Temple of The Rising Dragon

[Serenity]

Shivering rain rattled against the dock, coupled with biting, salty wind that could rip the flesh off bones. Flickering sconces rested between pairs of guardsmen who wrestled against the foul weather, praying for the ship to come soon. Only one stood still, a statue at the end of the pier, in anticipation for the ship to arrive.

It was a vessel come from the East, a mysterious and exotic land to many. Those who heard or knew anything only spoke of the emerald kingdoms, rich with vast green landscapes and mountains as ancient as time; the people rooted in tradition going back centuries told through flawless artistry, tempered with absolute dedication to craft. Indeed, the Jade Empire of the East was rich and steeped into the land and seemed to jealously guard its borders from all outsiders. Today, however, an emissary would visit Asfalon.

The boat racked against the pounding waves as it approached the dock, bells signalling its arrival against the storm. Men on the deck scrambled to bring the ship in steady with a barely audible captain yelling orders to his men. Quick Grayson simply stood at attention, patiently awaiting the vessel to come to a full stop as the nose splashed past him.

With the anchor finally lowered, the ramp was brought down and a lone figure stepped down from the ship.

"It has been a long time, master, I hope most of your travel was pleasant," said Quick.

"You needn't be so formal, Grayson," came an aged accent with a timber of wisdom, "You can, however, bring me to a warm hearth and hot tea."

"Of course, this way."

The two walked down the pier and toward the Sellsword ship.

"When did you receive my missive?"
"But a few days ago, I apologize in advance but I'm afraid I can't accompany you on your journey, I have...other business."
"That is a shame, both for me and your business."

Grayson said nothing more on the matter, for he knew the old man next to him knew him far better than even he did. He had forgotten what a waste it was to try to hide the nature of his work.

"I will have to take this journey on my own then, a shame. I would have liked to see how you are fairing in this harsh land."
"I can have someone join you, someone you and I can trust."
"Oh, is that so? I know only you in Asfalon and what I seek is ripe with danger."
"They won't refuse."


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It is the next day after the storm, state where your character is and what they're doing.

Because the chatbox is down I would recommend skype for the purpose of talking to me about this thread. My skype name is donangel7

[Miroslaw]

Miroslaw's shack scarcely made it through such winds. Through some miracle, or perhaps a curse, he was still able to sleep through his place practically falling apart around him. When he woke, he noticed a very harsh breeze flowing around him. He smacked his dry mouth, attempting to breathe moisture back into his chops as he came to after such a heavy slumber. The realization came as a harsh one. His shack was missing a great many boards, seemingly having been ripped off by the harsh winds. Worse yet, his front door was nowhere in sight.

It was the first storm of such caliber since he relocated to town. He let out a deep, disappointed groan as he stood from his bed. But then, he was lucky he had reinforced the roof in anticipation of the storm, else he would have probably been sleeping in a wet bed. Cladding himself in his usual attire, he made ready to begin repairs on his shack. As he stepped out into the streets of Wistvale, yet another harsh realization came. It seemed that all the other shacks had withstood the storm with relative ease. Only his looked like a tornado had set upon it. Seems he had the most rundown hovel of them all.

He began walking the streets in the direction of the market to buy wood for the repairs. As he walked, the sloshing of his feet through the mud suddenly became thumps on wood. He stopped his advance, looking down, he was not surprise. It was a wooden door firmly planted into the mud. Yet another deep groan came forth as he moved to pry the piece from the mud that surrounded it. It was only a moment before he was leaning the mud covered door against his holey shack, paying zero attention to the chuckles of passerby. With a few wipes of his hands on his pants, he, once again, set out on the path to the market.

[Serenity]

Before Miroslaw took off to the market, an obvious laugh at his expense sounded from the side of his shack.

"You know, for a ship, I can say we have better rooms than whatever this is."

Quick leaned against the barely standing hovel, in fact, it seemed as though he was near slanting the entire thing with his weight alone. Should he push further the entire thing might give way.

Grayson, for all that he did and was one day looking to do to Miroslaw, appeared casual. Though the warrior could plainly see the Captain's trademark weapon, Hydra, it hung around Quick's waist harmlessly and without life. Had he wanted to do something, he'd have done it by now.

"I'll skip the pleasantries and get to the point, I have a job I'm lending to you. You'll be paid very well and all you have to do is escort someone to their destination and back here in one piece."

[Miroslaw]

Just as Miroslaw was about to step off in the direction of the market, he noticed a presence out of the corner of his eye. The loud laugh forced his gaze to the direction of the presence, and he was far from thrilled with what his eyes met. It was Grayson, the Sellswords leader. Previous experiences with the lawless bandit led Miroslaw to harbor some genuine resentment. There was not telling what he might have wanted from Miroslaw, but he definitely wanted something.

As his eyes set upon his weapon, the tension in the air only grew. Miroslaw said nothing, only stared at the man as he leaned against Miroslaw's excuse for a home. Quickly getting to the point, it became clear what Grayson wanted. He had a job. Still, questions remained. Why would he come to Miroslaw rather than sending one of his own? Was the resentment simply not shared? Whatever it was, Miroslaw raised his hand, waving it as if dismissing the thought. “No, thank you.” Immediately, he continued on his way. The dismissal was intended as a test of Grayson's demand. Miroslaw may have held some resentment for the unscrupulous mercenary individual, but he knew that Grayson's pay was very good. More than likely, it would be far better than any other job he could find. Needless to say, his interest was more than a little piqued.

[Serenity]

There was nothing Quick could do in terms of using force to get what he wanted, at least not in broad daylight in plain view of everyone. He only scoffed lightly as Miroslaw walked away, passing up his generous offer like it was cheap cheese on a platter. He wouldn't admit he was a little insulted.

"You will be escorting a man from The East to a hidden temple only he knows the location of. All you have to do is get him there in one piece while he scribbles his findings into scrolls."

The job came off simple enough, nothing the warrior couldn't handle. Quick remained where he was and didn't try to chase after Miroslaw like a fair maiden under the moon light. Unfortunately, for Quick, Miroslaw already knew the merc Captain well enough to know that there was always scheming afoot, and even a simple invitation to drink could be rife with all sorts of trouble. Nothing was ever so simple with Quick Grayson.

"This man is my master from whom I learned everything. I also stole this from him."

He grasped Hydra to rattle it to get Miroslaw's attention.

"Whatever you think of me, we're nothing alike. So how 'bout it, champ? Want to venture with the man who taught me how to fight like a monster?"

[Miroslaw]

Miroslaw halted his feigned retreat, crossing his massive arms over his barrel chest, he turned back to, once again, face Quick. Quick has let loose a little more information, but Miroslaw knew full well he was still hiding plenty. Miroslaw's face said it all as he locked his eyes onto Quick. He was still expecting more before he would accept. Slowly, Quick's tongue seemed to loosen, and with it, Miroslaw grew increasingly interested. The very master of captain Quick. Now that would be a real treat.

Judging by Grayson's prowess in battle, there was no telling the degree of skill his master would hold. Truly, Miroslaw would never turn down such an opportunity. Plus, if such a character could make such an advanced and powerful weapon like the one Grayson held, perhaps it would do Miroslaw well to be in such a persons good favor.

“Very well. Long as the pay is good, I suppose I can spare some time. But tell me, why not get one of your crew to take the job?”

Miroslaw's assumption was that he somehow managed to earn some respect from the captain. Seemed unreasonable considering he ended up an opposing force in the job Grayson assigned him. None of that added up. He was hiding something, but Miroslaw was not about to turn down the job. Especially since he would probably be needing to move in the near future....

[Serenity]

There was always something with Grayson, some card he had up his sleeve, a plot with parts to fill. That was the mistake most people made with the mercenary captain; they think if you like swinging swords all day you had no mind for games. Grayson didn't mind that, though, it was yet another advantage to his schemes. However, this day, whether Miroslaw knew it or not, he had nothing to gain from plotting.

"My crew are good mates to me, I'd trust each of them with my life. They'd follow me to hell and back were the shores of fire to come into view. My master? Doesn't care for men of my ilk. He barely tolerate my own presence as is. You, on the other hand."

Grayson stepped away from the shack, pushing slightly off of it to make it shake a little, and moved toward Miroslaw.

"You're a good man, Miroslaw, as much as it hurts for those words to leave my mouth. I hate getting mushy, but you're someone my mentor can respect and enjoy company with. You're also a half decent warrior."

Nothing in his voice seemed strained or exaggerated, other than the effort it took for Quick to say 'good'. Grayson appeared entirely sincere, though he had a talent for seeming one thing and turning out as something else.

"If you refuse I'll just break your shack and my men will rent the entire tavern for the night when the storm comes back. How's that for an ultimatum?"

There's the Quick we know and love.

[Miroslaw]

Grayson's explanation seemed entirely reasonable and even painted his master in a good light. Miroslaw was actually growing eager to meet this so called master. He was even starting to look forward to the adventure as a whole, despite being wary of traps Quick might be laying. Following his explanation came seemingly sincere words for the giant. Miroslaw did not even know such a person could give complements, faked or not. Even the sideways compliment was strange to behold.

Finally, the Grayson that Miroslaw knew so well came out in the form of a threat. The threat only caused a chuckle to come forth from the Giant. It seemed the captain didn't know of Miroslaw's previous sleeping arrangements in the woods. Granted, the storm was a fierce one. With a shrug of his shoulders, he stated simply, “The heap of wood is not going to last through the storm should it return. But, if your master is nothing like you, then I look forward to working with him. Long as the price is right. So, when does he intend on starting this venture?”

[Serenity]

"Soon," Quick said before tossing a small pack toward Miroslaw. Should he look through the contents he'd fine three days worth of rations and two canteens of water.

"I assume you had nothing better to do for the rest of the day? He'll be waiting by the Western gate at noon."

Grayson began to head in the opposite direction before stopping to say one more thing on the matter, "He doesn't need it, but, be sure you keep the old sod safe."

There was still a bit of time before meeting this mysterious master, should Miroslaw decide that the gift of rations wasn't enough for the venture, however long it might be. However he chose to spend his time, the old man would be waiting at the Western gate as Grayson instructed.

[Assuming you go straight there this is what happens]

On top a horse with foreign robes, with little finery, sat an elderly gentleman. He fancied a long, thin white beard that blew effortlessly in the wind, with snow white bushy brows above his eyes. His frame was hidden under the baggy robe, yet there was a certain strength that emanated from his ancient gaze.

[Miroslaw]

Miroslaw was caught off guard by the thrown bag, but managed to catch it easily enough. Straightaway, he peered inside taking note of the contents. Food and water. Perfect. Quick knew just how to please a man of Miroslaw's size.

As quick continued speaking, Miroslaw removed his nose from the bag. With a glance at his broken down shack, he shrugged, “Nope. Nothing to do except help an old man.... Twelve, huh?” Frankly, he was starting to hope his shack would blow away while he was gone. He was sure to get enough gold from this venture to get a new one anyways. His wolf would always find her way back to him, even if he up and moved. Unfortunately, the shack would probably last. Miroslaw didn't imagine the storm would return with the same ferocity.

As quick walked away, his final words brought back the sincere tone that was so odd to hear from quick. In equally sincere words, Miroslaw simply responded, “I will.” And with that, Grayson took his leave. Miroslaw pondered for a moment as he looked at his shack. After a pause, he moved towards the door, and moved it to block the entrance, simple leaning against the hole. It would do little to keep it from being pilfered while he was gone, but he did not really have much of value in the shack anyways. With a final, deep sigh to rid the thought of his poor shack from his mind, he began on his way.

Not much time could be wasted. Quick really knew how to cut it close. It was as if he knew without a doubt that Miroslaw would take the job, else he wouldn't have waited till last minute to seek him out. The thought of somehow being controlled by the mercenary leader really boiled his blood. It was too late to decline now. Miroslaw was a man of his word, being led to the words or not. Still, he was very curious to meet the one he would be escorting.

And, in only a few moments, he would indeed meet him. As he approached the western gate, he knew almost immediately who the master was. The aged man stood out like a sore thumb among the common rabble that littered the streets. Miroslaw scarcely laid his eyes upon such bleached whiskers. It was still slightly before noon. Miroslaw never let himself be late to any appointment he made unless God himself willed his tardiness.

Miroslaw made his approach quickly with his eyes locked into the figure. As he closed the distance he beckoned out, “Hail to you. I do hope Grayson mentioned my arrival.” They were well thought out words, for a giant. Had his employer not informed the figure of him, using his name would provide some credit.

Miroslaw's gear:
-Equipped gear plus!
-Holy book to his religion -2 slots
-A small, but multi-purpose knife. -1 Slot
-A leather bound book of common information on creatures; animal, monster or otherwise. -2slots
-Three days worth of rations and two canteens of water

[Serenity]

The old man appeared aware that this was the man who was going to escort him as he didn't seem alarmed by the introduction.

"Miroslaw, I take it?" his ancient voice uttered, "You are as Grayson described."

He turned his horse to better face the giant, whose gaze easily met his despite being on a mount.

"Can you ride? I had thought to barter for another horse, not knowing if you had your own. Now I'm not so sure any of these beasts could manage," he finished amusingly stroking his beard.

Miroslaw knew that, though there weren't many, Wistvale did have a breed of horse strong enough to carry even a Soren, a mount native to the same land as the half-giants.

"Forgive me, being new to this land and used to the company of my order, I have not given my title. The members of my order give up their worldly possessions, including their own name. I simply go by what I am within our temple, Master. Perhaps arrogant for a stranger to you and this, Asfalon, you may address me as you see fit."

[Miroslaw]

Good. Master was informed about Miroslaw being hired as a bodyguard. That made things easier. His approach halted a few feet from the mounted individual. With a simple nod to confirm, “Aye.” Surely Grayson simply told him “The bald behemoth.” or something of that nature, but Miroslaw could appreciate being easily be picked out of a crowd. The thought brought a small smirk to Miroslaw's expression as he gazed at the person he would be spending a good deal of time with over the next few days. “Indeed. I do not blend well.” the words came with a roll of his shoulders.

Then came the mention of a mount which cause Miroslaw's heart to sink. If he informed the Master of the large steeds, he would have to go through his very special and embarrassing ritual in order to not become sick from riding. It would cut down on the travel time, which was always nice. Soren were not meant to be on horse. The tribe Miroslaw comes from firmly believed that riding on the backs of creatures is just not natural. With a deep sigh, he responded, “I can ride. Don't much like it, but I can. How far will we be traveling?” He did not desire to slow the venture down, so he would probably bite the bullet and grab a steed anyways. But, he was curious about learning some additional information about the trip anyways.

As the master gave his story about a name, Miroslaw was intrigued. Immedaitely, he questioned Quick's purpose of calling him Master. Was quick a member of this temple at one point in his life? What kind of order would be interested in giving up all worldly possessions to such a degree? Whatever it was must have been fairly extreme to do such a thing. Miroslaw was never one to step on the feet of someones beliefs if he could help it though. “Master will do just fine then. Let me see about getting a horse.” he stated, raising a finger as if saying "one moment."

And in the next moments he would secure a horse and begin his odd ritual. After stroking the horses mane for a few moments, he would mount up and lay forward on the beast. Then come the scarcely audible mutterings, “It will be okay, beast. I promise this is worse for me than it is you....” and so on. After a few more minutes of this oddness, Miroslaw would sit up, looking relatively normal on the large mount, “Alright... I am good.” And with that he would be set to take the first step out of the gate and begin the venture.

OOC: Just making sure I am understanding correctly, he would also go by Asfalon?

[Serenity]

I might have worded that oddly, but Asfalon is the name of the continent we're on. He meant to say that perhaps being addressed as Master would come off arrogant in a foreign land and foreign people. Hence his permission to call him as you see fit.
______________________________________________________________

The Master chuckled amusingly at the question of how far their journey will take them, "As far as you'd like it to be, or as close as you'd prefer it. However, if you must know, about three hundred miles to the West in an ancient marsh."

He watched, slightly bemused, as Miroslaw went to fetch the mighty steed, making Master's horse look like a pony in comparison or at least malnourished. Indeed, he was intrigued by Miroslaw's manner of mounting, though the old man clearly had no idea what he was doing.

"An impressive beast, I must say. This land produces many strong creatures. Well, shall we go?"

With a click of his tongue, Master commanded his horse forward with great ease as if he had ridden the same steed for years.

Being accompanied by a half-giant on a great mount, there was no doubt that any wrong doers on the road would steer clear of the old man. Even with greater numbers, fools would hardly dare test their mettle against the warrior. Though, for a man such as Quick to address the monk as Master, even just for putting a name to another, surely the protection wasn't needed?

Miroslaw didn't appear to bother the old man, and in fact seemed to give off a warm aura.

When the Soren caught up to him, Master would speak, "How did you come into the service of Grayson? That's what he calls himself?"

[Miroslaw]

After hearing the distance, there was no question as to whether or not bringing a horse would be best. Three hundred miles was a surprising distance to travel. A travel of that distance could take a great deal of time on horseback and a simply unreasonable amount of time by foot. Still, Miroslaw wondered where exactly they were going and for what reason. Not that he would complain. He knew the pay was going to be good.

The words about the land yielding strong creatures felt much like it was a compliment of some nature, bringing yet another smile to the giants face and even a light chuckle. “Yes, let's.” The words had a refreshing impression to them, as if the giant was in some way relieved. Miroslaw was beginning to feel as if this venture would actually be a enjoyable one. Thus far, he was even enjoying the old man's company. Plus, as far as Miroslaw could deduce, the master seemed to be a man of good character. It all made him recall the words of Quick claiming Master to be nothing like the himself. Perhaps he was not exaggerating.

Miroslaw would direct his steed, with much less ease, to ride to the left of Master. The old man posed a question. It was one that Miroslaw was not sure how to answer. He did not want to end up causing any waves between the old man and his employer. It was difficult to know what might achieve that. He had no idea what the old man knew about Grayson. He decided a vague answer would be the best route to take. “Well, I make a living by doing odd jobs. For the most part, I tend to find work from postings around the city. Sometimes, believe it or not, finding decent work this way doesn't really work out. I was looking for an easier way and that is where Grayson comes in. With the business he runs, he is a medium to connect me to work.” Miroslaw had no clue what the master actually knew of Grayson. He just hoped the old man would know enough to make sense of his explanation.

He seized the moment to attempt to learn more about the old mans own relationship with Grayson. "How about you. How did you come to know him?"

[Serenity]

The old man knew as much, or assumed Miroslaw did some kind mercenary work to have met Grayson. He nodded as such after hearing his part.

Master's eyes looked up for a moment, remembering the day he first met, Quick Grayson, or rather the Quatrian who would become him.

"He was brought to me, nearly dead. One of the monks found him along the shore and rushed him to our healers. His ship was lost in a terrible storm that ravaged the water the night before. For a month he was still in bed, clinging to his final thread of life. When he awoke, I knew it was a hand of fate that brought him back to our world."

There was a sense of nostalgia that rung with his voice as he spoke of Quick, and something that could mistaken for regret.

"His story was not a happy one, for any of his kind."

The Master had went on to speak of the majority of Quatrians that still walked this land, how they were slaves to kings and evil merchants; sold off to do labor, or to entertain in blood sport. The latter was true for Quick.

"He fought in a bloody contest that promised his freedom, in exchange for slaughtering his own kind for the amusement of others. Whether he acquired his release this way or not, I can not say. Joining our order means putting behind the past, no matter how dark it may be. However, as I learned through training Grayson, you can not always bury such malice and expect to stay where you lay it."