, it began to draw a curious pentagram around the dead body. Rising back to its full height, bright red energy began to form around its hands, and it began to chant in a strange language. The dead body began to twitch and squirm as the magic reanimated it. In jerky movements, like a puppet being brought to life by a marionette, the body stood, head lolling, arms twitching.
Frank was too afraid to breathe.
“Hmm. Not perfect, but it will do. Just another inebriated citizen making his way home. Now, servant, you will follow your new master.”
The dark figure began to walk towards the wooden crates where Frank lay hidden. Frank scrunched down behind, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. The dark figure’s slow, ominous footfalls were followed by the zombie’s erratic stomps, as the pair moved down the alley into the RhyDin City night.
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