The Daily Dragon: Journals

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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Sat Nov 22, 2014 4:05 pm

Nazka Shandor: Guard Duty

Yeah, Nazka had joined the City Watch more for the ability to get more information from sources around the city. But one of the side affects about being on the City Watch is that from time to time he actually had to be on watch. It was actually no big deal for him; he enjoyed learning about the city and talking with people on watch was a most excellent way to go by it. Rather than be one of those kind of City Watchmen where he glared and hounded people, he talked to them one on one. It really didn’t matter who he talked to he merely talked to people. Young, old, street rats or nobles he simply talked.

He made a point to stop and give each shop keeper about five minutes of his time. He didn’t ask about crimes, he didn’t prod people for information. At first people didn’t know what to think of this approach. Authority was well... authority and people didn’t like authority figures they were always there in minutes when seconds count and were harassing people for minor infractions. City Watchmen are a pain in the ass for the average citizen of Waterdeep. But in time the shop keepers began to open up a little more. It didn’t of course hurt that he owned a shop in the markets.

One of his biggest breaks that gained the shop keepers and even the street rat’s trust happened when he caught a shoplifter. The shoplifter was a kid somewhere between eight and ten years old a street rat really just trying to make a life for himself any way he could. So justice had to be served but sometimes justice could be mixed with grace and mercy.

Justice meant getting what you deserve and that meant that the street rat had to in some way shape or form pay for everything he stole, not to mention the perceived sleight that the shop keeper himself felt. This would cause a problem for any street rat. They were typically so poor that they couldn’t pay attention let alone pay a few silvers for stolen food. This usually sent the street rat into indentured servitude which was a fancy name for slavery; or in a dungeon with actual criminals or worse yet, some form of stocks. For this part Nazka had to do what he had to do. He caught the street rat shoplifter and brought him to the shopkeeper for the man to deal with.

The shop keeper wanted repayment and a guarantee that the shoplifter would not do it again. Well this was where mercy came in. Mercy was not getting what you deserve. Now Nazka was not one to let a criminal off the hook but he could come up with some clever solutions. The solution was really simple; Nazka paid for the stolen goods! That was easy. For the sleight he was able to convince the shopkeeper to let the street rat give an apology. The street rat didn’t have to be put into a dank hole, pay for what he couldn’t any way, suffer humiliation in the stocks or become a slave to the shopkeeper. Nazka in a sense took the punishment for the kid’s crimes.

But that didn’t stop the shoplifter from continuing to be hungry and if left to his own devices would wind up steeling again and so the cycle would continue. He wasn’t about to allow a cycle to continue. It was a pain in the ass. Well this was where Grace came in Grace was getting what you don’t deserve. It took a little doing but in time Nazka was able to broker a deal where the street rat would begin an apprenticeship with the shopkeeper and the shopkeeper would pay the street rat a fair but low wage which would grow as he grew in skill. All in all it was a good days watch.
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Sat Nov 22, 2014 7:40 pm

Loth'Gar Journal Entry 26: Investigations at Hawkwinter Estate

Loth'Gar waited at the gate patiently. He wanted to sigh, he wanted to pace, he wanted to call out… again. But he didn't. He stood serenely, face neutral, only a slight tick next to his eye betraying his impatience. He didn't have all day, nor did he have a lot of patience for nobles and their ilk. In fact, while he was not the most critical, he rarely had time for the pampered, wasteful and isolated upper-class, mostly born into the status rather than earning it. Still, he knew when he needed help, and this was one of those times.

After another good half hour, a servant (of course a different one to the older man first spoken to) picks her slow way down the path and to the great gate of the mansion. The young girl, just reaching womanhood, looks at the tall half-orc with a mix of scepticism and awe. "M'lord Hawkwinter bids you enter and enjoy the hospitality of the House. I will take you to the parlour where he awaits you." She turned sharply and began to trot up the path. Rolling his eyes and letting out a silent sigh, Loth followed her, trying not to outpace her with his long and impatient strides.

Surprisingly, he is led to the main entrance to the mansion, as opposed to the side entrance that would be more befitting a commoner, especially a halforc one who lives in the Dock district. Through fabulously carved double doors, practical to he notes catching a glimpse of solid moorings and a point to place a bar. The entrance hall is typical of a nobles mansion, with art, antiques and a couple of trophies on show. The girl smoothly steers him to the left and towards a fanciful wooden door. "The Master awaits you inside." She finishes with a gracious bow, taking her leave. Pushing open the quiet, oiled door to the parlour, he sees the young man already seated, sipping something heady and probably expensive. As the door opens he stands and greets the visitor with an open smile and spread arms. "The hero returns! Welcome back Loth'Gar, it is good to see you again!" Loth'Gar returns the greeting "And you my friend appear to be doing well. Working hard and honouring this city I hope." He embraces the man, probably not a whole lot younger than he. They sit, exchanging a few pleasantries, a good glass of deep, dark wine and the latest news and going ons. Pleasant enough, but the half-orc is there with a purpose and it doesn't take the young man long to enquire as to what this is.

The next couple of hours are spent discussing the state of affairs in the Sultlue house. Gathering news from the streets is easy enough for Loth'Gar, but it can't hurt to maintain contacts in all echelons of society. This man was saved by the efforts of Loth'Gar and his friend Sera, so he owed a couple of favours. "What do you know about the killings around town of the families retainers? Any rumours? surely the nobles would be gossiping about this now?" He asks question after question, the young man answering as best he can. Eventually though there is little more to be gleamed, so the conversation turns to other affairs and matters. Loth'Gar tells tales of his adventures, and eventually they even engage in a game of Battle Standards, though the orc is far too impatient and hasty to make much of a game of it. "Well my friend, it is good to see you in better health and fine spirits." He smiles as he concedes the game. "But the hour grows late and I must help with the clean up back at the workshop." They say their farewells and the half-orc departs, led by a third completely new servant from the grounds. "So, the mystery deepens…" He mutters as he winks from sight, only light footfalls marking his passage into an alleyway…
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Fri Dec 05, 2014 7:45 pm

A fight in the Alley

Nazka was doing a patrol for the City Watch; it was a nothing thing for him. He had that kind of time while his special supplies boiled down. So he and his weasel did a patrol, it was in the Dock Wards. Really aside from the Skullport this was possibly the worst place in Waterdeep so this was a decent place to get into and out of trouble or in short get real life practice with some new equipment and well some new magics he had discovered. He spent his time talking to people here and there. He was getting information for one of the noble house but he did it in a way that didn’t seem so intrusive. If the subject came up…. and he did steer the conversation so it stood a chance of coming up he’d show a little interest in the subject.

However Nazka was still on duty and as such he had to perform his duties like he’d want them to be done for him. Sooner or later it was bound to happen and on this day it did, Nazka happened upon a mugging. A poor noble found himself being mugged by half orc. Now Nazka was now slouch he was stronger than average all be it just barely but he was fairly light on his feet and had a few other tricks up his sleeve but the half orc was big, burly and ugly as sin and had in his hand a falchion. Yeah this was going to go down well.

Nazka followed the law most of the time and had a code of honor but self-preservation was part of his code of honor and so before he said anything he gathered the negative energy that whirled through his body and concentrated it in his hand. ‘Throwing’ that energy at the half orc before following up with an arrow flying in the half orcs direction then he shouted. The half orc was hit first by the ball of negative energy and its knees buckled just as an arrow lodged into the half orcs shoulder. The half orc didn’t even howl it just merely glared at Nazka gripped the arrow and tugged it out.

Turning in what felt like slow motion to Nazka the half orc gripped his falchion and charged after him with a loud shout. Nazka dropped his bow and pulled his halberd and dug the back end of it into the cobble stones just in the nick of time. The half orc had no chance to slow down let alone stop and the halberd sunk deep into the half orcs belly. Nazka could feel the crash and the shaft of the halberd bow and almost break as the half orc was almost vaulted over him. Now the half orc was angry as it scrambled to his feet and the fight was on in earnest. Nazka had a small edge and attacked first, turning the head of the halberd over he swung at the half orcs legs hooking him just under the knee and yanked his weapon back. Once again the half orc was on his back and as he scrambled back to his feet Nazka swung again the halberd found its way into the half orcs shoulder blade.

The half orc twisted out and swung his falchion nearly spilling Nazka guts all over the cobble stones. His cloths would have to be mended. Having no time to think let alone cast a spell to give him even more of an edge Nazka had to rely on the hex he tossed at the half orc and hoped that it would last long enough to win this fight. The half orc was showing signs of wavering as he swung his heavy blade at Nazka; lucky for Nazka however the hex was still working strong and the it was proving a major problem for the half orc and while the attack found its mark Nazka was able to move enough for it to be a glancing blow. Nazka was not suffering from that detriment and took the opportunity to use a well-placed thrust to shove the spear head of his halberd into the half orcs chest nearly killing the assailant. In fact Nazka had though he surely had until the half orc began to cough up blood.

Well there was nothing for it Nazka left the half orc laying there and found a few other watchmen to help drag the half orc off.
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Fri Dec 05, 2014 7:47 pm

The Journal of Sera Tosscobble

Some nights more than others the halfling regretted her inability to become drunk by conventional means. The only things that still made some headway into impairing her thinking literally came from the nine hells, which made them a trifle hard to pick up when desired. There had been a short discussion with her familiar when she returned home, asking if he had acquired anything new from 'home' lately - but it had led to her current disappointed looking state in her bedroom so one could infer the answer as unsatisfactory.

She stared across a table at an empty bottle, through which light bent and across from which approached a figure more and more familiar. Familial even. The old woman was wiry, gray and tightly wound and stronger than she looked. She didn't exactly smile, but she wore some sort of sympathy on her face for the puffy bodied halfling. Her cynical but sympathetic voice wasn't quite a croak yet, not THAT old, but she'd not be far off by most guesses. "That kind of simmering angry has something to do with a man. I recognize it."

..She didn't exactly want to admit that the old bat was right mind you, but the way her grimace intensified said it anyway. "Kinda.. not his fault really. His wife on the other and.." The halfling rubbed the bridge of her nose slowly while the old woman poured two shots of something green. Pushing one over. The old bat chimed in once more. "That's close enough to his. Here, drink."

Whatever it was tasted like.. green. Green death. Making her grimace harder briefly and then set the glass down between them. "Well that was.. vile." A shudder follows as well, but the Old Bat takes it in stride and refills it promptly. Waiting expectantly after while the Hin stares the glass down as if it were some enemy she was staring into the eye. Another half gagged swallow with her shoulders twisting up and the aged woman speaks again. "S'good for ya. Might even penetrate that unnatural blood of yours a bit. So tell me 'bout the woman."

She wasn't that lucky, she knew that much. Apart from tasting like sewage it wasn't sinking in but she supposed she appreciate the effort. Another brief shudder crawls through her shoulders before she can speak again. "Friend of mine.. married to a harpy from House Wands. You know how rare an honest to the gods good man is? Well she got one, and is wasting it, and apart from that just makes me angry."

The bent but sturdy old merchant woman nodded knowingly. Pouring two more shots, and putting a gnarled hand with cold fingers on the Hin's head, ruffling her hair gently with nails hard as iron. "One of 'those' nobles. I don't know if I believe those men exist, but perhaps I should learn more about this woman." The Hin downed the third shot with far more speed than the earlier two. The hand patted her once more. "Though I'd rather you listened to me about lining up a suitor or two, I -have- found some you know."

The grimace had nothing to do with the green evil liquid this time. Nor the rubbing of her temple with the evening's events. She just adopted a further suffering expression through the span of a slow exhale. "Alright, alright. Let's hear this."
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Fri Dec 05, 2014 8:26 pm

Burgon Journal Entry 8: Keeping Enemies Close

He could barely control himself. Sitting at a table, face plastered into a polite smile, for all intents and purposes looking as though he was paying attention. He wasn't. In fact, he was trying hard to think of anything but his distaste for this foppish idiot and his shrieking, ugly wife. By the gods, if the woman shrieked one more time in his ear and slapped him on the back, he seriously doubted he would be able to prevent the steak knife he so fiercely gripped from being plunged deep into the soft tissue of her over-painted face….

With great control, he stopped clenching the knife in his white knuckled hand. A good thing to, because as unbearably stupid as these people were, they were fellow merchants. That meant that they often had a shrewd sense of other people and a canny eye for details others would miss. "Oh please, do go on!" He beamed, trying not to look at the fabulous waterclock on the wall. Oh no! He SWORE it just went backwards. How can that be so??

He'd been in the house for a scant two hours, on the rather insisting invitation of his 'friend' and greatest business rival in the carpet trade. Both of them probably knew that the whole thing was a bit of a farce. Competing merchants often portrayed the façade of friendship as a means to learn more about their rivals and competition. As the saying went, keep your friends close and your enemy closer…. Or as Burgon preferred, keep your enemies close and a sharp dagger closer. So he was doing just that. Attending the mans dinner party and trying not to do anything to compromise his good standing. Which was hard. Oh so hard. He almost missed the signal to laugh but managed to get a good chuckle in before it was noticed. Urghhhh. At least the fool was drunk. He'd already divulged more than was prudent and some that was outright juicy. Were it not the steady drips of information he was gleaming, Burgon would have faked illness and left. Indeed, the overpowering perfume from the mans wife had already given him a headache and nearly cost him his dinner. Now that would be a crime, because despite the company, the food was lavish and expertly prepared. Perhaps Burgon could poach the man….

He drifted for a time, half listening, half daydreaming of being… anywhere else really. Eventually the final desert was bought forth and still a trifle hungry, the fat priest of Waukeen devoured it as quickly as manners would permit. "Oh, would you look at the time!" He said rather sharply, midway through a tale of some 'daring caravaneering' or other dribble. "Why I simply must be off my dearest fellow, for my mistress awaits me with barely tempered patience." The wink to the drunkard across the table was the final touch, and after excessive return winks, several disapproving looks form the wife and a good bit of lewd suggestion, Burgon found himself in the entrance foyer, watching the rapidly retreating back of a serving boy who walked too stiffly. "A good cook maybe, but the staff." He tutted at the level of trust in the young man. With movement that would seem impossible from a man so… enamoured with good food and drink, Burgon slid silently into the shadows of the low burning candles. For effect he let the door bang a little, as though he had left just a little bit drunk. Like a shadow (albeit a rather fat one), he slid his way back into the house. Around to the servants passage where he listened intently, but heard no movement. He smiled to himself, a great pearly smile of the triumphant. At this late hour it seemed all but a couple of servants had retired. He now had access to the whole house. He slid behind the well oiled servants door and into the confined passage. The office would be near the bedroom, he was sure. So upstairs was where he headed…
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Sat Dec 13, 2014 8:34 pm

Nazka: Visiting with customers

Nazka liked talking to people in fact he was quite skilled at that kind of thing, he could through a few words make people quiver, get himself a better deal on sundries, even the occasional magical item or he could from time to time just come up with an outlandish tale and say it in such a way as to get people to believe it. In short he liked talking to people. But like anything it was a skill that needed to be practiced. It was just like learning how to swing a sword or cast a spell. So that was what he did. Having a shop helped he was able to listen to people gossip and on a slow day he could spend anywhere from a few minutes to hours on end visiting. He had a small rule it was not anything really but as his customers gossiped with him and it was small amount that didn’t gossip even when they said that they didn’t gossip they gossiped and that was if the gossip was useful or at least entertaining they gossips got a discount. That lead to a lot of gossips coming to his shop thanks to word of big mouths.

It usually went something like this “I’m not one to gossip but did you hear…” The worst were the Paladins the frequented his shop. They had so many rules and regulations that they insisted on following that when given the opportunity to let a little loose a little a flood could occur with them. The thing about it was that a lot of what he heard was not secret it was just more ignored by “polite company.” The conversation would start off innocently enough talk about the weather, talk about the temple or lord that they serve, the quality of the crops the kind of dry, pointless conversation that any customer would have with a shop owner. But Nazka would either find an “in” or make one that would lead to the gossip. With paladins he enjoyed getting them to gossip about the lords, ladies and nobles that they knew. It may not have been simple but the conversation could be steered to inter house politics to one of those pent up paladin types.

He sold seeds, yard and garden tools, the occasional plow for a farmer, alchemical fertilizers, even the stuff that came out of a cows butt. In truth these things paid the rent on his shop but it did give him a nice cover for his true craft. The smell of fertilizer covered up other smells, the gardeners gave legitimacy to his business. But to those who are so inclined to know; know that he sells other goods that to be looked over by most in authority but still the occasional clandestine person comes in to make a purchase. During the entire process once again Nazka uses his machinations to get as much information as what they are willing to divulge. Again it’s gossip mostly and has to be taken with a grain or two of salt but still the collecting and selling of information was a practice that could be incredibly lucrative.

But the biggest gossips and biggest purchasers of his goods both clandestine and standard were the farmers. They were overlooked by most everyone noble, guild thief, adventurer every one. Farmers stunk, they didn’t have much money except during certain seasons, the looked shabby and didn’t have the manners that would get them noticed. “Who’s the dirt farmer going to tell?” was the typical question when one was within earshot of a juicy bit of conversation. The answer was Nazka, he gave the dirt farmers the kind of attention that allowed them to converse with someone that was not another dirt farmer. Because of how important agriculture was to the area they’d have a handle on economic situations that would come up in the future, because they were typically serfs to a noble they had second hand knowledge of politics and were sometime a pawn in whatever machinations that might be happening around them.

At the end of the day Nazka ran his shop because he liked talking to people. People who talked gave him information and entertainment.
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Sat Dec 13, 2014 8:38 pm

Ziandra

Was it work, no that would imply she felt as if something: Anything was getting done. The days without a proper scedule messed with her, but still no way did it compare to something she couldn't yet deal with.

"We don't sleep, so we don't dream." She said with a sigh that showed no hint of any tiredness. The young-faced teenager looking elf, had only the company of her dragon today. Everyone around her seemed to move swiftly into whatever daily chore or task. While she appeared to be moving in slow motion. Sure she was still training her wizard ways, carving plenty and even learning a few things from each of those things. Closing the book in her lap, it was simply laid aside and forgotten. For once it was not a cheeky romance book, it was her spell book. A reminder of her duties and one side of her life. "I feel done with that.. and pudgy.." She glanced down to her body, there was never going to be an ounce of fat on her. It would never exist, her mother's nymph blood that lent her Fey heritage made sure of it.

The slight hiss and growl like tone of draconic was the only language they spoke together these days. "Aren't you glad you didn't pop out a baby like Sera? That is all we need a smelly, hungry little baby that takes forever to make and a hundred years to be old enough to leave the nest. Ugh, and I thought dragons were clingy to their young. Well, not all dragons." The wyrmling passed her amber gaze across the room where her father was just slipping out the door and into the darkness of the night. "hphhm.. He's hardly worth the visits. All he does is give you looks and treat me only a little better then you."

"Don't take it so hard. I'm sure he cares about you. I mean he didn't eat you, and I'm sure he really did mean what he said about eating all the rest of you and your mother." A slight shrug, the topic wasn't as bad as an outsider might think. "It was a nice gesture. After all, if not for that I'd be alone." She thought a long lingering moment about the Dark one. Val'Koren was a lot of things, but kind and friend was not one of those things. No, he had every moment of his time ready to torment, bother and insult. When he didn't do that, he of course had revealed a dark letcherous side. That one at least was so well ignored it rarely came to surface around Zi.

"I suppose you think that, given how many friends and family you have. You feel more alone." Yssa shifted a bit and soon her head was in the lap of Ziandra, hoping for affection that came without even asking. One smooth stone-like hand against an even smoother scaley body. "When will I know, when will you go again?" Both eyes started closed at the petting, but opened just to slits to peer up and catch the arcanist's face. Reading her was not as easy as a person-or familiar might think. Zi had long mastered the art of many things, and hiding was one of them. At least in the surface of her Far to beautiful face.

"Hmm. Soon." That was all there was to say, and with that the conversation was dropped like the dying embers it stirred up. "Yeah, a kid that is all I need. Actually, I can't see any good reasons to bring a kid up in this world. I got way to much of my own stuff to not bring a child into. It's bad enough, that I have to be so ... " She chewed her lip a bit, and even bit at it. Nothing good really ever came from such a thing. Just a little pinch, the days of sharp fangs were gone. Then she could have pierced her own flesh, and dined on the coppery taste of her own blood. That tinge-laced liquid so perfectly made from her, always snapped her out of things. Plus she had gotten such a bizarre taste for it, when she was a slave. The habits of it, never left. She was after all the same woman, only compacted into a new smaller and younger body. This didn't really make her a true elf. It just made her an elf on the outside and a strange woman on the inside.

"Deceptive?" The dragon offered by the elf shook her head, that wasn't really it. She hadn't lied. There just was such a keen way with words and such a loving understanding approach from the people around her. They didn't pry the way normal people would. It left the arcanist to do whatever she wanted, and that meant this new form of training. Though, so far all she has done was work up some demons, old habits and none of that bothered her. It felt good to feel like her old self, it felt more alive-normal then any day she'd spent since Runa had died.

"Maybe, I'm a phoenix." She replied with some thought, "You know that bird that dies and is reborn from it's own ashes." That was the best thought to come out of her head in weeks, and once it was said got a look from the little dragon. A perk of a well-defined brow meant the suggestion, though strange was actually a real question.

"I don't know. I've seen you at your worse, and not once did I find you growing feathers. Actually, I would have thought the Elf would have mentioned something like that to you. He's very ...hands on." There was a slight clearing the air, a quiet moment. "Wow, okay let's not get into that right now. I dread every moment of that thought." Yssa couldn't hide any displeasures from Zi. Most of them were sated by the promises that were given to her. Enialas had sorted out what could be a greater understanding. The little black dragon could live under his roof, associate with his wife and even terrorize Howard. He would give her food, shelter and everything she needed to live a life. All she had to do was stop trying to kill him, or do things that screwed up his work. In the end it worked out, but didn't imply either of them cared for the other. They only shared common love for Ziandra.

"Right. Yeah, I don't think I feel like talking about that either." Holding up her hand and rubbing her face. Now, she looked tired but tired was only just that-a look. "I think I should visit Salad tomorrow. The weather will be utterly dreadful with the snow. I could go and poke around in her bones and say hi. No one will be around to see me." It was weird on nights like this, that she would miss a mindless pile of bones. "That's all I can think about right now. How cold the ground must feel, and although I know for a fact she's not feeling it. I feel like it would bother her if she could. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore."

"Oh, that sounds delightful. Shall I pack a lunch? Can we ressurect her and let her do something exciting?" The dragon thrilled at the idea of getting Zi to do something naughty. "Come on Mom. We haven't done anything bad or fun in weeks. Your turning into your husband, boring and old and boring."Making a face that only a dragon really could. "Come on, I am tired of being locked up in this place."

"Borning twice. That's mean, even from you. I'll make you a deal. After I go see Salad. We can so see Niena. I hear they started and underground fight club at the orcs house. Want to put some bets down on some mindless blood sports?" She chuckled, "To bad I can't play! My skins to hard now. They just cry when they land blows on me now."

"Yes! Yes.. That sounds like way more fun then it should be allowed by the law." A slight pause, "It is illegal right? Or should be.. that makes this more fun. You think your old boyfriend will be there. .. the ugly one that you nearly chewed an arm off to get away from?" Zi made a face. "He will great. Let's put bets on him and promise him things he can't have! hahah... It's going to be great! Let's get some sleep!... I'll sleep and you do that monk meditation thing."

"Yeah, I think meditation will help me right now." The arcanist shifted the dragon off and slipped into perfect meditation form. Breathing in, and out. "I miss a few people in my life.. that orc isn't one of them." Her voice lower now. She drew her legs into 'indian style' and her arms rested simply against either knee. Eyes closed as she attempted to slip into the almost waking coma that was needed to get her relaxed.

"What was that?" The dragon said half awake now.

"Nothing, sleep okay." Speaking softly now, as she worked down her body-settled her mind and offered it up to nothing. An empty space that should have been quiet. Not for her, the moment she left control of it. It filled with the Voices.... It was only then she looked peaceful.
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Sat Dec 13, 2014 8:42 pm

Burgon Journal Entry 9: Payback


He muffled another curse as the carriage bounced, somehow seeming to find every furrow, every rut in the stinking road. at least that's what it seemed like to Burgon. Here he was on another blasted adventure, though he kept calling it an expedition, as it sounded a whole lot less dangerous and more like… like a pleasant holiday. It sort of had been so far. Yes, a slight complication with some trolls, drow and all, but mostly they had been able to sleep in real beds and enjoy the odd prepared meal. Not that they needed it, with the magic rings they wore, but hey… his stomach never complained!

The weather had turned rapidly warm as they went South, then outright hot! The dress and mannerisms of folk changed to, evidence of the great distance the trio travelled. Soon the cleric was sweating in his great suit of armour. "I have just the thing though!" He said brightly, mostly to himself. A simple prayer and he could exist comfortably in either hot or cold climes. As the magic settled he found himself at just the right temperature again. Smiling at his good thinking, he smiled wider still as he felt the carriage slow down. Time to set up camp, judging by the slowly dipping sun, red on the hazy horizon. As much as he hated to camp, it gave his bruised behind a good rest from the jolting of the carriage.

As the vehicles pulls off the road and comes to a rest, the crew disembark and with a few words exchanged begin to set camp. Since tempers are thin after a long, uncomfortable and hot day, Burgon finds himself alone. Probably a good thing to, because he has not enough of the garlic infused goats cheese to share and still enjoy himself…

It's midnight when he rises, and a little past the first hour of the day when he gets up, feeling restless and anxious. Pulling his cloak over his small cloths, he exits the tent and wanders from the clearing into a small stand of odd trees a little away from camp. Beneath the unfamiliar stars in the night sky, he sits and ponders how once again he managed to get dragged out of his soft bed into this dirty backwater. Ow, he'd be in trouble if his god heard him, because this quest is sacred. He is the anointed one who was chosen to see it through. Alas, he still hated travelling. Feeling not at all settled, he returned to his tent to sip wine and do some light reading, probably until morning. A bedroll was just not the same.

Come morning he decided to play his favourite game. Oh, it was cruel but it helped at least keep him sane. Standing at the tent flap of their surly driver, Burgon raised his voice high and called "A GOOD MORNING MY DEAR FELLOW!" at a volume far from civil. As he'd hoped there was a start and cursing from within the tent as the poor driver awoke from whatever far more pleasant place he'd been in. At breakfast Burgon offered to cook and accidentally dropped the mans sausage in the fire. And so the teasing went on and on. It was sick really, but he had to know how far the man could be pushed before he would snap. It was becoming the most important thing to Burgon! Maybe he was going slightly insane himself?? If only the man would speak more! Then he'd not be so easy pickings. After they had all eaten and packed up camp, Burgon relieved himself as the carriage waited patiently. Once done he climbed into his usual seat in the cabin, plonking himself onto the wooden bench and the thin cushion. With a sigh the carriage rumbled on. Bored in all of two minutes, the fat cleric reached for his snack bag, finding that eating made the journey less tedious. Wait… OH NO. No, no no nono!!! The bag was GONE! "But… but it was here. It's been here the last two weeks!" He squealed in a panic. He would starve! Something caught his eye. A sausage, burnt from falling in the fire…

Needless to say the carriage didn't stop for food all day. The sobs of one unhappy cleric caused more than a few passer-by's to glance with uncertainty at the wooden vehicles cabin then the beaming driver. Oh, payback was so sweet!
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Fri Jan 02, 2015 6:42 pm

Journal of Nazka Shandor

Nazka had been born and raised in the City of Waterdeep but he lived as a street urchin barely scraping up enough money to buy enough food and drink at night to “Set up base camp” in a tavern usually getting kicked out of one only to move on to another until he was kicked out of that one and he talked his way back into the previous one. That was until he had begun to start manifesting his arcane abilities which were more sorcerer like all though he was more physical than a typical sorcerer. At any rate now he was able to make money as a sell sword and it paid incredibly well. Now a person in his position has two choices when they come into money like he did the first choice was to squander it on booze, women and entertainment and he would eventually be setting up camp in a tavern again. The thing about living in a tavern was that no matter what you ate, no matter what you drank it all tasted like paper sooner or later and even a nice bed at a tavern was uncomfortable. The second choice for a person in his position was to invest it buy or rent a place, set up a shop or a trade and make more money. Yeah comfort of your own place and better food trumped a few hours of excitement any day.

So Nazka found a place in the markets where he could live and have a little shop to work in. It was anything but special it was infested with rats, fleas and mites, its walls were punched and kicked in in places, the stairs leading to the sleeping area were rickety and the small cellar was filled with ankle deep well at one time it might have been water but had stuff floating on top of it and had a greenish black tinge to it not to mention the smell of fermentation. No wonder the place was such a steal. But it was his place. A lot of work had to be put into it in between his time as a guard and as a sell sword before things could be up and running. There was such a mess that Nazka could not really figure a starting point. Top to bottom or bottom to top? Was the question of the day with either approach being as daunting as the other. Finally he decided to act and opened every window in the hole in the wall that was going to be his place and for most of the day garbage, destroyed furniture, and tore down walls were tossed out of the windows into a pile which Nazka would eventually pile up and burn in a pit. By the end of the “garbage day” Nazka was riddled with fleas and mites.

Nazka took a bath!

The place in spite of having most of the garbage being cleaned up still smelled heavily of black mold, mildew, rat droppings and other unsavory things especially from the cellar. It was still not time for a broom or a mop but Nazka was undaunted and squared his shoulders. Stepping into the cellar he looked over the flotsam and jetsam. Taking a bucket in hand he began to one bucket full at a time dip out the water. Even for such a small room if it could be called such it was a lot of water to dip out one bucket at a time. Eventually the culprit for so much water was found and was a two part problem. The first being a broken window that was allowing storm water to flow in during the stormy seasons and a blocked drain leading to Waterdeeps sewers. Yeah Nazka was going to need another bath.
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Fri Jan 02, 2015 6:49 pm

The Adventures of Ryan and Taylor

A loud knock on the door of their little room disrupted the quiet study of Taylor, under the constant unscrupulous eye of Ryan. Taylor dared not even lift an eye from the scroll he was attempting to copy as Ryan walked slowly over to the door to see who it was. As the old wooden door creaked open a man in a black robe with a red sash silently handed Ryan an envelope and walked away quickly. Ryan closed the door behind him and studied the envelope carefully. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer that caused his eyes to glow white briefly then fade away just as quickly. Satisfied, he carefully opened up the letter, casting a sideways glare towards the young master Taylor as he paused scribbling briefly. He walked over to view his accomplishments thus far.

Many an ink spot and scrawly letters littered the scroll, making it barely eligible.

A metal fist raised and fell on top of the young boy's face, the sharp razors that adorned the full plate from neck to toe cutting his cheek open, blood gushing out in torrents down his face and neck.

"I expect perfection. Achieve it, and be rewarded." was all the servant of hate and fear would say, leaving the boy sobbing and going back to a fresh scroll as the blood drips down from his cheek and is soaked up by his favorite tunic. Ryan turns away and opens the envelope next to the candle light. His face turns into a frown as the the information on the parchment is transferred and mulled over. He quietly folds the letter, and places it on the side table next to his bed.

"Taylor, finish your lesson quickly. We have a thief to catch."


Dawn rises, red and glorious. Very much like the nasty wound that had festered on the poor face of Taylor, who was just waking from a restless night. Ryan had not slept a wink, remaining vigil on the letter that had been delivered to him. As Taylor awoke, Ryan beckoned to him. Feebly the young boy marched over, timidly looking up at his master. Ryan traced a finger over his wound, saying aloud and very carefully a prayer of healing. The wound slowly started to melt and fold as the cheek of Taylor slowly became whole again.

"Read it." Ryan said coldly, pointing to the open letter on the table. Sighing with relief, Taylor rubbed his cheek and walked over to the table, the cold winter air grasping for his breath still. The letter was posted two weeks prior, and read as follows

"Ryan Steel. A thief stole into our monastery during the night. Several items were stolen, including one item from your private quarters: your pinewood box. We were able to discern that the thief has traveled to Waterdeep, and we hereby order you to recover the stolen items, and to capture the thief. Alive if possible, though it is not necessary. The courier will be at the Grinning Lion until you have completed your task."

Taylor folds the letter, quietly lays it on the table, and falls to one knee in front of his mentor. "What are your orders, my master."
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Fri Jan 02, 2015 8:24 pm

Loth'Gar Journal Entry 27: Winter Fishing


The weather had turned foul in short order. A far cry from the sun and heat he loved, but in a Northern city like Waterdeep, the weather was quick to turn on those caught out without a cloak. For his many flaws, being ill prepared was not one of them. Loth'Gar huddles deeper into his cloak, resolute of purpose and steely in resolve. He'd been sitting like this for over an hour, in the freezing cold, a small flask of spiced wine his only respite from the weather. There were precious few folks around at this time, though a few other brave or foolish (something he had been called a time or two) folk were likewise huddled into little bundles, sitting on the edge of the wooden pier by the Docks.

He blew out a long stream of hot mist from his great lungs. Watching as it quickly disipated, he peered out over the water, now covered in a thin sheen of ice, bar a small patch directly in front of him. It was through this little gap in the ice that his fishing pole dangled neatly into, the small wooden float bobbing gently on the under current of the waters. The best time of the season to fish, when the water traffic was lessened and the ice was forming, the bravest of the fishermen headed to the Dock in hopes of catching a monster fish. So it was that Loth'Gar sat, waiting and for the tenth time wondering of the small lump of cheese had come adrift from the bone hook. But no, he wouldn't pull it up just yet….

He began to daydream, imagining the great icebreakers setting sail for warmer climes… when it began. At first a quick tap on the wooden rod, then a series of taps. His heart rate quickened. The bites were strong, something hungry and, he hoped, large! Bam! There it was, the long pull as the fish took the bait! He pulled sharply to the left as the line went right and was rewarded with the tug of something catching! Hoping the minor enchantments on the hook would keep it strong, he began to haul in the line slowly, using the slack of the rod to save straining the line overmuch. A couple of fishermen cheered at the sudden success, one almost losing his pole as it to was suddenly worried by a fish. This was a fighter, that's for sure! The pole strained under the weight, the horn support ridge creaking, the enchanted animal gut line taut like a spider web. He sighted a flash of silver from the water, before with one last heave the fish cleared the water, flying up into the air, spraying cold sea water everywhere. Just fast enough, Loth'Gar threw out his net, neatly catching the fish as it reached the zenith of its flight.

Giving a laugh of triumph, the half-orc pulled the net in and surveyed the catch under the bright, biting air. Beautiful, excellent eating size, a supremely healthy specimen, it would bring a good few coins were it at the markets. Beaming, happy with his victory, the half-orc neatly knocked the wriggling silver on the head before adding it to his sack. Happy that he would be in fish for a good few weeks, be decided not to test Tymora further today, offering quick thanks and flipping a coin into the bay for her favour. Waving a goodbye to the other fishermen, and wishing them the goddesses favour, he made his way back to Starn Street and his home. Pushing open the door, he made his way in, smiling at the familiar smell of handing small goods, herbs and the like. Lifting a small trapdoor in the floor, he checked the ice cupboard. Yep, still as frozen as the block had been when he bought it. Humming, he moved over to the table, selected a long filleting knife and set to work. A grand day in Waterdeep.
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Sun Jan 11, 2015 6:47 pm

He made his way slowly back through the city after the battle and talking for a bit with Ziandra. He could probably by now tell which part of the city he was in by the feel of the cobbles under his feet or the sounds, or the smells of the city. He couldn’t help but see in the dark, it was just another part of what he was now. The gold dragon in him had risen and he had no choice but to answer the silent call that pulsed in his blood. He stared up at the sky, up at the stars and wondered futilely what it would be like to actually reach the stars and fly. Would it be funny? Would it be strange? Would he have that sensation of butterflies in his stomach that he’d had once or twice in his youth when he did something new? It wasn’t fear anymore, it was never fear, fear was something he couldn’t feel. It was something he could almost understand, but he couldn’t feel it himself. So he was in a way bereft, stunted but at the same time able to grow so much more fully than anyone else he knew. His hand lifted to rake the hair from his eyes that had blown into them, then the hand slowly dropped before his eyes and he stared at the remnants of blood that was still etched and outlining each and every scale that he could see. His other clawed hand came up and he without thinking put his thumb to his tongue to lick it, then tried to rub the blood from the creases of his hand. It wasn’t that he felt he’d done something bad, it was never like that. He knew he’d done what was needed and protected his city as much as he could and it was right. He clenched his fist, tightening the fingers until he could almost feel the knuckles breaching for him to punch something. It was the power that he could feel, that legacy he was still learning to be a part of.

It wasn’t something that he even knew was lurking beneath the surface of his skin, when it had first started. There was the change with the rash on his skin making it feel coarse and itchy, there was the sudden appetite he’d had that forced him to consume even more than he’d ever had the ability to eat and he’d always been a good eater, but this past year he’d positively had to eat and eat and eat, always being the butt of the joke until he’d moved away from eating at the table with his family. No, instead the weight had not gone onto his stomach or his face… instead somehow the muscle had come and kept on coming, building him from just another tin soldier to a real warrior. His vision wavered back onto the dark vision spectrum that showed him what was wandering in the street towards him. A drunk swaying uncertainly, Jax stepped to the side out of his way, then went back to his musings as he wandered home. Appetite, all of them had grown, all of them had expanded, climaxing in last night. He never knew he could feel such a violent rage like that, such an indignant outcry that demanded, nay they bellowed for him to rip apart the foe with his bare hands. He couldn’t remember the battle, not all of it. It was like he’d stepped out of himself and another part of him, a more primal part of him had slid into place. And that part of him, the Dragon within had soared!! It was the passion, it was the violence, but all told, it was the protection of his home.

He did what he could not to think about it after that, he’d gone home. Put his hand to the door and quietly let himself in, sending the maid to bed who’d stayed up to ensure that the house was always ready, then he’d gone through to the kitchens to help himself to something the cook had made… and when his vast appetite had been appeased once more, he made his way silently up to the bed. Feeling the smooth wood under his scaled hand, the steps didn’t creak under his weight, he knew well enough where to put his feet to avoid that and he’d made his way to the door of the room he slept in. At the door he waited, listening and then pushed it open after turning the handle. There was his armor, still with blood on it. He grimaced and went to it to silently clean up what he could with a glance to the sleeping form in bed. Then weariness had fallen on him like a lead balloon and before he knew it, he was out cold on the bed asleep.
"Even if you silence me, My silence will still defy you"-Me

"It's not Lying...It's Neglecting the important parts"-Me

"I'm Not stealing.. I'm borrowing with the intention of not returning."-Me
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Mon Jan 12, 2015 4:08 am

Nazka Shandor: Setting up shop PT 2.

If anything as the water in the cellar was dipped out the smell got worse with dead rats and insects becoming exposed to the air. The smell was actually quite horrible a sickly sweet smell mixed with a rotting smell and the smell of backed up sewage all accumulated in his cellar. Opening up more doors and windows was the only thing he could do at the moment to get some of the smell out. Eventually though Nazka was able to get most of the water out of the cellar leaving a layer of muck under the flotsam and jetsam that had been floating in the stagnant water.

It took three wheelbarrow loads to finally clean out the refuse and give Nazka access to the slimy sloppy brownish green muck. The task was more or less daunting for anyone with a weak constitution and Nazka had to take several breaks for fresh air. Taking a flat headed shovel he began so scrape up the muck and drag it out side a wheelbarrow full at a time. About half way through Nazka noticed that the smell began to subside, it was still there but less pungent. Eventually he found the “root of the problem” The blocked drain it too a small amount of will power to force himself to reach into the drain and begin pulling the “blockage” out. Wood, animal bones, decayed flesh, paper, dirt and old food were the less horrifying of the objects that made up the amalgam of black sludge that had worked to stop the flow of water through Nazka’s cellar. Unfortunately he could only clean out to the point of about his elbow before reaching a turn in the plumbing and the drain was still blocked.

Nazka needed something to finish the drain off, some gnomish engineering contraption and an alchemical concoction were the key into getting things moving once again. The gnomish contraption was a kind of flexible rod with a series of hooks at one end that could bend and twist but at the same time remain ridged enough to poke through or hook anything it might come into contact with. The alchemical concoction was white vinegar boiled down to make it more potent. Taking the vinegar he filled the drain up and then ran the flexible rod down it and began to push and pull tapping away at the blockage. The water began to seep through at first than it gurgled and everything kind of sleused through and the drain began to work once again.

The next task on Nazka’s to do list was to clean and scrub. Yeah he had already gotten his shop/living space drastically cleaner than it had been in ages but he still had to actually clean it he was not a barbarian that could live comfortably in a squalor after all. Leaving the cellar to dry, drain and air out Nazka started from the top down with a broom. The dust he collected went to the cellar any moisture was soaked up by the dust and helped in the drying process. The floors were made of wood but were not sealed or varnished making moping useless but he did scrub them any way with soap and brine and everything was left to dry evenly.

Finally thanks to time, dust and air flow the cellar was dry, to Nazka’s luck it was a stone floor and walls possible originally of dwarven construction making the scrubbing easy going. Finally after more than a week of cleaning and working at it the building Nazka had gotten started to actually smell decent. The next task on Nazka’s to do list was to remodel. Yeah he was no master carpenter couldn’t make anything look anything more than two boards nailed together but he could nail two boards together. The work served its purpose. It provided some added support to the walls and even made some shelving. He was ready to open up business.

Rai chuckled at Trystor “Calm down, of course we are in danger we are fugitives from the empire. Jedi and mercenaries constantly attract rivals like flies to a dead rodent not to mention that any population of beings will always have a dangerous element. The trick is not showing yourself as an easy target. So first of all let’s start heading back to the farm they’re waiting on us.” As they began walking back he continued “Next calm down, if you look out of place you’ll attract unwanted attention. “ He took a cursory look at Trystor “Speaking of which, every one good, bad or both with in the first five seconds of spotting you will start making judgments. Are you bigger than them? Are you smaller? Are you armed? Do you look like you can use your weaponry or is it for show? People pick up on subtle queues that tell them this stuff especially when you address someone else.”

Yeah this walk was turning into a less one of which all boiled down to Rai’s rule number one “What ever the attitude so is the response.” At any rate Rai continued his lesson “When you speak you need to speak with confidence and speak clearly. When someone calls you something you don’t like speak up. Don’t sigh.” Rai gave a mocking sigh which mimicked Trystors trademark sigh “If you can’t speak up growl instead. Square your shoulders don’t mince your steps. If you meet someone’s gaze hold theirs for a slow eight count in your head before letting go. But most of all calm down.” He indicated the way back to the farm opting for the quicker way which was through town rather than around.
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Mon Jan 12, 2015 6:31 pm

She licked her lips and applied another layer of the special herbal balm. Sometimes the tea made her throat feel like it had been violently grated with a sharp tool. However, it was all just part of the ritual. "I'm not sure I can take much more of this." Her head was swimming and her hand twitched in unnatural ways. The cup was left to the side and the bits of what it was made of huddled in the tiny spot of liquid she had left behind.

Glenna glanced over and offered a simple reply, "You can. You will. Close your eyes and relax a bit will you." The old woman, came over and eased the young-elf back on a fine leather bound chair. "Start counting backwards. It shouldn't be to long." She laid a cool cloth against Ziandra's forehead. It would be best to be prepared for anything, as the little elf-maid had horrible dreams and even worse nightmares.

"Yeah, yeah.." Sounding suddenly very tired. Her lips started to form the words, "Ten, nine... eight.. seven.." There was nothing else coming from her. She had slipped into a carefully made deep slumber. Elves don't sleep, but that doesn't mean they can't do it.

The dreams...came..


Clink, Clink...clank and the sound of sawing. Through the guise of smoke and air thick with strange spice smells. Only thing she could make out was her hands, both of them working very hard at something. Wood! Yes, she's building something.

Hammer, Hammer...nail nail...flesh! The hammer and nail worked quickly. She could see her right hand being nailed to the surface of whatever project she'd worked on. Then up her arm. Hammer Hammer.. nail nail.. There wasn't any blood, or pain. It was as if this was as normal to her as breathing.

A darkness set in and her eyes opened again, but she'd not yet left slumber. No, now she could see many faces. All of them she knew, some old... some new. They were all nailed up on crosses made by her hand, nailed with her nails...

She laughed, what a sight...


Glenna called out her name, shaking her. "Ziandra.." Finally, the young woman woke up. "There you are.. You have been out for hours. I'm sure that husband of yours will be worried, he's not heard from you. "

"What.. wait.. where?" She looked around confused. "Hours... It's never been that long."

"What did you dream about this time?" Glenna looked to her with a perk of her brow. "Your sweating pretty good."

"I don't know.." She lied. "Just a boring dream about making things with wood."
"Even if you silence me, My silence will still defy you"-Me

"It's not Lying...It's Neglecting the important parts"-Me

"I'm Not stealing.. I'm borrowing with the intention of not returning."-Me
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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Mon Jan 12, 2015 9:15 pm

The Gnome was leaned back in the comfort of her dingy docks shack. On a hard bed that smelled a little musty and with her spell book and notes on a desk across the room. Holding in front of herself a sketched picture of someone.. charcoal on thick paper. She took a slow breath and turned it over. Studying the angles, the quirks of the expression. "Where the heck is it.. s'somewhere there. Tha' thing he needs to keep unsullied. Wha'ever's so damn bloody important."

It didn't come to her quickly apparently since she was still looking at it an hour later. Tracing lines with her fingers and holding it sideways now. "..Nope. Not in here. Gonna have to pin him down and poke around after all. Maybe bet him I can arm wrestle him to get him to agree.."

Gods only knew if that would work but apparently she was done postulating for now. Her feet swing over the side of her bed and she ambles to the small desk. Tucking the drawing into some other papers and producing a different set. Notes, a list of material and scribbled ink spattered notes by each item. Mostly it seemed to be the names of metals..? But surely there was more to it.
"Even if you silence me, My silence will still defy you"-Me

"It's not Lying...It's Neglecting the important parts"-Me

"I'm Not stealing.. I'm borrowing with the intention of not returning."-Me
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