You wake to the rising sun shining down on your face and the call of birds greeting the new day. You feel tall grass about your body and the hard ground beneath you as you open your eyes and look up to the sky. Your head hurts and you don't remember much about the night before past entering one of the lesser known taverns in Wistvale.
If you sit up you find yourself in a mostly empty field. By mostly empty I mean you can see a handful of other bodies lying in the field as well. Some stirring as you have, and some are yet still.
Beyond were you and the others lay there are things stuck in the earth that are reflecting the morning sun with a metallic glint.
As Alexander of Deerfield opened his eyes, the tall grass on the frame of his sight told him that he did not know where he was. This became an even more clear fact when dispite all efforts he did not remember anything about the night before except walking into a tavern. Half because of the pain, half because of a bad feeling about the whole situation, he did not sit up but made an attempt to see as much as he could while trying not move or make any noises beyond the few stirs he had already made.
He didn't like holes in his memory. "Not again", he thought, "I hope I'm not missing something amazing. Hopefully nothing good happened." But he doubted it; waking up like this virtually never meant that something good happened, rather the opposite. However, this young man was the last person to give up hope in that respect.
He heard other bodies stirring in the grass around him. Only then did he raise his head to the grassline to see the people around him. "Actually, I hope nothing bad happened." The objects further away were of no concern to him at this moment. He was immediately concerned with the people near him. He checked his equipment and observed the others for any threatening behavior. He thought he was probably going to have to defend himself soon. Worst case scenario in his opinion: they all got wasted and aggressive and had the grand idea to get out of town and battle eachother.
(out of character: Nobody has to read the following, just random stuff, lol) It reminded him of this one night when he was in the tavern that burnt down that same night in the harbor. A new proprieter bought it and imported wine from somewhere in the northwest for a grand reopening. It started out well but the wine turned the whole night into a huge disaster. The morning after it was found out that it had been produced from a certain grape that had unusual toxins in it. These toxins were not destroyed in the normal wine and alcohol producion, and its effects grew even worse when consumed together with alcohol. A very rare sort of grape, and probably the outcome of some sort of magical experiment.
Anyway, when the people eventually had been drinking this stuff all night, one after the other, they all started aggressively rampaging and destroying the place. A fire started as well as fights and brawls that spread to the residential areas when people came to complain about the noise or just to observe what was happening. Everybody involved woke up the next day wounded and without memory of what had happened.
The men and women present that night had all obviously been too messed up to be able to actually directly do serious harm to eachother. Sadly, a considerable amount of people had died in the fire, and even more had drowned when they tumbled out of the tavern and into the harbor's waters.
Alexander himself woke up in a barrel of fishbait on a small fishing boat. He was lucky not to have drowned as well, but it took five weeks for his shoulder to heal from the two yard drop, and almost just as long to get rid of the horrible stench.
However, this time apparently, he was nowhere near a tavern, or anything else for that matter.
Last Edit: Sept 20, 2013 9:04:50 GMT -5 by Deerfield
She started dancin' real slow, like she was puttin' on a show.
Wet sweat was pourin' off her skin, her body made me wanna sin.
Right then my buzz was kickin' in, she had a devil's grin.
She looked me in the eye and said: You give me the urge!
To do a little day drinkin'
A little bit of love makin'
A whole lot of world shakin'
'Cause it's never too late to get low down dirty!
Lynyrd Skynyrd - Low Down Dirty
::Seeing the faces of those that rise around him brings flashes of memory to the leather worker of the night before.
That woman, looking about dazed, was working the room looking for a handout...
That man, squinting at one of the glinting objects, was holding court at a table and being generally loud and obnoxious...
And finally, that old man had been begging at the door...
All looked confused and made no agressive movements as they seemed to be more concerned with trying to figure out where they were and piece together broken memories.
Checking on your gear you find that your clothes are intact, but all weapons and equipment are missing.::
((OOC: We will be kicking this thread back into action soon. If you want to join, then feel free to be one of the paople waking up in the field with a hazy memory of the night before.))
Miroslaw opened his eyes, only to realize he was in a foreign place. He could not remember anything that may have brought him here to sleep. The last thing he remembered was entering that tavern. He knew it was a bad idea, and yet he still entered. He deserves whatever state of affairs he was in now for not regarding his instincts.
He heard the rustling of grass around him and did not delay in standing up to observe his current situation. Seeing the other people looking similar to how he did only caused more confusion in his mind. It was already far fetched to credit the memory loss to alcohol drinking, as Miroslaw has not been capable of feeling the effects of alcohol in a very long time. Now, seeing it was not simply an isolated case of memory loss, it was fear inducing.
What could cause memory loss in a group of people? The question rang in his mind. All he could conceive of was foul magic. He tried to get an idea of where he was. Anything familiar or the way back to town. His eye caught sight of the strange metallic things on the outskirts of the field in this process.
During this time, he also came to the realization that he felt lighter. His hands quickly went to his chest, as did his eyes. No strap from his sword sheath was present. His weapons were gone! Panic set in almost immediately upon this discovery. His now shaking hands went to his neck fumbling for the necklace. After he held it in his hand and looked at it, tears very nearly coming from his eyes, he found a bit of relief. However, the panic feeling was still very present as he scoured the immediate area around him for his weapons.
Last Edit: Feb 13, 2014 14:24:40 GMT -5 by Miroslaw
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
Deerfield felt no big worries or fear, rather curiousity and amusement. What had he gotten into again? He played with his hair and laughed silently as he thought of random possible scenarios.
He observed the others for a short time. He recognized many of them from the night before. That felt comforting in some way. It meant he wasn't alone in this situation, he had other people with him who seemed to be just as confused as himself. Then he also recognized a man from not too long ago. Miroslaw, the warrior who had been a member of the party that ventured into the warped woods. That encounter would prove to be interesting, but he decided he would take it slow and not approach anybody while they were still emotional or trying to get oriented. He didn't think there would be any problem with any of them, but that was also why it wasn't worth addressing them, yet. Deerfield was a very sociable person, but these were no ordinary circumstances, and he was seeking further information.
He put a smile on and stood up, scouting beyond his group of people. He saw the objects in the ground, maybe his weapons? He walked casually towards them, taking further glimpses around and also behind him, looking for any reactions from the people. He didn't want to appear to be in a hurry to arm himself, even though that might have been the case. He felt a lot better with a sword in his hands.
But he wasn't enitrely sure what those objects were, he would see as he got closer. For now, he did not direct any words to the others, but would be open and friendly to any person approaching him. Then he would also stop, since walking away from anybody would seem rude to him.
She started dancin' real slow, like she was puttin' on a show.
Wet sweat was pourin' off her skin, her body made me wanna sin.
Right then my buzz was kickin' in, she had a devil's grin.
She looked me in the eye and said: You give me the urge!
To do a little day drinkin'
A little bit of love makin'
A whole lot of world shakin'
'Cause it's never too late to get low down dirty!
Lynyrd Skynyrd - Low Down Dirty
::The fog lifts further from your heads so you can think clearly now. However, memories of last night are still sketchy. You both remember drinking as usual. You think there may have even been someone there celebrating something, as he bought a round for the house.
As Miroslaw collects himself and finds no weapons near him, the woman remembered as asking for handouts, even going so far as to offer...services, walks up to you. She's still looking about as if trying to figure out where she is.::
"Hey, uh, Mister? Do you know where we are?"
::Deerfield moves towards one of the glinting objects. As you get closer you see something domeshaped and definatly metallic. What you find is a rusted halfhelm. There is a hole in it where a weapon punched through and you begin to wonder if all the flaky red stuff is really rust. Next to it, laying in the grass, is probably the most beat up short sword you have ever seen.::
"Oy! Whacha got there!?"
::The old man comes jogging across the field towards Deerfield. He moves pretty good, considering you seem to remember he had a pretty pronounced limp when he was begging for coppers last night.::
Miroslaw was getting weak bits of the previous night back. He did not like what he was recalling, and it did little to ease his trouble. He was anxious to find his weapons and discover the way back to town, but he had no idea where he even was. Nor where to start. He thought closer analyzes the metallic objects would be a good place to start.
Just as he was about to step off in the direction of an object, he was approached by the woman. He simply responded, “I've not the faintest idea.” He scarcely gave her a glance as he picked a metallic object and began walking in its direction, intending to inspect it more closely. He did not desire to mingle with the other people, only find his weapons and escape his current situation. In his somewhat panicked state, he had failed to notice Deerfield as of yet.
Last Edit: Feb 20, 2014 1:35:18 GMT -5 by Miroslaw
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
Deerfield turned about, observing the old beggar with a grin. He didn’t mention the man’s limp from last night, he just thought his part. Although he did respect fruitful tactics, he despised people who begged for freebies and lived like parasites off of the bad conscienses of others. Although he did not want to judge how this man made his way through life, he had already mentally written the verdict. He was obviously not as weak as he wanted to make others believe. "You ask like you expect me to know something. And you post your question in a rude way, old man. I think you ... probably not."
Deerfield just left it at that, not waiting for any response. He had no interest in the guy, or what he had to say. All these people seemed to have arrived here with no idea of how or why. They did not know eachother, and there was only confusion rather than order. The leather worker was a firm believer in Lii and the order that was preached in his name. These men and women would find comfort in eachothers’ company and eventually find a way out of this strange situation, or learn to live with it. Some of them would be able to get by fine alone, himself included, but he owed it to those who could not to try and keep the group together and install a sort of group mentality.
He walked past the old man without dedicating him one more glance. Instead, he made his way back into the mix of the rest. The sword seemed completely useless and would only provoke false accusations invoked by fear in anybody else. The last thing he wanted to do was be the reason for conflict if he didn’t have the means to end it. He was able to think clearer now, but he wasn’t enjoying his worries. He wanted to get everybody together, and make others do the thinking. "Listen everybody! My name is Alex, I’m from Wistvale, as I assume most others are as well. Apparently, we seem to be in an odd situation, but we are in it together. We are not alone, and things could be much worse. We should get to know eachother and disguss how to solve our issue. So far, I don’t believe we can call it a problem, after all, so please calm down, all of you. This is nothing we can’t figure out."
He was hoping for open responses, friendly faces, and maybe getting to know that woman more… that woman talking to Miroslaw. The tanner was puzzled for a moment. He didn’t think that the warrior was very attractive ... so why did the woman talk to him while Alex was approached by an old man?
He tried to maintain a warm smile while he started to worry about having exposed himself. Maybe he should have thought it through a bit more. He didn’t want to appear to want to grab control or power over the group. Maybe he should have kept quiet a bit more, but he had never been good at keeping his mouth shut.
The entire time, he had instinctively suppressed the idea that they were in some sort of trap. The ruined pieces of arms around them seemed to indicate this was some sort of field of battle or butchery, at least at some point in the past. But his selective senses were focusing more on the size of that woman’s breasts than the idea of an immanent attack.
Last Edit: Feb 19, 2014 16:09:36 GMT -5 by Deerfield
She started dancin' real slow, like she was puttin' on a show.
Wet sweat was pourin' off her skin, her body made me wanna sin.
Right then my buzz was kickin' in, she had a devil's grin.
She looked me in the eye and said: You give me the urge!
To do a little day drinkin'
A little bit of love makin'
A whole lot of world shakin'
'Cause it's never too late to get low down dirty!
Lynyrd Skynyrd - Low Down Dirty
::The old man looks puzzled at Deerfield's response as he moves in to look at the items he left behind.::
"You don't know what these are? Your brainpan is more fried than mine."
::He sets the helm on his head at an odd angle due to the hole. He slides the old sword into the bit of rope tied about his waist for a belt. He starts to walk towards the next closest glint of metal when Deerfield begins to talk. He stops and turns around to listen, taking a few steps closer to Deerfield as he does.
The lady starts to follow Miroslaw as he walks away, but she stops as well when Deerfield begins to speak. She moves closer to him, her steps quickening as she gets closer until finally she throws her arms around him.::
"Yes! Please help us!"
::Miroslaw makes it to the glinting metal to find a spear. The shaft is broken at about half the length it should be, but the tip seems good, if a bit rusty. Next to it he finds a buckler that has been hit enough times its begun to curl on one edge, but otherwise seems wearable.
The large man walks up to Deerfield as he stands with the girl. There is a scowl on his face as he takes in the scene with obvious displeasure.::
"And what makes you the one we should listen to, whelp. I've left things in the bottom of the privy bigger than you."
::He brings his hand up in a motion that looks like he was intending to shove Deerfield's shoulder.
...and that's when the warhorn sounds...
The old man, the large man, and the woman all freeze in place as they look about to find the source of the sound.::
After examining the rough spear, Miroslaw debated about picking it up. He was wary and it felt odd that random worn and broken weapons lay about the area. He leaned down and took the broken spear in his hand. He mostly disregarded the one speaking, and still did not distinguish it as Deerfield. He grew accustomed to his boisterous nature, but he was in too much of a panicked state of mind to pay much attention to the doings of a wench or anyone else in the group of stranded amnesiac individuals.
He was more worried about protecting himself on his travels back to Wistvale whenever he actually began his trip. The spear would hardly suffice. He was never skilled in the art of pole arms of any nature, even in his military days. He found an affinity with large blades and stuck with them. A broken spear would surely suffice even less.
The buckler was also not his forte. However, he maintained knowledge on how to use a buckler, as the style was commonly used with two handed blades as a form of a passive blocking mechanism. It could even effectively be used as an active block with the correct style of swordsmanship, which he was familiar with, but not a master in any sense of the word.
He picked up both and began fiddling with the buckler. It was bend, and very uncomfortable to wear because of it. The sides awkwardly dug into his arm and the straps were unable to adjust to his large arms making it a tight squeeze. Overall, it was usable, but not in any form enjoyable to wear. It would grow quite painful with extended wear and surely with an impact.
He just finished fiddling with the buckler and was about to start looking for other stray weapons when the horn sounded. His heart began pounding almost immediately as he felt his blood curdling. He had no idea what the sound was, but he didn’t imagine it as anything good. He had a habit of imagining the worst out of situations and this was no omission.
He hastened his pace, looking for a more suitable weapon of any sort, begin wary of his surroundings. He was expecting something, but he was unsure of what it may be. His first thought was that they had broken a law of some sort and were being hunted down as criminals.
Also, during this time he glanced over to the group that had congregated around the talking person and noticed Deerfield. There was a bit of relief knowing a face in the crowd. Regardless, he stayed true to his goal and continued the search for more suitable gear.
Last Edit: Feb 20, 2014 14:34:49 GMT -5 by Miroslaw
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
Deerfield didn't know what the sound meant, he didn't realize it was an actual "warhorn". He didn't even know if its meaning included them. It could have been something entirely different happening in proximity, as far as he was concerned. To make it short, he didn't mind the sound and thought nothing of it, still selectively perceiving no danger beyond the immediate group of five.
And although maybe he had seen it coming, there was the issue of the big man who had basically challenged him. Deerfield had no authority and claimed none, but if this man thought he was so tough, and thought he could push people around, he had another thing coming. And when the man froze before completing his aggressive motion and looked about with the others, Deerfield saw the perfect opportunity and seized it with wide eyes and smile.
Without a second thought he took back his hardened fist and swung it into his challengers face with full force and his entire body. He didn't like fighting without weapons, as much as he didn't work without tools, but he had been in enough tavern brawls to know how much a fist to the face hurt both the fist and the face.
He briefly considered reenforcing the first blow, but then his fear of the guy actually being a very good fighter overcame the thought of any further actions beyond the first. He ran to the nearest metallic objects, hoping to find further tools of combat, no matter what condition. Now that violence had already broken out, there was no need to disregard them.
No matter what he found, he would pick it up if he saw nothing better. Ideally he wanted another sword, but an axe or similar would do just as well as any means of shield or armor. He was looking for the slightest advantage against the big man who had dared to challenge him. "Somebody's gonna regret this" He thought as he grabbed what he found.
She started dancin' real slow, like she was puttin' on a show.
Wet sweat was pourin' off her skin, her body made me wanna sin.
Right then my buzz was kickin' in, she had a devil's grin.
She looked me in the eye and said: You give me the urge!
To do a little day drinkin'
A little bit of love makin'
A whole lot of world shakin'
'Cause it's never too late to get low down dirty!
Lynyrd Skynyrd - Low Down Dirty
::The large man's attention being elsewhere, the punch landed easily and sent him reeling, but not down. As Deerfield sped off to the nearest glint he could see, the large man spun as the woman let out a scream.::
"Why you little sh..."
::The big man did not finish as the call of the warhorn sounded again, accompanied by the growling bark of something large.
Deerfield and Miroslaw happen to be approaching the same area and both discover a wooden shield with a chunk missing from one edge and a dagger that was in the best shape of anything found so far.
Deerfield manages to snatch them up before Miroslaw can get his hands on them.
If you turn to look in the direction of the warhorn, you see a large figure atop something that was not moving like a horse, but about the same size. He was riding in with the sun behind him, so details could not be made, but whatever it was, it was coming in fast.
The old man turns and runs back towards the group.
The woman lets out another scream.
The large man looks frighten, but is raising his hands in the air as he calls out to the rest.::
"That's the hunting call of the Orcs of the Rock Tribe. They are bound by honor though, and won't attack you if unarmed. Drop your weapons!!"
::As a side note, memories continue you to come back to you. The man that bought the round of drinks had a sharp, ratlike face though was human. Each of you remember him talking you that night in turn, but cant remember what about...::
Miroslaw would immediately turn to look in the direction of the war horn as he was on alert and would never refrain from doing so. Upon seeing a mounted rider charging towards them his heart begins pounding. He assumed it to be the source of the war horn. He then heard the man give a bit of information, but Miroslaw found it a bit difficult to believe. How would this stranger know that this orc was was a part of that specific group? Miroslaw had never heard of an orc bound by honor.
Miroslaw moves to stand beside Deerfield stating, “I don't think we are geared for this, but I also see no reason to trust that man's words.” However, he could not develop a rational as to why this man would give them mendacious information that would surely get them killed. He began weighing the potential pros and cons of each option as quickly as he could.
His contemplation was interrupted by Deerfields words. They came right as Miroslaw was about to drop his weapons. His thoughts were correlating with what Miroslaw was thinking himself. Miroslaw had encountered so few orcs with more than the common blood-lust. He decided to follow Deerfield closely with his spear and buckler. His gaze swapped between where he was going and the mounted figure.
(ooc: Altered to take Deerfields post into consideration.)
Last Edit: Feb 22, 2014 0:37:19 GMT -5 by Miroslaw
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
Deerfield nodded to greet his aquaintance from former adventure and smiled as he snatched the shield and dagger in front of his nose. "Miroslaw, how are things going? Having a fun time?"
However, he soon saw it in the warrior's face as well to the source of the hornblowing that they could be in a considerably dangerous place. He observed the rider and disregarded the man he had punched moments ago. The leather worker didn't trust him as far as he could piss. Furthermore, he had no interest in orc classifications.
Unlike Miroslaw, Alex at no moment considered unarming himself, but had a spontanious idea how to figure out if what had been said was true. "I doubt any orc is smart enough to understand the concept of being unarmed, much less honor. But we will see. Guard the girl, Miroslaw!"
Her screams hurt his soul. He would keep her out of harms way no matter the cost. He gripped shield and dagger tightly and ran to the groups left maybe a dozen yards, holding his weapons high so that the rider may see them, but taking position behind his shield should the rider charge towards him. If the orc wanted to assault only armed persons, then he would be the target. Of course he didn't know the old man had picked up and kept helmet and sword.
It wasn't planned out carefully, what would he do if he was indeed attacked, what if not? He acted upon impulse, most probably in attempt to impress the woman.
Last Edit: Feb 21, 2014 17:02:45 GMT -5 by Deerfield
She started dancin' real slow, like she was puttin' on a show.
Wet sweat was pourin' off her skin, her body made me wanna sin.
Right then my buzz was kickin' in, she had a devil's grin.
She looked me in the eye and said: You give me the urge!
To do a little day drinkin'
A little bit of love makin'
A whole lot of world shakin'
'Cause it's never too late to get low down dirty!
Lynyrd Skynyrd - Low Down Dirty