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Tales and legends of AWESOMENESS!!

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Tales and legends of AWESOMENESS!!

Post  Mr. Awesome on Tue Apr 20, 2010 10:34 am

Exhausted from the days previous activities with the formorian giants, a fitful silence had fallen around the campfire about which huddled the Fellowship Of the Opposing Eight Signs. Enormous battle had been waged, and terrific injuries had been sustained, but still the Fellowship had managed to survive in one piece. No small thanks to the aid of Blackbeak and his friends.

Riff half wondered at the prospect of inviting Blackbeak to join the Fellowship on a more extended basis once they had resolved the nagging thread of the vanishing of Jenylith.

A palpable hush had fallen along with the sun within the group. Something seemed...off. Granted, that could have been due to the squashin' of Darya earlier, mingled with just the sheer level of legwork that had to be put in for the task of actually ending the lives of the malformed menace of the mighty giants. (Riff quietly wrote down that bit in his book...the alliteration was far too good to squander to self-musing.)

Exhaustion or not however, this was almost unprecedented in it's utter silence. It stuck in Riff's head like a random arrow into Jace's arm. Something MUST be done...but what? Was, in fact, he NOT supposed to be the opposing sign of comedy and amusement? It seemed that he had been falling away from his own sign in recent times with all the constant adventuring and smiting he had been doing. It was probably Torin's influence.

"So did I ever tell you about the time I drove off Jurgan Kalta the barbarian raider of five different villages all on my own?"
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Jace Arclight

Post  Magyc on Wed Apr 21, 2010 1:19 pm

It had been an exhausting few days, considering all the traveling and preparation that had gone into the victory over the giants, plus the constant alertfulness to make sure that the encounter did not begin with the giants coming at them out of the blue. Although he did not participate physically in the combat (he considered avoiding collateral damage to himself a minor miracle in itself) the preparation had been the most extensive use of Jace's casting power since he joined the group. Everyone was satisfied in victory but also quite tired.

Still, this teaser by Riff sounded pretty interesting. Assuming it was not embellished too much, it would give a good idea of what Riff could talk himself out of...given what he had seen so far of his verbal abilities with the blacksmith and the goblins, it certainly could be impressive.

"I don't believe was have heard that story before....how did you manage that?"


Last edited by Gwilly on Fri May 07, 2010 10:04 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : name needed in subject heading)
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Riffington Alexander wowthismayhurtalot von Ulm

Post  Mr. Awesome on Fri Apr 23, 2010 9:43 pm

"So there I was on my own for the first time in years. I'd just left Gulthmere Forest out near the edge of the Sea of Fallen Stars on the Dragon Coast. I'd only just left Getafic about two months prior to this, he having taught me all the bardic skills he could muster out of himself, and I thought it was actually a fairly good idea to get on my way before he went and decided to try and make me a practicing Druid as well as a bard...which I think was actually more likely the more I think about it with all his 'don't you like the grove today?' speeches he was making. But I digress."

Riff looked around the campfire to take stock of how many members of the party he had begun to engage with his tale. Thus far he could only tell that Jace was actively paying any attention, and as per his typical stance with Riff, he knew that while he may not be watching every action and gesture he made, Torin was most likely paying some level of attention. It only meant that he would have to be at his vocal and charismatic best while telling this particular tale.

"As it happened I was planning on taking myself over to Westgate to find a place to settle into. Which was a whole OTHER kind of bad idea, but that has next to nothing to do with this tale. As I wandered off to the northwest, I managed to find myself a lovely little coastal village by the name of Rassilega. Oh, but it was utterly beautiful there. It was everything that you could dream of in a small seaside village. A wide, sun-dappled square of flagstones made from the rocks from the outlying wheat fields that surrounded the village. Long piers leading out into the azure blue waters of the sea, while the waves quietly lapped up against the hulls of the fishing boats moored there for the rest of the afternoon. Great broadleafed trees shading the village elders as they watched some of the children playing in the streets. Oh, it was amazing. I actually thought I would stay on there for awhile...learn how to be a fisherman, make my path and home there. I felt my feet grow light as I strode into the town, my heart swelled. Right about at that point was when the elders started to gasp and point, three of the children playing in the street screamed in terror, and I actually think at least one person had a fear-induced onset of hyperventilation."

Riff paused to let the image of that settle into everyone's mind as he took a drink of water to keep his voice at peak performance level and to allow someone to laugh at least a little bit. It was a rather stoic group he was with sometimes.

"As it turns out the day I happened to stumble upon Rassilega a local bandit chief who had been looting and pillaging in the area had promised to send one of his messengers with a list of demands for the village. Naturally, since I'd been living with Getafic for a matter of some years, I looked and smelled a bit....well...lets say "earthy" shall we? So here I was, strolling into an idyllic scene of verdant pastoral grandure as the avatar of ultimate terror and fear, all the while utterly ignorant of why I was to be so revilled. So I did what any self respecting member of my family would do. I stopped off at the village pub and ordered a round of the best ales the place could potentially muster, and tried to see how good they may or may not be. Well, as you can imagine that was an exercise in utter futility as I found the door locked and barred as soon as I'd gotten there. Nothing travels so fast as bad news, and I'd imagine that if we could only find a way to create an engine that travels via bad news we could get to Kara-Tur and back about six times in one afternoon. Though, how well we'd be recieved when we got there would be an entierly other matter.

Well once someone finally got elected to come out and talk to me, the entire situation got explained and ironed out. As it turns out the villagers of Rassilega are actually some very nice and congineial folks. The identity crisis being resolved, I settled in at the inn, had myself a grand bath and shave, and felt alive once again. Funny thing about feeling alive; typically when you're feeling that way, someone someone almost always tends to come along to try and rectify that situation. I sat at a table, and enjoyed a meal of some utterly delicious shrimp and garlic mashed potatoes, which was the nearest thing I could find to utter heaven after living off of mostly roots and berries with Getafic for the last few years. Though it didmanage to keep me trim and looking amazing for that time. As I did that, the "messenger" came to town. As it turns out that was the bandit chief Jurgen Kalta himself!

Kalta was utterly humongous. I mean, I'd love to have a better and more bardic word for the man, but that was ALL he could possibly be. Humongous. He had less to do in comparison to most men, and more to do with certain herds of cattle. He was over seven and a half feet tall if he was an inch. The horns on his helm seemed to be less decoration, and more a part of his actual skull, if only to belie his utterly heartless and evil nature. A palpable aura of dire, awful hatred rippled off of him in dark luminescence, peeling back the healthy green growth of the trees in the square.

'Rassilega!! I have come for you all!!'

His words carried with them such a heavy weight they each fell to the flagstones of the square with a great and weighty thud.

'Send out your representitive so that I may make an example of him for you all!'

I shrank back in my chair hoping that the village's representitive would at least have a swift and merciless death at this ravening pit-spawned fiend's hands, only to realize that everyone in the inn was staring directly at me. As it turns out the owner of the inn was also the mayor, and apparantly had just had a round of instantanious high-level talks with the rest of the village council in the previous 45 seconds, and had formed a village electoral commission to unanimously elect me to the position of 'Official Ambassador of Rassilega to any and all outside parties and peoples." No joke, I think I even still have the notarized copy of the document they presented me with that title framed in my room back in Aglahond. They presented me with that parchment as they were litterally shoving me out the door, part of my dinner still in my hands.
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Jace Arclight

Post  Magyc on Mon Apr 26, 2010 11:15 am

The image of Riff being the rapidly deputized representative of the town brought a sustained laugh from Jace. "Only a hour into civilization and you are already neck deep in trouble, without even trying! So, you clearly didn't have money to pay him off, and I'm guessing you did not best him in personal combat? How are you still alive today?"

Riff's mention of his bardic and druidic training brought up a offhanded comment Jace had overhead him make before, regarding being familiar with casting but not knowing any spells. Maybe it was time to remedy that.

Jace was protective of his spell library, especially of a few offensive water spells that were quite rare. He had been reluctant to store offensive spells within Friend Carlo's tattoos, for reasons not the the least of which he did not want to risk the spells being used against him or his comrades, in the worst case scenario. (Ever since he had determined that Friend Carlos would obey the vile "Preeminence" over even Jaya....or possibly obey any person that gave him a command). Riff was certainly more trustworthy than Friend Carlos, yet still somewhat unpredictable. As he listened to to Riff continuing with his story, he thought about the possibilities in the back of his mind...


Last edited by Gwilly on Fri May 07, 2010 10:04 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : name needed in subject heading)
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Riffington Alexander pleasegodshelpm--waitthatactuallyworked von Ulm

Post  Mr. Awesome on Wed Apr 28, 2010 2:22 pm

Glad you asked that Jase. At the time, I was almost entirely sure of the fact that I wasn't getting out of there on two legs anytime at all. There I stood, the only living hope that this little village had against surviving the ravages of a cruel bandit overlord. Naturally I took stock of what I had on hand. I had the clothes on my back, a stout whackin' stick back in the inn, a napkin tucked securely around my neck, and a handful of grilled shrimp. Oh, and my brains and wits as well, but I find that relying on those two is like asking a merchant from Westport to give you a discount or credit on a purchase.

So I did the only thing a man in my position with the documentation to prove my position could possibly do. I walked over, and continued to eat my dinner as I went and asked Jurgen what this was all about. Granted he didn't take too kindly to that. A man in his position is typically used to more people running in the opposite direction and screaming very loudly. So when I very calmly and reasonably asked him what he wanted, he kind of....well...whats the proper phrase for this? Um...I think "lost his damn-assed mind" should suffice.

Let me tell you though, that phrase only summarizes his reaction. I daresay that I've only seen maybe two or three other people overreact and act insane in a greater capacity. Jurgen's rage was something truely to behold. Had I not been busy trying to remember the name of the rather fetching barmaid at the inn, I may have actually started being fearful! Yeah...it wasn't until he pulled out the longsword that was almost as long as he was tall that I remembered to be scared.

It was at that point I was ready to be undone. Jurgan swung the sword in great long sweeping arcs, cleaving anything that came into contact with the blade in two. Fortunately for myself, I've always been a quick study at doging otherwise you'd be getting this story from my bi-sected ghost. Unfortunately however, I eventually ran out of space in which to dodge. Spacious and idyllic as that village square was, eventually I ran right into a corner. Kalta came at me with froth-flecked lips and a fire of madness in his eye. I suddenly came to realize just how and why this entire village was living in such dire fear of the man. I began to futilly throw anything I had within arms reach at him in a vain attempt to extend my stay upon this world. Rocks, planters, my left boot, even an unlucky housecat went out to try and intercept the man! Each he shrugged off as they made impact upon him.

Closer, and closer he came. Slowing his pace from that of a maddened run to a simple, slow, walk that bore little resemblance to a typical stride, and more with that of a funeral march. He grinned savagely down at me as he came to stand before me, that horrible blade of his practically quivering with anticipation at having yet another man's blood upon it. He let out a peal of horrid bloodlust laughter the like of which I should never hear again. So, in an attempt to end my life with a nice punchline I reeled back and threw the only thing I had left at my disposal to throw as his mouth fell open. My dinner.

Within mear moments of Jergan coughing and sputtering and spitting out bits of my shrimp dinner he began to curse my name as violently as he could. ....which actually I think is about the fourth most violently cursing as I've ever had in my life. He poised himself to deliver a killing stroke in one blow, at which time his eyes began to bulge out of his head, his raspy breathing choked off to silence, and he fell backwards down to the ground, and ended up stabbing himself with his sword as he went.

As it actually turns out, the ravening bandit chief Jurgan Kalta had something of a severe allergy to shellfish.
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The Greatest and worst idea ever.

Post  Mr. Awesome on Mon Nov 08, 2010 3:11 pm

The sudden realization of a hilarious truth blasted through Riff like a bolt of lightning and suddenly, there was a truth that NEEDED telling.

"You know what could have helped out last time we had combat? I completely should have brought the M.G.B. gun from Fardwox's place. I KNEW I should have nicked after that one time."
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