The Daily Dragon: Journals

In Character Announcements, Narratives, News and Events

Moderator: Dungeon Masters

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Thu Jan 15, 2015 11:49 pm

Loth'Gar Journal Entry 28: On the Road to Daggerford

The foul weather had continued unabated for the whole day. It made for miserable travelling, the roads muddy and difficult on the wheels of the caravans. Despite it all, Loth'Gar smiled as he trotted along side the lead wagon, bow held ready in his offhand but no arrow to the string. His brown eyes pierced the darkness, ever vigilant for trouble on the road ahead. They weren’t far out from Waterdeep, and if the half-orc was honest with himself the roads were well patrolled and safe for a good distance yet. They'd signed on to this grain caravan as escorts as far as Daggerford, two days travel by all estimates. For Loth'Gar at least, the pay (while a nice bonus for services rendered) was the least concern. Considering the nature of the mission they found themselves on, the cover of a caravan was a welcome means to slip into Daggerford unnoticed by prowling eyes. And eyes there were. Not a day prior he had been contacted by a man called Agrim Tager who had sought assistance abroad due to concerns that there was an insider working for a group of bandits near the Lizard Swamps. Another agent, a Lady Pond had sought to investigate but had since gone missing. The group were well organised, well equip and backed up by one or more mages. Not only this, but they bore a common insignia, all suggesting they were more than a simple band of robbers.

Setting out with the heartiest adventurers he could find under so urgent circumstances, he had warned the others that a degree of secrecy was necessary. The great lady paladin disapproved, he could tell that by the tense set of her shoulders and the way she squeezed her mouth tight in a thin line as he told his… harmless cover story. Circling slowly, he waved and smiles through the drizzle as he passed her great armour clad form. He was glad and relieved when the mighty knight had agreed to accompany him on the mission. Her presence put him at ease, as did the company of the other two lady adventurers. They should be able to get away with the story, so long as no one asked the paladin directly…

Seeing something glint dully off the road ahead of the caravan, he frowned slightly before trotting quickly forward, outpacing the wagons with his long legs. Unsure of what he had seen, he thought to investigate lest trouble find them. Signalling that all was well but to be alert, he trotted off the road and made for the approximate location of whatever had caught his eye. Pulling his cloak a little tighter and softening his footfalls on the wet grass (an easy thing to do really), he kept low and moved to the grassy gnoll and the small outcropping of stone. The cover was too sparse to conceal any threat that would seriously jeopardise the caravan, so he relaxed a little, but slipped the bow over one shoulder and drew his heavy sword from his waist sheath, ready for anything. He stepped onto the lowest boulder and peered around carefully. Seeing no one or nothing waiting, he looked a little lower, seeing no signs of anything having been there recently. Brushing back a bit of wind blown green grass, he found an old glass bottle, empty except for a bit of water and dirt. He smiled to himself. Nothing at all.

Returning to the caravan swiftly, he assumed his position near the front and continued to scan the areas around the wagons and the road ahead. Always better to be safe than sorry, and they were paying him well for the service. Looking to the heavens, he let out a sigh and hoped the rain would abate soon. Even so, he couldn't help but smile slightly. It was good to be on the road again.
Of course it's evil! Kill it!
User avatar
Shamsy
 
Posts: 740
Joined: Thu Sep 27, 2012 9:31 pm

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Fri Jan 16, 2015 4:27 pm

Distilling the Sanguine Radish

The Sanguine Radish is an interesting weed, found throughout Faeruin butterfly larva that eat it produce wing patterns that show a deep scarlet or crimson color and in some areas it’s cultivated for that reason. Its leaves have sharp thistles on it and when a creature is injured by the thistle it receives an injection of poison just enough to cause a red bump that is sore for a few hours to rise from it. If a creature eats of the leaves or especially the root the poison is enough to give it an upset stomach for about a day. Now people of certain professions have discovered that when its sap is distilled and applied to a weapon it can be an effective component for a combat situation. To that end certain entrapenures have learned the techniques to distill the sap.
The tools needed are not complex and can be found at just about any shop with the more complex parts being found at an alchemy supply store. The first tool that is needed is a good spade or digging trowel it’s needed to dig up the root of the Sanguine Radish which holds the largest amount of poison. The next tool is a good sharp knife to cut the stem from the root and to pare the root into pieces. This is followed by a distiller which consists of a boiling pot with a sealing lid, copper tubing, a condenser and a seperator. The last piece is pipets or vials to store the Sanguine Radish extract.
Harvesting the Sanguine Radish is fairly easy, farmers, gardeners and people with yards all are willing to pay a few coppers to anyone who will relieve them of this painful and noxious weed. All one has to do is approach the weed with a spade or trowel place it into the earth near the root and stem and pull the instrument toward you. The root which is a taproot will easily pop out of well tiller earth giving a root about 6 inches long.
Once the Sanguine Radish has been harvested it must be processed. Fist rinse off the left over earth from the roots and let dry. The less water added to the process the higher the yield of the end product will be. After the Sanguine Radish has been thoroughly dried peel and cut it into pieces roughly half an inch by half an inch by half an inch. Here one must be careful not to cut themselves as the extract can easily enter their system and cause them to become ill for several days.
After the Sanguine Radish pieces have been cut up place them into the boiling pot of the distiller and set it to a low heat. The lower heat the better, as the Sanguine Radish begins to heat up the sap will begin to leach from the pieces and slowly begin to evaporate. As the sap evaporates it will create steam which will flow into the copper tubing followed by the condensing coil which is a glass coil which allows the steam to collect and condense back into water and extract.
Now if the extract was used in this state it would only be slightly more potent than if one simply ate the Sanguine Radish itself. To make the Sanguine Radish extract into something useful it must first pass through a separator. The extract of the Sanguine Radish is heavier than water and when it’s collected in the condenser it settles towards the bottom of the condenser while the water is displaced to the top. As the mix flows from the condenser it passes through a canister that has two reservoirs in it with adjustable walls and two releases. As the mix flows the extract settles in to bottom of the lower reservoir while water flows into the upper on. To keep the two liquids from mixing continually empty the water reservoir. Once the extract of the Sanguine Root has been collected it can now be emptied into vials or pipets for storage. Emptying it from the bottom and let it slowly drip out will yield the strongest extracts and leave the top few ounces as a waste product as it will still have a small amount of water mixed with 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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Fri Jan 16, 2015 4:27 pm

Distilling the Sanguine Radish

The Sanguine Radish is an interesting weed, found throughout Faeruin butterfly larva that eat it produce wing patterns that show a deep scarlet or crimson color and in some areas it’s cultivated for that reason. Its leaves have sharp thistles on it and when a creature is injured by the thistle it receives an injection of poison just enough to cause a red bump that is sore for a few hours to rise from it. If a creature eats of the leaves or especially the root the poison is enough to give it an upset stomach for about a day. Now people of certain professions have discovered that when its sap is distilled and applied to a weapon it can be an effective component for a combat situation. To that end certain entrapenures have learned the techniques to distill the sap.
The tools needed are not complex and can be found at just about any shop with the more complex parts being found at an alchemy supply store. The first tool that is needed is a good spade or digging trowel it’s needed to dig up the root of the Sanguine Radish which holds the largest amount of poison. The next tool is a good sharp knife to cut the stem from the root and to pare the root into pieces. This is followed by a distiller which consists of a boiling pot with a sealing lid, copper tubing, a condenser and a seperator. The last piece is pipets or vials to store the Sanguine Radish extract.
Harvesting the Sanguine Radish is fairly easy, farmers, gardeners and people with yards all are willing to pay a few coppers to anyone who will relieve them of this painful and noxious weed. All one has to do is approach the weed with a spade or trowel place it into the earth near the root and stem and pull the instrument toward you. The root which is a taproot will easily pop out of well tiller earth giving a root about 6 inches long.
Once the Sanguine Radish has been harvested it must be processed. Fist rinse off the left over earth from the roots and let dry. The less water added to the process the higher the yield of the end product will be. After the Sanguine Radish has been thoroughly dried peel and cut it into pieces roughly half an inch by half an inch by half an inch. Here one must be careful not to cut themselves as the extract can easily enter their system and cause them to become ill for several days.
After the Sanguine Radish pieces have been cut up place them into the boiling pot of the distiller and set it to a low heat. The lower heat the better, as the Sanguine Radish begins to heat up the sap will begin to leach from the pieces and slowly begin to evaporate. As the sap evaporates it will create steam which will flow into the copper tubing followed by the condensing coil which is a glass coil which allows the steam to collect and condense back into water and extract.
Now if the extract was used in this state it would only be slightly more potent than if one simply ate the Sanguine Radish itself. To make the Sanguine Radish extract into something useful it must first pass through a separator. The extract of the Sanguine Radish is heavier than water and when it’s collected in the condenser it settles towards the bottom of the condenser while the water is displaced to the top. As the mix flows from the condenser it passes through a canister that has two reservoirs in it with adjustable walls and two releases. As the mix flows the extract settles in to bottom of the lower reservoir while water flows into the upper on. To keep the two liquids from mixing continually empty the water reservoir. Once the extract of the Sanguine Root has been collected it can now be emptied into vials or pipets for storage. Emptying it from the bottom and let it slowly drip out will yield the strongest extracts and leave the top few ounces as a waste product as it will still have a small amount of water mixed with 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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Mon Jan 19, 2015 6:38 pm

She crouched low, keeping her form still as her training had dictated, giving herself over to the natural surroundings. If she felt the cold bite of the wind on her skin, she didn’t respond to it, merely accepted it as “just so”. Her hands remained steady as she tracked the orc with her eye down the shaft of the arrow. Just a little longer… just a little longer… Then she let it fly wheeling back behind the bluff that concealed her as other archers found their mark. The cries of those caught up in the deadly volley rang out in her ears and made her grin. This was living, this was simple and it was easy. Kill the Orcs as soon as they come into bow range. Then fall back and watch the melee experts dance their blades across the rest of the flood.

The snow swirled and danced with her, small flurries that had made it down past the upper branches of the tree’s filled where she’d been not too long after she’d left. She raced gathering her archers with her, her snow white hair trailing out behind her like a banner. Her feet were fleet and her tread was sound, she didn’t slip, they never failed her as the archers made their way to the second stop point. If the orcs made it this far they would open up again. The mages had set spells on their waiting arrows to rain deadly fire down upon their foe. A specialist spell that made the arrow pass through the solid objects that their foe might hide behind, other mages stood in their silent cadre’s, preparing powerful magicks to bring columns of fire down on the heads of the orcs that would come up the only entry point to the city. Through the narrow channel of rock, into Evereska Jiriki ran, others running with her, blurs of speed and grey as they broke from the trees of the Forgotten Forest and into the Greycloak Hills, there the bottle neck was planned. Aiming to force the orcs had not been easy. But it was vital to keep leading the orcs a merry dance away to the north of the city and so they ran. Speedily, fleet of foot and silent the elves were; unless they needed to make sounds to egg their orc foe on. From time to time they did just that. Calling like phantoms to encourage the orc hoard on to their deaths, cat calling, insults flying and then they were through the pickets of quivers set carefully, each elf had it in his or her spare hand within an instant and slid to a stop even as they turned and made this their stand point.

A prince of Evereska called out. "Show them no mercy, for they shall show you none!"


Jiriki called out the measure. "Draw!!"

As one the archers drew with creaking of their mighty bows, these were the specialists. They were deadly and held in wait as the silent dancers brought their swords against the starkly painted faces of the orcs, horrible faces, oversized teeth and skin like swine. They didn’t know what hit them. Many fell in the first few seconds of that crushing sweep of the elves melee champions, others rallied to try and force the elves to fight. Then the elves were gone and with a horn blast the archers pulled their final measures of the strings that held their arrows and let loose on Jiriki’s command "Loose!".

The whistling in the wind and snow was likened to harpies screaming, a sound that soon was joined by the sound of the arrows finding their marks and the screams of the dying and injured. But what was worse was the fiery arrows that began to burn the bodies with arcane fire and then as first one body then another rolled back down the slope almost invisible channel that the orc hoard had previously been chasing elves up with glee became a red killing field of burning and charred flesh as the mages in their interspersed cadre’s began to summon down pillars of hellfire. It was the battle of Evereska. She’d been there precisely one month before the warning of orc raids had been heard and as she loosed another deadly volley into the slowly clogging bottleneck, she grinned fiercely.

Killing was her business, and business was good.
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Thu Jan 22, 2015 8:25 am

The Gnome sat over her desk again. Head needing the occasional scratching at, quill scratching at parchment. Just the usual for a wizard right? Not that she was entirely a wizard but she was enough of one. Notes were jotted down about one subject and one only, Transmutation. "So. If I want to make the effects of that stone arm thing set in more permanently I need some kind of absorption method and some kind of sympathetic medium for myself." She tucked her quill up into her hair, then went for a few bottles she had about. Setting them at the table by the parchment, the notes. "Cupric, vinegar, aqua regia, ethanol, sunflower oil.. gotta be something. Something fairly safe and a little on the receptive side of infusions." She picked at them- moved them one by one to the side.

Tapping at the stopper in the last one's case only to clearly deem it just as unworthy as it's friends. She fished about for her quill then, grumbling quietly when she couldn't find it and fishing out a fresh one, sharpened on a knife at her desk. Dipped in fresh ink. "Need ta research proper mediums.. mebbe consider exotics? Should go check the ships bringing in imports for something suitable. And the proper medium too.." Well, not the result she hoped for- but it'd do right? Xerxsephira Griphilik Rustgore rolled up her parchments, stuffed her quill up into her hair (with the other two) and set off for the docks.

A couple of hours later she was returning home from there, equally frustrated. For the most part anyway. She had ideas but they certainly didn't seem to be the fare of those who imported to waterdeep. "Useless crap.. well unless I've a desire to go all fishy anyway."
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Thu Jan 22, 2015 6:18 pm

Dealing with weird S*it
Nazka for not only the money but also for the contacts and other treasures has had a desire to join the Grey Hands. He has not yet made an application but he does plan on doing so with in the year. But he has seen nothing wrong with starting making contacts with in the group. To that end he began setting up his guard duty schedule to coincide with the schedule of a fledgling member of the Grey Hands. His patrol overlapped the Grey Hand members in two sections of the markets. The markets had some action happen in it recently and so the Grey Hand member had decided to linger a little longer. As their patrols converged they slowed down and spoke of many things on farming, magic, idiots they had adventured with and the different breeds of horses. The entire subject of Nazka joining the Grey hands never really did come up. Nazka didn’t really have to broach that subject he just wanted someone on the inside and going the direct route would cause the Gray Hand member to be suspicious and clam up so Nazka just worked on being friendly and getting an in with the Grey Hands.

Time went on during their patrol and the pair parted ways until their paths crossed again and they started talking again but this time they were interrupted. Something had immerged from the sewers from its smell and its look it could be best described as a failed or maybe escaped experiment. It really looked like if a fat dude’s gut fell off and rolled in raw sewage before springing to life. It was not exactly a pleasant thing that had gurgled up from the sewers. It gurgled it chittered it lumbered along like a slug and it smelled like if someone drank the worse parts of sewer water and yacked it up.

As it bubbled out of the sewers both Nazka and the Grey Hand member sat wide eyed as to what they were looking at. They were almost speechless at the site that was probably chased out of the sewers by recent fires. Nazka trying to be careful eased an arrow from its quiver and knocked it while the Grey Hand member began to easily draw his broadsword. Things became a little more intense as the “experiment” devoured a cat before shlubing along to a nearby food cart and began to tear into what was left over from the night before sending water sloshing and knocking over containers. Then looking up it spotted the dumfounded pair.

First the experiment paused and stared at the two as if it was caught with its hand in the cookie jar then its “mouth” began to curl into to a hideous blacked tooth grin which began to open into a maw. It blinked a few times and opened its mouth maw thing even wider and gave off a horrific shriek! A baleful ear piercing shriek that caused the Grey Hand member to double over in pain before giggling in high pitched tones and finally charging at the hapless pair.

For Nazka self-preservation was paramount and he needed to buy time for his Grey Hand compatriot to recover and kill or scare off this unpleasant smelly thing that had bubbled out of the sewers. First Nazka fired off his curse at the thing and fired an arrow at the experment from his composite bow before retreating. The thing shrieked an ear piercing screech of pain. But it did what Nazka wanted and began to gurgle a high pitched gurgle as it began to shamble towards Nazka. It was slow incredibly slow which Nazka was grateful for as he was able to keep ahead of the thing firing arrows at it.

Finally as Nazka had backed himself into a corner his Grey Hand compatriot had finally snapped out of whatever the creature had put him through and charged into it with his broad sword. As he slashed into the experiment it spewed a black ichor from its wounds before turning to attack the Grey Hand member. Both Nazka and the Grey Hand member both chipped away at the thing Nazka with his bow and the Grey Hand member with his sword until eventually the thing tensed up and “melted” bits and pieces turning into a liquid and flowing back into the sewers from whence it came. With the experiments apparent death the two finished their watch and departed with Nazka having a small in for his eventual application to join the Grey Hands.
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Tue Jan 27, 2015 5:46 pm

Written from the hand of Jiriki Moonshadow.

I never really sleep anymore, not that I did in the first place. When elves enter this state, we vividly relive past memories, those both pleasant and painful. Like the dreaming of humans, we have no control over which memories rise to the fore when we relinquish our bodies to the reverie. Occasionally, some of us do actually dream, but this is not a frequent occurrence and mostly occurs only when we truly sleep.

Elven dreams, when they happen, are sometimes prophetic. Whether these dreams are an indication of some sort of precognitive ability on the part of us or granted by our gods is a matter of debate. However, not all elven dreams are prophetic. Indeed, enough of our dreams are like those of humans that cannot rely on dreams for guidance. Still, all of our dreams are highly symbolic, providing insight into each individual’s character.

In a very real way, the reverie accounts for the elven desire to lead happy, joyous lives. Who would look forward to reliving unpleasant memories every night? Very few, though there are some truly noble elves who take on the pain and suffering of others so that they relive the memories with each reverie instead. These elves have accepted this sacrifice for the good of their people, taking upon themselves the burden that could not (or should not) descend to the lives of other, more innocent elves. They perform the unpleasant task of drawing into themselves the suffering of their people.

When we enter reverie, elves do not usually close our eyes unless there is a bright light present. We relax our bodies entirely, each muscle losing its rigidity, until we are absolutely calm. Our faces relax into dazed and distant looks as if we were seeing another land or another time.

During this time, we are aware of our surroundings, but we cannot act to influence them any more than a human can while asleep. Only by an act of will can I rip myself apart from reverie, and I have found that when I do this I am confused for a short time, just as a human would be who has torn himself from sleep.

In the end; Elves do not actually require sleep as such, but rest in reverie for generally half as much time as the other humanoids sleep.

What I do in my reverie is much like others. My past drifts before me, I have found that I can control a small amount of it. Much as a dreamer can make flowers more powerful in their scent, or colours are more vivid. Different options of the future slip past like phantoms just beyond my grasp. I am aware of them much like I would be aware of the legs of an insect crawling across my skin, but I am no more able to grasp and examine them than I am of being able to grasp the insect and even if I could, would I want to look too closely at these varying cross-roads? Would I want to turn them inside out and try to view differing pathways? I do not know. I only know that I have grown weary of the pain I have found myself in from the past few years. I replayed conversations in my reverie with people I have known, trying to see if there’s another way to make things clearer to them, tangling myself in those conversations, attempting to thwart reality. None of which to my benefit and truly none of which can be changed now.

My reverie has gently playing music in it more often than not, a tune that I do not know, that I cannot feel but I know is present. I walk across an empty land I feel that I know the pathways like the back of my hand in some cases, in others it is featureless and void. But I always find my way home somehow. I find myself before a large tree, something I can curl up in and be embraced by, cradled in its safety. But strangely it is as if the tree is regarding me, as if it is seeking to find out who I am and where I came from and then it occurs to me that perhaps I can find out where I am going. This is a vision I have had more often than not. The music haunts me, I hear refrains of it during my waking hours, or like the memory that is fleeting of an event that I know I have not had. Like the touch of a wing upon my cheek, but when I turn I find it is gone. The music is a part of me. It is my song. Up until very recently I did not understand this reverie state of mine, this recurring situation I found myself in. Trampling snow down began to become a regular feature of it. Small other features began to insinuate upon the scenery around me. It is never a simple thing to be lost in your own thoughts so deeply that you cannot understand where you go any longer. I find myself asking questions in my waking hours more often now. Is this the place I used to love? Is this the place that I’ve been dreaming of? The reverie images sometimes impose themselves on my reality of my day.

And then he came back to me. I hadn’t known I had cried out to him for help, I hadn’t done it wittingly. Yet there he arrived with his armor and a shield to protect me and I could have cried all the harder for the pain that rose from me. I felt I had done nothing more than walk in the footsteps of my own weary travelling for quite some time, yet suddenly, it was different. There was a new option open to me. He came and joined by the fire with me and I made tea. I felt embarrassed that one such as he should only be able to drink from the vessel that I have, unworthy in some ways. But that feeling was gone almost as soon as it arrived on my shoulders. He shared laughter with me and sweet water, his smile was infectious and it was clean, I found that my pack could be slowly lowered to the ground finally.

For so long I had been alone, for so long bereft of contact with another living person. I was in my own place of isolation, a prison in my mind that I had self-imposed for my lack of ability to change what was going on around me. I rested my head on his shoulder and I felt peace. This transcended anything I have ever felt before. This pushed up from the embers of my soul, igniting a blazing inferno inside me and when he bid me collect my small personal belongings, when he bid me that it was time to rejoin life and that my sojourn was nearly over I was hesitant. The longer you stay away from touching something that hurts, the longer you travel away from your destiny the easier you think it will get. Instead, the reality of my reverie came crashing back to me. The reason I was travelling to the same place over and over and over again was that I was in a rut. I was in a prison of my own making and the walls in my castle of glass were finally being breached.

My heart began to beat with a pounding such as I had never felt before and I found words to my song that I hadn't known existed.

“Take me down to the river bend.
Take me down to the fighting end.
Wash the poison from off my skin.
Show me how to be whole again.

Fly me up on a silver wing.
Past the black where the starlights sing.
Warm me up in a nova's glow.
And drop me down to the dream below.”

And that is what Talinor gave me. The prison I felt myself in it, was not a castle, not truly. I was a crack in the wall of that castle, a spider web of fractures that rose and spread around me as I washed the sorrow from off my skin, he showed me how to be whole again. I was a part of a network once more, there is hardly anything else I need to be now. I can continue to be a crack in this castle of glass that stands around me and those who join me in becoming cracks in the walls are the ones who make a difference. Together, with hands held high into the sky so blue we can make a change. Together, we can hold back the ocean that threatens to swallow us.

So, feel it in your chest, as the words begin to gush forth from your lips. Your words are like arrows as Talinor bid me and my arrows fly true. Risk something, take back the truth that is yours and say something you know they might attack you for. Don’t be afraid of standing up for something you know is true to you. This is what Talinor gave me.

Redemption.
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Tue Jan 27, 2015 7:57 pm

Scrawled in a blood soaked sheaf of papers…

The man lay as quietly as he could in the cool humidity of the tunnel. His body ridged, he feared even to blink, lest that betray his presence. He was not far from the busy surface streets of Waterdeep, where this part of the old sewers offered the peace and safety few other places could to the desperate and destitute. The tunnels were built to siphon storm water originally, but long since that time they had been bricked off and more or less forgotten, a dry and untouched part of a vast network of tunnels, rooms and hidden passages that catacombed the great city like thousands of veins in a warm body.

A slight scuff of a shoe and a glint of a lantern's hooded light bought the man out of his morbid thought. Through the tiny gaps in the mortar of the wall light shone, pinpricking the man like tiny lances. He almost gasped as the light fell on him, but absolute fear saved him. Unable to breath, he had no breath to gasp. Carefully, he took a breath of air, like a desperate animal, fearing any movement that could attract those cold, dead grey eyes. The light bobbed, then dipped, before the shuffle of booted feet moved further away and the light was lost. In the utter black, the man waited, imagining noises all around him, eyes unseen watching him, the cold press of a blade… A choking sob escaped his chapped lips, so quiet he could even be sure he'd made any noise at all.

The ordeal had started…. well hours ago as he assumed. Safe and sound in his own personal refuge, away from the eyes of the Watch, the feet of the people and the jeers of the thugs, Aniditus sat, cooking on a small fire the scraps of meat he had taken from the butchers refuse barrel. This part of the sewers was a veritable maze, many turns and dead ends, false openings and paths leading nowhere. Truly one of the oldest parts of the sewers, this area was free of the monsters, rats and creatures that inhabited a lot of the other systems. No longer with any purpose and difficult to reach, there were few indeed that knew about it and nothing suitable to lair or seek. A sealed section, it made a perfect refuge for Aniditus when he needed to get away from the city. It took him a long time to plot out the tunnels, but he was proud of his knowledge of the twists and turns that would see most visitors lost for hours, if not days. A safe and quiet place, that is until he had heard the first scream. At first curious, the screams had drawn Aniditus along. What would be making such a wail? He was confident that whatever monster had dragged in a new victim, he would be able to remain hidden. That failing, he knew the tunnels like the back of his hand and could lose any pursuer. Rounding a bend, moving low and slowly, he caught gleams of light ahead. The large silhouette of a man spread across the floor like a snake, flickering and darting in the fierce light of a roaring torch. It was crouched over something thrashing on the floor, humming an odd tune and shoulders jerking backwards and forwards… Another scream tore the air suddenly, loud, close, from the thrashing person. It was a person, staked down and thrashing wildly. The panting was now clear, a glossy pool of something shining spreading from the form. By all the gods, when it dawned on Aniditus what he was seeing he was suddenly very, very afraid. A soft gasp escaped his mouth. Whoever or whatever the figure bending over was, the rich dress told Aniditus that he was a person of importance, power. Mad maybe, terribly evil, the figure stopped the sawing motion and and was still suddenly. Fearing he had been heard, Aniditus froze, unable to run and unable to tear his eyes from the horrific scene. The sawing continued, as did the screams, for a long, long time. Unable to move, so scared he lost control of his bodily functions, he watched, daring not to move, unable to look away. The screams eventually stopped, along with the thrashing. Standing up, the figure wiped hands on a crimson cape and sheathed something that glittered sharply. Maybe he would leave now, his crime unknown by any but the humble beggar. Tymora didn't favour Aniditus that day, or perhaps something else had it's divine eye on him. Turning suddenly, the figure, a man, looked straight at Aniditus and said "Your turn."

How long he had been hiding, listening to the shuffle of boots he didn't know. It was pitch dark. How had the man, no, monster seen him? How had he known there were eyes in the shadow? By the gods, Aniditus had run out of prayers. He'd run as fast as he could, mind a blur and now he crouched in hiding, for despite his desperate flight, the sound of boots stalking after him had never faded. Sobbing silently, he huddled, listening the boots pacing not thirty feet away, beyond the wall. Maybe Tymora did favour the destitute, for he hear the steps recede. Blessed mother, could it be? He strained to listen, but yes, the scuffling was gone. It was silent as the grave, only his own heart beat making any sound. Not daring to believe his luck he stood, hoping that now was his chance to slip away, his chance to escape this place and lose himself in a bottle, no, two or three bottles. He waited a couple more minutes, letting the trembling subside, the hope build. Still nothing. He rose on unsteady legs and took one silent step forward, then another, towards light and safety. Something cold slid into his stomach, at first no more than a shiver, then a stabbing pain that flooded his senses. "Boo." That voice. How had he found him? How could he move like a shadow? Had he been toying with me?

Next thing Aniditus was aware of was a cold floor against his back, something looming over him. The pain in his stomach was gone, but he couldn't move. Opening his eyes, he wished he hadn't. The last thing he saw were those cold, merciless eyes. Then the screams started.
Of course it's evil! Kill it!
User avatar
Shamsy
 
Posts: 740
Joined: Thu Sep 27, 2012 9:31 pm

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Wed Jan 28, 2015 7:00 pm

She had worked through most of the afternoon, and felt at the very least to be feeling the first pangs of tiredness. The wall, the front of the shop this has become quite a task. It was good that Sera was funding it. Her own pockets had been a little less deep, well before coming here. It seemed in the least fair, that she does the work-considering at least to her, they did blow the thing up.

It took all of the first day and well into the evening to actually get the rubble cleared away, it was partly smoldering but that didn't do much to stop her from getting the job promised done. There was a simple pleasure that even came from such a daunting task. Her nimble fingers picked through the mess, saving what she could and piling up what was only good enough to use as firewood. By the end of that day, two very big piles had been formed. With a smaller third one, that had bits and pieces of Gracie's products in it. That would be left for the woman to sort through.

The second day proved a much more worthy chore. Her eyes were brighter and her hands worked more diligent. The start of it, seemed no more difficult then any other job she'd previously done. It was best to start with an entirely new wall, so most of everything that created the frame work, was tore out the day before. New stronger beams held the front of the shop with renewed vigor. Soon, she would have something more to show, but now she was happy enough with the frames in place. All it needed was a big window and some walls against the backbone she'd created.

After the first part of what you might call night, if only by the fact the hour was late. No less light, no change of pace down here. She slipped into a smaller back portion of the shop. That was where she had her little breaks. A corner no bigger then a couple of feet in any direction, but suitable for her to sit, relax and take a meal if she felt like it. Gracie though, watchful- and ever mindful of the strange coppery elf, let her have the space without much complaint.

Taking a seat, her back leaned to one wall while her legs drew into an indian style state. Arms draped loosely against her thighs and as her breathing became more controlled. From this position and state of mind, came the Reverie. A little place in her own head, where she could attune into healing, it was the closest to sleep she'd ever come to anymore. Another lesson learned-and taught by her husband. Useful, but really it had a downside it was a gateway into her mind-into her darkness. That was a place sadly didn't need a special mental state. Closing her eyes, opening them again that was all it took. The memories would never leave her. At least in the Reverie, she could share them with Enialas. He could see for once what it really was like to be in side her head, and she in is.

So then what did her wandering inner eyes see...

Master wandered in, much like he always did-as if he owned the place. “Where are you?” He called in Abyssal, and expected a quick response. That was the rule: The known law, and he was the judge over it. His long white robes traced slight paths in the dirty floor of this run down mansion. “Runa, answer me or so help me-” He slipped through an open door and grew quiet. He never had much use for dark looks, until he really saw something he didn't like.

A man, who was barely different then a stranger in this place. That wouldn't be so bad, but he was holding the sharp end of a dagger to his little beloved pet's throat. The sound of the voice and the man looked over. He peered at the Good Priest strangely and then spat, “What'cha want, I ain't here for no saving. Canya see I am busy.. “

Runa was pressed to the wall, clothes deshelved but all there. Face first had been anger, but now showed fear that only seemed to go along with seeing her Master. Abyssal slipped from her well painted lips, “I did as you asked, I tempted him here. He resisted the poison, even after I bit him.”

Master's mood was fickle, his face a myraid of changing vessels. “I see.” He didn't really seem to speak to either of them. Just more to himself and all the voices he carried in his head with him. “Sir, You might be busy, but let me spend just a few moments to tell you about the blessings of Beshaaba..”

The man with the blade seemed confused, as much as any man might. Seeing this man in all white looking so holy and then to spat that gods name. “..yah, gots no mind do you.. halfwit twit. This be between me and the whore.. She bit me..”

“I see.” He repeated, and then kept coming closer until for no means other then his own. He reached out and grasp the man by the wrist and pulled the blade away. “This, belongs to me.”

“It ain't your blade, priest.” The man couldn't stop himself from just standing there in a dumb state of awe.

“Not the blade... “ He used the other arm to pull Runa behind him. “My servant.”

“What.. that creature is yers?” The man tried to get his hand free, but as the priest looked over his slave. He snapped his head back towards the man. Causing him to startle. “...what...”

“ You bruised her. I am going to have to punish you now..”

The sounds of his screams echo'd through the blocks for hours.. or was that!

“Damn it girl, wake up..” Gracie shook her until the Reverie was broken and left the young looking elf confused but blinking up at her. “..There ya go.. ..” Her tone was firm, but parts of it was offering a little concern. “I wasn't sure I believed you before, about that slave story. I do now.” It wasn't hard to see some pity in the old woman's eyes.

“I don't understand?” Ziandra looked at her confused still, “What do you mean?”

“You been talking for two hours.. Every bloody detail..” The woman kept her hand rested on Ziandra's shoulder. “How about some tea.. we can talk about it.”

“I don't think I .. “ The look on the woman's face said it all, “I guess I can explain.. “
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Wed Jan 28, 2015 10:39 pm

Sera was watching Runa work. Not the most engaging of things but she was playing this whole business associate thing out to the hilt dammit, even the boring parts. Partly because she wasn't sure she wasn't serious about continuing to do business with Gracie later. Then again, that left her introspective on matters at hand. Thoughts crawling around her head like little insects she caught glances of but could never get a solid look at. There was at least one she'd caught on with though, Gracie had said it - and Sera repeated it to herself quietly while the hammering and sanding went on.

"Fit in just fine down here.."

The Hin worried that was true. This place was one of the apexes of the wretches hive of scum and villainy, but it wasn't like last time. Two years ago she walked the streets of Skullport afraid and lost. She talked her way out of a problem and into some information but fear was her constant companion through it. This time she just.. walked. And her path was clear for her, the way parted itself in anticipation of her arrival. She hadn't told nearly the lie she thought she had.

Sitting here overseeing a business investment, a little seed of power planted to grow over time? Felt right somehow. Her fingers tapped gently on the arm of the chair she occupied. A round bloated ball of halfling sitting amid Skullport watched over by a Fiend standing at her side like a manservant. She didn't even have to hide that down here. Sera was still wrestling, failing to notice the thought she didn't want to admit she was having. She kind of liked it down here this time.
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Fri Jan 30, 2015 6:25 pm


Doing it for the Gold

The primary motivation for just about everything Nazka does is for money. He is by no means greedy but he does like making money. He believes that the making and losing of money is the only true equalizer in the world. If some noble inherited a vast amount of money and squandered it that noble would sooner or later become a popper and beg for coins at money changers and banks at first to eventually finding a street corner to do so. If a beggar worked hard and invested his money wisely than he could at the least become a Barron in the fullness of time. It was the way things worked it was not what family you were born to or where it was what you did with the tools that were given to you.

So to that end he likes making money. For all intents and purposes he started out as a street rat. He has a family but he spent the majority of his life on the streets. He begged of coppers and so on then one day he began to manifest abilities which he took advantage of. Like many other hopeful men and women of the world he began to ply what little talents he had as a sell sword and you know what he was pretty good at it. He went from making a few meager coppers a week scraping enough money together to set up basecamp in a tavern booth until he got kicked out to making enough gold to buy filling meals and even rent rooms to sleep in. While they might not have been royal suits or little more than closet space; sleeping on a cot was still more comfortable than sleeping on a booth cushion in a noisy tavern all night.

As his skills improved he even volunteered for the City Watch, the City Watch paid a person based on their experience and the more he did the more he was paid. Granted the City Watch didn’t pay much compared to being a sell sword or selling …things but it did add that much more to his money pouch. But the one thing it did provide compared to being a sell sword was fringe benefits. He was able to get more information people and that was worth a lot more coin. Information was more valuable than platinum in the right hands and Nazka seemed to have a pretty good knack for getting information to start off with and with the credibility and familiarity of the citizen of Waterdeep he was able to gather even more information. In fact he collected information the same way others collect coins or jewelry or stamps. He from time to time traded one piece of information for a more valuable piece when it suited his needs.

He did his job as a City Watchman well but truth be told it was for the money. When he was not on watch things got a little more interesting for him Nazka again was a sell sword and took on contracts and traveled “on City Watch business” to other places in search of people or items that have been lost, stolen or by any other means in need of being found. He was no indiscriminant sell sword ignoring his clientele like some other sell swords were inclined to do. Instead he considered his clients carefully based on what the client is able to pay, how likely the client is to rehire him for more jobs and how likely the client is to turn on him when the job is done. Self-preservation came just ahead of making money after all. But then there were the doldrums where no one was hiring a sell sword and at those times he ran his little shop and sold hard to get items from time to time. But no matter what he really did he did it mostly for the gold.
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Thu Feb 05, 2015 5:41 pm

All about Jack

Nazka Shandor is a complicated individual so much so that he has acquired in his life a familiar. This particular familiar is named Jack, and he is a weasel. Now naturally being a familiar he is no ordinary weasel he’s quite a bit smarter than the average weasel in fact he is quite a bit smarter than some orcs that have been encountered. That being said his intelligence manifests its self in Jacks tenacity and the way it chatters at people as if everything it thought was incredibly important. But as was said Jack is incredibly intelligent.

Most everything else about Jack the Weasel is fairly typical for a weasel of his apparent age when looking at thinks like physicality. He’s not much stronger than the average weasel nor is he much more agile. But that being said he is capable of using what he is given far more effectively than the average weasel. This ability to fight better than his counterparts has led him to have a bit of an attitude. It’s by no means a bad attitude but it is one that can still get him in to trouble. It is an attitude of leaping before looking an overconfidence that makes him think that he can take on animals four or five times his size. This is not helped by Nazka’s encouragement and the fact that Nazka backs Jack up through the use of the limited number of spells that they are able to share. If nothing else could be said about Jacks attitude it that it is an adventurous one. When compared side by side Jacks attitude is the polar opposite of that of his masters. Where Nazka is based on self-preservation and being careful Jack thinks that he’s invincible and takes greater risks when things get strange or exciting.

To look at Jack one would actually be able to pick him out of a crowd of Weasels. He is of an average length and size for his kin but rather than the brown with white face as is typical he is covered in a dark grey fur with black and brown speckles on his right shoulder Jack has a lighter grey streak that moves from his right shoulder to his left hip. His feet are covered in white “socks” his right front foot has white up to the first joint, his left front has white to the ankle. Jacks right rear foot has white only on his toes while his left rear foot has white up to the ankle in the same fashion as his left front foot. His face is pointed with a light grey face with white speckles his nose is pink with long white whiskers. His eyes are deep obsidian black and his ears are covered in white fur.

Being a curious creature by nature and combining that with his adventurous attitude he has probably gotten into more trouble than what would probably be normal for a weasel. Not just dodging or fighting off predators but he has earned strong rivalries. His biggest rival is a cat that has taken up residence in the Grinning Lion Inn. This particular rivalry is one that gives the patrons a mild amount of entertainment as the fights between this cat and Jack can for their size and strength become quite epic comparatively speaking with bar stools and bottles being knocked over and one unfortunate serving wench having the displeasure of Jack diving down between her cleavage and exiting through her dress with the cat trying to follow.

Jacks other adventures consist of sampling the food and drinks of his master and his master’s friends. Much to the discomfort of both Jack and Nazka; for example when Jack decided to sample the drink of Seraphina he spent two days sicker than he had ever felt before and Nazka had to suffer through a hang over which could only be described as legendary.
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Shamsy » Fri Feb 06, 2015 12:07 am

Burgon Journal Entry 11: Returning Home

It had been a long, dangerous and uncomfortable journey. For the most part, the food was poor, the sleeping arrangements worse and the facilities bared not mentioning. For perhaps the thousandth time Burgon grimaced as he rubbed his backside. While he was not the picture of starvation and disease he had been upon the return to Chult nary a year back, the journey had certainly changed him. Once again he had that slightly hardened, travelled look. His pink skin was a light shade of brown from the sun, his muscles just that little less squishy. He had calluses in places one dared not dream of, sand still appearing as if from the heavens, not to mention an upset stomach that had stayed with him sine eating the Southerners fare. This he vowed to undo, and at the earliest convenience.

The coach rumbled through the great gates and towards the North Ward where he made his home. Despite it all, he couldn't help but let his face break into a wide grin. Home, no place like it really. The cool air was a bit of a shock to the system after spending nearly a week in the South, but he welcomed the brisk air and warm mittens now on his hands. Rumbling along the cobbles, he took in the surrounds, tall row houses, carriages, carts and merchants, the poor, the wealthy; truly Waterdeep had it all. "With haste now good sir!" He called out to the driver, finding himself suddenly unreasonably eager to end this trip. With the pace picking up, it didn't take long for the carriage to arrive at the door to his private suite of rooms, part of a large inn complex, though inn hardly did the palatial surrounds justice. Scrabbling from the carriage, wearing his heavy suit of armour (which somehow was almost comfortable to him now), he called for his bags to be bought in, flipping a Sun to the driver, much to the man's delight.

Striding in quickly, he made for the stairs, with the bell-boy dashing ahead in time to hold the door open after the cleric unlocked it. Well trained staff indeed. "See that food is bought up, with wine, and none of the cheap stuff mind lad." He smiles insincerely, pushing in. "Bring my bags to the foyer also!" He called over his shoulder, remembering the multitude of luggage he was returning with.

He strode through the lobby, into the rooms proper. Past the sitting room and his two silent sentinels, making one step forward protectively before returning to their posts. Excellent guards, he though, pleased that they were working out so well. He began to hum, moving into the bedroom and beginning to strip away his dirty, sweaty and downright offensive smelling clothing. Not bothering to put it in the clothes sack he left out to be cleaned, he threw the armour roughly onto its stand, vowing to find a better form of protection soon. One that weighed less to. "A bath, that's what I need." He muttered, moving to the bathroom that adjoined the bed chamber. As befitting accommodation of this kind (and this price for that matter!), the room was fitted with plumbing that allowed the brass tub to be filled with water without the need for pesky staff to fetch buckets. He turned the leaver and smiled as the heated water began to cascade into the tub. Pinching a small handful of herbs from the glass jar, he winced and doubled the herbs. Laying the silver dagger by the side of the tub (one can never be too careful!) he dipped in one toe, letting the fragrance of the cleaning mix waft over him. Impatient, rather uncharacteristically, he decided to settle into the large tub before it filled.

He thought of a certain halfling and his strong little hands. So many aches and kinks to work out, he hoped to find him soon enough. But for now, a hot bath and the impending food were enough to satisfy this fat cleric.
Of course it's evil! Kill it!
User avatar
Shamsy
 
Posts: 740
Joined: Thu Sep 27, 2012 9:31 pm

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Fri Feb 06, 2015 6:22 pm

The Gnome was getting more and more frustrated with the work. Delivery methods seemed to be a problem, toxicity was another one, how the heck was she supposed to make this work? She looked over the materials she was gathering. Powdered adamantine, glass steel, bone marrow from a lycanthrope, and something she was assured was a raw elixir of change of some sort but strongly suspected was just a bottle of vinegar. She hadn't had the stomach to drink any and try.

Her list of thoughts grew longer and more desperate. Injection, ingestion, tattooing into the skin, absorbed through inhalation - all of them seemed to be a little less than what she wanted but Xerxsephira had begun suspecting the perfect solution did not exist. A rustling noise to her side drew her from her reverie, an albino rat gnawing on one of her quills. She couldn't quite muster the energy to be frustrated with him. "Mortimer, do you have to- ugh. No, you know what? You're right. I'm going to take a break. Maybe go find someplace to have a hot bath. Come on, you put up with me so you get to come with." Her little arms stretched out to catch the rodent, and then off into Waterdeep's streets went she to find a bath house.

It'd be an hour or so into the soak before the idea of using a bath as the transfer medium came to her, right about when she slipped and dunked herself and her rat under the water.
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

Postby Seekerthefallen » Sat Feb 07, 2015 10:50 am





For what it was worth the week rolled by as fast as lightning. Sometimes, it seemed to pass by faster then an instant. Probably because she had spent so much time flickering between the tasks. It had started out fairly easy: just the reconstruction project. Then it expanded an a flurry of directions...

It had all really started with the first night out with the girls, and drinking. Whatever manner of liquid was held in the bottle Sera had was vile. Not in taste-no it had a delightfully sinfully good taste that drew you in. Followed by chest pain, discomfort and a raging headache in the morning. It was safe to say that she would deter from drinking any more devil juice.

From that rolled right into her encounter with the Assassin. Now that was certainly one of her better days. Between the false flirting and subtle touches, she was able to get close enough to speak to him about the Brotherhood and furthermore enlighten him as to their plans, without saying anything at all. It was wise of her to ply this old time trade. Her Master had raised and trained her for one simple design to collect and dispatch whatever information she was told too. This seemed to work much better under the guise of the shadows of Skullport.

When it seemed the tenday would fall into a state of rest, she was surprised to say the least by the visit of her husband. It wasn't like he couldn't find her, she was simply so attune to him-there was no chance of her being lost. With the visit so came treats, to celebrate the day of birth a few days early. Chocolate and rich red wine, something no body change can remove from her list of favorites. The night was long with talk, truth be told plenty had been said and left unsaid. They had a certain understanding that only they could have with one another. When the subjects passed through, it simple stuck on the matter of the future and if they would ever start a family. It was resistance at first, from her and not him. Plenty of reason to think against it, but the yield fell and she could only joke to leave that matter to the gods and nothing more.

In the final days of the week, there was but one last task. As she spent time in the company of Sera in Gracies shop, something unexpected happened. Partly so. The Mindflayer known as Veeno appeared, and he had bothered Sera greatly by this purchase of slaves from her old lands. Runa had intentionally baited him a bit with her remarks about honor and business, but it ended up falling to Sera to speak to him at all-mentally of course.

At the last moments of the week, she spent a great day of time drinking again. Seems the weeks fall into a sense of full circle these days.
"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
User avatar
Seekerthefallen
 
Posts: 837
Joined: Sun Feb 06, 2011 11:14 pm
Location: USA-CAli

PreviousNext

Return to In Character Roleplaying

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest