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Pathfinder-ish Campaign...

Drakk sat in his room trying to concentrate on regaining his spells. Calabash stood perched on his shoulder and began to yawn as he laid down to rest. As Drakk sat there, suddenly his eyes became a sea of stars as visions of the cosmos flooded through his mind. Planets collided in front of him, stars exploded into supernovas. He saw their entire universe before him, orbiting around a mote of emptiness. Comets hurled through the sky before his eyes and then he saw the figure who gave him his magic. The looming Star before him stared at him in judgement. The cosmos swirled around the figure, changing shapes to be all sorts of geometric patterns. The space around the figure bent to the rhythmic pulsing of the Star's warm light. Time seemed to halt around the Star as he spoke "You are the last of my true Kin Drakk, you are the only one remaining who still wields their power for good. Do not squander the gift I have given you, it is more powerful then you will ever realize.". With that final word, the Star began to fade away with a rhythmic sort of music the Drakk would never forget.
 
‘Blamed. Judged. Judged for your parents and linages actions. A classic one in the eyes of men, Elves and I suppose orcs too.’

‘You were only let live for usefulness, wherein I ask, To what ships have your parts worked? To what weapons of war if any? And what is it the Scro seek to gain? Reputation? Wealth? Glory?”

Giving time for him to reply, Ohmen then continues,

“As for the fate of your race. I am sorry.. Only used for their usefulness, then cast aside like a spent torch. Snuffed out like candles… But this, This is no time to wallow in pity and regret. Stand up. Tell me."

With a gaze intense as the evening sun behind, Ohmen stares into the orc’s mellow eyes. His words are as crisp as the setting air.

‘Have you ever heard of the saying. ‘The Blackest nights yield to the Brightest dawns.’?

‘Do you ever want to see your race again? Do you want to see the Scro.. Burn?’

'Now. If you decide it to be so, this can be your dawn. The flames by which the Scro suffer your sun! Your light! Frustration and fury, More destructive than a hundred cannons.'

With the questions still hissing in the air, Ohmen turns his gaze outward, looking toward the now setting sun, a tropical glaze of oranges, yellows and blues now bow down to their king. The onyx of night.

‘Get some rest. You’ll need it.’

Tying the orc up, this time a little more gently as to spare it the discomfort, yet nowhere near enough to make any form of escape easy, Ohmen takes him back to one of the ships.

Having separated the orc from the half-dragon, Ohmen leaves them to sleep... For he knew he would get little.

Whilst others slept. Ohmen walked. Sat. And thought. Every breath of the crisp, cool night air refreshing his lungs. First, With a stick of incense lit, he would treat his wounds and regather his equipment... And now, with pain at ease finally think. Think without the searing sting of some cut and bruise or the hammering of blood in his ears. Just think, him and the cool night breeze, the sound of distant waves, the sight of stars.
 
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[Not a bad plan - separate the half-orc from the half-dragon and see if you can bring him around to your side? You're being pretty persuasive...]

Eventually, dawn comes. The sky to the East grows lighter and the wooly blobs in the field wake up and go baa-ing off elsewhere, save for the one that Vincenzo turned into breakfast. The aroma of unfamiliar spices fills the air and wakens your taste buds even as you can hear him grumbling about not having any cucumbers for a proper tzatziki sauce. From the looks of things, he dug out some metal or wooden skewers from somewhere and making kebabs. Also a pile of rough wool and some kind of... well... they're bones from a freshly-skinned sheep. I'm sure you can guess what they look like.

The mages are rested and ready to go, and - at the moment - there is no sign of pursuit. Oh, and you should know that keeping the half-dragon tied up for that long has had some unpleasant consequences. He's rather angry, and there is an unpleasant odor about him at the moment...
 
Bang wakes up, sniffs and looks over at the half dragon
"HA- the lizard man shit himself ahaha" Bang cackles. However the half-dragon snaps which sends bang scurrying away, only for him to close and keep making poop jokes, having the half dragon snap at him, then rinse and repeat. Bang is having a grand time
 
With entirely unaffected enthusiasm, Shiro proclaims Vincenzo as a holy angel and sets into the kebabs with gusto.

While eating, he addresses the rest of the party. "While I have no fondness for the Shipwright, I don't believe that he should be left in this state. Maybe with us all present and magic-ready we can allow him to clean himself?"

(Munch, munch, munch)

"Adndh tehdn, doeshcd andeydoone..." He swallows, "Sorry... And then, does anyone know anything about the surrounds? Big Bang? Did you do some sweeps of the perimeter while we slept?"

(Munch, munch, munch)

"Mmmmmmm...."
 
Watching as the flames crackle and spit. Watching as the flames dance. Watching as a droplet of fat falls onto the firewood with a satisfying sizzle. Wisdoms eyes reflect the fire as the raven watches. Speaking as the sound of sizzling is carried off on the wind in memory of the meals provider. ‘And So the cycle of life continues. Just as this wood fuels the fire, The sustenance this sheep once owned, once was, is ours now. And now, we must decide to what it will work.’

And as the raven speaks, Ohmen quietly tucks into his meal alongside the others. Only now standing minutes later to both compliment Vincenzo on his cooking and also begin placing some of the less desirable portions of meat into two small bowls.

Scraping some, slightly burnt, chunk of scrap off the animals main carcass, Ohmen turns to Shiro with a glance, before addressing the entire group. ‘Regarding the half-dragon, The orc. Kindness and Mercy created only from an act one is entirely responsible for is very much a tool. So, therein I agree.’

With the bowls filled up and steaming, Ohmen heads to where the dragon was being kept. ‘Ill take these to the both of them. After that, I will search the dragon’s stuff.’

--

Entering into the room, the sound of his heavy iron boots and cloak across the deck punctuating the silence, Ohmen casts a deathly gaze towards Big bang before remaking a singular word. ‘Leave.’ an undeniable sharpness in the changeling's tone, Ohmen approaches the half-dragon disregarding Big bang and his antics.

Placing both a filled bucket and bowl of food, the mutton still steaming, Ohmen tosses the half-dragon a rag. Standing silent for a second, Ohmen leans in, speaking uncomfortably close to the shipwright's ear. ‘If you dare betray this kindness. I promise you will burn. That is all.’

Untying the prisoner, if they could be called that, just enough to the point where he can freely move his hands, Ohmen takes a step back, then another. ‘I will wait here whilst you do what needs to be done. Enjoy the food.’ Turning around the corner, Ohmen leans against the wall allowing the half-dragon some privacy.
 
Nazqua said:
Watching as the flames crackle and spit. Watching as the flames dance. Watching as a droplet of fat falls onto the firewood with a satisfying sizzle. Wisdoms eyes reflect the fire as the raven watches. Speaking as the sound of sizzling is carried off on the wind in memory of the meals provider. ‘And So the cycle of life continues. Just as this wood fuels the fire, The sustenance this sheep once owned, once was, is ours now. And now, we must decide to what it will work.’

And as the raven speaks, Ohmen quietly tucks into his meal alongside the others. Only now standing minutes later to both compliment Vincenzo on his cooking and also begin placing some of the less desirable portions of meat into two small bowls.

Scraping some, slightly burnt, chunk of scrap off the animals main carcass, Ohmen turns to Shiro with a glance, before addressing the entire group. ‘Regarding the half-dragon, The orc. Kindness and Mercy created only from an act one is entirely responsible for is very much a tool. So, therein I agree.’

With the bowls filled up and steaming, Ohmen heads to where the dragon was being kept. ‘Ill take these to the both of them. After that, I will search the dragon’s stuff.’

--

Entering into the room, the sound of his heavy iron boots and cloak across the deck punctuating the silence, Ohmen casts a deathly gaze towards Big bang before remaking a singular word. ‘Leave.’ an undeniable sharpness in the changeling's tone, Ohmen approaches the half-dragon disregarding Big bang and his antics.

Placing both a filled bucket and bowl of food, the mutton still steaming, Ohmen tosses the half-dragon a rag. Standing silent for a second, Ohmen leans in, speaking uncomfortably close to the shipwright's ear. ‘If you dare betray this kindness. I promise you will burn. That is all.’

Untying the prisoner, if they could be called that, just enough to the point where he can freely move his hands, Ohmen takes a step back, then another. ‘I will wait here whilst you do what needs to be done. Enjoy the food.’ Turning around the corner, Ohmen leans against the wall allowing the half-dragon some privacy.
Click to expand...

Shiro sees Ohmen walking and guesses what he means to do.

Finishing his kebab (and thanking Vincenzo profusely again), he takes his Katana and sits close by the door to where the half-dragon lies.

Taking out a whetstone, he begins the morning prayer of justice, singing softly and slowly in time to his strokes of the whetstone down the sword, the sound just happening to be fairly loud and audible to anyone nearby.
 
While dawn is breaking over the island, and the field you are in shimmers like liquid gold in the sunlight, shadows fall under the trees. From one of these shadows steps a cloaked, hooded figure, but not quite what you expected. For some reason, you were expecting some kind of evil monster or something wearing tatters rags. What you got was a shadow-shrouded... wizard? Maybe? Cloak and hood are made from fairly durable looking, if somewhat heavy cloth, embroidered with various scenes. You can see at least three different battles picked out in colored thread, and a coronation...

You tread upon my island, you feast upon my sheep, no greeting do you give me, you think I am asleep?

The words issue forth from beneath the hood, in an oddly sing-song, almost childish manner. You do not know what this ... being ... is, nor what it wants, but it does not appear to be hostile. At least, not yet...?
 
Drakk steps forward and says "I am sorry we are intruding, we thought the only residents of this island were the Scro. What is your name good sir? My name is Drakk, I really hope we can put this issue behind us and repay you for your loss."
 
As Drakk speaks to the hooded figure, Drew slinks back, and reaches for his crossbow, just in case this old man wants to try his luck against the party.
 
Linus you may call me, though that name is quite curt; bother not with crossbow, for I cannot be hurt.

You are a little unnerved by what the hooded figure sees and seems to know. This "Linus" ... thing (?) ... is unarmed though, and seems more curious than hostile. It does not seem to be trying to cast spells or attack or anything. It never moves its head, never moves its arms, and does not seem to move its legs either, assuming it has any of those under the robes...
 
Shiro stands and bows to the figure while thrusting out his magical senses.

"We were unaware that the island and sheep were owned and were merely taking brief refuge in a struggle we are engaged in against foul oppressors. We will gladly recompense any loss as needed to yourself.

"May we ask as to who and what you are? I mean no offense, but I am sure you can appreciate the wariness of a traveller through the cosmos since we encounter those who mean us harm most of the time."
 
Tk'ya'pyk said:
I told thee I am Linus. Historian by trade. Now might I inquire, whom doth linger in my glade?
Click to expand...

Shiro's magical sense can detect no evil about the person of this... being so continues warily.

"We are a humble band of brothers Linus. Some refer to us as Mercenaries, but this is truly a misnomer for our spirits and purposes run deeper than that. More passionately than that.

"Our names will mean nothing to you, but I am Shiro. A one-time acolyte of the Eternal Order and still treading the crossroads of this plane of existence in search of justice for all.

"To speak of the heart of it and to be clear, we combat the infection nearby. They call themselves the Scro and visit death and deprivation upon this world and others."

While he speaks easily, Shiro readies his sword arm and his incantations. Simultaneously, he warns Azaphor to be ready for potential combat and mentally recites the Mantra of Iron to ready himself against any mental attack or more subtle intrusions on his psyche.
 
Forgive me for not trusting, your daemon I can sense, but also feel of aasimar and peace-minded intent. Of scro I do know something, a blight on stars they be, but if you are against them, did you draw them here to me?

For the first time, the hooded figure moves. It relaxes its pose, the arms (which had been crossed over its chest) fall to its sides and the hood moves a little like it is tilting its head to one side.

You say these scro are nearby, I'm guessing to the South, inhabiting the ruins at archi-pelago's mouth? I... You sense it struggling for a second, and then the sing-song quality drops away. Aw screw it, I don't feel like trying to keep up the charade. The whole rhyming, insane mage thing is good for short conversations, but for long talks it isn't really feasible unless I have a lot of time to think up answers. So they have taken over the ruined fortress? Interesting. You and your aasimar friend may wish to remedy this, since that fortress once belonged to the Order of the Light Eternal, a splinter branch of the Eternal Order who members were exclusively those of celestial blood. Linus pauses and seems to think for a while. Of course, that was a while ago... hmm... what year is it?
 
Hopping forward, Wisdom looks toward the new face. The raven turning their head and rustling their feathers with interest and focus alike, replying to the stranger’s questions.

‘What was once ruined, they have made their own. Termites infesting the ancient wood.’

In that same moment, Ohmen’s figure appears from the doorway to the ship in which the Orc was now tucking into a fresh meal. Despite being seemingly unaware of this person, this ‘thing’s presence before, Ohmen turns toward them continuing on from Wisdom.

‘As with such insects, If we wish to remove them. We must burn them out..’

‘Regardless, Greetings Linus.’

Signalling a subtle gesture of respect, the changeling continues

‘I would like to ask you to take a seat and eat. But that would be to ask you to sit down on land you call your own and to eat that which you fed. As for the year, it is the last for those Scro who find themselves caught on the edge of our blades.’

Ohmens focus now gradually drifts from the smoking ashes and embers of their fire to look through the darkness of Linus's hood with friendly eyes.
 
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