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Topics - Drufice

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Journals & Backgrounds / Aardyn' Notes
« on: July 15, 2019, 06:27:05 pm »

*The note is written in a fine, trained hand, clearly suggesting practice from a very young age*

          The Returning

     I have given up my search for Serro. In the future I may take it up again, but for now I am at a loss. No one that I have spoken to since has seen or heard anything about him. This, sadly, comes as no surprise to me, given the nature of that damnable fool. Slippery as ever.

     It is just as well that I have returned home now, as I have been greeted by some disturbing tales. My old friend and comrade, Fjord "The Big Man", informed me of the perils falling on Hadrian lately. An eerie mist appears to have been appearing in the wake of the Roz'dha Enclave crash, and where it billows, the dead follow. Too many were lost in that war to even want to think on it, but I know it is inevitable. Combining this fear with the recent Balor's attack on the city itself is borderline unthinkable.

     With this in mind I have sent out missives to distant members of the Adventurer's Society, apprising them of the situation. Belorfin and Morgaine are both present, for which I eternally grateful. Our Red Lady, Morgaine, holds the title of Mayor now, and as such, she cannot vote at our council, though she still sits and participates in our discussion. As radiant as ever, she continues to serve this city far better than the rest of us could ever hope to. Belorfin on the other hand, is as prickly as ever. I am told he became snippy with an eccentric little Elfling by the name of Fae. Young-spirited and pretty, Fae has a peculiarity about her, but I like her well enough. She seems to be a good friend of Fjord, and I'm not entirely sure that there isn't something going on there. That being said, I'm almost positive the same is true for he and The Red Lady. They continue to be quite close, but it's impossible to tell because the damned fool never fucking says anything. I've given up trying to figure him out, and I'm settling for just having him as a warrior by my side.... and a damned good one, at that.

     Thinking of those two, I had been hunting a treasure with a small party when we entered a cave. Coincidentally, we had found Morgaine, Fjord, Michael, and Sherina all standing over the body of a slain Fae. Michael, it seems, became angry and slew Fae over an insult to his wife, Sherina. Michael is a troubled man but there is something quite strange about the circumstances of this event. From the moment I arrived, Michael was pleading guilty and practically begging for death. The Red Lady asked me to take care of the situation in her stead. I obliged. Michael seemed not himself. He was seeing shadows and enemies where none were present. I gave him the choice to plead his case before the courts, as per the law, or I would damn the law and give him the execution that he desired. This was a grim moment. I had no desire to kill the man, but his assumption that if found guilty the 14th would torture and kill him, was likely fair. In the end, Sherina was able to convince him to plead his case to the judge. Good that she had, as he ended up living, (largely thanks to a revived, if a little out of it, Fae) with a fair punishment; something rare, these days.

     I have taken interest in the development of Michael and Sherina. In a way, I see mirrors of my own life reflected in them. I have met with both of them in private, and I believe there is great value in their presence, here in the city. Sherina seems quite skilled in reigning him in, and I hope with everything that I have in me, that she can fix him. Unexpectedly, Sherina has become a good friend to me. She shows understanding in certain areas that I would never have expected. I shared things that I thought I'd never tell another soul. I had been drinking and she said somethings that resonated with my own past and I couldn't help it. I showed her your ring, to let her know that there are others that have faced similar struggles. We have been good friends ever since and I will do everything within my power to help her and Michael succeed. I offered them protection with the Society, and I hope that before anything, they would come to me for aid. They will likely be troubled for more time to come, but that is a story that I do not feel comfortable putting down on paper, at this time. It is enough to count them as friends and comrades, whether they choose to join us, or not.

    These days to come will bear more strife, of that I am sure, but it is in the Darkest days that House Aardyn shines.

     Though others may cower in the dark, We shall always embrace it.


          I won the competition for the naming of the penguins. "Icarus and Emilia"; Names that I borrowed from an old book that madam Kryck made me read as a boy. Funny, I recall saying I would never use that information.

Journals & Backgrounds / Ashram Aardyn
« on: August 28, 2018, 12:53:15 pm »
   Dark. Grim. Rigid. Rough. These are the words most commonly used to describe my family. They’re accurate enough by all accounts. “The Black Aardyns” they called us. It’s not a secret title and it suits me just fine. “Mad Ash the Dark” seemed to be the preferred moniker for me. How fitting.

   Though others may cower in the dark, We shall always embrace it.

   You always hated that motto. I could see it in your face every time you mouthed it. It would turn your eyes vacant. Those beautiful violet eyes, a gift from your distant elven blood. I remember the first time I saw them. I was six and you were four when your Lord father brought you to Silver River. We spent a ten-day together before they told us we were to marry when you came of age. Remembering the shocked look we exchanged then still breaks me from the foulest of moods. Remembering how we shared that as a private joke between us later in life, even more so.

   It seemed almost cruel that someone like you should be sent to live with us at Aardyn Manor. We loved each other well enough, it’s true, but it was plain to see you were so different from us. I know what people said about it. “The Lady Lyra Lightfellow, sent to the Black Aardyns. The only Light in a Dark place.” Often this with snickers and sneers. You never let that bother you though, did you?

   Not much ever seemed to bother you. You burned bright and never let anything stop you. The ideals you lived by were so foreign to my family and I. You treated everyone as an equal, regardless of rank or station. There were no classes, no walls or barriers, when it came to you. I remember you sitting in the gardens, taking water and food, chatting with the maids like they were old friends. I remember when my father tried to stop you and you fixed him with that even stare, enchanting him with your violet gaze. Left speechless, he let you be. Don’t think for a second that I didn’t hear about it later.

   When I close my eyes at night I always see you. I see you as I saw you that day, as I watched you from the window. I watched you in the field, dancing in your circle with the servant children, laughing and singing and playing. I see your fair skin framed by your raven hair. I see your white dress fluttering in the breeze as you twirled, it’s skirt gracefully nipping at your knees, floating with each delicate move. I recall the colors. The colors of the wildflowers and the hills, as they seemed to blend around you. How the sunlight seemed to beam off of you and meld all else together. Most of all I remember your smile. Not on your soft lips, but in your eyes. It had a way of infecting everyone around you, melting away the sorrows and lightening up the darkest places. How badly I wanted to come down to join you then, but I knew my approach would only sour the mood for the servants.

   My brother urged me to stop you once, as I watched. He insisted it wasn’t right and the hierarchy was at risk. You were my wife, and my father and brother respected that it was MY business to deal with. I refused them. I promised myself that when I was Lord things would change. Perhaps you were right about equality. On the day my father was slain and I became Lord, however, I delayed. I don’t know whether it was out of respect for him or at the insistence of my brother but I delayed. A regret I will carry until the day I fall.

   When I left you for battle I did so because it was my duty as a Knight and a Lord. You shook your head at me before we kissed, that day. I remember smirking at you, as if it were some kind of joke between us. I rode off then, already dreaming of my return to your arms.

   The battles all but won, our commander urged us to pursue the enemy, leaving no man alive. I put forth that it would over extend us and leave our flanks undefended. The disagreement was heated but in the end he pulled rank and I fell in. The enemy suffered a crushing defeat and we were all given leave to come home, words that I had longed for since the moment I left.

   When I crested the hill into our fields my heart soared at the sight of Aardyn Manor. I was so eager to arrive that I quickened pace. My heart quickly stopped at a dead halt when I saw the first body. A servant woman. She had been running through the berry fields when they overtook her. Her lifeless corpse a harbinger for what was about to come.

   I sped with all haste to the manor, barely glancing at the men, women and children laying dead on my path. When I arrived at our home and found you there, I could physically feel the color drain from my body.

   You were so still. So quiet. Somehow, still so beautiful. I cannot think about those lifeless violet eyes without my inner rage burning. Or how the gaping slit across your throat opened as I turned you over. Or how I could tell by your skirts and your wounds that they used you before they ended you. The gaping void I felt then, I fear, will never be filled. I broke, then. Weeping and blubbering incoherently, I rocked you in my arms and sang your favorite songs for what must have been hours.

   Finally, when I began to return to reality, I carried your body up the stairs to our bed. I loosely remember stepping over my brother’s body, but paid it no mind. I tucked you in to bed and wiped your face clean. I will forever see you peacefully asleep, whenever I find my mind wandering. I kissed your forehead one last time and told you “I love you. You were right.”

   I stepped back and lit a candle in the corner of the room and watched over you as the sun disappeared over the horizon. When the darkness came I stood and lit the bed sheets, and then the drapes, and then anything else I could find on my way out of the house. I burned it. I burned it all. When I got outside I burned it too. Aardyn Manor and 600 acres of farm, field and woods set a blaze in my black burning rage. I set out at once for my commander’s home.

   I arrived and burst into his home, my visage the likeness of death itself. He met me and I challenged him to single combat, after I explained to him what his decision had cost. We were both knights and to his credit he accepted. He was an excellent fighter but his guilt weighed on him and my black hatred fueled me. There, in front of his family and a few other Knights, I killed the man that caused me to lose you. I did so with a dark grin, the vengeance was so sweet. I then forsook the knighthood and my titles. Any holdings or wealth be damned. I wanted, then, to have no more to do with it and I left Utrisk behind.

   So many things, I wish I could tell you. I wish I could tell you how right you were about everything. How rank and file cost me everything and yet, somehow, it cost you even more. I live now by your ideals. I live free, and amongst equals. You’ve taught me a costly lesson that I will never forget and I’ll honor you until my last breath.

   I hunger for the day that I may meet those who ended you. I will haunt them and give to them the pain they gave me tenfold. I will give them suffering and torment unending.

   I will teach them a fear of The Dark.

   With love eternal

Journals & Backgrounds / Guided: The Great Raven's Faithful
« on: July 26, 2018, 03:53:17 pm »
The Great Raven’s Faithful


   “Who are they?” The question was posed so quietly, he could hardly hear it himself, though he knew his companion’s ears would register his words. Eyes never leaving his targets, he waited patiently for the reply to come, knowing with a certainty that it would.
   “Blodmenn. Seven of them.” came the second man’s answer. “Elgenhelm’s men.”
   “Mmm.” replied the first man, by way of acknowledgement. His eyes scanned the surrounding area from under his raised mask.
   Both of the men in the grassy ditch were clad in leathers and furs, sewn together to offer a balance of protection and mobility. The masks were both made from the skins of bear heads, the first man’s brown, the second’s black. Small leather pads were attached around the eyes and on the sides of the face, offering a modicum of protection while the masks were down. The eyes were left uncovered and hollowed out, allowing the wearer to see through, showing only the warrior’s eyes and the blue band of war paint they each had across them from temple to temple.
   “I see no sign of any others.” The second man stated, answering the question before it had even reached the first man’s lips. “We’ll have to be careful.”

   After a moment’s thought, the first man gave a slight nod and said “Get the twins.”

   Before the second man could push off the small ridge that they peered over, the first man reached over without looking and clasped his arm. “Fjern…” he began “You still have your spells today?”

   “I do.” Replied Fjern, looking to his side at the first man.

   “Make the big one quiet” came his order.

   “Heh” chuckled Fjern under his breath, flashing a slight grin at the other, though no sign of any emotion was visible on the face he saw. There was only focus. “Understood.” was all he said as he pushed back off the ditch’s ledge and rolled back, skulking in amongst the brush.

   The first man waited only few moments before he was joined by two similarly clad warriors. These two, however, while having the same leather fixtures, used wolf skin instead of bear. One was a medium built female the other a large male. As they joined him against the bank, they both tipped back their masks and gazed ahead through the forest, observing the targets they had obviously been summoned about. To look upon their faces, you would be able to identify the family resemblance. The young woman’s hair was fire red, the young man’s a blonde red and both had the same blue-green eyes.

   “Hvisk, Rød.” The man greeted them quietly without looking.

   “Bjørn” replied Hvisk, the female sibling. She was nearly always the one to do the talking when it came to orders. She was a renowned force within Eikfjord, known for wielding magic and blade together with a skill no living memory could outdo. “Trouble?”

   Nodding quickly, he gazed a moment longer before saying “Seven of them. Blodmenn. Fjern doesn’t think there are any more of them but we can’t risk giving away our numbers and position.”

   Hvisk scanned the area knowing full well she was no match for the eyes and ears of the ever watchful Fjern Plage of the Stor Bjørn warband. “Well, we’ll find out. We’ll take care of it” she offered, before even being asked.

   “We will spread out and around just in case.” Bjørn stated “If more should show themselves from the surrounding forest we'll be in position.” His words came matter-of-factly, before he pushed himself back and retreated into the bush, leaving the twins alone on the bank.

   Hvisk looked over at her brother. His face was set, eyes narrowed, watching the enemy with an absolute focus. He was sizing them up, she knew. “Looks like it’s you and me again, little man.” she teased.

   “So it is.” Agreed the big man, casting an instantaneous glance to his left, giving her that reassuring look of affection and companionship. “Same plan as last time?” he asked, setting his eyes back on the seven men eating and drinking by their fire.

   “Hasn’t let us down yet, but…” she paused for a brief moment “… seven of them?” her words, half-question half-statement, she looked once more to Rødregn’s face.
   “We’ll do it as two, two, and three. Leave me the three on the right.” Came his answer to the question she hadn’t quite asked. She was aware, from their 16 years together, that this had been on her twin’s mind from the moment he peered past the embankment.

   “Right.” she affirmed, looking back at their prey. Her eyes now focused anew, preparing herself for the battle she knew was about to befall them.

   Rødregn nodded and after just a moment of his serious resolute gaze, he narrowed his eyes and stole a teasing sidelong glance at his sister. “You go first.” He stated in mock seriousness. His beard helped hide his grin.

   “Fuck yourself.” Her answer, right before whispering a few words in a language Rødregn would never understand and seemingly fading into nothingness.

   “Right then.” his grin wide now as he began pulling the wolf’s face down over his own. “Great Raven guide you.” was all he said as he pushed himself up, drew his axe and shield in one swift motion and hurled himself up over the bank in a one man charge.


   The man’s ears perked briefly as he sat around the fire with his comrades-in-arms. Instantly forgotten was the tastes and effects of the meat and ale.

   “Quiet!” he demanded in a loud whisper, his eyes meeting the rest of them one by one to assure himself that they were all listening. It was plain from the looks on their faces that they were. He hadn’t imagined it. Foot falls. Running towards them. “UP!” he shouted, turning to face the direction of the approaching threat and drawing his axe and shield.

   The seven, now standing ready, formed a line with shields raised, half-crouched in a readied combat position. Ahead of them, and approaching fast was a single large warrior in furs and red leather, racing towards them from no less than thirty yards away.

   “Stor Bjørn!” cried the warrior who had heard the approach, his voice resounding in a commander’s tone. His confusion at there being only a single warrior was amplified tenfold, when the large assailant dropped to one knee, sliding across the damp forest floor and coming to a dead stop, crouching while peering at them silently over his shield.
   The next three breaths seemed to last a life time, both sides looking at each other in silence before the leading Blodmann opened his mouth to speak.
   “What is th…” his words were cut off, mid question, as it seemed an invisible force made contact with the crouching attacker’s left shoulder and then shoved him downward ever so slightly. The Blodmenn’s brows furrowed in a shared confusion, lasting a split second as nearly instantaneously a smaller form in garb matching the crouching man’s, blinked into view with one hand extended and open, in the air above him.
   “Burn!” the figure yelled in a young woman’s voice, as a rush of flames burst forward from the palm. The fiery cone engulfed the third and fourth Blodmenn, igniting them instantly, scorching them where they stood and forcing the men on either side of them to break their line, scrambling to avoid the searing lick of the flames.
   Their numbers divided, the three men on the right spared only a brief moment for a horrified glance before looking back toward their attackers. It was too late.
   The big man was on them. His slightly larger than average axe smashed across the lower jaw of the left-most man with a wicked back handed swing, half-slicing, half-ripping it from the man’s skull. A sickening gurgle came from the opening left by the blow, spattering blood from the throat, now half-hanging from the back of his newly halved mouth. Wasting no time, continuing his swing in one fluid motion, the large man brought the axe up, arcing it around into a downward strike, burying it hard into the chest of the victim in the center, the Blodmann still too off balance to react.

   The blow, perhaps too hard, crumpled the man where he stood, the thick muscular chest holding the axe blade fast, forcing it’s wielder to release it, lest it take him down with it.
   The last remaining foe wasted no time, bringing his axe to bear on the now weaponless attacker. Swinging with full force, thinking his target was at a disadvantage, he recklessly brought the axe head down for the kill, only to have it jolt to the side with a crack as his foe caught it and batted it to the side with his shield.
   His frustration was short lived as a large hand, the free hand of the Stor Bjørn, shot up fast and grabbed the Blodmann by the throat tightly. Holding him there, he pulled his shield hand back, rotating it, and rammed it’s edge into the helpless Blodmann’s face.
   Once. Twice. Thrice. By the fourth strike, the man’s body went limp, his face smashed and unrecognizable, beaten to death by the sheer force of blows. A fifth blow came for good measure, adding to the blood spatter that now coated the victor’s wolf skins, adding a chillingly beautiful crimson to the strands of white, grey and black.
   Dropping the lifeless corpse he reached down, placed a foot on his second kill and yanked his axe free. He wasted no time in his advance to the other side of the fight.
   The female Stor Bjørn danced between her two enemies with a graceful fluid precision, her axe deftly parrying the incoming blows, while her shield followed suit on the other side. She took opportunities where she could for her own strikes but this, she knew, was a waiting game, one she had played many times before and was happy to do so again.
   She felt strangely at peace in these moments. A peace that she could find nowhere else in her life. She had peace when she was with her brother but this was of a different breed. Her movements the dance, the blade falls and clangs of the shield and axe, her song. She bathed in it, let its serenity wash over her, savouring the taste of combat until she knew it was time.
   Twirling fiercely to muster extra force, she batted away the axe of the man farthest away from the center of the melee. She took note of her target’s loss of balance before fluidly turning to face the other and catching his blade with both shield and axe. The blow held above her head and she surprised the man by advancing in and under it, shoving him back with her shoulder and turning back to the approaching outermost man, exposing her back to him.
   Eagerly, thinking her a fool, he moved to capitalize on her stupidity, only the rending bite of a vicious blow between his shoulders stopped all other thought. Breath caught in him, eyes opened wide as he stood there, a large axe drinking his life’s blood, completely stunned before slowly dropping to his knees and falling forward, flat on his face.
   With the secondary threat neutralized, the woman began a vicious assault on the last remaining warrior. A flurry of strikes came at him from all directions forcing him back, inexorably, on his heels. At this moment the man came to realize exactly how badly out matched he was in this fight. His peripheral vision offered him a glance of his larger assailant barely paying attention to the fight, his confidence absolute in his companion. If he were to die here, he knew, he would die honorably in battle. He would be granted GodsHal, joining his fallen brethren in the next life, one of wine, women and warfare eternal. This, the greatest honour a Fjorder could ever achieve, was all he had ever dreamed of in his entire short life.
   The woman showed no signs of letting up as she battered against his defenses. The piercing blue-green eyes ever focused beneath the wolf face’s hollowed sockets. It was in noticing the eyes that the man made his misstep, his shield coming up too slowly and feeling the bite of her axe cleave through his wrist, severing the hand and dropping it uselessly to the forest floor, shield and all.
   The wail that followed would send shivers down a regular man’s spine, so ghastly was it. Screaming with shock and pain, the Blodmann fell to his knees, gripping his severed appendage, watching helplessly as his life’s blood spewed out wherever he faced it. The woman stood over him, calmly looking down. She lowered her axe beneath his chin and raised his face so that she could look down at him. She took him in for a moment, examining the scars along his body, some from combat, some from the traditional blood letting associated with being a Blodmann, before locking her eyes onto his.
   “Goodnight.” Was all she said, with a wink, in a voice that the man now realized he knew. A voice that sounded almost playful, he thought as he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, accepting his fate. The woman brought her axe up fully before bringing it down into his skull, splitting it between the eyes and killing him instantly. Ripping the axe head from the bone’s grip, she let the corpse fall into the pool of its own blood.
   Behind her, the big man chuckled softly to himself.

General Discussion / Newb question.
« on: May 15, 2018, 12:39:25 pm »
Hey guys. Just curious if it's possible to rest outside at all? I'm not a fan of the indoors.

Journals & Backgrounds / Rødregn Vilhjerte (inner thoughts)
« on: April 20, 2018, 11:35:04 am »
This land is strange but it will do...

For now...

I have been wandering the road so long I barely remember why I left home.

That is a lie.

I will never forget Bjørn's last command. "SCATTER!" rings through my ears every night when I close my eyes and every night I watch him fall. Over and over, he always falls.

It's hard to imagine how it ended up this way. Somehow exiled, having won the war. Betrayed by, what I must assume is, the new King and ordered to flee instead of fighting to our deaths.

And what a death it would have been.

Instead I am alone. Where is everyone else? My friends, my comrades... My sister. Hvisk I miss most of all. It's not right for one to be seperated from their twin. Where did she go? I will not believe she fell. It can't be possible. She is as good in melee combat as I am, as well as a natural born sorceress. If anyone would have fallen it'd have been me.

She lives.

She is somewhere and I am here.

Here... Where is here anyways? The locals call this town Hadrian. The races seem to get along for the most part. It seems a foreign concept to me but I am trying to remember that this is not Eikfjord and it is I who is the foreigner. Here I believe I may be able to get by with my sword and a little luck.

I met a man today. One with some Orcish blood I think. Goes by the name of Snacks. Peculiar fellow but he helped me get a feel for what's going on in this country. He showed me that there are a number of ways to earn Sandwich Tokens, the bizarre local currency.

Yes, I think this land might do...

For now...

General Discussion / Newb
« on: April 18, 2018, 01:14:28 am »
Hey all! New to NWN here and really enjoyed my first hour or two on this server. The only real question I have is "how do I make my own emotes?"
If I just surround my text with "*" will it come out as an emote?
*gazes questioningly*

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