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Campaign HQ    The Company of the Bright Star Campaign    Vampire

Background Stories

 
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strattjw
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PostPosted: Wed Jun 23, 2004 10:04 pm    Post subject: Background Stories Reply with quote

Everyone please post a summary of your background story. Included should be where your character is from, who else in the party your character knows (if any), and why your character is at the inn the night the campaign starts.
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Northstar
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PostPosted: Sun Jun 27, 2004 5:20 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Where are we starting again? A town/inn right by First Tower, right?

Nathan
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NeurOde
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PostPosted: Sun Jun 27, 2004 8:36 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Northstar wrote:
Where are we starting again? A town/inn right by First Tower, right?

Nathan


From Jesse's Character Creation Thread:

The campaign will start at the Traveler's Crossing Inn in Sharn. This inn is run by a member of House Lyrandar and is situated next to the docks of one of House Lyrandar's flying ship yard in Sharn. The inn caters mostly to merchants and shippers needing to utilize the flying ships of House Lyrandar to transport goods, though it also has a fair number of adventures seeking transport to various places.

While it is not needed that all members of the party know each other before the campaign starts, having some pcs know others would be beneficial.

I will need a brief character history of all the characters as well as any motives those characters might have to plan the initial encounter for the first session.

Hope that helps.
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NeurOde
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 28, 2004 11:14 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

"I swear on the entirety of the Sovereign Host that I hate that bastard," Torvik d'Cannith thought to himself as he sipped at his all-too-warm ale and glowered. He'd been sitting in the same spot for two hours and still was no closer to completing his task, though he had managed to liven his spirits a bit by flirting with the barmaid. Countless travelers had come and gone, but none had seemed to fit the description he'd been given. Then again, "They'll know you when they see you" is hardly a helpful guide for recognizing someone...

His younger cousin, Silvius, has approached him that morning with the same impish smirk he always wore when he was about to torment Torvik.

"Dear Cousin," began Silvius, "Whatever are you planning for this evening?"

"The same activity as yourself, of course," replied a somewhat leery Torvik, "Attending the House ascension ceremony for cousin Relina. Why do you ask?" He knew the answer would not be to his liking.

"Oh, that's such a shame, I had completely forgotten that that was tonight."

Why do I get the feeling that his memory problem is, in fact, more my problem that his, thought Torvik.

"It just so happens that I am expecting a very important package this evening to be delivered to the Traveler's Crossing. You know, Fylk d'Lyrandar's inn near the docks? Anyway, I was planning on sending my little brother to retrieve it, but I would hate for him to miss his favorite cousin's ascension... I'm certain you wouldn't mind stepping in for him and fetching it, would you, Tor?" The condescension in Silvius's voice was poisonous in its intensity.

Torvik took in a long breath and let it out slowly before replying, "Is that a request from one family member to another, Silvius, or is it an order from one marked d'Cannith to his lesser?"

Silvius recoiled in mock horror, "Dear cousin, however could you accuse me of such a thing?"

However in deed, thought Torvik. It wasn't the first time Silvius had taken it upon himself to scuttle Torvik's plans with one mundane task or another. Through some collossal cosmic oversight, Silvius had been blessed with what many outside House Cannith referred to as the Least Dragonmark of Making. That one discolored patch of skin had ensured two things in life: that Silvius could naturally accomplish minor feats of mending magic, and that he could lord his house status over his older cousin.

When they were children, the two of them had been inseperable. It wasn't until Silvius's mark was first noticed that things had changed. Torvik still had many fond memories of exploring Sharn with his cousin, but many of them were clouding over with Silvius's new-found arrogance. Perhaps someday things would be better. Still, at least he had managed to secure a location for his own workshop the other day through still another cousin. Now if only he could secure better funding for it...
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Northstar
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 28, 2004 11:19 pm    Post subject: I got yer backround story... RIGHT HERE!! Reply with quote

Darbolt Halle was the only son of a well-to-do merchant family in a small town in midsouth-Breland, just on the edge of the most invasive fighting during the Last War. Even at a young age, Darbolt showed a remarkably keen mind, and shrewd intuition.

Unfortunately, at age 8 both of his parents died of plague. A family friend who was to be Darbolt's guardian came to the funeral, and left with Darbolt, to the City of Towers, Sharn. Here the family friend, Chamton Frytas, a constable of Sharn, used Darbolt's inheritance to pay for the child's enrollment in Morgrave University, to help Darbolt hone and develop his natural skills. Darbolt attended Morgrave for many years.

After graduating, Darbolt bought himself a nice little domicile in Sharn with much of the remainder of his inheritance. His friend as well as his guardian, Chamton was retired by now, but still had connections in the constablatory. He pulled some strings, and saw that Darbolt was allowed to use his unique skills on Sharn's behalf, in order to make his living. Darbolt soon proved to be an insightful investigator.

In a sour investigation into a professor from Morgrave, Darbolt was charged with stealing a Xen'drik artifact that the man owned. Darbolt insists that he is innocent to this day, and most of the constablatory vouched for his trustworthiness, however the prefect who presided over the case ruled in favor of Professor Marchentry(a wealthy man, able to afford a slick counselor). Darbolt was forced to pay an enormous fine in compensation, and as a result had to sell off his domicile, and much of the family inheritance. He spent much of the rest on various alchemical substances whose use is frowned upon.

He has sobered up(mostly) and has taken back to his independent, investigating ways. He hopes to earn enough investigating to some day buy another domicile, and settle in comfortably.


Last edited by Northstar on Tue Jun 29, 2004 2:14 pm; edited 2 times in total
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Nullex
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 29, 2004 12:38 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

G'eon V’Tor was never one for the rules. "They're too restrictive," he'd always say. For the way he did things, he was right.

Wroat, the capital of Breland, afforded G’eon many opportunities he wouldn’t have received had he lived in a smaller community. In his early teens, G’eon fell in with the tough crowd and started a gang by the name of the Black Hands. Committing petty crimes, mainly burglaries, he found himself to be the most nimble and acrobatic of the gang, committing most of the misdemeanors his cadre devised. Although he never really had any desire to commit the crimes for the money or prestige, the physical challenge of doing them always peaked his interest. As such, he was soon wanted for questioning by the local constabulary for numerous thefts, vandalisms, and public disturbances.

G’eon was eventually caught, and was sent to jail for a few months. While there, he met Rye, a wild bouncer arrested for his participation in a particularly brutal bar fight, and the two found a kindred spirit in the other.

When they were let out on parole, G’eon requested his new-found companion accompany him to Sharn, the great City of Towers where they both might find their fortunes. Using the last of his gang’s loot, G’eon paid for passage down the Dagger River.

Now in Sharn, the grandest city he has ever witnessed, G’eon sees the possibility of challenge to be quite endless. But first, food.


Last edited by Nullex on Tue Jun 29, 2004 3:25 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Kyndig
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 29, 2004 2:52 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Rye was orphanned and left to die on the streets of Wroat. Against the odds, he survived on the streets for 8 long years before being taken in by a gruff barkeeper.

Rye survived his next year by keeping his ears open and his feet swift. As he matured, he spent more time in a jail cell - a result of his often out of control bar fights. "You might start it, but I'm going to finish it."

One particularly rough night landed Rye in jail for a month. He had been defending two barmaids from being attacked/raped and got too aggressive with his bouncing duties. In gratitude for his good deed, no one visited him: No one. He lost his lodgings, his job, and his desire to stay in Wroat.

While in jail, he met G’eon and had a near instantaneous bond with the halfling. When G’eon mentioned that they should go to Sharn, Rye jumped at the chance for a change of scenery.

Now here in the City of Towers, Rye hopes to make up for a less-than-memorable past.

*NOTE: I'm REALLY pissed that I couldn't get my first version to post and then lost the entire post in an unscheduled reboot...* Evil or Very Mad
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NeurOde
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PostPosted: Fri Jul 09, 2004 11:43 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I didn't even think about it until I read Northstar's post, but you're actually playing a male, aren't you Kyndig? Dang.
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Northstar
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 15, 2004 3:49 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Torvik had almost gathered all the materials he needed to forge a homonculus. Sitting in his workshop, he took a moment to relax. It had been a long week, and he deserved some time to simply sit and enjoy the quiet. And so it made a strange amount of sense to Torvik that a knock came at his workshop door, even though it was quite late at night. "Open," Torvik commanded the door. The simple magic in the lock slid the bolt away, and the door opened to reveal Silviius, whose normally subtle impish smirk was drawn into a broad grin. The sight of Silvius so obviously happy to be here troubled Torvik more than if the Lords of Dust themselves had come to visit.

Silvius walked most of the distance of the shop floor before stopping by a small workbench. He extended a hand and starting fiddling with a small, discarded work. Silvius fought to change his expression to one of great seriousness, but even his greatest effort left a distinct trace of his signature smirk evident. "I am quite disappointed, dear cousin." Torvik took a slow breath, readying himself for the torment Silvius was soon to lay upon him. "It must be a real doozy," Torvik thought to himself. "And why are you disappointed, then?" Torvik replied with no real interest or curiosity. A slight smile escaped Silvius before he was able to reign in his facial mask. "Don't misunderstand, coz, I am frankly quite impressed, also. I certainly didn't know you had it in you, "Silvius cooed, "You must be a truly amazing and skilled artisan, far beyond expectations." Palpable sarcasm dripped from the words. "However, what you have done is expressly forbidden. You have put our House in great danger with your activities."

"And what activities might those be?"

"Oh, don't feign ignorance, coz. You have violated the Treaty of Thronehold, and created a warforged."

It took a few moments for the implications to sink in, the enormity of what Silvius was laying on Torvik to approach comprehension. He was accusing Torvik of one of the highest crimes imaginable. No, he wasn't accusing him...

"What in the name-"

"Now, dear cousin, control yourself. We were bound to find out sooner or later. However, the House Cannith does have some use for your ill-thought out plans. It really wouldn't hurt to have a warforged warrior working for the House, carrying out enforcement. The fact that you made him out of adamantine makes him quite suitable for the task."

Torvik was starting to overcome his shock, and anger was beginning to set in. "Where in the blazes would I get enough gold for that much adamantine?" Silvius smile returned. "I really want to know as little as possible about your creation process. However, you have been fraternizing with criminals in the lower city, according to reports. Some rumors say you were even responsible for the death of a constable who was investigating your acitivities. In any case, your shady ties have given you the necessary means."

Torvik stood, starting into a rage. "I am going to the constablatory. I am not responsible." Torvik started for the door. "And how certain are you", Silvius called, "that when you return every bit of evidence the constables will need to convict won't be sitting right here in your workshop?"

Torvik stopped. His rage faded quickly, as a strange calm filled him. He knew he was stuck. Caught. Trapped. Framed. And now, resigned. Torvik walked back over to his stool and sat.

"May I take a seat?" Silvius asked.

"No." Silvius sat down.

"Why me?" Torvik asked. He wasn't complaining. Somehow, the complaints had all just flown out the window. At this point there was only curiosity.

"I don' know exactly why you decided to make this warforged, coz. As I have said, I am impressed and disappointed. It is lucky, however, that it was created by a non-marked member of the house with no political connections or clout, who's guilt in this matter would have the smallest possible effect on the House's legal and social standing. Don't worry, though, for House Cannith is not without mercy. If you care for and maintain this warforged, we shall keep your transgressions to ourselves. You will see that the warforged has opportunities to fight, to improve his combat capabilities. I am sure this is best done out of sight in the lower levels of the city which you are so familiar with. This warforged will be obedient to you. We have placed within him an item which will disable him if the command word is spoken by any marked member of the house, anywhere in Eberron. Submit him to the house to be upgraded now and then, and I am sure that you will keep out of prison."

Silvius stood and walked to the door. He opened it again, and held it open. "It is probably time that you met this warforged that you created." Silvius turned his head out into the night. "Come," he commanded, as one might command a mongrel dog.

The workshop started to rumble, ever so slightly. The smallest trinkets slid slowly over the table surfaces. Striding through the doorway was 6 feet, 4 inches of near solid adamantine. Across it's back was strapped a backpack and crossbow. In its hand it held an enormous axe, too big to be wielded with one hand. His eyes glowed dully.

Silvius flashed an impish smirk. "Torvik, meet your creation- Sever."
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NeurOde
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 16, 2004 12:41 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Torvik closed his eyes and moaned internally as the full implication of what Silvius had just bestowed upon him struck home.

"Ah," he droaned, "How wonderful it is to see you again, Sever. Why, it's been so long, I hardly recognized you. The picture on the box hardly did you justice." The next comment was directed to his dastardly cousin, "Satisfied?"

"Always," came the cocky reply. "Toodles, dear cousin, and next time, try to stay out of trouble." With that, Silvius exited the workshop.

"Sever, eh?" said Torvik. "If only that name referred to the state you'd left my 'dear' cousin in. So tell me, what do you know of your true origins? And what exactly do you want from me?"
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Northstar
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 20, 2004 2:50 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

"Sever, eh?" said Torvik. He could almost be amused. In any case, it would be nice to know what was really going on, get to know this fellow, since he was going to be spending so much time with him. "If only that name referred to the state you'd left my 'dear' cousin in. So tell me, what do you know of your true origins? And what exactly do you want from me?"

"I was forged by Torvik of House Cannith in his personal workshop," the warforged replied.

This night just kept getting longer and longer. "Yes, of course you were. But putting that aside, where were you really created? Who is your true creator?"

"I was forged by Torvik of House Cannith in his personal workshop," the warforged replied. No change in expression, no change in position, no change in inflection.

Damn you, Silvius. "No, seriously now, Sever. I am Torvik of House Cannith. You and I both know that I did not create you. I do not have the means or experience to do so. Someone besides me has made you. I am not going to... I don't know, turn your in, or 'say the word' and render you inert, or anything like that. I just want to know the truth."

"I was forged by Torvik of House Cannith in his personal workshop," the warforged replied. Mechanical, unreachable, implacable.

"Dammit! By the Seven!" Torvik was going to be hanged by morning, at this rate. Silvius must be laughing all the way home. Get an illegal warforged, give it to Torvik, and instruct it to tell everybody that Torvik made it. What a fantastic set up.

"I was forged by..."

That was it. "Shut up! That's all you'll say, isn't it? Some fool is going to walk up to you, trying to start a conversation, and you're going to tell him all about how I forged you, and next thing you know I'm going to be mining copper for the rest of my life thanks to Silvius and a walking hunk of metal bent on framing me. Are you able to say anything else? Anything besides how I forged you?" Please, by the Seven, be able to say something else.

"Yes."

Torvik calmed a little. "Praise the Seven! What can you say?"

Mechanical. "Anything you command," the warforged replied.

Excellent. It was simply a matter of altering his command parameters. "OK then, I command you to tell me who created you."

Unreachable. "I was forged by Torvik of House Cannith..."

"Dammit, cease speaking." Damn you, Silvius. Why? Is this thing enjoying tormenting me as much as you would? Did you build it with a malevolent personality, a will to inflict pain? There's got to be another way. Torvik began to pace the workshop, looking for answers in the floor, or in his creations. A minute passed. Two. Then he had an idea. In a flash, he turned to Sever.

"If someone asks you how you were created, can you say something else?"

The warforged said nothing. It did not move. It did not speak. It stayed unnervingly still.

Implacable.

"Look, you don't have to say where you were really created. Instead, you could just say... I don't know, you could say you don't know who or where you were forged. Can we at least try that, just to keep me a free man?"

The warforged's eyes began to glow even brighter, wider, shining a menacing, dangerous red. It changed it's footing, squaring off to face Torvik in a threatening stance, aiming it's five-hundred pound plus, adamantine frame at him.

'I have had it,' Torvik thought. 'I am in charge. I am in charge!' Torvik also faced off against the warforged, reaching back for his mace. This thing was going to listen.

"I command you," Torvik snapped, "to respond, when asked about your origin, by saying words to the effect that you have no memory of your origins or creator. If, and only if that story fails will you tell any questioners that I forged you. Understand? If I am warforged-sitting, I get some power here. I get to make at least one stinking rule. OK?"

The glow remained in the warforged's eyes, bright and angry red. It said nothing.

"Tell me of your true origin," Torvik commanded.

The warforged did not speak. After a moment, the glow faded slightly from the warforged's eyes, narrowing into a cold, deadly focus. His shoulders dropped into a martial, combat-ready position. Torvik swung his mace up to bear, ready to parry, and send this thing to the scrap heap if it even moved. The warforged's shoulders snapped back into their original, at-attention position.

"I... have no memory of my origin or creator," the warforged replied. No feeling. No expression. Mechanical.

Torvik slowly let out his breath. He didn't realize he'd been holding it until then. He had won the test of wills. This time. The warforged would obey.

"Good. Now, it has been a long evening, and I am going to bed. Can you, erm... are you able to stay here overnight? Will you be... OK here in my workshop?" Can I just leave him here? What other choice do I have?

"That would suffice," the warforged replied. Unreachable.

"Suffice,." What did it want? The finest hotel in the city? "Yes, good. OK, well, I'll see you in the morning then, Sever."

Torvik motioned for Sever to move further into the workshop. The warforged did so, then turned to face Torvik. Torvik moved to the door and opened it.

The warforged spoke. "Goodnight." It said.

There was a slight pause. It continued. "Master."

Implacable.

Torvik paused by the door. Though the machine had made no inflection, Torvik could hear Silvius mocking tone in that word. He could have stewed mutton in the drippings of sarcasm from that one word. Torvik slammed the workshop door shut.

"Lock," Torvik commanded, and bolted the warforged inside. He then turned and went home to have a large drink, and sleep late.


Sever's view:
'He hates you,' Silvius had told him. 'When he found out you were created, he demanded that he be put directly in charge of you. Don't take it too hard. He hates me too, though I can't imagine why.'

"Sever, eh?" said Torvik. The human regarded him. "If only that name referred to the state you'd left my 'dear' cousin in. So tell me, what do you know of your true origins? And what exactly do you want from me?"

'Now, as you know, he demands that you claim he was your creator. He knows the word that controls your deactivation. If you are ever heard to claim that anyone but he created you, he will deactivate you. He wants to deactivate you. He can't stand that anyone else could have made you.'

'But Merrix is my creator.'

'Yes. However, this Torvik has much influence, and in order to keep him from causing trouble, we need to let him be your caretaker. It is probably not so bad to avoid claiming Merrix was your creator, since as you know it is now illegal to give new life to you and your people.'


"I was forged by Torvik of House Cannith in his personal workshop," Sever replied.

Torvik shifted position in his chair. His faced moved in a different way. 'I wish I could move my face,' thought Sever. "Yes, of course you were. But putting that aside, where were you really created? Who is your true creator?"

'Be alert, Sever. We have made him agree that he will not deactivate you if you do not break the rules. But he will try to trick you. He will try to make you say that someone else created you, so that he can destroy you. I am sorry we have to give you over to his care, Sever.'

'You are a good friend, Silvius'

Silvius mouth moved slightly. Sever couldn't tell what that meant. He still didn't understand all of the facial expressions of humans.


"I was forged by Torvik of House Cannith in his personal workshop," Sever replied. 'I won't be fooled,' Sever thought. 'I must stay alert.'

The human began to speak more quickly, to speak a bit more harshly. This was what mad is like. "No, seriously now, Sever. I am Torvik of House Cannith. You and I both know that I did not create you. I do not have the means or experience to do so. Someone besides me has made you. I am not going to... I don't know, turn your in, or 'say the word' and render you inert, or anything like that. I just want to know the truth."

'He talked of turning me inert!,' thought Sever. 'He is threatening me. I will pass this test. I will follow his rules.'

"I was forged by Torvik of House Cannith in his personal workshop," Sever replied. He was getting good at this.

"Dammit! By the Seven!" He was pretty sure the human was angry now. 'Why?" Sever thought. 'I said the right thing.' Sever continued in thought. 'Maybe I didn't reply with the right words fast enough. Maybe he wants me to say it again.'

"I was forged by..."

"Shut up!" The human was on his feet now. Was he going to hurt Sever? He looked so mean. "That's all you'll say, isn't it? Some fool is going to walk up to you, trying to start a conversation, and you're going to tell him all about how I forged you, and next thing you know I'm going to be mining copper for the rest of my life thanks to Silvius and a walking hunk of metal bent on framing me. Are you able to say anything else? Anything besides how I forged you?"

"Yes." Was this a trick? 'Of course I can say other things.'

The human deflated a little. "Praise the Seven! What can you say?"

"Anything you command," Sever replied. 'I bet he'll like that. He knows he's in charge then.'

"OK then, I command you to tell me who created you."

Sever had it this time. Quick as you please. "I was forged by Torvik of House Cannith..."

"Dammit, cease speaking." The human began to walk in a line, back and forth, saying nothing. 'Why isn't he talking to me now?' thought Sever. 'He is so angry, and I don't know why. Maybe I am disobeying one of the rules.'

'Someday, Sever, you will be free from him, and perhaps even free to enact revenge upon him. But first, you must follow him, and follow the rules. Sever, the rules may seem simple, but they will be hard to follow with so cruel a master. The first rule: You must say that you were created by Torvik, who is of my House, in his own workshop. Again, this might actually help to benefit Merrix in his goal to provide a future for your people, something Torvik wants to see foiled. The second rule: You must do whatever Torvik commands of you. This will be tough, as he may command you to do some terrible things. And the third rule...'

'What was the third rule?' Sever couldn't remember. Suddenly, and without warning, Torvik spun around, and pointed an accusing finger at Sever.

"If someone asks you how you were created, can you say something else?"

This had to be a trick. Sever was forgetting the third rule, and now the human was asking him to disobey the first rule. 'I am in trouble. Torvik will deactivate me for sure.'

"Look, you don't have to say where you were really created. Instead, you could just say... I don't know, you could say you don't know who or where you were forged. Can we at least try that, just to keep me a free man?"

'He wants to deactivate me! He is forcing me to break a rule!' Sever's eyes widened in fear. He took an involuntary step backwards, into a stance that prepared him to take injury with the least harm. He was more scared than he had ever been. Torvik reached back for his mace, and his face twisted in anger.

"I command you," Torvik snapped, "to respond, when asked about your origin, by saying words to the effect that you have no memory of your origins or creator. If, and only if that story fails will you tell any questioners that I forged you. Understand? If I am warforged-sitting, I get some power here. I get to make at least one stinking rule. OK?"

'What do I do? Please don't deactivate me...'

"Tell me of your true origin," Torvik commanded.

Sever felt a cold dread in his heart. He knew his death was already upon him. After a moment, he calmed himself down. 'I will face my death as best I am able.' Resigned, Sever dropped his shoulders in defeat. Torvik brought his mace up quickly when Sever's shoulders moved, ready to pound Sever into slag. 'He does not want me to appear disrespectful!' Sever brought his shoulders back up. 'Here is the end already...'

"I... have no memory of my origin or creator," Sever replied. 'I hope it comes quickly.'

Torvik slowly let out his breath.

"Good. Now, it has been a long evening, and I am going to bed. Can you, erm... are you able to stay here overnight? Will you be... OK here in my workshop?"

'Is he going to let me live?' Sever thought. "That would suffice."

"Suffice, yes, good. OK, well, I'll see you in the morning then, Sever."

Torvik motioned for Sever to move further into the workshop. Sever did so, then turned to face the human. Torvik moved to the door and opened it.

'He is letting me live! I should obey etiquette.' "Goodnight." Sever said.

'...the third rule is: You must always call him Master.'

Oh no! Perhaps that is why he has been so angry. 'I will please him now.'

"Master," Sever said.

Torvik paused by the door. Then, without a word, Torvik slammed the workshop door shut.

"Lock," Torvik commanded, and bolted the warforged inside. Sever listened to his footsteps echo off into the distance. 'I have survived at least one day with Torvik,' thought Sever.
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NeurOde
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 23, 2004 9:20 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

There is a certain comedic awfullness to all this which could really be fun.
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