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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 3:25:50 GMT
Groggily you slowly awaken, your, head throbbing, and stomach in full rebellion, as you attempt to right yourself. Blearily your take in your surroundings, noting the well-kept curtains and glazed window. You stagger toward a large pitcher and washbowl on a stout oak table doesil of the cot you have just lurched from. As you splash water upon your face, hoping that the bitter taste of old ale and bile can be removed post haste, you spot the faint glow of a star upon your bare shield arm.
No amount of scrubbing seems to remove the magical brand, and as your thoughts slide back to how this symbol came to rest upon your person, your memories fade to darkness, and an impression of a small child < maybe > handing you a foaming tankard as you sat beside a roaring Beltain fire.
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Post by Sheyna Moonwolf on Jul 4, 2015 4:13:58 GMT
"By all the spirits of nature, what has happened to me?" I look around the room, to see if I'm alone or if I recognize anything here. And whether my belongings are here. I soak my wrists in the water, and look for fresh water to drink to wash the taste out of my mouth. My hand goes instinctively to my chest, where my dire wolf totem normally hangs from a leather thong around my neck. Is it still there?
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 4:19:54 GMT
All your Gear is as you remember it, unchanged and unused.
As an Elf you instinctively know the positions of the moons and stars.
Something is wrong.. dreadfully wrong.
Your last thoughts are of Beltain night, however your internal sense of time is telling you it has been 60 days since that last drink.
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Post by braden89 on Jul 4, 2015 4:23:45 GMT
"Where have I been taken?" I ask as I stagger toward the window and pull aside the curtain.
Sent from my SCH-S968C using Tapatalk
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Post by Finola the Bard on Jul 4, 2015 4:29:32 GMT
"Uuuughn..."
The floor turns out to be more accepting of my aching, fatigued self than my legs were of my feeble attempt at standing.
"Some party... Can't say I been that wasted since that one Midsummer's Eve..." Beginning the laborious struggle to sit upon my cot once more, I look around to get a better sense of my immediate surroundings, still massaging my temples.
"... This ain't me room at th' inn...?"
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 4:30:52 GMT
The bright light stabs like flinty daggers into the back of your skull. The sounds of shod hooves and hobnailed feet reverberate on actual flagstones!
This is so different than the rutted paths and mud choked lanes of the vill you remember. Across the road you see tiled roofs and not a scrap of thatch.
You are definitely not in Vill Afonwy anymore, you can even smell.... the sea...
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Post by Sheyna Moonwolf on Jul 4, 2015 4:37:00 GMT
"Two months. How is that possible?" I sit back down on my bunk and shake my head to try to clear it. "Something is so very, very wrong." I look for a door or window, and shout out in Druidic, "Wolfe! Are you here?"
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 4:44:54 GMT
From a distance below you hear a howl and a crash, followed by swearing in the dialect of Prydwen but with an odd inflection.
"Arawn a'i gefn peli blewog ci ! Gewch gan fy aelwyd i fod pigfain clustiog llances !"
The scrabble of claws on pressed tile is accompanied by loud concerned yet joyful whines.
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Post by Finola the Bard on Jul 4, 2015 4:49:22 GMT
"Ach...!" I grip at my head and rest my elbows on my knees, wincing at the pounding in my head.
"A little feckin' quieter, if y'would!" I shout to nothing in particular, cursing all this damned noise.
Pardoning a glance about, I check to see if I'm alone here.
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 4:53:49 GMT
Quite alone, though you do notice that all your gear has been stowed in the wooden chest along the wall, glancing down you realize that while you may have gone to bed alone you did so clad as you were born, stark and bare, thankfully it is a warm morning.
Your stomach growls as the smell of crispy rashers and freshly brewed Khaf waft into your room as a large gray form dashes past your wide open chamber door.
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Post by Finola the Bard on Jul 4, 2015 4:58:05 GMT
My hand wanders to my stomach as I mutter something half-baked about food and it's meddlesome habit of not being near me.
Much more slowly, this time, I move to the chest and procure my things, donning them in an effort to preserve what might pass for decency in some parts.
Once appropriately situated, I open the door, and step out of the room in search of a much-needed breakfast, chuckling to myself.
Whatever happened, I must have partied hard.
Wait -- the fuck was that, a dog?
I stare in the direction of the giant grey blur.
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Post by Sheyna Moonwolf on Jul 4, 2015 4:58:25 GMT
"Wolfe!!!" I shout even louder, and rush to exit the room and run to find him.
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 5:06:14 GMT
You stumble onto the landing a a mass of gray fur and tongue slam into your bare body. As you are gleefully welcomed by your companion you see a stout figure come stomping up the stairs, "Oi lass, that great beastie o yers has damn near et yer foo...." the thickly accented voice tappers off into choked coughs....
You look into the face of the Pict Dwarf, a face rapidly blushing beneath his blue tattoos....
He spins around to face into the room across the hall... where he sees another .. startled and nude young human woman,
With a half shrill half giggle he dashes back down the steps with a yell
"Cloth yerselfs lasses, afore me wife chews me arse fer breakfast"!
The stomp and clatter as he dashes down the steps 2 and 3 at a time echo in the corridor.
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Post by Sheyna Moonwolf on Jul 4, 2015 5:14:00 GMT
Sheyna buries her face in Wolfe's neck, comforted by his familiar presence. Tears mix with laughter as she stands and says, still in Druidic, "I suppose I'd best get dressed if there are city folk about. You don't know how good it is to see you. I can't ... Wolfe, I can't remember anything but someone small handing me a drink at Beltaine." Wolfe, I don't ..." she trails off, looking at him in wide-eyed confusion. You know that she is not used to being out of control, and does not drink to excess, so she is out of her depth. She takes a deep breath and walks back into her room, not at all self-conscious about her nude form. She is slender, slightly built in all dimensions, and there is nothing but pure animal grace in her movement. She opens the chest and slips on a simple tunic and trousers. She gracefully slips to the floor into a cross-legged position and asks him. "Wolfe, what has happened to me? And what is this mark?"
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 5:22:03 GMT
The wolfs posture changes slightly, his head cocked to the side and tongue hanging from his mouth in a very undignified manner, as if he is listening to you intently. He growls lightly when you mention the unknown person handing you a drink, but recovers quickly as he comes forward to sniff the magical brand.
With a soft whine, he spins and bolts out the door and down the steps.
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