Assallya

quest of questionable heroes

Sleeping with sheathed sword tucked into the nook between head and elbow Nyala awoke the next morning to the sound of small birds, their ululating mating calls resounding through the branches overhead. The sun was not yet out, at least not below the forest canopy but the birds could spy it as it crested and greeted it gaily. Nyala, as with most woodsmen, was a light sleeper and she awakened instantly. Unlike city folk those who dwelt in the wilds could not afford to sleep in, nor slowly rouse and peer about groggily.

The others in the city would not awaken for some hours yet and even then would not reach the city's gates and be ready to venture out on their quest until some time after. That gave her some time. Not having any notion that the druid from the tavern was near Nyala moved deeper into the forest. Stories often told of maidens bathing in serene pools and standing under waterfalls. Such things were rare. Nyala made her way to the nearby brook, a slender stream of water that scarcely reached her knees. Shedding her clothing she waded within and washed herself of bodily odours and the smells the city had inflicted upon her.

While bathing she considered the upcoming quest. She, the druid, and the archer were likely going to need to forage for those questing. There were a lot of mouths to feed and the less they relied upon rations the longer they would last. Hunting involved a spear. She would have to craft herself one after she finished bathing. She carried several spearheads in her gear in case she needed to go hunting, and hafts she could fashion easily enough from her environs. She also had bowstring and arrowheads but fashioning a bow would take dissimilar woods, hewing wooden slats, lathing, wetting and curing before finally binding those dissimilar woods into a plane. She didn't have anywhere near that amount of time.

quest of questionable heroes

Nyala found herself yearning for the longhouse. This way of living, so many people packed in so tightly yet separated by so many walls was boggling. Her people saw themselves as family, and living entirely under one roof made the winters much more survivable. About the only place she enjoyed were these places, the taverns. They had much of the feel of the long house. She vastly preferred ranging, striding boldly through the forest and, now that others were fading into the night she considered such herself.

"I will see thee anon, upon the morrow," she stated as she rose.

The tankards had warmed her belly and she was ready to wander the dreaming. Striding confidently, she stepped out into the rain. Unlike the city folk she wasn't concerned. They seemed to fear water. She instead turned her face towards it and felt it upon her skin. Such was a gift of nature, a gift of nourishment that fed the land and cleansed it. Pulling out one of her axes she leaped upwards, hooking it on a limned sign and swung up to the rooftop and let the city guard be damned. It was the fastest way to move through this city and she yearned for soft grass and loam beneath her bare feet once more. Within short order she was outside the city walls and moving through the brush and between trees. She'd rather hoped to encounter the druid from inside the tavern, he and his wolf, but picking up the trail could take hours and that was assuming that the druid didn't take precautions or use magic to conceal traces of his passage.

Choosing an area of raised ground she strung up a rain cloth between the trees and sat beneath it, carefully arranging her weapons beneath it. Then she set about setting up a fire. That the wood was wet didn't matter. City folk didn't seem to understand that wet wood, save for rotted timber, was dry within. Pulling out a knife she whittled out enough kindling from dead brush to get the fire started and then pulled out her tinderbox. Soon enough she would be dry but by then she'd be asleep. Then she would awaken with first light and move out to meet those upon the quest.

quest of questionable heroes

Okay, that's my posts for the night. I don't want to speed post anyone :)

quest of questionable heroes

Again their new patron refused to deliver his name and she would be damned if she would give hers without hearing his first. She briefly flirted with the idea that he might be a demon. It was said that to know a demon's name was to have power over it. What better way to handle any would be uprisings than to gather up the likeliest heroes and massacre them?

Hefting one of her hand axes Nyala tossed it gently into the air, spinning it one perfect circle before catching it again by the haft. Some people threw daggers, she instead threw hand axes. Swords were great against creatures or unarmoured opponents but against those wearing armour a sword was capable only of bludgeoning. Only a sword's point was of use, able to pierce through armour with a savage thrust. Axes, on the other hand, with their greater heft could cleave a breast plate inwards with a solid impact. The trick was, of course, landing such a blow while an opponent was dodging, weaving and parrying.

"Nay," she replied, "Me entire hold had some say in my training, learned a bit from every Njord who'd ever gone aviking. Swords be good for slashing but armour, armour takes an axe or a pike. Thus I be carryin' both."

Outlaws of Varisia (Pathfinder)

Mommy?

quest of questionable heroes

Nyala didn't know what to make of motley assortment of individuals, each as different as the next. Archers, knights, woodsmen, a pretty little magician and even assassins. She scoffed at that last. Assassins that looked like assassins? Clearly they were new to the trade. A real assassin looked like everyone else, was unremarkable in every respect and they most often didn't carry obvious weapons, concealing them in common objects. There was even a wolf. What manner of selfish person would bring their beast within the walls of this wretched, refuse strewn town? She found herself feeling sorry for the beast. The scent of this place was likely burning her sensitive nostrils.

Her first thought, once the roll was called, was how rude their sponsor was. Refusing to introduce himself and simply launching into his proposed quest. She shook her head and knocked back another swig of ale before merely raising her axe in salute to signify her interest in joining the quest. What cared she for such documents as he had unrolled in his hand. Scrolls were the province of skalds and kings, not warriors like herself.

Then, during the roll call, one of their number murdered a random innocent. She was already watching that man, one of the obvious assassins but who could miss the arterial blood gushing upwards and painting the rafters crimson or the coppery metallic scent of freshly spilled blood suddenly added to the mixture of stale ale, old vomit and bodily odour? Those closest took it hardest, sheathed in jetting blood. That was just grand. Now they would have to deal with the city guard investigating and interrogating everyone just to assuage this childling's salving of a bruised ego. It would be hours before they would be able to leave. Well, that just meant more time for drinking.

Slapping another coin on the bar she took another tankard and moved closer to this new patron.

"What manner of evil doth lie in wait oh nameless patron?" she asked as she glared a small man out of his seat through sheer dominating personality and straddled it, "be it goblin, troll or even Jormungandr himself you have my blades and axes."

quest of questionable heroes

Nyala despised cities. Soft, weak men and women, milling about aimlessly like herd animals. They were not true men by any means, not like the Njord folk for certain and the stench... even as she walked a chamber pot was being emptied carelessly out of a second story window into the alley between buildings, narrowly missing a group of urchins. Where the others seemingly wandered aimlessly she stalked among them like a predator, moving those standing before him aside with nothing but her stern gaze. She also drew the gazes of those she passed. It was not simply her long crimson hair, nor her attire or toned muscles that drew their eyes. It was her stance, her manner of walking, the sheer force of her personality projected before her like a boat's prow cleaving the waves.

Unfurling the poster she had ripped from the fence while entering the city her sharp eyes, so keen at finding their way through the woods found themselves wanting for landmarks. Each street looked the same, all the world beneath her bare feet simply cobblestone. Where were the trees and their unique forms, the twists of paths and other landmarks that made finding one's way simple. Finally, giving up she'd ascended the side of a building and cut across several rooftops in her search for this frustrating Odin be damned tavern.

After a long conversation with the town guardsmen who took some offense to her climbing about she was on the right track. The guards had been quite helpful, despite very carefully implying, lest the dangerous looking woman take offense, that only thieves and brigands took to the rooftops, what they called the "Thieve's Highway" and that she should not do so again. They also mentioned something about "peace bonding" her blades but then seemed to think better of it and simply asked that she not try and cause any trouble while there.

Finally, after something of an adventure in itself, she stood at the threshold of the tavern, pausing only slightly to examine the strange wings that served as doors. What was most interesting was that they seemed to close on their own via some sort of curls of metal. How strange these city folk were. Doors that did not keep in the warmth and closed themselves as if those that went through them were too slothful to do so themselves. She entered, letting the strange slats slap her on the buttocks as she entered and immediately stalked towards the ale keeper and thrust the poster directly before his face.

"I want a tankard," she proclaimed, "and to know where to join these slayers!"

quest of questionable heroes

I know! I guess that's what happens when you post just as the guild is going down for maintenance or whatever. Wow. The site is currently so unstable that I can't even edit the posts to diminish their size.

What would be really hilarious would be if this post doubled or tripled... or... duodecupled. *shudder*

quest of questionable heroes

Egad. That's what happens when you post just as the guild site goes down for maintenance. Wowza.

quest of questionable heroes

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