JJ Doe

Dark Dagger

Arin von Astastel

“<Death and ruin shall be your foe, bring your hearts and sprits low. Only by the heat of flame, can your soul be yours again.>” Elven ears twitched at the phrase, catching Arin’s attention. He glanced at the dragonborn right as he licked his lips. Ah yes, because nothing more says “I am not planning anything nefarious in anyway Bwahaha” than inciting a curse menacingly and then licking your lips as if they were chapped. Could he not be so blatantly obvious about it? … The way he acts makes me think he is an actor playing the part of a classic villain or he is an angsty adolescent in his brooding phase. Arin paused mid-thought, realizing that he didn’t know how old Vuthaternock was. It had always been difficult to tell with dragonkin.

Arin got his derailed thoughts back on track: Vuthaternock’s words. Since Arin couldn’t detect magic being actively used, he was fairly certain that the dragonborn didn’t cast anything. That would mean that Vuthaternock said the words to himself or was reciting what was said to him as a reminder.

Assuming this is true… Arin rubbed his chin. If he were to take the words at face value, Vuthaternock’s soul was metaphorically or literally not in his possession at the current moment. If the curse was metaphorical, then it was something Vuthaternock would have to figure out on his own. If the curse were in the literal sense though, Arin could potentially use his expertise as a bargaining chip to strike a deal with the dragonborn. Depending on the nature of the curse, however---…

The sudden entrance of Princess Rynn startled Arin out his thoughts, though it was soon replaced with confusion. He bowed deeply as was customary, standing up straight only when Rynn started talking.

As Rynn spoke, the elf gradually realized this was the “Lady” they were waiting for, but this raised questions. Why did the guards not just say Princess Rynn was coming to see them? Why did she come alone and not with her parents? There were more questions, but they were, at least at the moment, more of the personal variety and not entirely related to the theft of the Dark Dagger. Besides, based on the princess’s attire, Arin had a sneaking suspicion that he’d have plenty of time to ask those questions later.

“I figured now would be the time for questions. I'd rather not waste a moment going over useless information, so tell me what you'd like to know.”

Arin waited to see what kind of questions the others would ask. He wanted to see what the others were focused on and gauge how much he could rely on them on investigative matters. He would ask questions if need be, but for now, he remained silent.

Dark Dagger

Arin von Astastel

Arin watched the brief interactions between his potential companions and, or, rivals from the corner of his eye. It was amazing how one could learn from these moments, no matter how short they were.

Elra Silverfang, the former slave, may not have a master now, but her body language suggested that she was still a caged animal. Whether or not her initiative to help dry the others came from genuine concern, a subtle attempt to make a good impression, or remnants of her former life telling her to serve others was something that Arin was going to have to decide after he got to know her.

Ernestus Greye seemed like decent folk, the type of man who would fit the rugged hero archetype that the commoners loved so much. It was because of that, however, that made Arin think that Ernestus was hiding something dark. Not necessarily sinister, just something darker than… “pure”. The elf’s fingers absentmindedly fidgeted with the silver charm hanging from his neck.

On the other hand, Arin immediately could tell Callista Felmir was a rogue, perhaps in every sense of the word. She mannerisms told him that she was confident in conversing with anyone and the way she sized up everyone made him think that they were cut from the same cloth. She was studying them, this situation, all of it. But was she a thief? The thief? Even if she weren’t the thief, Arin wouldn’t be surprised if she did take part in any future thefts in this castle.

Then there was the dragonborn. “<Thank you. It is most appreciated.>” It was clear that he could fluently speak the common tongue, so why did Vuthaternock have to thank someone using a language that not everyone could understand? To show off his draconic heritage? Arin knew dragons were a proud race, but did they need to emphasize it with every breath they took? Gods, even how he said it reeks of pomposity. Just like many in House Astastel. “Let's get searching then! I'd check the Underground and black market first, if the thief wanted to sell it, or if they have a hideout. The thieves grapevine might have some info we can use.”

Arin couldn’t help but sigh deeply. He mentally patted himself on the back for not covering his hand over his face. It wasn’t the suggestion itself that bothered him: in fact, it was evident that the investigation was going to take them to the Underground whether they liked or not, but the elf couldn’t fathom why it never crossed Vuthaternock’s mind that perhaps they should gather more information at the castle ---get details about the case and look at the place the dagger was kept at the very least--- before venturing into the shady part of civilization. Did he even know what the Dark Dagger looked like? What was his plan when they got there anyways? How did he think a community of outlaws ---who could have been present during the King’s announcement a few moments ago--- would respond to outsiders asking around about a theft? Did he hope that his draconic lineage was enough for them to tell him everything? Was he going to bribe them or was he going to beat people until they gave something up? Perhaps he planned to slaughter the denizens to just get everything over and done with. While there was no denying that some of Ovyadell would appreciate that, Arin could only hope that Vuthaternock wasn’t that reckless.

Thankfully King Silas was quick to intervene and instructed the volunteers to follow the guards. The group was escorted to a small room that reminded him of his study back home. As much as he wanted to reach for the books and scrolls, Arin refrained from touching, being extra careful to keep his hands to himself.

“The Lady will be shortly. She'll tell you everything you need to know.”

Arin wondered who this “Lady” could possibly be, but before he could ask, the two guards left the room and shut the door behind them. As he was contemplating who the Lady was he noticed the expression on Elra’s face. It was similar to the one “Huard von Astastel” had the day they cornered him in the inn: scared and haunted. A caged animal indeed…

Arin looked at Callista, half expecting that she was going to make a move. If there was ever a moment to take advantage of someone, make an ally out of them, it was during their moment of weakness… and he wanted to know how similar their cloth was. Or perhaps Ernestus would valiantly swoop in, intentionally or by accident, helping Elra in her time of need. But Arin would be lying if he said he wasn't curious what Vuthaternock would do.

Arin himself made no attempt to console the other elf. He knew he was not the one who could or should do that. He had hands that even his own father couldn't bear to hold.

Dark Dagger

Sorry for the long post, there were some things I wanted to establish/set up beforehand.

@pinkkoala321 Sounds good to me!

Dark Dagger

Arin von Astastel

Arin von Astastel was sitting, letter in hand, in the garden with his guest sitting right across the table from him. The guest, an emissary from Ovyadell, traveled a great distance to inform House Astastel that they had been summoned to Ironkeep to help the King on a delicate situation and to also warn them about a potential family matter.

According to the letter, various objects from Eastormel Castle started vanishing. At first, they were minor items that ultimately would not be missed. Even though theft against the monarch was a grievous crime, the items themselves were not valuable enough to warrant a serious investigation. The situation started to become more concerning when items of higher value started to go missing. It was not, however, until a priceless family heirloom called the Dark Dagger was stolen from the castle’s vault that the series of petty thefts turned into full-blown lese-majesty.

While the theft against the sovereign power was of no concern to House Astastel ---or Arin for that matter---, the relic itself and the rumors that surrounded the ancient land did pique their interest for some time. Could the Dark Dagger be the one? Even if it wasn’t, Ovyadell could still hold the answer, a hint at the very least.

The second matter, the “familial” variety, was less of a problem and more of an annoyance. Fairly recently, a scam using the von Astastel name was reported to the authorities. There had been several swindles occurring prior that used the surname of other influential families. Investigation strongly suggested that all these scams, the von Astastel one included, were done by a con artist duo who hailed from the Underground, a lawless land neighboring Ovyadell. Though the Underground was not technically part of Ovyadell ---and thus not their responsibility--- Arin could only assume that the emissary mentioned these scams to him because the Ovyadell nobility wanted to show off how diligent they were, likely in the hope that House Astastel would feel indebted to Ovyadell and send someone to help them find the Dark Dagger. An unnecessary measure, but one that Arin duly noted. There was one thing that he had to ask, however.

“Did these men---… Ralph and Philippe.” Arin folded the letter and placed in back into its envelope.
“Fredrick and Douglas, sir.”
Arin waved his hand dismissively, “It does not matter what their given names are.” Or were. The elf turned his head to look at the emissary. “Did these men introduce themselves as ‘I-do-not-care-what-their-names-are’ von Astastel?”
One of the emissary’s eyebrows arched, “I… do not think people would report being swindled by a von Astastel if these men did not say they were von Astastel.”
Arin smirked, “You would be surprised.” The smirk faded as he sighed. “As ludicrous as this may sound, it is vitally important that I know whether or not these men introduced themselves as…” Arin made a random hand gesture to imply that a name, any name would do, was said in silence, “--- von Astastel.”
“Yes. More specifically,” the emissary glanced down to read the paper that was placed on the table, “They said that their names were Huard von Astastel and Eadgar von Astastel.”
“They introduced themselves individually.”
“Yes.”

The emissary looked back up to see Arin’s brows furrow. The elf diverted his gaze away from his guest as he seemed to lose himself in thought. A few awkward seconds passed before the elf finally returned his attention to the emissary, this time, with an obviously fake smile masking his face.

“Many apologies. This whole ordeal is… quite distressing as you can imagine.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Do you have a list of the victims?”
“Yes, they are written here.” The emissary pointed at the paper on the table.
“Which ones have been tricked by ‘Huard’ and ‘Eadgar’ von Astastel?”
Lifting the paper from the table, the emissary pointed at the names which were under the column titled “von Astastel”.
“Perfect. May I?” Arin opened his hand towards the paper, which was quickly snatched away from the emissary the moment it touched his skin. His eyes scrolled down the list of names, “The House of Astastel will do our best to compensate these individuals.”
“How generous of you.”
“Not out of the kindness of my heart, I assure you.”
The emissary gave an understanding nod.

Arin turned his head and called out, “Someone? Anyone around? I need some assistance.” A beat later, a giant of a man appeared out from the shadow of a pillar right behind the elf. Almost as if he had been hiding there the entire time. “Make sure these people are paid handsomely for their troubles.” He silently took the paper from Arin’s hand. “Oh, and also…” the man leaned down when Arin motioned for him to get closer. The elf whispered, “Find them.”

---

Finding one of the scammers turned out to be a much easier endeavor than initially anticipated. Although, admittedly, the search was expedited thanks to the scammer causing a huge ruckus in a city close to the one the main estate was located at. One of Arin’s uncles jokingly said that “von Astastels love to stick together,” but Arin was confident that that remark was not far from the truth. Minus the love part, naturally.

Eyewitness accounts stated that the scammer came running into the city’s inn in a state of hysteria and delirium. He was an absolute mess: he was covered in mud and what seemed to be traces of blood, holding a knife, and missing a shoe. Based on the bits and pieces of his incoherent ramblings, one could deduce that he had been running from, what he claimed to be, “monsters” since his last scam. When asked what his name was, he struggled to get any name out.

This was enough for the city guards to identify the man as a von Astastel and promptly contacted the family. Incidents like this were not unheard of since Astastel became a name of influence. The House paid the surrounding cities, towns, and villages well enough to have them report such incidents if and when they occurred. Extra if they brought “these types” of von Astastels to the estate.

The crazed man needed to be sedated to be safely transported. Although it was not enough to knock an adult out, the calmness brought on by the drugs seduced the man to sleep. It must have been days, maybe even weeks, since he properly slept. He is one of the fortunate ones. At least the symptoms are still manageable.

Arin studied the filthy man who slept across from him in the carriage. “So,” he asked, “which one are you? ‘Huard’ or ‘Eadgar’?” The question was rhetorical, of course. This man’s name never mattered. Besides, even if he was conscious it was unlikely that he would be able to answer even the simplest of questions. At least, not until his “birthday party”.

“Let me be the first to welcome you into the family, ‘cousin’.”

---

In House Astastel birthdays were a type of celebration that one could only be the star of once in their lifetime: the day when they were officially introduced into the House. Arin had his the day he was born and remembered nothing about it, but he had witnessed a number of other Astastels’ birthdays to know what the celebration entailed. The “party” was less of a festive occasion and more like an initiation-ceremony.

Every family member who were able to participate, gathered at a large room that could be easily mistaken as the interior of a cathedral. Though there was nothing sacred about the place. The only symbol in the grand hall was the family crest, but very few worshipped the insignia like how a pious individual would worship their deity. It was a powerful symbol, however, and there was no denying its effect on their lives. For better and for worse.

Silently, the family watched the scammer ---who was now both very clean and very nude--- be dragged front and center of the hall. It was evident that whatever concoction that was given to him to calm his nerves had completely worn off. He screamed and furiously struggled to break free from the bonds. By the time he was strapped down to the altar, the man started to sob, praying to a God, any God, to save him from this den of demons.

“Now, now dear, don’t be rude.” An elderly woman walked over to the alter to gently pat the man’s back. “Everyone here took time out of their busy schedules just to make sure you feel welcomed.” Two other family members approached the woman holding out trays filled with sharp objects and other questionable items. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news but…,” she picked up a bottle filled with antiseptic and applied it onto the man’s skin, “your prayers fall on deaf ears. The Gods, spirits, whatever that is that you believe in have abandoned you the moment you uttered our name and claimed it as your own.” When she heard the man make a sound that sounded vaguely like a whimper, she softly shushed him, “Oh sweetheart, it’s okay. Everything will be alright. The Gods may have abandoned you, but we will not. We’re your family now… and family… well, we stick together.”

Arin glanced over to the uncle who previously said something similar and received a wink from him before he looked back at the altar. The elder was placing something into the scammer’s mouth. “Make sure you bite on to this. We don’t want you to accidentally bite off your tongue, do we?” She picked up one of the knives from the tray, “Now, let us begin.”

The next hour and a half were as loud and painful, but not nearly as bloody as a live birth would have been. Even when things did get a bit gruesome, no one, not even the most squeamish of individuals, looked away from the ritual. The only time anyone “looked away” was when they had to blink. They all waited patiently for it to end and when it finally did, they clapped in unison, congratulating him; regardless of what they truly felt about the new addition to the family. He was now one of them.

---

When Arin arrived at Eastormel Castle, he was escorted to one of the waiting rooms where he spent the time enjoying his tea and eating biscuits until one of the servants came to retrieve him. House Astastel already sent word that they were sending Arin and what reward they wanted for helping the investigation, thus the elf felt no need to be present when the King made his announcement to the masses. He was used to mingling with others, but he wanted to avoid large gatherings as much as possible.

Arin was heading towards the throne room when a familiar face approached him. The elf expected to only exchange a short greeting, but the emissary wanted to update him about the scammers. “We found Douglas’ body.”
“Who?”
“One of the swindlers, sir. We found his body outside of Ironkeep yesterday. He was torn into pieces by some wild animals. He was starting to rot, so I can only imagine that it had been days since he died.”
Arin stared at the emissary with a blank expression, “Do you know how he died?”
“Unfortunately, no… The damage to the body was too severe when we found him. We still cannot find some parts of him. He could have been attacked by wolves or slipped on a rock and broke his neck. Maybe his partner stabbed him to death. There is no way to know for certain.”
“I see… Thank you for keeping me informed.”
“I apologize that we could not find him sooner. His partner is still at large so we will continue to do our best to apprehend him.”
Arin smirked, “I wish you the best of luck.”
“Thank you, sir.” With that, the two said their farewells and parted ways.

By the time Arin reached the throne room, there were only four volunteers left: a human, a woman who he was not entirely sure was human or an elf ---perhaps a half-breed---, an elf, and, much to Arin’s surprise, a dragonkin. How rare it was to see his kind in these parts. Arin continued to scrutinize the others as they introduced themselves, wondering what skills they would bring to the table… and whether or not they were a potential threat. One of them might even be the thief, or working with the thief, that stole the dagger in the first place. What’s a better place to hide than amongst those who want to catch you?

Just as everyone else finished introducing themselves, Arin straightened his back and confidently strode his way towards the group. He stopped before the royal family and bowed deeply. “And I am Arin from House Astastel, at your service, your majesty.”

Dark Dagger

Name
Arin von Astastel

Sex
Male

Age
35

Race
Elf

History
Arin was born into the House of Astastel, a prestigious yet mysterious family whose influence can be felt in virtually every part of the civilized world. Although they are not officially recognized as a noble House, members of the Astastel House are accustomed to a life of luxury and being treated with the uttermost respect. There are many speculations on how the Astastel House came to gain such power, but no one knows the truth: not even their own members truly know the answer.

There are only three things people know with absolute certainty. First, unless you are born a von Astastel, you either marry into or are adopted by the House. Never the other way around. Never. Second, those who claim to be a von Astastel are a von Astastel. Finally, the House of Astastel has become increasingly interested in collecting magical items and investigating places associated with magic these past few generations.

Other

• In general, something about Arin rings false.
• Arin seems to have an aptitude for magic, but non-family members have only seen him use it for minor things such as creating light or detecting magic. He does, however, practice alchemy and abjuration magic.
• Arin is by no means a specialist in combat: he can protect himself well enough against the common thug, but that is about the extent of his combat skills. He is much better at dodging attacks and escaping from dangerous situations than being an active participant of one.
• Arin's strengths lie in academia and investigation.

Dark Dagger

Sounds interesting. What kind of races exist in this setting?

Ravenloft, The Curse of Strahd.

@Cube I feel you... I've been checking in every now and then to see if anything changed :P

I guess it really depends on how we want to go about it from this point on... Does everyone want to continue without the GM for an undetermined amount of time? I'm not familiar with the Curse of Strahd campaign so I have no idea how it's supposed to go. And I always feel hesitant to continue without the GM (I'd hate to ruin whatever they had planned), but at the same time, I want to see this through. If worst comes to worst, we could start our own thing based off of this. Or we can just cut our losses and move on. Again, it depends on what everyone wants.

I'm also worried that we haven't heard from/seen @Tsar Gatto in a while. Hope they're doing okay...

Ravenloft, The Curse of Strahd.

I was debating whether to post, but it's been a week since the last IC post and I had my post ready to go, so I thought I might as well.

Ravenloft, The Curse of Strahd.

Olo Dudley

“Get that fixed! Now!”

Katrina’s order snapped Olo out of his state of awe over her graceful yet deadly combat skills. It was, for a lack of a better word, immaculate in its execution. Not one movement was wasteful; everything was calculated and served a purpose. How long it must have taken to hone those skills to perfection. “Y-yes, ma'am!”

Olo was hastily examining the hurdy gurdy when he saw a robed figure from the corner of his eye. "Don't quite know what you're doing, but that seemed to throw these... beasts off for a moment," he heard Ada say above him. The announcement alleviated some of the halfling’s collywobbles. Good to know that he helped a little, even if it wasn’t in the way he wanted to help. Olo chuckled weakly, eyes still on his instrument, “Honestly, sometimes I don’t even know… Poor things, if only they had hands.”

Olo jumped at the sound of a mighty roar; the kind that reverberated to the very core of oneself and made hairs stand. For a moment he feared that one wolf, or perhaps another creature still hidden in the dense mist, had done it, but that particular fear was put to rest once he saw that it was Everheart. Surprising how the most silent one in the group had the loudest of voices. His voice demanded attention and several creatures, Olo included, were unable to resist looking at him. Unlike the wolves, however, Olo had no intention of harming the giant beastfolk.

Almost as if the Leonin battle cry were a war-horn, the battle with the wolves started to intensify from that point on. Blades and claws clashed with fangs, kicks and punches cut through the air, fire burned fur, and red started to become a prominent color. Even as the others fought valiantly, Olo was still fumbling with an instrument. He tried forcing the instrument to play again, but as soon as it shrieked, he flinched and decided that he was just going to have to retune right then and there. If that didn’t work, then the damage was much more serious and Olo would be in trouble.

He twisted the tuning pegs, cranked the handle, and pressed the keys until he could hear a sound. When it wasn’t the right tone, he repeated the process again. The halfling’s hands trembled during the entire process. Both from fear of their lives being in danger and anxiousness of not being able to do anything, but there was also something else. Something akin to excitement: exhilaration. Not the most appropriate of emotions for someone as useless as Olo to be feeling in the middle of battle, alas it was there. The bundle of emotions reminded him of how he felt when he had to perform in front of an audience at the bardic collage. He remembered how nervous he was right before the concert, so much so that he threw up and caused a slight delay. When the concert did finally start, though, the nervousness was overthrown by intoxicating zeal to see the whole thing through. He messed up countless of times, but during the concert, especially the moments when Olo was in sync with the other performers, he was on top of the world.

How much different was this battle to a concert anyways? Critics would rip out a musician’s throat just as brutally as any wolf; one mistake and one’s life ---musical career--- was over. The adventures were his fellow performers, all playing a different instrument from one another. Oh, and how skillfully they play them. Who was he to think that he could match their performance? All Olo could possibly do was amplify it. Nothing else would do them justice.

Silence descended upon the halfling, unsullied by the noise of battle a few feet away. The same kind of silence that the audience would experience seconds before a performance started. A hint of arcane energy crackled in the air around Olo. Oblivious to it, he took in a deep breath, and let his fingers decide what to play on the hurdy gurdy.

A long drone permeated the forest, creating a white noise that was neither painful nor pleasant to hear. When it almost felt like it was going to go on forever, different notes chimed in. The jumbled sound started to create a pattern, coming together to finally produce something that could be recognized as a melody.

The music was a popular one in the Sword Cost, commonly heard in places that had the luxury of musical entertainment. Because it was so well known, however, even those who had a modicum of musical knowledge could instantly tell that it was incomplete: it was obviously a composition intended for more than one instrument. If Olo had his own troupe, his performance would have improved at least three-fold, but he didn’t, and that was okay. It didn’t matter that the music was far from perfect or how amateurish he played. Hells, the listener could straight up hate what they were hearing, and it still wouldn’t matter. As long as they heard music, Olo’s spells had an affect on them.

The melody coaxed ---dragged out if needed--- the part of the listener that refused to lie down and die here. Fear of death, a promise not yet fulfilled, hope for something that lay ahead; the reason could be anything. The melody latched on to that part and amplified it. In turn, the listener felt a surge of strength. Every attack seemed heavier even though the amount of effort put into said attacks were the same as before.

In the grand scheme of things, it was an insignificant change: it was not as if a person who never held anything heavier than a utensil could suddenly destroy a boulder with their bare hands. It was much more subtle: a person who only ever lifted a pen could lift an encyclopedia over their head; someone strong enough to crack a rock with their hands could now crush it completely without breaking a sweat. They were all things that they could have done when push came to shove. The music only galvanized the potential.

The pit orchestra were always there to enhance the main attraction, rarely to be one.

Ravenloft, The Curse of Strahd.

@Cotton Welcome aboard!