Nations and countries have been at war for years, the people are beginning to feel empty inside. Their morale being crushed under the corpses of friends and loved ones. Famine runs rampant, and the poor are only getting poorer. While the weaker nations lose strength, the larger nations only add to the already ridiculous body count. Agladia, the world in which we live, is in utter chaos. Diplomacy has failed, as the nations argue over petty resources. The five large continents are all nearly covered in corpses and fire. To make matters worse, the sudden re-emergence of what people call "The Monster Lord" has agitated monsters all across the land. Making usually docile creatures extremely aggressive and destructive. The Monsters Lord's army of minions attack villages and forts, nearly sending the humanoid races into extinction.

The ground slushes beneath Beaurmont's feet, it's been raining for days. He is getting rather tired of the constant downfall, it's making travel rather difficult. Even though it is a light trickle his cloak is drenched and Beaurmont is shaking slightly. "This blasted rain will be the death of me before I even face the Monster Lord." He says with a sigh. As if the world understood him, it begins to rain harder, crushing his dreams. Sitting in their for a second, he sighs heavily and begins to jog steadily down the dirt road. After another five minutes chugging through the rainy weather Beaurmont happens to see an small building appear in the distance. Without stopping he squints his eyes and cups his hands. Trying to identify the small worn building. To his surprise, and great delight, he discovered that it was an old tavern. His jog turning into a sprint as he strides toward the only beacon of light he has left. Finally after reaching the front door he shakily takes hold of the large door knob and pushes it open gently. Beaurmont is welcomed with the banter of drunkards and the smell of rum. It's warm and welcoming. He eagerly walks over to the nearest table and begins removing his wet cloak. After hanging it on a post next to him he slowly sits down into a chair, easing all of his muscles. Beaurmont basks in the warm dryness and wearily massages his own neck. Suddenly he hears a muffled yell and looks around himself, confused. He tries to identify the culprit but everyone seems to be interested in drinking and merrymaking. With a confused shudder he tries to shrug it off before hearing the yell a lot louder, angrier and...beneath him? Beaurmont jumps to his feet and backs away from the tiny wooden chair he sat on. People begin to notice his frightened state and chuckle lightly.

To Beaurmont's utter disbelief the chair was yelling at him, while the rest of the pub was having a merry time. The chair says "get you fat posh ass off of me."

Beaurmont stands there confused, unsure if what he heard was real or not. Was he already drunk and he just didn't know it? Perhaps it's the fatigue, god knows how long he has been walking without sleep. Trying to not make a fool of himself he draws his rapier and pokes the chair gently, testing the waters. "Are you alive...creature?"

Most of the gentlemen in the pub turn to stare at the man poking a chair with a sword. It grows silent. Many men look concerned.

The confused beaurmont is confronted yet again by the chair: "Oi' watch where your poking that bloody thing this isn't one of your drunken one night stands with any old dame." the apparently angry chair points out. " well to say I was a creature is just unsightly, my body may have changed, but my dashing good looks still remain." The man just stands over the chair, weary to any action that the chair could take.

The confused beaurmont is confronted yet again by the chair: "Oi' watch where your poking that bloody thing this isn't one of your drunken one night stands with any old dame." the apparently angry chair points out. " well to say I was a creature is just unsightly, my body may have changed, but my dashing good looks still remain." The man just stands over the chair, weary to any action that the chair could take.

The crowd watches Beaurmont intensely, eyes focused on his blade. He takes a hint, and sheaths his weapon. Trying not to ruin others good times, he quickly takes a seat in another chair and asks the bartender for a mug of Rum. Keeping his eye on the Chair.

The previously confused crowd now stares in shock. Some of the men are moving in closer to see the talking chair. They form a large circle around the strange man and his talking furniture.

The bartender begins to laugh slightly, getting Beaurmont his required mug of Rum. "Oh calm down you sods, tha chair there has been talking since I've inherited this place from my ol' man. Tis a part o' the family."

*Mckie is now narrator. we always post at same time.*

"A talking chair?" A gnome asks as he pushes his way to the front of the crowd. "Why, I've never seen such a thing! Marvelous, truly! Who are you?" the gnome asks the chair.

The chair continues his rant uninterrupted by the crowd or the bartender "Tis' true youngin', but I've been a chair for nearly 30 years and have yet to find a cure for me ailment. Your father was the one who found me and kept me as a party favor. not much of a party favor if I can't say anything with my face covered by ass. ah my younger days this reminds me of so. anyway what say you, you well shaven young person."

Beaurmont sends an apologetic glance over at the gnome, and sends a handshake out to him. "My name is Beaurmont, charmed." He then looks back at the chair and smiles slightly. "How did you even become like that?"

"Pleasure, I'm Gilrumm." The gnome says to the man. "I asked who you were. I've studied all kinds of magical things; is this a curse?" The gnome asks the chair, quite intrigued.

*A very faint and insignificant rumble is heard in the background. No one pays any mind to it.*

"Tis' a curse put upon me by a witch deep in the forests of breathless night. She stole me away one night and I was never to see friends nor family again. I was what you see before you when I awoke and found her sitting upon me!" the chair says angrily

Beaurmont's grin turns into a frown, and stays silent for a moment. Processing the chair's words. Though he may have been trained in Light magic, he is not experienced on curses.

"Fascinating!" Gilrumm exclaims. "As I said, I've studied some magical things. There's a chance my grandfather had a book of such curses. Maybe, just maybe..." The gnome seems to start mumbling to himself, lost in thought.

Beaurmont rubs his beard slowly and gathers his own thoughts. He gets an idea and pulls out a small rune from his pocket, carefully unfolding it from it's wrapping. After saying a few inaudible words he places it on the chair. Within seconds a spark appears and the rune cracks into many pieces. "This is quite the conundrum, it's a powerful curse. Not one to be removed easily."