| Greetings to those who are guests and possibly prospective members of this site. I won't lie, the site is not excessively active but it has a daily presence of members. There is a level of activity that is more laid back and that may suit some people more than others. If you prefer no pressure posting and social discussions and interactions then this is the place for you. Have a look at our available forums to see what we offer as a site. If anything strikes your mood, why not talk to someone in the Chatango chat box at the bottom of every page. If you like what you see then why not join the community. |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2
| Blades in the Sand; Rhoane Fenn; Ahmerrad | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Oct 9 2013, 06:50 PM (426 Views) | |
| Brackenwood | Oct 9 2013, 06:50 PM Post #1 |
|
Dawn; one of the few times a man could go for a walk upon the winding sandstone streets of the the city without roasting alive or freezing to death, but so it was in the City of Ahmerrad neigh, in all of Baan. It was at this time, just before the sun and all its ungodly heat spilled completely over the horizon that Rhoane found himself wandering the streets, alone save for a few early bird merchants and the occasional guard patrolling the morning streets. An assassin and thief by trade, Rhoane's line of work had taken him all across the Baan Peninsula, from one side to the other and back again, only to dump him in the capital city with no work and limited funds to draw from. Not that unemployment would be a problem for long, though. This was Baan after all, the lands were refugees were made slaves in everything but name, the land where petty nobles with no real power behind their names squabbled daily amongst themselves and who would gladly hire an assassin to take a life over the cheapest of perceived slights. Indeed, for a man of Rhoane's talents finding work was never difficult to find and in some cases, it even came to him. As Rhoane walked, he found himself in one of many of Ahmerrad's slum districts where refugees and the poor lived hand in hand, and were often one in the same. It was here that pickpockets, muggers, murders, and beggars congregated, a place where no merchant or noble in their right mind would go unless accompanied by a score of guards. And that was exactly what Rhoane found. A few block into the slum, at what could jokingly be called its village square, a man in nobles robes and at least 12 guards had managed to draw quite a bit of attention not only by their presence but by the large pouch of royals that the nobleman was waving above his head as he called out over the clamoring crowd. Though Rhoane couldn't catch all of what was being said from his position, he heard what little he did hear. "Need....murdered.... 5, 000 royals...can get it done, quietly." |
![]() |
|
| Volksgeist | Oct 9 2013, 08:04 PM Post #2 |
![]()
|
Rhoane moved quietly, drawing his cloak around him. The slums were a place that he was not afraid to frequent alone; only if the guards had been specifically ordered or the locals were truly desperate did they find themselves among the refugees. As such, it was the perfect place for a man feared by the guards to lurk - and this was made no less by the fact that the general layout allowed for quick escapes and easy surveillance. As he moved amongst the few bodies that had risen already, Rhoane came across the village square, where a noble man swathed by guards was clanking a bag full of Royals above the heads of a small crowd. Rhoane grumbled. It might be a job he could take, and he was down to his last thousand Royals, but it was risky. Why would a nobleman be openly calling for an assassination in the streets, even if it was the refugee ghetto? Even if it was, in fact, a real contract - there was the matter of the twelve guards, all of which who had probably heard his name before. This, of course, was a lesser threat, as any good assassin knew not to use their true names in their deals - or any names at all, for that matter. Quietly, he moved deeper into the crowd, pulling his facemask up and over his mouth to the bridge of his nose. Making sure that none of the weapons he bore on him were visible, he stood a mere few yards from the front of the crowd, attempting to listen in a little bit more on the offer. |
![]() |
|
| Brackenwood | Oct 9 2013, 10:16 PM Post #3 |
|
As Rhoane moved closer to the spectacle in the square one thing were made clear. The man holding the bag of royals above his head was reviled to be Emir Nuwas. A rather short and rotund noble with short black hair, beady brown eyes, olive skin and a massive beard, that had garnered himself quite the reputation within the City of Amherrad. It was well known that on any given night Nuwas could be found in any of the cities numerous pleasure houses, getting embarrassingly drunk off of wine or inebriated on one or more of the many opioids that each house offered within before turning a lustful gaze to the girl that plied their trade behind the ornate sandstone walls. Though, on the whole, this was not altogether uncommon for a man of his status, there was the matter of the many rumors that concerned the Emir and his carnal tastes. It was whispered that is was a common occurance for women to bolt from a room in near hysterics after servicing the man. Tears streaming down battered faces and steady rivulets of blood trickling their way out of open gashes and bite marks in the flesh and those were considered the lucky ones. There were multiple rumors that some girls never left the rooms at all, or worse, were taken back to the Emir's private residence never to be seen again. Of course, nothing had been done as of yet. Most likely because the Emir was a smart man, his victims were often said to be girls from the slums and refugee camps, working as whores in the pleasure houses as a last resort. In the eyes of the king, they were trash, vermin to be disposed of, and so, the Emir was free to do as he pleased. But that was neither here nor there, all that mattered now was figuring out why the Emir had decided to put on his little show. Stepping closer still Rhoane was finally able to make out what the Emir was saying from behind the human wall his guards had formed around him. "I'll say it once again! I need a man Murdered and I need a man found, I will pay anyone who can either do the former or give me information on the latter 5,000 Royals, if you can do both I will pay you for both! If you wish to discuss the former with me come to my estate this evening, there we will meet and discuss what needs to be done. as for the latter I am looking for a man that goes by the name of Rhoane Fenn, my business with this man is my own, but he is proving to be a hard man to meet with. If any of you wish to see a single royal from this purse, I suggest you speak up now!" |
![]() |
|
| Volksgeist | Oct 9 2013, 11:10 PM Post #4 |
![]()
|
Emir Nuwas, nothing more than a beetle-like sand-dweller as far as Rhoane was concerned. He had heard the tales - he most certainly had - of Emir's clandestine ways with the women in the whorehouses and their subsequent maims or disappearances, but he had never figured that such a man as Emir Nuwas would be searching for him. To say it was a surprise would be an overstatement, as any fine assassin knows that his name will become unlike that of the dread-god on the tongues of those who fear them, but it was something that was quite intriguing regardless. Rhoane did not leap to the forefront of the pack, nor did he answer from the crowd. Instead, he began to ever-so-slowly use the undulations of the crowd to shimmy backward, out of sight, where he might have but a moment to consider this proposition. He would watch and see if anyone else jumped at the chance that Emir had to offer from afar, but, regardless of the turnout, Rhoane would find himself at Emir's home that evening. Five-thousand Royals was not a price to be passed on and, if he could figure out what Emir's business was with him, he might even consider the tempting offer of doubling that money. It was a sticky situation; but then, when is the life of an assassin or thief not such? |
![]() |
|
| Brackenwood | Oct 11 2013, 07:17 PM Post #5 |
|
Rhoane was lucky to me back when he did as the offer of 10,000 Royals sent the crowd (many of whom looked like that hadn't eaten in almost a week) into a frenzy. Men and women both began to fight to get even a step closer to the Emir and his sack of gold. One man even attempted to jump over the guards in an attempt to grab the money from the noble’s hands, only to be met with a club to the face, and a savage kick to the ribs from one of the guards after his limp form had crumpled to the ground. This scene continued on, for some time. And after a few more people tried to jump the line only to meet the same fate as the first, it became painfully obvious that either no one knew where Rhoane was, or if they did, were not willing to share that information. A fact that the Emir took notice of as he slipped the bag of Royals back into the folds of his robe. With a whispered word to the guard directly in front of him, the Emir prepared to leave. His eyes scanning over the crowed with a general look of disdain and loathing within them as he walked through the path that his guards had made for him. Just as it appeared that the Emir and his men would leave the slums without incident, the wind began to howl. And as the Emir and his mean cleared the slum’s square the howl had turned into a roar. The wind seemed to come from all directions and with it the roar. By now the Emir and his men had taken notice of it and surprisingly had hurried back to a position within the crowd. The guards all had swords drawn and even the Emir himself had begun to channel a fireball between his palms as he cursed at the roaring wind that was growing steadily in sound and intensity. People began to panic, running in blind confusion as the wind reached near deafening levels. And then…it stopped. For a moment all was calm, not even the slightest hint of a breeze ruffled the tattered awnings of the sandstone hovels. It was so calm in fact, that some of the guards began to lower their swords a mistake that they would not live to regret. All at once, from every street and every alley the wind came yet again and with it came wall upon wall of blowing sand. In an instant visibility was reduced to almost nothing and even though people almost assuredly screaming, it was next to impossible to hear them…almost. The voices of Emir Nuwas and his men could be heard over the wind and the Emir himself had begun launching fireballs at random. He was panicked, and for good reason. From where Rhoane was standing he could make out the tell-tale glint of steel blades every time the Emir launched another fireball and at his best guess, there were at least 7 blades converging on the Emir’s location that hadn’t been there before. The screams of the Emir and his men that followed shortly after Rhoane’s sighting of the blades in the sand put to rest any notions Rhoane might have had about filling his pockets that night and what happened next cast a slight shadow on the notion of even living that long. As the last final scream of the Emir's party rang out, the sands parted as a man stepped forth, his eyes on Rhoane and his blade drawn. The next move was Rhoane's |
![]() |
|
| Volksgeist | Oct 11 2013, 07:51 PM Post #6 |
![]()
|
When Rhoane saw as his own people leapt for the Royals like a pack of Kaftar after a spare piece of rotten mutton, he couldn't help but curse under his breath. The slums had turned them from humans into something less - something, perhaps, more akin to slaves than he would have liked to admit. Not getting caught in the fray had been a perfect decision, or at least it had seemed to be, until the howl began. When the wind began to pick up, Rhoane knew something was awry. Instead of continuing his backing, he had opted to crouch as close to the crowd as possible, but he was unsure what the source was. Almost as if in answer, the wind let up, and then - the storm. As sand ripped around the circle and buffeted him, Rhoane's eyes caught the flashing of blades. That was a sign to get out. That was a sign that he was not alone. Rhoane turned as Emir continued to scream along with his host of guards and made to leave, but the sands seemed to part directly in front of him and a man emerged. A red cloak swathed him, leathers draped around his body. A mask, not unlike Rhoane's, concealed the man's face. He held a curved blade between them. Rhoane cursed again. Now there definitely wouldn't be any money left for him to grab. Turning quickly, Rhoane snapped one of his hands to his chakram and began to run. Pulling it free from his hip, he held it at the read, but hoped there would be no need to use it. Keeping his eyes toward the roofs, or, at the very least, what he hoped were the roofs of the hovels, he pounded over the street and leapt into the air. A quick whisper of incantation, and, with luck, he might find himself shadowstepped onto a nearby roof where he could perhaps escape the onslaught. If not, he would at least be that much further out of reach of his potential pursuant. |
![]() |
|
| Brackenwood | Oct 15 2013, 04:05 PM Post #7 |
|
Attempting a shodowstep from the center of sandstorm was a risky maneuver indeed, but when the only other option was to stay in fight 7 assassins that commanded the very sands, it was a risk that Rhoane was willing to take. And as luck would have it, his gamble paid off. Rhoane's blind shadowstep had landed him on the top of a nearby hovel, though just barely. On the streets below, the sandstorm still ragged continuing to spread panic and discord amongst the refugees. As for the assassin in red, he had now stepped from the storm, eyes locked on Rhoane as he stood upon the rooftops. It was obvious that the chase would not be canceled so easily. With the slightest hint a a smile forming behind the mask, the assassin reached into a pouch on his side, pulling from it a large orb that slowly began to glow a purple and give of smoke of the same color. From his position on the roof, Rhoane could see six more lights, each a different color begin to shine through the storm, seeming to answer the call of the first. Whatever was about to happen, it would be bad. Now was the time to run. To his left was the market district, lots of people with plenty of tight alleyways and other places to hide. To his right, the guard barracks there would be plenty of guards there, both a blessing and a curse, but at least there would be more swords to throw between himself and the assassins. And lastly to his rear, a far ways off, the sorcerer kings palace if he could make it that far it would be possible to get assistance from the kings elite guard, a mix of expert warriors and master mages. There were advantages and disadvantages to both, the choice was Rhoane's |
![]() |
|
| Volksgeist | Oct 15 2013, 10:14 PM Post #8 |
![]()
|
Rhoane thought he had freed himself from pursuit only to turn and see that the other assassin had followed. He cursed under his breath. The assassin in red produced an orb that fit in the palm of his hand, a thing that was smoking and glowing. That was never a good sign. Rhoane turned and leapt, shadowstepping from the roof he had landed on back into the streets. The bodies of civilians would act as deterrents and the narrow, winding alleyways of Ahmerrad would lend to his escape, but he was starting to feel as though running wasn't going to cut it. Still, he wasn't in the mood to fight between a sandstorm, a frenzy of people, and with a number of other mysterious assassins nearby. He would have to lure this one away and off to some place both deserted and open. Rhoane's dash, if he managed to make it, would send him to the ground, where he would roll and then start his mad dash into the market district. From there, it would be navigating the alleyways in an attempt to find an open courtyard where, hopefully, he would be able to take on the other assassin one-on-one. |
![]() |
|
| Brackenwood | Oct 21 2013, 09:09 PM Post #9 |
|
Rhoane's skills were more than adequate to get him safely to the ground, allowing him a few moments of time to run into the market district. Though his suspicions of running not cutting it were soon confirmed as the howling winds began again, followed shortly by the storm. It came faster than before, covering the market district in an instant much to the confusion of the general populace. As men and women scrambled to find shelter, it occurred to Rhoane that despite the chaos, no one seemed to be getting injured, beyond what ever injures the crowd inflicted upon itself. It was not a comforting observation. It meant that, for whatever reason, the assassins had singled him out and were now bding their time. Even after Rhoane had left the main street to navigate the alleys of Amherrad, he could feel the presence of the assassins. Some kept pace on the rooftops, some seemed to chase right behind him, and others still seemed to be waiting in adjacent alleyways, blocking any chance of escape and of course the sand and wind made it nearly impossible to visually check if his suspicious were true. Either way, he was being guided, and luckily he had an idea of of where to. After a few more minutes of running, the alleys gave way to a section of the city long abandoned. It had been empty when Rhoane had first came to the city and had apparently been empty decades before that. For some reason, the denizens of Amerrhad made sure to to avoid the area, and even the Sorcerer-King preferred to stay away from it. Rumors of hauntings and curses weighed heavily on this district, and thus it had come to be known the ghost district in recent years. It was a lonely and ancient place. Houses and streets sat as they had in decades past, though now in various states of decay and the stench of something foul seemed to permeate the air. Rhoane didn't have long to focus on that though, as the howling wind made it clear that he had company. 7 forms clad in red stood along the decaying rooftops. Four appeared to be male, while the other three appeared to be female but all stared at Rhoane. The assassin with the purple orb was the first to act. Turning his head to another assassin, one with a blue orb, he spoke in a tongue that Rhoane had never heard before. The assassin with the blue orb did not speak. Only nodded, and disappeared, reappearing shortly in front of Rhoane, blades drawn and ready to duel. |
![]() |
|
| Volksgeist | Oct 21 2013, 09:19 PM Post #10 |
![]()
|
Rhoane was getting sick of the chase anyway, so, with the sandstorm at his back and his course railroaded to the empty district of Ahmerrad, he decided it it was about time to get this over with. It was as soon as he reached this conclusion that the seven assassins that had been pursuing him appeared above him, each with an orb in hand. When the one with the purple orb - the one that seemed to be the leader and his primary pursuer - spoke in a strange tongue, Rhoane did not have to know what was coming next. In what seemed a feat of magic, the assassin disappeared and reappeared in front of him, blades out. "Alright. If that's how you want it, then so be it." Rhoane snapped his chakram from his side and quickly pulled it apart, each half serving as a bladed edge of sorts. With the bladed edges outward in a means similar to brass knuckles, Rhoane leapt forward and jabbed at his opponent. It was not so much to contact, though, if it did, it would be both surprising and perfect for Rhoane. No, this was a simple test of agility and, if passed, would hopefully shed a little more light on the skills these other assassins held. |
![]() |
|
| Brackenwood | Oct 23 2013, 05:49 AM Post #11 |
|
The Assassin gave a short whistle of approval as Rhoane snapped the Chakram from his belt and made the first move, striking out at the assassin with a quick jab. A move which the assassin easily dodged with a quick side-step, and a trust of his own to Rhoan'es left side. Even though both appeared to be testing each other, it was clear to anyone watching that neither assassin would pass up the opportunity to pass up a killing blow if the chance presented itself. From their vantage points of the rooftops, the other assassins watched silently. Eye's fixed on the dueling pair below, taking in every dodge, every parry, every attack and counter attack as the two assassins gradually began to escalate in their intensity. The were no more telegraphed attacks, block were immediately followed by counterattacks aimed for the vital organs and veins. Despite the intensity of their match however, neither man had received more than a few shallow cuts or bruises. Just as it seemed as though both men were evenly matched, Rhoane managed to get in a solid strike with one of his Chakram. The assassin had gotten careless, and instead of countering Rhoane's attack when he should have, he instead tried to wound Rhoane with his own. A mistake that earned him a deep gash to to his torso, just below the 3rd rib. Graoning behind his mask the assassin dropped one of his blades and leapt away from Rhoane, one had on his wound while the other quickly sheathed the remaining dagger and pulled a glowing blue orb from a side-pouch. Just like before the assassin hissed an incantation as the orb began to glow and smoke. As the assassin continued his incantation the orbs radiance grew until it was near blinding, forcing Rhoane to cover his eye until the light faded and Rhoane was able to see what had become of his would-be adversary. Looking at the spot where the assassin had been ,Rhoane was surprised to find not one, but three cloaked assassins, each a perfect copy of each-other standing with blades at the ready. |
![]() |
|
| Volksgeist | Oct 23 2013, 07:23 PM Post #12 |
![]()
|
"Bastard" Rhoane hissed. He had known that there was some sort of magic at work but he hadn't know quite how. Still, the assassin (and hopefully his copies) was (were?) wounded and that presented at least a little bit of an opening. Rhoane's mind quickly pieced a plan together, something perhaps simple and effective. Rhoane switched both halves of his Chakram to his left hand, backpedalling and reaching for one of the bolas at his side. When his hand pulled it free, he leapt backward, shadowstepping into the air and backward from where he threw the bola with his left hand as hard as he could toward the centermost of the three. As he dropped, Rhoane surveyed the area they were in - if it was right, he could perhaps rejoin his Chakram and throw it to, at the very least, cause a distraction if not some damage. If this was the case, then while his Chakram flew, it would be one hand to the grappling hook and the other prepared in a fist to combat his foes. He would hook them and reel them in, shadowstepping as he could. If worse came to worst, he would be forced to employ the only other spell he knew - he would have to expend the energy to knock them out via skin-to-skin contact. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, for he wondered if he would have to fight any of the other assassins... Bola thrown and eyes searching, Rhoane readied for the fight. |
![]() |
|
| Brackenwood | Oct 23 2013, 10:41 PM Post #13 |
|
As the bola flew through the air, Rhoane had more than enough time to scope out the area as he shadow-stepped away.. The Ghost distract was cramped and cluttered with debris. Ancient looking sandstone building stood in mostly in ruins. Though some were still in decent condition, others had crumbled to little more than large piles of stone. Overall the district appeared to be an excellent spot to throw a Chakram, but really there was only one way to tell. In the meantime, Rhoane's bola had made it to the three assassins, though it failed to bind the man in the center it had served to split the group up, making them easy targets for a well placed Chakram. |
![]() |
|
| Volksgeist | Oct 24 2013, 12:31 AM Post #14 |
![]()
|
Not thinking, Rhoane threw his Chakram as hard as he could while still coming down from his shadowstep, attempting to land the hit on the furthest assassin to the right. He figured if he played his cards right, a well-placed ricochet could get one of them and, when it did, if it didn't sink into them, it would hopefully bounce off and hit another. After his chakram left his hand and Rhoane his the ground, he whipped out his grappling hook in his right hand and tried to snare one of the other assassins in an attempt to pull them close and jab them in the throat with his hand. |
![]() |
|
| Brackenwood | Oct 24 2013, 09:05 PM Post #15 |
|
Rhoane's Chakram hummed as it cut through the air, slicing into the arm of the assassin on the right and continuing on its way. As it went, it managed to catch the side of one of the many sandstone buildings and began to ricochet from one solid surface to the other, filling the air with the sound of clanging metal. The assassin who had been cut grabbed his wounded arm and hissed. With his opposite hand he clutched his dagger and began to charge at Rhoane who by now had landed his grappling hook square in the shoulder of the assassin on the left, pulling him into a blow that he hoped would crush the mans windpipe. And crush it he did. But rather than feeling the soft crunch of collapsing cartilage, Rhoane instead felt a strong rush of air force its way out of the man throat as a cloud of blue-black smoke erupted from where the mans nose and mouth should have been. As the smoke poured forth, Rhoane felt his hook fall to the ground as the assassins body evaporated before his very eyes. Meanwhile, the third assassin, who had barley managed to dodge Rhone's charkram as it ricocheted of a pile of stone, made a dive at Rhoane towards Rhoane. Coming up through the smoke that the now deceased clone had provided and delivering a hard front kick to Rhoane's chest, sending the assassin flying backwards towards the other assassin, who seemed intent on running Rhoane threw with his dagger. |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · The Baan Peninsula · Next Topic » |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2








12:34 AM Jul 11