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Jandari
09:20:06 AM 07/18/19
I hope they don't screw it up.

Vaeltava
06:10:35 PM 07/17/19
Well, that's some news, Jandari.

Jandari
03:46:49 PM 07/17/19

wisdombeyondages
03:09:14 PM 07/17/19
Its part of why so many dont post much. I am 10-12 hours behind on posts.

scratch_flannigan
02:48:12 PM 07/17/19
Good to see you back, Zhymm !

Jandari
01:02:18 PM 07/17/19
I feel your pain, Zhymm.

Zhymm
11:39:30 AM 07/17/19
Decided to drop in, started going through all the forum posts, mainly IC stuff, since my last visit. Whew, that was a lot of reading. Well, more like 'skimming' than reading. I think I'm caught up on events since my last visit months ago. How do you folks generate so much content so quickly? It takes my hours just to create and compose a 'short' IC post.

Daenre
09:45:30 PM 07/15/19
hey all been a long time since I poked my head in, still haven't gotten round to getting the remaster of nwn, but I miss this place terribly. one day I'll get the upgrade xD hope you all are having fun and are still making some awesome stories together

Falkala
02:04:51 PM 07/15/19
-Clickedy- Thain Patreon is up, for those who would like to help us with the server costs.

Jandari
10:51:59 AM 07/15/19



Forums
The Island of Thain :: Forums :: Thain :: In Character Discussion
 
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The Things We Do...
Moderators: The Site Master, Squidget, Bonesly, Cuchuwyn, Ogreman007, Vaedryan, Dogbert, Inq_Damocles, Falkala, Payne, jewwe, scratch_flannigan, Tuckerr99, Warlord Kro, ChaoticDrow, Alanonas
Author Post
Dizzy-D2
07:44:43 AM 12/12/15

Registered Member #1536
Joined: 09:15:58 PM 02/14/10
Posts: 92
[ image disabled ]

*


The sky is cerulean swirled with a deep blooded champagne, but beneath the beauty lies only the colour of death. Black. Everywhere. Rain flirts bashfully as a heavy cloud naps nearby. The people standing near the casket start to fidget and sway as the priest, unperturbed, takes his time reciting a few final words in some long forgotten language.

“Can we, like, go yet? It’s totally going to rain,” says a lithe girl with subtle elven features.

“No. The ceremony is not finished. We must honor your father with a proper burial,” her elven mother says without intonation.

The child in her arms has more distinguishable elven traits, and he begins to cry as friends and family approach the open casket to bid their final farewells. It’s a small gathering, but this dead man kept fine company. An elven couple gracefully approaches the casket, dressed in fine silk robes, wearing matching golden necklaces, studded with pearls the size of fists. One plants a kiss on the man’s cheek, while the other says a few words in elven. A short man, or maybe a tall dwarf, dressed in a tailored long-tailed suit and top hat almost has to look up to the casket. He removes his hat, twists his white whiskers, mutters a few words, and parts ways as a tall man with bushy eyebrows and a lush fox cloak approaches next. By the end, the kid is screaming so loud you’d think he’d seen a ghost.

I hate funerals…

After the final farewell, the elven widow stands over the casket, alone. She takes his hand in hers and stares at her dearly beloved. Her face is still as stone. She traces her thumb along the rim of a large ring on the man’s hand, and falls to her knees. Her tears beckon the rain, which grows from flirtatious to aggressive in an instant.

“See, I told you it was going to rain!” squeals the agitated adolescent as she struggles to keep a jeweled brooch in place.

“You’re right,” the mother says. She wipes her tears and pulls herself together as a low fog lingers through the graveyard. “Let us get out of the rain and mud. We’re to meet your uncle in the morning to discuss how we are to distribute your father’s savings in the vault. “Goodbye, my love,” she turns to the casket and brings her husband’s hand to her face one last time and purses her full elven lips to a large crimson ruby centering a golden loop. The ring glints briefly and her kiss cracks like thunder in the rain.

Darkness creeps in and two hefty simpletons hired by the undertaker show up to bury the body. They seem confused by the rain, and, after one slips in the mud and falls down into the grave himself, the two decide to call it quits.

I thought they’d never leave…

The casket is where it needs to be, and it is only half-buried.

“Half th’ work at double th’ effort,” reflects a hooded, statuesque stranger finishing a smoke underneath a nearby sepulcher. He steps out of the fog and into the rain with a scarlet glimmer beneath his already bloodshot eyes.

The night is long and more mud clings to the shovel with every stab into the sopping earth.

“Th’ things we do for love,” he says, prying open the ornate casket, feasting his eyes upon a stone so large and red that he wondered if the man's wife left her own heart right here beside him.



[ Edited 05:46:54 AM 12/20/15 ]

Crauser: (Unexpected Acquaintances) Along for the Ride; (Preferred Customers) What happens in the alley...; Women and Children, First; The Things We Do...
Lao Sho Quan: Enter: The Demon
Ahab Blackwell: By Demons Be Drunken // Nine(9)ty-Nine Bottles of Rum
Back to top
Dizzy-D2
04:09:53 PM 12/16/15

Registered Member #1536
Joined: 09:15:58 PM 02/14/10
Posts: 92
[ image disabled ]


**



Uptown. Midnight. Even at this hour, the streets crawl with life. A knight here, two knaves there. Some unattended rich kids run rampant around a corner. It’s busier than he’d like, but, still basking in the glory of his prior night’s score, that magnificent crimson ring, he is in no rush. He strikes a match on the corner of a signpost as two careless kids run into the back alleys without a second thought.

Too easy…

But tonight’s not a night for mugging a couple of kids. No, tonight is part of something more. This stranger has been hanging around Uptown, searching for that elven widow, her son, or somebody, anybody to cure his curiosity of the magic word that still hums in his ears.

Vault

Having spent all of the prior night shoveling mud in the rain, he could not tail them home. The only clue he got was the name on the Tombstone. He asked a few questions, pushed a few buttons, and now here he is. Just down the block. His hood hangs low, and a cloud of mint cigar smoke lingers about his face as he sits under a canopy to avoid the rain. As predicted, the two knaves sent to relieve the current patrol are still half-asleep; slipping past them is easy.

Shift change…it's like clockwork!

He sticks a MasterKey into the door, jerks the handle twice, and opens the door without breaking a single hinge. He quietly closes the door behind himself and creeps to the walls. Thankful he changed out of his heavy breastplate, he sports a charred leather doublet with gloves guaranteed to never leave a print. His blade is ready at his hip, next to a full set of makeshift keys.

Even in the dark, you can tell the place is huge. Hard marble floors with white granite pillars expand through hallways. He passes the mansion’s library, and pulls each book off the shelf, looking for some sort of secret switch to a vault. Nothin’. The tools at his hip jingle as he saunters down the halls, looking behind paintings and under desks for any place a vault access may be hidden.

“Not a damned thing,” he barks as he picks up an old fiendish mask left behind after some masquerade. It is blood red and ties on from behind the ears. It only covers the face from the brow to under the fake hooked nose. The eyes are exaggerated and wide, with long, sinister slits for pupils. He puts it on and continues his search.

The staircase is locked. The knob is specialty made and requires a different type of key. He stops fidgeting with the lock when he hears someone coming down the hall.

“Hello … Master?” a small, old maid questions in the dark, carrying only her candle and a set of custom keys.

“Not quite,” says some red-faced, hooked-nosed demon shining in her candlelight.

El Diablo!” she cries, clenching her chest.

In a flash of red, she lay there, slumped over on the floor, mouth crooked to one side, caught in a final frame of terror.

"That's more like it." The stranger steps over her corpse and nabs the keys. Perfect fit.

Upstairs is a small, personal library with old books of forgotten lore. While tearing out a page dedicated to Shapechanging, he spots an open journal near the fireplace. A wide grin crawls across his face. He tears out the first page, entitled: “Vault” written above a series of numbers. “A combination,” he says as he helps himself to a fancy fur coat that was draped over a chair.

“Follow the money,” he jeers as he stuffs the documents into his new coat pocket.


[ Edited 05:40:41 PM 05/12/16 ]

Crauser: (Unexpected Acquaintances) Along for the Ride; (Preferred Customers) What happens in the alley...; Women and Children, First; The Things We Do...
Lao Sho Quan: Enter: The Demon
Ahab Blackwell: By Demons Be Drunken // Nine(9)ty-Nine Bottles of Rum
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