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Gyro
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Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

04 Dec 2009, 21:36

As of 1/14/2010, several sections have been edited along with the new post that has been added. There were some problems with chronological flow I didn't catch on the first read-through that I fixed. This means that some sections got moved further down and other things have been edited slightly.

Also, sorry for the pause in posting. I've been having some troubles sleeping and have thus been absent from the board. We should be back on our every-other-day schedule now, though.

Hey, everybody! To do my part in providing content for the Freedom Stone, I'm posting a narrative version of my online Exalted group's adventures. This is open to comments, questions and critiques as we go along.

Here's a brief rundown of the player characters:

Don Tumbaga, Zenith Caste: Lula.
Irreverent Seeker, Night Caste: Cromage.
Ethan Delwyn, Waning Moon Caste: Alliteration.
Verdant-Heart Wolf, Dawn Caste, August.
Sagacious Hand, Eclipse Caste, Me.

I'll begin with the first scene from the Prelude.


A marketplace in the North Quarter of Great Forks
Ascending Air 1, RY 768
Evening.


The horizon was on fire. Red and orange clouds simmered about the sinking sun, occasionally passing over its face and sending shadows flitting over the bright marble walls of the city. Evening traffic dragged and hurried in turn, betraying the uneasy heartbeat of the citizenry. Enforcers on their rounds did not look quite as deeply into the lengthening shadows as they may have otherwise. Night sellers reluctantly unveiled their wares, nervously commenting to one another that the air seemed heavier than normal this time of year. Jarat Dorabee, a resident poet, wrote in his diary of feeling a 'menacing anticipation'. When night finally fell, the gates closed with an alacrity they did not seem to possess most other days.

Overcast and warm, it was the night after Calibration-and yet those five strange days seemed unwilling to let their grasp slip away. As a weird gloom settled over the city of a thousand temples, the inhabitants of the city went about their business in the hope that when they awoke the next day, that would be the end of it.

Few suspected that this was, in fact, a beginning.

The merchants in the market favored by the Seeker of the Forbidden all had a different way of dealing with the light-fingered young lady. Some involved sharp heavy objects as soon as she appeared on the scene; others courted her favor; most simply ignored her as they would ignore a passing dust devil. The wide variety of responses reflected the thief's peculiar sense of ethics. She would usually pay for whatever she took, though it might be hours, days, or months later, and the ultimate restitution would depend on her mood rather than the worth of her item.

Seeker leaned against a fruit stand and nodded to the owner. "Hey Rhine. How's business?"

The wolf-headed man shrugged. "Slow. You know how it is this time of year. Calibration stockpiles will last another day or so."

"Tell me about it. At least the streets are always clear."

Rhine of the Sea snorted. "Like you use ever use them, god-child."

Seeker adopted a wounded look. "I'll have you know the streets are a great place to find things."

"Like careless tourists and their loose pocketbooks?"

It was scarcely possible, but somehow she managed to look even more offput. "Hey, sometimes things fall. Then I pick them up. It's not my fault."

"Sure, sure. Just take care. Not even you can afford to be careless in this climate."

Seeker saluted him with her apple. "I'll take that under consideration, old man. See you around." She dashed off.

"Heywha?" yelped the shopkeeper, before he saw the pile of silver in its place.

The thief whirled up the lamppost and perched on it briefly before leaping to an overhang. The canvas barely rippled under her weight. Nimbly, she jumped off the window ledge to the rooftop above.

Time to look for trouble.
Last edited by Gyro on 14 Jan 2010, 11:08, edited 3 times in total.
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

06 Dec 2009, 11:41

Masada Kir's residence.

Verdant-Heart Wolf didn't say anything. She didn't need to say anything. The room had one exit, and she had her back to it. After a tense moment, the robed merchant-prince-wannabe sighed and crossed his arms, freeing them from the grip of two girls on either side. They were drunk, and didn't pick up on the looming threat of violence. The sitar player continued on, and Masada's other guests knew when to look the other way. Thank the gods.
"Well, if that's how Sagacious Hand feels..." But the man didn't move, made no gesture of resignation.

Verdant eyed the four bodyguards in the room. They weren't armed, at least obviously, but word on the street was that they were A-class martial artists. They were big guys, and dressed in formal black robes. The girls on either side of Masada Kir didn't act how Verdant thought "socialites" ought to, but it's not like they were courtesans or prostitutes or anything else either. Their bodies were definitely worth the effort to show off, but their clothing didn't seem at all like Sagacious Hand's! It was so... oh right, the job.

"That's how he feels, Masada. You're free to infringe on any other merchant's turf here, and hell knowing Hand he'd probably work out a deal with you, but you hedge in on my boss and there'll be ah.... ugliness. Lots of ugliness."

"And he sent his personal bodyguard to send me this message?"

Verdant shrugged. "Well, you do have a bit of a reputation."

Masada raised a wiry eyebrow and took a sip of the wine he had sitting on the low table. "Then he must have great faith in your abilities."

Verdant chuckled softly. "I volunteered. It was important to Hand that he get this message across. I thought, hey, it would be best for all involved if someone strong enough to take on Masada's entire private army showed up, because then no one would get hurt. Except your guys maybe. Anyway, that's why my company of mercs is sitting around in your courtyard. Backup, you know. Also, you might need to give the guys you had outside a few days off, they'll be okay but they're too sore and beat up to be front-side guards."

There was another long pause. Guests mingled in the background, the sound of their murmurs and the gentle clink of glasses phased in and out of the sitar's wandering rhythm. Finally Masada spoke: "I see. Thank you for answering my earlier question about how you got into the building." Masada unlocked his arms and gestured to a black-robed guard in the corner. "Mr Gori, please see this woman out."

Verdant took a slight bow, biting her lip. "I think … yeah, you know what? I actually think it's cute you'd try to get this guy on my back, but really, let's skip that part. It'd be a shame to end a life of martial arts like that, and my guys are waiting for a signal outside anyway. Later!" Verdant gave a smile and a little wave and backed out of the door, closing it on her way. She slid against it and breathed a sigh of relief. The corridor to Masada's private party area was filled with soldiers in charcoal-colored leather. They gripped their short spears and tensed. They looked ready to pounce, but Verdant waved them off. "Let's not get crazy, let's just leave. Hell, I'll buy you guys a round."

A few minutes later, Verdant-Heart Wolf passed the Hand estate. The doorman approached her. He was a polite man headed into well old age, though you'd never guess it by how spry he was. "Miss Wolf, I take it everything went well?"

"Yeah, the mercs were a big help. Tell Hand he was right. I'm just going downtown to cool off but I'll be back in a bit."
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

08 Dec 2009, 08:26

Residence of Sagacious Hand.


"Sir. Verdant-Heart Wolf wished you to know that everything went well, and that she would be retiring downtown to cool off. She said she would return presently."

Sagacious Hand turned from the balcony threshold and looked to his doorman. In Thorns, the servants looked to their master's face; here, they stared straight ahead. Ardirake was polite, professional, and possessing a mixture of integrity and pride in his job that appealed to Hand's sensibilities. "Good. Thank you, Ardirake." Sagacious Hand returned Ardirake's bow with a nod of his head and turned back to the view out his balcony. He heard Aridake softly close the door behind him, and returned to the murmur of city outside. Hand hoped at some point he could trust Ardirake with more sensitive matters than he did now.

Those sensitive matters were, in fact, what lay heavily on his mind now. Hand had spent the last three years building his economic and institutional network to finance and empower his next step. The feeling that it was time to move, however, had been growing in the back of Hand's mind. Every day he spent exclusively growing his garden of money and influence was a day he let his adversaries continue to gain the initiative. Hand recognized that he had to increase his resolve. A lot of people were going to die. The temptation to falter, or find release in anything but his goal, would be intense. He would have to find his own courage, which had gone untested in much of the time he had spent maneuvering amongst his Guildmates.

He grimaced. He had not wanted to send Verdant at Masada. The very fact that it had taken his feared Anathema bodyguard to cow the other man was a sign of just how shy Masada was of being suicidally stupid. If the man did not have his own uses, Hand would have simply had him quietly assassinated. As it was, Masada's Guild sponsor was Atreus Longblade, one of the three Guild factors of Great Forks and the man in charge of the slave trade. Masada had a strange respect for his 'property', something both his mentor and his peers lacked. Masada also had all the subtlety of an anvil, and quiet threats had done nothing to curb his behavior. If Hand allowed him to continue, he would lose both his mysterious aura within the Guild as well as business. Abstaining from brute force in the present would require even more brute force in the future, and Hand hated to be brazen. It revealed too much.

The balcony's view did not point towards the center of Great Forks; rather, it faced where the shore met the river. For a moment, a sliver of moon glittered off the water, and the bright violet of Saturn blinked. Sagacious Hand leaned on the curved rose marble railing and peered into the darkness, musing on his first move.
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

10 Dec 2009, 11:08

Alley outside Françoise's.

The burly, red-faced man who had just a moment ago been the head of the line outside Françoise's, one of the more reputable cathouses outside Great Forks's red light district proper, wiped blood from his mouth and nose, grabbed a protruding brick in the wall behind him, and dragged himself off the flagstones to his feet. "That was impressive 'n all," he said, facing off against the skinny girl with clenched, bloody fists silhouetted in the doorway, "but I don't accept that kind of treatment from whores, whether they're filling in for the bouncer or the Scarlet Empress."

"You're impolite, sir," said Silver, the girl in the doorway, eyes flickering from left to right to forward again, "and you're a lot freer with your hands than you've paid to be, and our doorman is elsewhere. I'm filling in for a little while." The line had broken and reformed into two makeshift parentheses that blocked off either end of the wide, dusty street.

"Really," said the burly man, reaching beneath his vest and jerking loose a small object that looked like a sword hilt. "Where's he at? Because, you know, I'm sure that little robe feels real silky smooth for the five or ten minutes of the day you spend wearing it, but I don't see it, ah …" He flicked his wrist, and the object telescoped into a long baton. "…—concealing much. Let alone a weapon. Get it? Get it? Because I can see your tits."

"Fuck you, sir," said Silver, successfully resisting the reflex to adjust her robe. "The doorman—he hates the term 'bouncer'—is busy upstairs."

"Yeah?" The man tilted his posture sideways, arms akimbo for a moment before he lifted the tip of the telescoping baton against the pressure point underneath Silver's narrow jaw, tilting her face uncomfortably upwards, bit by bit, fighting the tensing muscles of her neck. "What's he busy with?"

"He's cooking," said Silver. Abruptly, her face flipped skywards, the baton swinging up with the sudden release of pressure and smacking its wielder in the nose and forehead. She shouted, "DT! NOW!" From the first-floor window above poured a sudden deluge of boiling brown liquid, which hissed and screamed against the big man's skin as it drenched him. Dropping the baton, he fell to his knees, writhing as if electrocuted while the oil burnt his flesh. Stepping back into the high heels she'd shucked at the fight's beginning, Silver took up the baton by the business end and walked across the man's legs and torso to glare downwards into his molten, misshapen face. "Hey, you ever heard the phrase 'hooker with a heart of gold?'" She dropped the baton into his open, screaming mouth, then stamped it in firmly with the toe of her shoe. "I'm not that godsdamn hooker." She whirled on the rear heel, eliciting a last reflexive twitch of agony from the man, and stormed back into Françoise's.

"I wanna get with that girl," said someone in the crowd, stirred suddenly in all directions as its components fought alternately to get away from this crazy place, to get in the door, or to get a look at the defeated man.

Within Françoise's, Silver was approached by a tower of a man wearing loose black cotton trousers, a dark orange vest, a gold cravat, and soft lace-up boots. He wore a colorful luchador's mask and carried a prodigious platter of deep-fried vegetables in his hands. "Silver," said he, "I know I'm new to this recipe but I think I've gotten the batter right this time. Can you taste th—"

"DT, sweetheart," said Silver, lifting the heavy platter neatly out of Don Tumbaga's grasp, "I'm sure they're just as delicious as everything you make. So sure that I'm taking them upstairs and eating the lot of them my own damn self, right fucking now." As she passed him, DT sighed, smiling slightly behind the mask, and strode forth, grabbing a dark-colored serape and a wide-brimmed straw hat from the coat rack, and a slightly bloodstained clipboard from a table near the door. He knew Silver couldn't read, so he didn't know why she'd bothered with it, but it went with the bouncer look, at least. DT ducked awkwardly through the too-small-for-him door and assumed his place outside, clipboard in hand, serape and hat and mask leaving him nearly entirely concealed, though very much a forbidding darkness in the patchwork glow of lanterns that illuminated this street. He turned to the first guest in a line which had very, very hastily reformed.

Wolf ignored the messy, boiling scene in front of the brothel. It was just the most respectable place she could get with her budget ever since her favorite place was bought out and turned into a tea parlor, and these little scenes didn't change that fact. While no one was looking, she slipped to the front of line, and turned to make sure no one was going to put up a fuss. DT said to her, "Good evening, and you are … ?"

A blonde, muscular man in military dress with a grey fur collar and tall boots turned to face DT. Until he wasn't a man, and was instead a blonde, muscular woman in military dress, a grey fur collar and high boots. "Right. My name's Verdant, and I'm looking for a girl with an open—" As Verdant-Heart Wolf turned she stopped dead mid-sentence. She blushed. She closed her mouth. "An open … umm … Hi, Tumbaga. Gods! Gods, man, I really really didn't know you worked here. I mean I didn't know you worked here until I asked Hand, who told me you worked here, which is why I'm here! To see you, Tumbaga. Yes. I umm … how are you, man?" Verdant was still blushing as she crossed her arms, cocked her head and inquired into the well being of a brothel bouncer.

"Hey! What the fuck's this about?" Someone said from behind Wolf. She turned, grateful for an excuse not to face this awkward situation. "I—Oh, oh look who it is." Verdant gave Tumbaga a little wave as she left hurriedly, and gave the rude customer behind her a shove into a nearby wall. He plummeted back, a dumb look on his round face as he struck the hard wooden wall of a nearby noodle shop. The red lamps attached to the wall swayed a little from the impact. She pointed a finger at him in a gesture of unusually strong seriousness. "Chill." She moved forward to an old acquaintance on the street opposite. "Hey! Long time no see …."
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

12 Dec 2009, 13:09

North Quarter
Spade Street


It was quieter than usual in the North Quarter that night. Ethan Delwyn could almost smell rain, imagine hearing distant thunder. Thick clouds blotted out the stars. Not rainclouds yet, but the air was humid. He pulled the cowl of his father's cloak back and knelt, studying the road. His nose sniffed twice.

“You got anything yet, Del?” muttered Sergeant Brice with irritation. His hulking Enforcer liaison had been grumbling ever since they had left Central.

Ethan stood. “Don't call me Del. My friends call me that.” His face was serious as he pointed down the street. “Three more blocks. He's in the dormitory on the right. Hasn't moved since earlier.”
Brice chuckled, his craggy face lit up by the dim, silvery light of Ethan's tattoos. Then he quieted, his features stony once more. The liaison was not in the mood for their usual verbal sparring. Brice made a hand motion. Three people casually sharing the empty street with them detached from fake errands and huddled around the pair. “You heard him, three blocks, on the right. Musawi, Dasan, you go around back and make sure he doesn't escape that way. Talon, you keep lookout on the roof.” Three affirmatives and the Enforcers vanished down side roads and alleyways, leaving Ethan and Brice to stroll up the main street.

Buildings in the Northern District weren't usually very pretty, and the one concealing their target was no different. Compared to the rustic wood cabins of his childhood home and the lavish constructions in the rest of the city it was a dump. A bunker. A dull square of stone and plaster. It had a few floors, and two doors on ground level with a breezeway connecting them, a common layout for this neighborhood. As they approached it the Enforcer cracked the knuckles in his left hand compulsively. “Nervous?” Ethan teased.

“No,” the veteran grunted. Brice always cracked his knuckles when he was uneasy.

“Don't worry, I'll protect you.”

“Heh.” Brice cracked the door for a peek, then swung it wide, revealing an empty breezeway. The mark's scent was here, stronger now; the smell of sweat, blood, and old coins. It hung in the air like incense. Ethan took the lead. He vaulted quietly upstairs to the second floor and stopped at the top of the landing. The smell led to the door directly in front of him. He could hear someone moving around inside, papers rustling. Brice appeared, climbing the stairs as stealthily as Ethan had, but with noticeable effort. They took up positions on both sides of the door, and his liaison looked askance at him, confirming if this really was the right room. He just stared blankly back. Brice nodded, then started counting down from three on his slab-like fingers. Three. Two. One. The large man whirled with surprising grace and planted his heavy boot into the door. Cords of muscle in his leg tensed and the flimsy piece of wood blew off into the room. The pair rushed in. Darkness covered the room with shadow, the faintest of ambient light drifting in through the window and ruined doorway. A chair, table, and bed were the only furnishings. In the gloom a figure jerked upwards from behind the table. Brice's voice boomed through the cramped space. “Desert Whispering! You are under arrest! Do not resist!”
The figure was already jumping towards the window. Ethan's sharp eyes caught sight of lanky dark hair and a hooked nose before he was distracted by a small glint of metal flying towards Brice. The Enforcer, startled, caught the knife and threw it into the wall next to him. Their target vanished over the sill as Ethan pushed his way around Brice and rushed to the window. Desert was sliding down both walls of the alleyway, using his hands and feet to slow his fall. “Del, wait! Dammit!”

Ethan had already vaulted out the window, his cloak thrown to the exasperated sergeant. His legs took the impact of the fall with ease. The criminal ducked Musawi's clumsy grasp and disappeared around the corner. It didn't matter. Wherever Desert ran, Ethan could track him. Turning the corner he spotted his prey a few blocks ahead, sprinting down open road without bothering to turn. Stupid. He was fast, but Ethan was faster; he gained steadily until his quarry disappeared into a low lying window in a building on the outskirts of Central. Ethan slid into the window, ready to land and chase. Instead he fell until he splashed down in several feet of water. Cursing, the tracker pulled himself from the large pool, completely soaked. He sniffed the air. Nothing but the smell of water and soggy Ethan. He sighed. The trail was lost. Had to report to Brice.

“Aaaaah! What are you doing in Kansai's Sacred Pool!?” He turned to see a small old woman wearing water stained robes shuffling towards him and waving a broom.

“Yes, my apologies, Priestess. Did you see a man running through here, about this tall, hooked nose?”

The old woman gave no indication she had heard him. “No one is allowed to bathe in Kansai's pool without her express permission!”

“I said I was sorry, I didn't know there was a temple here, I was chasing a ….”

“She who is known for her purity, grace, innocence, flowing beauty ….” The old priestess of Kansai the river spirit carried on with increasing hostility, and Ethan shrank back, his words of apology falling on possibly deaf ears. Maybe if he turned into a bear she'd stop. Or he could eat her. He chuckled at that and was rewarded with a swat on the head from the broom. “… and you smell like a wet dog! Get out! Get out!” He couldn't turn into a bear yet though. Mentally, Ethan added it to the list.

He made his way back to Desert's apartment in soggy clothes, taking his time. Brice was still there, waiting in the entryway. “Hey Del,” he said blandly. “Take it you didn't catch the guy?” Ethan shook his head. Brice shrugged and joined him on the street; returned his father's cloak. “Don't worry about it, we'll get him soon. Not a lot of places you can hide from us.”

A nod. “I know.”

“Good. You have the rest of the night off. I would say you need time to cool off, but it looks like you already took care of that.” Brice gestured to his still wet clothes with a grin. Now the man wanted to banter. The ass. His jokes were terrible anyway.

Some time after he parted ways with Sergeant Brice, Ethan found himself wandering the streets. He was not yet tired or bored enough to head back to the Master's lodge. Linking up with the first Enforcer patrol he passed was an appealing idea. The young tracker felt he owed them for letting Desert get away. Though he had led them to their target in the first place so maybe that canceled out the ….

Ethan stopped. That smell, coming from around the corner. He crept forward. Desert Whisperer was there, near the mouth of an alleyway, staring in his direction. Their eyes met, the disbelief plain on both faces. Then the unlucky criminal sprinted down the street. Ethan gave pursuit, gaining slowly. They took another corner at full speed. In front of them was a large crowd of people, the most people Ethan had seen together all night. Most of them appeared to be in line, waiting to get into some night spot or other. Distracted, Ethan was totally unprepared for the handful of powdery substance that flew in his face. It stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't see. A quick swipe of his hand cleared most of the dirt from his vision. Desert was far up the street, nearly upon the crowd waiting outside. In another few seconds the man would be gone. No chance to track him. Ethan could only smell the dry earth in his nose. He growled under his breath and jumped into a sprint. He was not losing this guy again. Only one thing to do now. "Hey! Someone stop that guy!" Ethan shouted, hoping someone in the crowd would take notice and do something.
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

16 Dec 2009, 16:17

Alley outside Françoise's

From his vantage point a head or two above the crowd, DT noticed the rising dust cloud, the approaching figure, and the shout that came from behind it. Through the dust cloud ran a short youth who looked to be in his late teens. He was dressed in a long traveler's cloak with a simple shirt and trousers underneath. Silver tattoos glowed on his exposed arms. But ahead of him … who was this shadowy figure with wild dark hair and Southern robes flying behind him as he ran? … wait, Southern robes? DT thought he was the only—

"Too much thinking, Don Tumbaga," said DT to himself, "not enough acting." He performed a quick calculation. One of his massive arms would probably span most of this alleyway, right? Or at least span the space between pedestrians on either side. Verdant-heart Wolf was standing on the opposite side of the alley right now. That'd do, well enough for his purposes. DT cried "Wolf!" to the right, in between visitor approvals for Françoise's on his left side. "See that guy running this way? You shove him towards the doorway!"

Clothing rustled, briefly; and then DT's serape was suddenly draped over his right shoulder and the length of his right arm and hand. Given DT's great size, the serape covered the entire center of the street, and looked like nothing more than a drapery hanging in the pathway, especially to a frantically fleeing fellow who might not notice the hulking muscleman attached to it. The line outside Françoise's, confused and a little scared, continued to do exactly what it had been doing, because people are timid sheep. With his clipboard behind his back, DT frantically motioned for VhW to get in position behind the serape. He really hoped this plan would work, and quickly, because he still had a closetful of dresses* to mend tonight.

Ethan grinned. Up ahead someone had thrown a large drape up, blocking most of the way through. Desert Whispering was glancing back at him, fear in his eyes. He failed to notice the hanging cloth until he could no longer avoid it. With a muffled shout he plowed face first into the obstruction. Entangled for precious seconds, the fugitive managed to free himself just in time to be tackled by Ethan. Together they flew to the ground, a pile of jostling arms and legs. Ethan drew a knife; placed it inches from Desert's neck. “Sit still!” he commanded. Desert tensed up, swallowed. Ethan took the opportunity to hit him over the head with the butt of a second knife. Desert Whispering slumped, unconscious and finally unmoving. “Whew.” Ethan stood. The whole scene was given a quick glance. A stunned crowd. A brothel, this far from the red light district? Not unheard of. His eyebrows went up at the sight of the scalded, twitching man lying on the ground. They shot up further when he laid eyes on the massive masked man attached to the cloth he had previously thought was a blanket someone had tossed up on a laundry line. Ethan wasn't sure if he had ever seen someone so large in stature, or had he? The horribly injured person was temporarily forgotten. Ethan approached the hulking man. “Thanks for the help.” He held out his (much smaller) hand. “I'm Ethan Delwyn. My friends call me Del. Do you have any rope?” He squinted. "… have we met somewhere?"

"Rope? I haven't any on me, but, uh … STARLING!" DT shouted, into the brothel door. "WE GOT ANY ROPE?"

"GIMME A MINUTE!" boomed a female voice from inside.

"She'll take care of it. Anyway—no, I doubt we've met," said DT, as a small Western-looking woman in tight and restrictive-looking black clothing emerged from the door dragging a foot locker, "but perhaps you recognize my muscular physique and fearsome countenance from my matches in Brutal Tournament Wrestling?"

"Er, no," said Del, "don't think I've seen that, ah … program."

"Oh. Lethal Overload Luchadores, then?"

"Not that one either."

"X-Treme Knockout Championship Division?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Super Total Fighters United?"

"Nope."

"Grand Tournament Fighting Open®"

"No."

"Any pro wrestling at all?"

"I'm … more of a fieldball kind of guy," said Del, with an expression that could have been sheepishness or pity. "Sorry."

"Okay." DT sighed, deflating a little, maybe from Girl Genius airship to regular zeppelin size. "Do you ever eat at that Southern place on Scar Street, Muchacho's?"

"Oh, yeah! Love that place," said Del. "The crab taco special is to die for."

"I'm a busboy there, weekend lunch."

"Right! Now I remember you," said Del.

"I think I remember you too, now," said DT, as he alternately waved customers into the door or lobbed them one-handed back into the crowd with his free hand. "You tip pretty good."

"Hey, thanks."

"Whaddaya think?" interjected Starling, poking a rather elaborately roped-up Desert Whispering, who to his own great dismay had regained consciousness. She'd folded his arms and legs behind his back and bound him into an intricate skeleton of loops and knots that now hung like a human hammock from the eaves of a nearby shopfront. He had a ball gag in his mouth, his hair was tied back with the rope, and he was turning slowly, suspended yet prone, eyes wide with fear. She poked him, making him turn faster for a bit. "Normally we charge extra for this treatment, but I'm throwing it in as a bonus 'cuz it seems like you and DT are friends." She turned to Del, arms akimbo, eyebrows raised, a slight smile on black-painted lips. "So are you footing the bill for this fellow, or … ?"

Del turned to Starling, "I've uh... never seen a suspect restrained like that before." He stifled a laugh, then turned away nonchalantly to hide his slightly red face. "Just bill the Enforcers. They'll be glad to take care of... ah... ah..."

A violent sneeze shook a cloud of dust off his clothes. He sniffed tentatively. "Anyway one of their patrols will be here soon. I'll just sit tight until they pick him up." Del took a seat cross-legged near the door, facing his quarry's slowly spinning body. Desert completed a rotation and looked right at him, eyes hopeless. Del gave him a mocking grin.
Last edited by Gyro on 14 Jan 2010, 11:00, edited 1 time in total.
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

20 Dec 2009, 18:51

Meanwhile, on the rooftops.

"Someone stop that guy!" called a voice filled with authority. Seeker paused in between leaps, and carefully scampered to the edge of the roof, peering over. She saw the Southern wrestler, Don Tumbaga (where had she seen him before?) stop the fleeing figure. A woman (dressed like either a hooker or an adventurer; Seeker wasn't sure which) emerged to bind the man. The man who shouted was drawing near too; he wore the Enforcer's insignia but clearly he was not one of the rank-and-file.

"So are you footing the bill for this fellow?" Seeker heard the woman ask him, although she did not hear the reply due to the wind.

Her eyes narrowed, a chilling effect on such a widely-grinning face. Just what were they up to? An escaped criminal? Or bounty-hunters after a slave?

She would find out. The brief moment of confusion passed, and she cultivated assurance instead, her expression once more open and serene. Thin lines of gold streaked from her gut and heart, radiating through her limbs. The lines followed vein-like paths through her wiry arms and legs, and her muscles bulged slightly.

When she was done, she turned her attention back to the man. Creeping to the edge of the roof, she reached one hand down and tugged up the rope. Slowly, one hand after another, she pulled up the bound man. No one seemed to notice, preoccupied as they were with their conversation.

Seeker neatly cut the rope that she had used and pulled him up the rest of the way suddenly, abandoning stealth.

She waited until one of them noticed that the captive was gone. "So, just what did this guy do to deserve being tied up like this? Anyone?"

Ethan turned back to point again at Desert, and noticed he was gone. What! He escaped again? Can't I just go home?! Ethan's face flashed irritation, a reflection of his thoughts. Before he could run off however, a voice rang out from above. He looked upwards into the dark sky, and his eyes caught the shadowy outline of whoever was speaking holding another outline that was assuredly his mark. The new arrival was a confused jumble of smells, too many to catalog so quickly, but Ethan could detect a recent hint of apple.

He debated just jumping up there and taking his find back right away, but calmed himself. Something about the situation was even more irregular than the rest of the night. Instead, he pulled a small notebook from a jacket sleeve and opened it up to a page marked with a slender cloth bookmark.

Aloud, to the figure above, Ethan read: "Desert Whispering aka The Snake out of the Badlands aka The Scorpion Den is wanted alive for trial by the Enforcers of Great Forks for grand larceny, arson, assault, illicit money lending, blackmail, murder, attempted murder, freeing of slaves, impersonating a government official, impersonating a tax collector, impersonating a spiritual leader, treason, sedition, and various smaller criminal offenses too many to number in this report." He closed the book with a quick slap and put it away, then gazed upwards again. "He a friend of yours?"

Ethan shrugged. "Either way, could you please bring him down here so we can take him to jail? I'd rather not jump up there and take him back, I've had a long night after all, but I will." The silvery marks on his body flared briefly and subsided to a slow burn.

Seeker cocked her head while she listened to the (rather boring) list of charges against Desert Whispering. It certainly seemed as if she had a long way to go to catch up to this man; she had better stop fooling around if she wanted to become... ooh! Shiny!

Hiding her surprise, Seeker replied, "Bit stiff for a Lunar, aintcha? I don't know this guy from the fruit vendor down the street, but all I can say is it's not terribly sporting, is it? He in trouble with your Pact or the locals?"

Stiff? Oh she was hilarious. Ethan's eyebrows dipped slightly. This woman was not taking him seriously, despite apparently knowing something about his kind. Which either meant she was a fool or someone strong enough to be unworried. Or both.

“I'm living in this city by the Three's blessing, so I behave.” He said, not voicing his abrasive attitude towards his 'restrictions.' “And that man,” Ethan gestured towards him, “has something about him. He managed to avoid the Enforcers for weeks before they called me in. Luck, cunning, hidden strength; doesn't matter anymore I guess."

In the meantime smells were being cataloged in the back of his mind. Under that general human muddle and apple smell was a strong banana odor, plus... monkeys? Did she work at a zoo? Was she the patron goddess of primates? Definitely not another Lunar, he'd be able to tell.

Ethan shook his head. “Anyway, can you put him down now? He has an urgent appointment with a cell.”

Seeker shrugged. "Boring. Fine, you win." She tossed Desert Whispering onto the Enforcer. (Lunars were super-strong, right?)

"But you owe me a story!" She vanished from sight over the roof.
Last edited by Gyro on 14 Jan 2010, 11:03, edited 4 times in total.
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

22 Dec 2009, 13:12

Embers of the Amethyst arrived at the scene with some dread in her heart. A flame duck lieutenant in the ranks of the Great Forks enforcers, she had decades of experience in handling even Dragonblooded visitors in a manner that was as subdued as it was firm. Nobody, however, had had much experience dealing with any of the Celestial Exalts that seemed to have trickled into the city of late. She had sent a runner to go find Ethan Delwyn, but in the meantime, she'd have to go and assess the situation. Hopefully their Lunar ally would be close enough to do something if the wrestler decided to make a ruckus.

The tip had come from a dream fly that had been seeing to some patrons at one of the brothels outside of the red district proper. Apparently there had been some kind of dustup, and the Solar known as Don Tumbaga may have been involved in severely burning a hostile patron. One of the staff at the brother had injured the man further, possibly killing him. The whole thing sounded ugly, which is why Embers had asked for a team to standby down the street in case things started to go badly. She knew DT had met with the Three and had been granted leave to stay in the city, but the only reason her knowledge reached even that far was so her superiors didn't have to worry about their constables harassing the man.

When she reached the crowd, she saw that Ethan was already on the scene. Feeling somewhat relieved, she tugged his elbow. "Hey. What's the situation?" In that moment, she realized she didn't know if he would recognize her in the shape of a woman; giant flaming ducks were generally more eye-catching than the form of the short, fit native of Great Forks that she wore now. Even if she was green.

The young Lunar turned in his seated position to look up at the woman. His face displayed a quizzical 'do I know you' look for a moment as he sized her up. Then his face brightened. “Hey Lt. Embers! You're looking decidedly less obvious today.” He grinned. “I was wondering when you guys would show up. The situation?” He pointed a finger at the hanging criminal. “I caught Desert Whispering.“ Another jabbed finger, this time at the hulking doorman. ”Don Tumbaga here helped me out. Did you know he's a big-time gladiator?”

Ethan nodded his head in the direction of the injured man lying on the ground. “I'm not sure what that guy did to be scalded and then beaten senseless, but it looks like he'll live and nobody else seems terribly concerned about it, so I figured it wasn't really a problem, right? The patrons and staff will probably be willing to fill you in about what happened.” A shrug. “I would have taken care of it myself but I knew your team was nearby and figured my first priority was making sure Desert did not escape again.” He stretches, powerful arms extended straight upwards, and yawns. He stood, stretching out his legs a bit. “Well, it's getting rather late, when can we take this guy back to HQ?" He hefted Desert Whispering by the top of his cloak. I need to return to the Lodge sometime before the sun rises. Lessons in the morning.” Embers nodded and took custody of the man, turning from Ethan and calling to her sister on the backup team.

"'Owe me a story'?" Ethan muttered. "She didn't even tell me who she was." He shrugged, realizing he hadn't asked. If she actually cared she'd probably catch up to him eventually, and wandered off.

Moments later, elementals were boiling out from the alleys and halting pedestrian traffic. Nobody struggled, as the citizens of Great Forks were well aware of how the Enforcers worked: quietly arresting those involved in the trouble and leaving everyone else unmolested. Embers turned Desert Whispering over to two serious-looking Jokun; to be fair, she wasn’t sure anyone had ever seen a Jokun who wasn’t extremely serious. Their crystal hands clamped down on Whispering’s arms, and the thief sagged despondently. He knew it was over.

It wasn’t very hard for her to find Don Tumbaga.

“Would you mind coming with me? We just have a few questions to ask, honorable Don.”

"I should not leave my post," said Don Tumbaga, indicating the doorway of Françoise's. "Someone has to guard the door. Perhaps we could speak here? The street is crowded, I know, but I could fetch you a chair from inside." As he said these words, he grabbed a young man by the collar of his shirt. "Sorry, sir—you're a bit young for this sort of thing."

Embers attempted to be firm. "I'm afraid I must insist. I can assign a man here in the meantime, but we need to straighten out what just happened here."

"I don't mind straightening anything out, but as I said—I am obligated to remain here," Don Tumbaga replied. "Would it be that inconvenient to talk here? Really?" He pushed the extra bar stool they'd allotted for his use, which he never used, towards Embers. Not as comfortable as the armchairs inside, but a polite gesture nonetheless.

"Er..." Embers took a sidelong glance at the plaza. Things appeared to be under control. "When is your shift over?"

“An hour or two before dawn? I don't want to make you wait until then, though, and I assure you—" he terrorist-fist-jabbed a regular— "I'm used to multitasking. Do you need to talk about, um …" His mask contorted a bit in confusion. "Secret stuff?"

"No. We merely heard there was an altercation and wished to ask if you saw anything. Our way is to quiet such things by asking any who might have been involved to step aside for a few moments while we are able to get their story. The Three are fond of having such matters handled...discreetly. As you are their honored guest, we will in no way force you to do something you do not want to, but it would make my job a little easier. Otherwise, we will simply conduct our business here and go."

"Here would be a great convenience for me, let alone for Françoise's. So I'd like that," he said, with a not-especially-comforting-given-the-scary-mask smile. "Tell me what you heard?"

"Rather, I would ask what occurred here tonight that resulted in the injury of that man." Embers pointed to the form that was currently being administered to by an Enforcer thaumaturge.

Don Tumbaga regarded said form and lowered his voice and posture a bit, carefully directing his voice so that only Embers could hear. "He was intoxicated, and sexually assaulted Silver Tear, one of Françoise's employees—or, rather, tried to. Silver fought him off and he retreated beyond the door before drawing a weapon. He had engaged her with the weapon when I saw him out the upstairs window." DT pointed upwards, towards the kitchen window.

"Mhm?" Ember had the look of someone memorizing everything they were being told.

"I couldn't fit through the window without shattering its frame, so I threw some cooking oil on him. Then Silver disarmed him and knocked him unconscious."

"And after that?"

"At least, I think she knocked him unconscious? I wasn't watching at that point—I was running downstairs. By the time I emerged from the door he was gone. Silver's inside if you want to speak to her, but I might advise you to wait a little while before you do. She's … well, maybe you can imagine how she's feeling right now, maybe you can't, but I was planning to wait until she unlocked her door, myself." DT's brows knitted in concern. "I'm just glad she's okay."

"I'll have someone speak to her once we're finished out here. I do apologize for the impact on your custom, but we will attempt to clear the area as soon as possible." Embers gave Don Tumbaga a short nod and returned to monitoring the other organizers.

"Thank you—and thank you for your quick response," said DT. "It's comforting to know you're in the area."

Embers gave him a polite nod and went back to work.
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

14 Jan 2010, 11:04

An alley nearby.

The darkness of the alley and the confusion from the rooftops concealed well the hushed conversation of two women in a nearby alley. Verdant Heart Wolf leaned against one side of the alley where another woman silently watched the commotion of the prisoner exchange take place. What little of the other woman was visible was pale as snow, and the normally bright Enforcers uniform that hung loose around her slim frame seemed unnaturally faded even in the shadow of the alley. Verdant Heart was talking, the pale woman looked like she might be listening.

"... and I told him that. It'd just be me, just like old times. But my tribe's shaman, just before he kicked me out, said 'because The Lawgivers never walk alone'. I didn't know what the hell he meant until I found myself here, bumping into brothers-in-arms every time I turned around. We cluster around each other like cubs in the rain, and maybe that's what we are."

Verdant was silent for a moment, and watched as people hurried about their business in the streets, going this way and that way, visiting this brothel and that brothel. "Gotta be rough on you and yours though, keeping track of us. I know I don't see you following me half the times you must be."

The pale woman crossed her arms and smiled wryly. Her accent was thick and made her consonants bitingly sharp. "You don't. And it isn't so hard, because you are bad at keeping a low profile. Your friend in the mask is better at it, and he's half the size of the Imperial Mountain. I could track you with gossip if I needed to. Fights in the streets, invading merchant's houses, medical miracles at the hospitals..." She paused. The pale woman looked at Verdant, who looked away lazily. "You really haven't the slightest idea how much danger your thirst for attention would put you in, do you? You don't even know who I am, and here you are talking to me."

Verdant watched the action in the alley. She watched as a large, hardened criminal was thrown, one-handed, from a rooftop, successfully, to a man on the street. "This is Forks. Fair Folk live here peacefully, and to me that means I don't have to worry about a damn thing." The pale enforcer scoffed, but said nothing.

"Right. See you around." With that, Verdant propelled herself from against the wall and walked into the street. The fall of her boots was lost among the traffic of the city residents and the sounds of a urban night winding down.

After the Enforcers finished sorting out the plaza and carted away the burned man, they conducted questioning of the brothel's staff and patrons in as quiet and discreet a manner possible. Some time before the sun made its return on the horizon they had finished.
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

17 Jan 2010, 16:18

Ascending Air 2, RY 768
Afternoon. Manse of the Three, at the Center of Great Forks.


Don Tumbaga found himself at the imposing door of the Dayshield's room. He hadn't been here before, but the way in seemed really, really familiar, for reasons he couldn't place. He had received the invitation several hours ago; just before noon, in fact. The door opened and inside Don Tumbaga found a hall with the ensigns and livery of the military of Great Forks decorating its interior. At the end of the hall was a handsome, heavy desk; the arrangement of the room was such that it appeared to be centered around the use as an audience or briefing chamber. Behind the desk sat Shield of a Different Day, or Dayshield. For a goddess of war, she was strikingly beautiful, with the soft curves of the woman each soldier dreams about returning to. Long tresses of raven hair fell around handsome features. Her armor is clean and polished, and her shield gleamed of sunlight.

"Don Tumbaga at your service, milady," said the wrestler, removing his sombrero as he shuffled in. He felt briefly awkward about wearing a mask in front of a high-ranking deity, but … it was pretty much his true face, after all.

"Welcome, Don Tumbaga. Please, have a seat." Dayshield indicated one of the heavy oak chairs with velvet cushions that lay in front of the desk. "Would you like anything? Tea? Wine?"

Don Tumbaga gratefully took a seat. "I'll share what you're drinking, if you are."

Dayshield made a gesture and a functionary in the livery of the Great Forks administration appeared at the door with a pair of plain goblets. After he left them, Don Tumbaga found that Dayshield apparently preferred water.

"I want to apologize for the interruption at your place of business last night. As I'm sure you have seen, such incidents are relatively rare in Great Forks."

Don Tumbaga shivered. "I hope so. I'm just glad it ended as … er, as well as it did. Which was not very well." He sighed. "I thought I would like being a bouncer because I could prevent people from fighting, by scaring them away. Perhaps I was naive." He tilted his head to one side. "There's also the fact that I also cook, and mend clothes, and clean up, and … it's just so easy to get caught up when there is so much to do." He suppressed another shiver as he mentally tried to recall whether he'd successfully convinced Pedrito to cover his shift. No. He had. Good.

Dayshield smiled; it was surprisingly genuine, coming from a Celestial deity. "I am glad that you do not find such work trivial. It speaks well of you. I commend you for your actions, as well. You did well in protecting your fellows. In the future, however, perhaps you could try to find a more restrained method of protection. I understand you hold your friends in high regard, but our Enforcers can see to justice being served. There is no need to inflict undue pain on the guilty."

"I wish there had been less painful means available," said Don Tumbaga. "I can't say I've ever, you know … cooked anyone before. I don't think I've ever severely injured anyone before. But as I said—injuring people isn't my job. If I'd been at the door, I wouldn't have had to throw anything. But I wasn't, and nothing else was there to throw." He looked at his lap. "I wish there had been a more restrained method of protection. I wish I could have saved Silver the …" The words froze in his throat. "… I think you know what I mean." He looked up. "I think I am less upset by the possibility that I overreacted, than by the realization that I didn't. You'd think there would always be some way to make things right that didn't involve injuring people. This time … this time there was not. I'm not used to that."

Dayshield searched Don Tumbaga's face. "I think you underestimate your own ability as one of the Sun's Chosen. But it is as much a strength as a weakness."

"I think I underestimate my—the Sun's Chosen? Wait, because I'm a Southerner?"

"Because you are Exalted. It is not my place, however, to tell you what that means. It is something you will have to discover yourself."

"Is it something that means I won't have to hurt people?"

Dayshield looked sad, for a moment. "It is, perhaps, something that means you will not have to hurt as many people as you may have had to otherwise."

After a distant look, she brought her focus back to the Don. "The man you stopped will be before a judge as soon as he is well enough. It is very likely they will find him guilty of aggravated assault. I would not be surprised to see him made a slave for some amount of time. Unfortunately, your friend will also be seeing a judge-for attacking that man after you had incapacitated him."

Don Tumbaga was silent for a full thirty seconds.

"… because she knocked out the man who tried to rape her?" He scratched his head. "Is there some way that I could take the blame?" He was thinking, *because I'm Exalted,* but he didn't say that.

"No, Don Tumbaga. Because she almost killed the man who tried to rape her after he was already on the ground and no threat to anyone. If that same man had been treated and sent home, and then, while asleep somewhere else in the city, your friend attacked him in the same way, would that be a just thing? Would that follow the rule of law?”

"No, but it's also quite a different situation. You are familiar with the effects that a rape attempt has on a victim's head?" he said, tapping his temple with a finger. "For that matter—on *onlookers'* thoughts?" The nervous angles had disappeared from his mask.

"It is likely they will take that into consideration at the hearing. If you wish to speak for her there, that is your right. The law, however, is clear. Whether it be robbery, rape, assault or any other crime, once the perpetrator has been incapacitated, any further attack on their person is vigilantism."

"Vigilantism implies premeditation," said Don Tumbaga, "and choice. Combat did not occur on those terms. I may be Exalted, and subject to different rules—but Silver was and is mortal. I won't stand by and watch any court trivialize the effects of sexual violence on a woman." He nodded. "I will be there."

Dayshield looked extremely concerned. "If you captured that man in battle, then, would you allow abuse on him?"

"No. Had I been able to hold Silver back, I would have—but I couldn't, and—look, you've seen war," said Don Tumbaga. "You've seen the war-haunting before. Old men who fought in only one battle decades prior, who see something that reminds them of the death of a comrade and are … removed from the world." These last four words were spoken with difficulty. I've seen men—sane, wise men, grazed by the spear of but one battle—fall apart in the comfort of their homes, screaming of threats they saw years past. In my village, a veteran who had done nothing but farm yams for years would awaken screaming with nightmares two nights out of three." Don Tumbaga's fist clenched. "I thought that only war could do that to a man. Then I came to the city and I learned I was wrong. We have someone at Françoise's, a healer of sorts, whose *only job* is to comfort the girls, because of things that have happened to them that are with them still. The girls there didn't start out working there. Françoise bought their contracts from other brothels in the city. They aren't the prettiest, or the most talented—there are other whorehouses for that. These women are the most *hurt.*”

The lines on Dayshield's face melted into relief. "I am glad I understand what you meant, now. I ask you these questions not because I am unaware of the horrors of war or what can go on in even Great Forks, but because of what you may be asked to do in the future. Don Tumbaga-in some ways, you are a weapon. I needed to know if you understood the virtue of a weapon tempered with mercy that soon enough it will not be merely an academic question."

"I know what the law is. But I don't think the law knows women who have seen abuse. I don't think the law knows Silver or Starling or—" Don Tumbaga sank back, deflating as Dayshield's comforting voice took over, buoying up his mind which until now had been feeling as if drawn into quicksand. "Yes. I hope I am," he said, quietly.

"Would you see any benefit in meeting with me on a more regular basis? I would like to talk to you at greater length, and not in such unfortunate circumstances. Perhaps there are things I could tell you that you would find of some use."

Don Tumbaga nodded, slowly. "I'd like that. I don't get much time to talk to people outside of work."

Dayshield nodded. "Good. Let me know when would be most convenient for you, and we shall arrange something, whether it be here or some place you would find more comfortable."

"In the meantime, thank you for coming. I will see you again soon. I hope you find the rest of your day brighter."

"Yes … yes, I'd like that. I'm free on Sundays, usually; and I'm happy for the opportunity to travel out of my part of town," he said, the mask grimacing a bit. "I'll write down my schedule and leave it with your secretary." He stood, bowing low. "Thank you, milady."

"Call me Dayshield." Dayshield walked Don Tumbaga to the exit, shook his hand and then parted ways.
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)
 
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Re: Era of a Thousand Temples [narrative log]

19 Jan 2010, 11:49

And that's the end of the Prelude!

What do people think so far? According to the pageview count, there are at least a couple readers here ;)

Chapter 1 will be starting presently. But I wanted to pause for a little bit and see if anyone had any opinions, thoughts, etc.
"Indeed. And I'll reveal it to whoever's offer best pleases me."
-Maren Sidaris, who reveals it to whoever's offer best pleases him.

Asmodai: GIEF MOAR DETAILS! Boobies and butt are great. Stories would make it way better ;)

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