I’ve decided to begin working on a series of quests related to some of the things going on in the towns around the map. As other major and minor quests are updated throughout the world these quests will come and go! I’ll post updates as quests become …
(Anyone that wishes post something relevant to Cove is welcome)
Krist Lionheart
Krist accepted the hand that was offered, and stood up with a groan.
“You didn’t think such short creatures could hit so hard, now did you,” Hali of the militia asked, looking the young warrior over. Krist was a tall, well built man, but he had much to learn in fighting.
“No ma’m, I don’t suppose I did,” Krist replied, massaging the muscles in his shoulder. His armor took the brunt of the attack, but it hurt all the same.
Krist pushed his blonde hair from his face, the sweat causing it to stick. He offered Hali a nod of thanks, bringing a smirk to her lips as she turned and headed back to the others.
The militia went about checking the dead orcs for equipment or anything else the small community could use.
Krist had only arrived in Cove a couple of weeks prior, trying to help out the situation, and assisted the militia when he could. Krist had heard rumors that they were in trouble, with Trinsic over taken and the roads all but impassable. Cove depended on supplies from Trinsic, and now Krist was trying to help them get supplies from Britain as well as shore up the defenses of Cove.
Britain for it’s part was not trying to ignore the woes of Cove, as far as Krist knew, but with the shipping lanes being stalked by pirates and the roads over run by orcs and worse, supply runs were difficult.
Krist grabbed his backpack, slung it over his good shoulder, and limped back to Cove. He came with hope that he could help, but it became apparent he was now needing help himself. Still, a single warrior could make the trek back and forth to Britain when needed, and avoid too much trouble if done right. He would not be bringing any large amounts of goods right now, but he could bring medicine and such when needed.
As Krist neared the walls of Cove he saw Malych watching him approach. The man wore robes like a mage, but something about him gave Krist the creeps all the same. He had only a slight grin on his face as he looked the young warrior over.
“Troubles my friend,” he asked, in his gravely voice.
“It all worked out,” Krist said, forcing a smile. Malych simply nodded. Krist could not say that Malych ever did anything wrong, and he had aided the community in the short time since his arrival, but even the militia steered clear of him.
Inside the walls Krist made his way to the healer. He would just pop in for some elixir to ease the pain, but if they were busy he would not bother them. It seemed they were busy quite often, as rats began to bring with them disease and sickness. There was no real plague to speak of, but more folks ended up with a cough or a rash than would be normal.
Cochita smiled as Krist entered, but a look of worry crossed her face as she saw him working his shoulder. The young man was always polite, and always trying to help, even if he got in the way at times trying to do it.
“You okay Krist,” she asked, offering a warm smile again.
“Just bumped my shoulder on something,” Krist said, rolling his eyes.
“Did you now,” she asked, relieved to see the man was actually okay.
“An orc’s axe,” he admitted, knowing she already suspected. This brought a chuckle from Cochita.
“Let’s have a look then,” she offered, helping him remove the ringmail tunic.
That eve Krist reflected on the days events. It would be easy to give up and go back to Britain, but there was a need here. Krist could not abandon the community simply because of one day’s trouble. No, he would train and make himself more useful. He would see supply lines opened. For some reason, Krist needed to help these people, as much as they seemed to need the help.
Blood drumming in his ears, his booted feel hitting the hard pavement beneath him in hurried steps as he ran from house to house. The soft clinking and rasping of his armor were barely heard, nor the occasional slap and clank of his cuisses against the edge of his shield. His sword whispered through the air as it was brought in a wide arc that bit deeply into the Succubus’ hip. The unearthly scream of the demonic soul, however, brought him to full consciousness. He brought up his shield to beat away the clawed hands that swiped at his face, and the sound of his blade pulling free from her flesh would have made a weaker man sick. He took a step back, parrying her swiping claws and brought his sword in again, severing an arm, then as she hurled her body at him in a rage, bit deeply into her thigh on the rejoinder. He made quick work of dispatching the Succubus, before his attention caught the imp that hurried away from him. He swore. Can’t let that one get away. He gave chase, letting the thick cord of woven unicorn hair keep his sword from hitting the dirt as he pulled a knife from his belt. A quick throw, as he turned the corner of the butcher’s shop saw the imp’s wing impaled. It fell in a flapping, snarling heap to the blood-stained ground. Zeth had set upon the creature quickly.
“Parlay!” It screamed, it’s voice like dull scissors ripping through paper. “For all that is unholy, parlay!”
“Would you beg for mercy, filth?” Zeth brought his sword’s blade to the creature’s neck.
“From a half-blood like you? Never. I don’t expect to keep my pretty little head. Were you any other soul in this place, maybe, but stories abound of the half-blooded traitor Zathurial Trenelus. Do it quickly, then.” The imp spat, laying still with all the dignity it could muster.
“Have it your way, filthy pest. When you see the other side, be sure to tell them that I won’t stop until every last one of the lords under the earth are dispatched.” Zeth laughed, bringing the blade back enough to deliver the final blow.
“I’ll be sure your father hears of the hatred you carry for your blood.” The imp laughed even as the blow to his neck separated head from body.
“I hope he does.” Zeth said to the corpse, retrieving his knife before skewering the imp’s heart to be sure it stopped beating.
A bright explosion of pain brought Zeth whirling back around, his tail switching from where claws had gouged into it’s flesh. He dropped into a low stance, shield up to engage whatever had offended his sensitive tail. The beast that loomed over him laughed, the split in it’s lower jaw creating the perfect place for stinking drool to drip from as it swiped massive clawed hands down at the much smaller man. The demon that loomed nearly twice his height was slow, however. Newly conjured, not the same as those who had been in the world for long. It’s skin was still hot and swollen from the fires that had birthed it. “A big one, ain’t you?” Zeth taunted as he whispered an oath. His blade became sheathed in holy flame, cleansing away the tainted blood of other enemies it had claimed before this one.
“Big enough to crush you beneath my feet.” It spat and gurgled. Laughing as it bat the warrior’s lunging blade aside.
Zeth muttered another oath, the runes carved into his horns flashing bright as the silver flared holy light. “By my blade and name, I call forth my will. Guide my blade, and let all foes before me fall.” Once more his blade was consumed in white hot holy flames. “I will bring you down, piece by piece if I have to.” Zeth grinned lopsidedly as he burst forward, planting a foot on the demon’s knee as he launched himself upward. The flaming blade carved cleanly through the demon’s arm, bringing forth a scream only heard in the pits of hell below. Letting momentum carry him, Zeth slammed his shield into the beast’s belly, causing it to double over. In the brief moment the demon’s head was brought down, Zeth’s blade shot upward to spear into the creature’s neck, erupting from the top of it’s skull with sizzling fury. The remaining arm managed to grab hold of Zeth’s body, claws digging into his armored chest. “Bring, it, down!” Zeth yelled as he poured his will into the blade, the fires expanding until it left nothing left above the scorched demon’s abdomen, the arm having fallen aside as it released him. He dropped to the ground and staggered. It had taken quite a bit more of him than he intended to pull that off, but he had enough left in him to stand again. Only the drumming of the blood in his ears remained. His heart’s beating in his chest gave out a ragged rhythm that drove him forward. He’d not rest until every last tainted soul was destroyed, driven back to the world under the earth where they came from. He glanced around the smoldering remains of the village, not seeing any other blight, nor feeling the presence of demon blood that still had life in it. A quick chant closed the wounds under his armor, scarring the gouges in his body. A quick flick of his tail confirmed that no lasting damage remained. He was once again whole.
He needed a drink, and a barmaid.. Or a bath and a good scrubbing by a pretty bathgirl. Both, really. Thinking of the place he’d most like to be, he muttered the words to the sacred journey he wished to take, before leaving the smell of burnt buildings, and bloody flesh behind him.
Her heels clicked against the boards of the dock as she walked away from the ship. She held her overcoat tightly closed against her chest as she walked, as if clinging onto a security blanket. She stepped off the steps and into the sand, her ankle twisting and almost catching her off balance. It’s been some time since she set foot in the sand, and even longer since she had seen Mythndale.
She looked around, and had a feeling that something was very different. What was it? It felt empty to her. She walked towards where her markets once stood, knowing that they had long since turned to ash, but hoped the sands would tell the secrets of their past. Emptiness. She wasn’t surprised. It was just how she left it. But, there was something else. She realized that not one eye of one guard followed her. Hell, she realized there were no guards, the gallant Mythndale knights that once littered the streets to protect it’s citizens from the dragons, plagues, and demons.
She swallowed hard, and continued on, across the bridge to where the Manor used to sit. An imprint of what once stood there could be seen in the grass, darker than its surrounding carpet. She bowed her head apologetically for what she had so swiftly abandoned, the virtuous King of Mythndale, and his kingdom. Their kingdom. She bent down to pull out a tuft of grass, and let it blow through her fingers as she walked on toward Varstaad.
Still a lovely town, she thought. Nothing’s changed. Up the path from the bank, her house still stood in all its marvelous glory. She had picked a good stone. It held up well for her. Pulling a key from her cleavage, she turned the lock on the cobwebbed doors, leaning in to give them a push with all her weight. They groaned as they moved inward, and the house exhaled a breath of dust and sorrow that puffed into the outside air. Coughing, she turned around and with all her might, shoved the doors shut again. The closure echoed through her grand hall, and pigeons could be heard from one of the rooms, flapping around frantically. “Must have a window out,” she thought.
Kairi slowly walked up to her quarters, paying no mind to the filth that had built up over the years. She walked in, closed the door behind her and locked it. She side-glanced her reflection in the bedroom mirror, her face smudged with dirt, her golden hair grayed with dust. The bright of her green eyes and the red of her scar dominated the glum image in front of her. She wiped her cheek, revealing a streak of milky hue beneath. “First thing in the morning, a bath for you and me both, house.” She sluggishly stepped over to the bed and dropped upon it like a hoisted corpse. Dust flew up from the impact, but she was too far asleep to care.
Staring into a cracked mirror in the washroom of the inn, Givias Aloysius stood seeing his reflection for the first time in weeks. And the face that stared back at him was not his own.
First off, his hair was dyed blond. He had done that when fleeing Allizan after his father’s murder, in order to disguise himself among the crowd of those leaving the city of Goldhelm after the feast of High Aebareon. Givias’ father, King Galias Aloysius, had been murdered at the feast, poisoned by someone of means and access, and a quick investigation revealed that an empty poison vial had been found in Givias’ bed chamber, among some other implicating communication.
Of course, none of it was true. The vial and papers had been planted in his room by someone, but who, Givias had no clue. There were rumors that the Continuum had resurfaced, an ancient organization of men and women hungry for power and influence, but those were merely rurmors. Regardless, Givias had been tried in the court of public opinion and the king’s closest advisor, Odin Stonebreaker, had leveled the accusation at Givias.
He had no choice. He had to run.
Givias had first journeyed across the narrow strait to the city of Summertide, far from Goldhelm but still in the realm of Allizan. There, he assumed a new identity, Givias Graywood, a humble blacksmith. He opened a shop and started his life over. He thought he was safe. He thought he had made it far enough away from the crown that he would never be sought again.
He was wrong.
Givias’ older brother, Givian, the captain of the Allizan Knights and as stubborn and thick-headed as his father, had made it his mission to find Givias at all costs, as he believed the accusations that were leveled at his younger brother. Givian had made his mother, Eibeth Aloysius, the protector of the capital city while he went on a search for his younger brother. Many had protested the new king’s involvement in his father’s investigation, but Givian would broke no argument on the matter. In the end, Givias didn’t blame Givian…he needed someone to blame for the death of the king.
But even Summertide had proven to be not far enough away, as another murder in that city had forced Givias to run again. His best friend, Niall Longdane, had gotten him aboard a ship bound for another land, a far away land, with a destination of Narrowhaven.
The journey was fairly uneventful. Having purchased a cabin on the galley headed to Narrowhaven, Givias was relatively comfortable, albeit a bit seasick when they got about 2 weeks into the journey. There was the problem of the crew being mostly from Goldhelm though, but the many months away from the capital city had given Givias a different look and combined with his ragged clothing and quiet manner, no one on the ship paid him any mind.
And now here, in the washroom of the Black Fox Inn, Givias Aloysius was starting over…again. He washed the grime off of his face and tried to smooth his hair over. He reached into his coin purse and found a few gold coins, some silver ones and bronze ones, but was curious if his currency would even be accepted here in Narrowhaven. He decided then and there to try and find some work as a blacksmith so he could earn some local coin, just to be sure.
(To be continued…)
Staring into a cracked mirror in the washroom of the inn, Givias Aloysius stood seeing his reflection for the first time in weeks. And the face that stared back at him was not his own.
First off, his hair was dyed blond. He had done that when fleeing Allizan after his father’s murder, in order to disguise himself among the crowd of those leaving the city of Goldhelm after the feast of High Aebareon. Givias’ father, King Galias Aloysius, had been murdered at the feast, poisoned by someone of means and access, and a quick investigation revealed that an empty poison vial had been found in Givias’ bed chamber, among some other implicating communication.
Of course, none of it was true. The vial and papers had been planted in his room by someone, but who, Givias had no clue. There were rumors that the Continuum had resurfaced, an ancient organization of men and women hungry for power and influence, but those were merely rurmors. Regardless, Givias had been tried in the court of public opinion and the king’s closest advisor, Odin Stonebreaker, had leveled the accusation at Givias.
He had no choice. He had to run.
Givias had first journeyed across the narrow strait to the city of Summertide, far from Goldhelm but still in the realm of Allizan. There, he assumed a new identity, Givias Graywood, a humble blacksmith. He opened a shop and started his life over. He thought he was safe. He thought he had made it far enough away from the crown that he would never be sought again.
He was wrong.
Givias’ older brother, Givian, the captain of the Allizan Knights and as stubborn and thick-headed as his father, had made it his mission to find Givias at all costs, as he believed the accusations that were leveled at his younger brother. Givian had made his mother, Eibeth Aloysius, the protector of the capital city while he went on a search for his younger brother. Many had protested the new king’s involvement in his father’s investigation, but Givian would broke no argument on the matter. In the end, Givias didn’t blame Givian…he needed someone to blame for the death of the king.
But even Summertide had proven to be not far enough away, as another murder in that city had forced Givias to run again. His best friend, Niall Longdane, had gotten him aboard a ship bound for another land, a far away land, with a destination of Narrowhaven.
The journey was fairly uneventful. Having purchased a cabin on the galley headed to Narrowhaven, Givias was relatively comfortable, albeit a bit seasick when they got about 2 weeks into the journey. There was the problem of the crew being mostly from Goldhelm though, but the many months away from the capital city had given Givias a different look and combined with his ragged clothing and quiet manner, no one on the ship paid him any mind.
And now here, in the washroom of the Black Fox Inn, Givias Aloysius was starting over…again. He washed the grime off of his face and tried to smooth his hair over. He reached into his coin purse and found a few gold coins, some silver ones and bronze ones, but was curious if his currency would even be accepted here in Narrowhaven. He decided then and there to try and find some work as a blacksmith so he could earn some local coin, just to be sure.
(To be continued…)