The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Nethaxion.
A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap Off 65 80.'
The gully continues 'Eyes hurt? Turn Color OFF!! (regular story dates)
Astinus says 'Enter the main library here to view only the author list.'
Astinus gently places a worn folio on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Nethaxion' scribed in orange ink.
Author: Nethaxion Date: Sat Aug 26 16:37:30 2017 Subject Nethaxion: An End, and a Beginning I
Smoke hung heavy in the air as Nethaxion approached the small village. The stench of burning flesh was unmistakable, and the cloying odor clung to his robes as he descended into the hamlet. Charred ruins lay scattered about the main thoroughfare where once houses had laid, simple in build but sturdy and well maintained as were their remaining neighbors. Like unto a living thing, the shadow of Death was pervasive in this place, casting a pallor over the once peaceful town. Riding upon the wings of war, the plague had come to town.
Almost like shadows themselves, the remaining townsfolk slunk down the rutted dirt road that ran the stretch of the village, obscured behind rags and cowls in an effort to avoid the disease themselves. To a one, their eyes were downcast, and they would quickly cross the street to avoid contact with one another. Near the center of town, the skeleton of a small hut smoked and smoldered, the latest in a series of vain attempts to contain the spread of the sickness. Black rats scurried from shadow to shadow, thriving in the pestilent wake, far bolder than they should have been.
Nethaxion urged his mare down the street, who a obliged after snorting loudly, clearly sensing something was amiss. In happier times, the presence of a robed stranger would have garnered many stolen glances and whispered musings in a town where everyone knew each other. Today, the withdrawn villagers paid him no heed at all, as if their souls had already departed and were simply waiting for their bodies to acknowledge this. Nethaxion held a red cloth to his mouth and nose as his horse continued down the street, continuing for a distance before turning east towards the woods. He was happy to leave the dying village behind him, just as he had been happy to leave it ten years prior.
Memories arose unbidden and assailed him as he approached the small hut on the edge of town. Some happy, of times spent with his mother, though those were few in number. More frequent were the memories of a drunkard, administering wild beatings that would leave Nethaxion battered and bloody. Memories of days spent fighting the knot of hunger gnawing at his stomach, for the food money had been depleted at the small tavern in town. Memories of nights spent in terror, hiding in the root cellar or under his small bed while his mother screamed and sobbed as she was struck again, and again, and again. Memories of his father.The hut, as always, was in disrepair, its haggard appearance a grim reflection of its owner's soul. A single wooden post has been driven into the ground before the structure, painted red and a fresh addition to the otherwise aged ramshackle that comprised the premises of the property. The intent of the post was clear: Quarantine. The wooden door, gray and weathered within a twisted frame, hung lazily open. The interior was shrouded in darkness, and completely devoid of any semblance of habitation.
Nethaxion knew what awaited inside. Word has spread of the sicknesses that had been enveloping towns, large and small, sweeping along in the wake of larger conflicts. Unnatural and unlike others illnesses, it spared none as it struck down the strong and weak alike, perfectly impartial as it scoured the land. Only the rats and crows reveled in the aftermath. Steeling his mind against what was to come, Nethaxion swept down off his mount and strode into what had once been his home.
The stench of decay was immediate and powerful, sweeping past the cloth held to his face with disdain. Choking back a gag, Nethaxion surveyed the interior as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The emaciated figure of his father was sprawled in the dilapidated bed in the corner of the single room that comprised the hut, unmoving. The interior of the hut was much as he remembered it from years past, though more run-down than it had been when his mother had lived there.
Again, memories assailed him as he thought of his mother. Perpetually thin from giving her portions to he and his father, his mother had been a handsome woman with bright eyes and a smile that, even when forced, had always comforted Nethaxion. He remembered her eyes the most. Eyes full of pride as he grew. Eyes full of fear at his father's drunken abuse. Eyes staring blankly as she was dashed against the stones of the fireplace on the night that his father had finally, inevitably, gone too far.Coldness crept into Nethaxion's heart as he looked over the small, pitiful structure. One by one, the memories faded to an empty hollowness, a comfortable numbness he had relied upon over the years. Anger simmered briefly under his skin, but was quickly washed away. He looked upon the wretched body of his father and was surprised to see slight movement as his father's chest rose in a quick, shallow gasp, then exhaling in a rattling cough. Nethaxion gazed down at this pathetic wretch one final time before turning towards the door, dropping the red cloth to the floor.
At the threshold, he paused, looking back over his shoulder. His whisper, though soft, carried across the room.
"I pray that what you have suffered these last few days is but a fraction of what you suffer in death. May you find eternal torment in the depths of the Abyss, father."
Not waiting for an answer, Nethaxion gestured sharply and a flash of flame burst from his hand, washing over the thatch roof. A low moan escaped the corner of the room as Nethaxion strode forth, flames quickly climbing over the dry timber. Turning his gaze to the south, he mounted his mare and urged her to a slow canter.
As he left, he found no sadness or remorse lingering in his heart. In a way, he was grateful for the plague, for otherwise he would not have returned here to see the death of this place. There was a beauty in it, an echoing finality that cared neither for good nor evil. These thoughts whispered to him as he left the dying down, and his soul listened."Time to prove yourself, whelp. Go in, get the statue, and bring it back out. Then you can run with the Nightwolves for good." The final statement was punctuated by a stiff push that sent Nethaxion stumbling into the entrance of the ancient ruins. His palms were bloodied as he caught himself on the rough gravel before the ruined archway, it's face worn smooth by centuries of exposure to the elements. Grimacing, Neth rose to his feet, sending one hateful glare back towards the teen-aged bullies. "Fine. Just be sure you're still here in the morning," he muttered angrily back towards them. Jameis, the biggest of the boys, spit through gapped teeth and laughed. "Oh, we'll be here, pup. We're won't miss watching you flee with your tail between your legs." Turning away from the young ruffians, Neth pulled a few handfuls of creepers from the entrance and squeezed into the courtyard. The keep had been built into the side of a great peak within the Khalkist mountains long before the Cataclysm - and the state of the structures clearly demonstrated this. Nearly all of them had tumbled down centuries ago, and the weather had further degraded them to the point of being nothing more than great mounds of stone. However, these outlying structures were not the goal. Hewn into the side of the towering mountain known only as "Lament's Rest" to the locals, the ancient keep had stood against the onslaught of the centuries, its chambers and corridors carved from the very bones of the great peak itself. Pulling out his tinderbox, Nethaxion approached the great, yawning portal, lantern in hand. The air around the entrance seems to move as though from a great beast itself, rank with the smell of mildew and things rotting. It was evident that no living creature had been this way in a long, long time. Trying to suppress his growing trepidation, Neth struck tinder to the wick of his lantern and steeled himself. He would not turn back and suffer further embarrassment at the hands of those louts. Holding the lantern before himself, he stepped forward into the gloom. The first thing he noticed was the suffocating silence of the grand hall that served as the entry. Where moments before there had been the sound of birds and insects and the wind, now there was nothing. It was as though he had left his world behind, entering into a place where death reigned supreme. The only sound was that of his soft heeled shoes as he treaded down the ruined hallway, navigating around crumbled stone and furniture disintegrated by the passing of time.
Jameis has given him only vague instructions on where to look - Neth suspected it was because the boy had never been in here himself, or even spoken to someone who had. Neth didn't care. The lure of secrets long since forgotten was enough to pull him in deepeer, and he proceeded quietly down the hallway, ignoring the side passages to plunge deeper into the depths of the ancient fortress. Minutes passed uneventfully as Neth continued deeper into the keep, the surroundings slowly changing from large, accommodating chambers and halls to battlements and defensible points. After nearly an hour of continual movement into the depths of the keep, Neth found a great stone doorway with an ancient crest above it. A heavy, iron portcullis had been drawn down across the doorway, but it, too, had succumbed to the centuries. Thoroughly corroded with rust, the pitting metal bars flexed beneath his hands, but held firm. Carefully setting down his lantern, Neth grasped the portcullis with both hands and heaved with all his might. At first the metal only groaned and flexed, but a large section finally let loose with an explosion of rust, sending Neth stumbling backwards. The section of portcullis landed with a deafening crash, rebounding several times before finally coming to a rest as the echoes thundered up and down the previously silent hallway. Barely daring to breath, Neth remained frozen in his little bubble of light for minutes after the last echoes faded. Finally, he carefully picked up his lantern and peered into the throne room, and then squeezed his body through the twisted portcullis, wincing as he dug fresh wounds into his hands. Inside, the room was much like the rest of the structure: ruined and ravaged by time. A few pieces of rusted metal that may once have been arms or armor were found scattered amongst the rubble, but there was no idol, no great treasure. This was nothing but a tomb, the heart of a kingdom long since dead. With a sigh, he slumped against the back wall - and then gasped as the stone masonry behind him gave out, tumbling down into a natural cavern. Heart thumping, Neth peered into the impenetrable darkness, lantern held high. The stone passage was rough, not carefully hewn like the rest of the keep, and was likely an escape or bolt-hole cut to preserve the rule in the incident of an invasion. Unable to see anything, he cursed under his breath and stepped fully into the cavern.
It was the deepest, darkest cavern he had ever been unfortunate enough to find himself in. The small circle of light cast by his lantern was the only thing keeping the inky darkness at bay, the gloom and musty air combining to suffocate his senses. The walls were slick with some kind of green ichor, where even mushrooms and lichens struggled to survive. This room was nothing like the rest of the keep, and he felt dread finally creep into his heart. Neth turned and looked for a way back up into the throne room. Then his lantern flickered, and with hiss, went out. He was immediately enveloped by the inky darkness. He reached a shaking hand for his tinderbox, but then, suddenly, impossibly, the lantern relit. This should have been comforting, but Neth felt something wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he knew without a doubt that something was right behind him. With a scream, he dropped to the floor, shielding the lantern with his body as he tumbled down the inclined floor, the light splaying crazily across the cavern as he rolled. When he stopped, he finally saw what had been behind him, and fear froze him in place. Standing over eight feet tall and only vaguely humanoid was a great, black monstrosity. It had no eyes that he could see, and its entire frame was lean and sinewy. Glossy skin, the color of charcoal, glimmered in the light of his lantern, stretched taut over the massive frame. Its arms hung nearly to the floor, ending in massively oversized claw-like hands. Over a dozen long, black tentacles with white spines fanned out from its back, twisting and turning in the air as though they had a mind of their own. Its face was long, angular, and eyeless. It massive maw, trifurcated into three jaws lined with hundreds of teeth, opened wide and trumpeted a discordant roar in Nethaxion's direction. He was frozen with fear. The creature stalked closer and closer, its maw closing slightly as it sniffed at the air. He couldn't move. He couldn't run. He watched as his death approached. Finally, as the creature moved within his circle of light, it howled again, lunging at him. Startled out of his shock, Nethaxion brought the lantern crashing down upon the floor and tumbling backwards. The glass shattered and ignited, bathing the area (and the horror) in a bright flames. It howled again in pain, and stumbled away from the conflagration. Neth knew that he was doomed. A few burns couldn't stop something like this nightmare. Using the last few moments provided by the flames, he turned and sprinted down the hallway, deeper into the cavern. He stumbled again and again, dashing himself against the floor, the walls, and whatever unknown materials littered the hallway. He didn't care, he wouldn't accept the pain. To accept the pain, to slow down for even a moment, meant death.
After what seemed like an eternity - though, in reality, was only minutes - the wall he had been guiding himself with disappeared and he took one final spill, bashing his face badly and sending stars sparkling across his vision. Stunned, he sat up and attempted to rise. And that's when he saw it. It was lying on the floor mere feet from him, glowing an eerie, green glow, which somehow did nothing to illuminate the area around it. It was a large gemstone, inlaid with whirling black metal and sparkling on a long chain of the same material. It pulsed softly, and he feel something dark and sinister brush against his mind. With a roar, the creature finally burst into the chamber behind him, reeking of burned flesh. Trumpeting its victory, it leapt towards him, claws extended and monstrous mouth agape. Neth reached out and touched the pendant - and awoke with a start. The day was just dawning, and the light broke over the mountain and into the courtyard of the keep. Behind him, the mouth of the keep yawned wide, leading into darkness. Around his neck, he wore the green pendant, and he was battered and bloody - but he was alive. But however he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened - something had been released that shouldn't have. Something that would make the world suffer. It would have been better if he had died.
The first of Nethaxion's backstory pieces. Big thanks to Andro for his masterful editorial work. Enjoy! https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UI4nkzPNETjKl1xNzoGIQmTgf4IFw3AhrfHa95BPiU0/edit?usp=sharing
The second part of my backstory. Again, huge thanks to Andro for his peerless critiques of my initial drafts! Part 2: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YE_kxdm7TrZVFqlHi6Hb1hHeasRjztNCFvtregA2V6Q/edit?usp=sharing (In case you missed it) Part 1: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UI4nkzPNETjKl1xNzoGIQmTgf4IFw3AhrfHa95BPiU0/edit?usp=sharing
Head bowed over the crumbling pages of an ancient tome, Neth leapt to his feet as the room suddenly erupted in hundred hues of light. Cursing loudly, Neth dropped into a wide stance, whirling his staff into a readied position and bringing the words of an incantation to the tip of his tongue. After a few moments the lights faded, seemingly without any ill effect. Slowly lowering his staff, Neth closed his eyes and uttered a soft incantation, his fingers gracefully tracing arcane sigils in the air. He cast his mind outward, seeking the strange phenomenon again to try and ascertain its source. After several minutes, Nethaxion felt another pulse of magic like the once he had just encountered. Focusing on the pulse, he allowed his senses to be carried along in its wake for a time, before pulling himself free and traveling back along the path it had just pulled him in, drawing a line to the source of its origination. Before drawing too close, he deftly snatched a focus from his belt pouch and, with a few uttered words, crushed the smell gem in his grasp, allowing the sparkling remains to drift to the floor. As Neth finished his incantation, his chambers disappeared in a flash and he found himself transported to a rather ordinary plain. Taking in the mountains in the distance, he gauged himself to be somewhere near Vingaard. Holding his staff firmly, Nethaxion waited, eyes alert and mind focused. Even prepared as he was, he wasn't expecting the difference his proximity made. Just east of him was a bright flash of light, and the ground beneath him jumped and buckled, throwing him off balance to land in a heap on the ground. Cursing, he rolled quickly to his feet, uttering a quick incantation, wrapping himself in a layer of invisible protection. As the spell completed, he quickly slunk forward, approaching the source of the chaos. As he crested a small rise in the plains, ready for battle, he was somewhat alarmed to find himself staring at a grinning, translucent gnome, fiddling away with some glowing trinket in his hands. Wary and still half expecting a trap, Nethaxion slowly approached, watching the gnome guardedly. As the oblivious apparition finally took note of Neth, his ghostly grin split into an even wider smile and he waved emphatically. The creature immediately began babbling on about some sort of device, though Neth had difficulty determining what exactly it was saying. Afterwards, it proffered the glowing ball to Nethaxion. Reaching out cautiously, he took the strange object. Opening his mouth to ask the gnome what it was, he closed it again as the image suddenly blinked out of sight. 'That... was strange, ' Neth muttered to himself, bringing the glowing ball up to look at it. It was clearly magical, though he couldn't determine what, exactly, it did -- though it certainly warranted further investigation. Looking about the empty plains one more time and seeing nothing, Neth uttered a soft word and vanished back to his sanctuary. Time would tell what this was, and perhaps explain the strangeness of its origin. (Nabbed the first piece of something from Gnimsh tonight. Thanks!)
Deep in thought as he walked down the street, Nethaxion was suddenly started out of his reverie by a thin, childlike voice calling out to him. (What follows in the live RP between Rattle and I). Rattlepot asks 'Are you a wizard?' Rattlepot says 'Something weird happened, and I think a wizard could help out.' Rattlepot tells his tale to Nethaxion. Nethaxion arches an eyebrow at the diminutive creature. Nethaxion asks 'Is that so?' Rattlepot says 'Yes it sure is.' Rattlepot looks more serious than any Kender you've seen. Nethaxion says 'Pray tell, what 'unusual' experience has befallen you, kender. Mind that you keep your hands to yourself.' Rattlepot slowly states 'Its like I said...' Rattlepot exclaims 'I found this ball of light, see. I don't remember where. And when I crushed it, I was trasported!' Rattlepot exclaims 'Maybe through time even!' Rattlepot says 'And when I got back, I had a sandwich and this thing.' Rattlepot briefly pulls the Faceplate of the Device from a rucksack and holds it up before stowing it away again. Nethaxion sighs, blinking slowly. Nethaxion asks 'I wish Kender didn't have such a knack for finding dangerous items. I... wait, what IS that?' Rattlepot shows it to Nethaxion. Rattlepot says 'See, its... some sort of... thing.' Rattlepot shrugs helplessly. Nethaxion peers intently at the small device held aloft by the kender. Nethaxion slowly states 'You said something about lights? I, too, experienced something similar. ' Rattlepot asks 'Oh yeah? Crazy multi-hued lights?' Rattlepot asks 'Oh yeah? Crazy multi-hued lights?' Nethaxion nods in affirmation. Nethaxion slowly states 'Indeed. It was quite... unexpected. I, too, recovered an artifact after pursuing the light to its source. ' Rattlepot asks 'Was something weird there? Did you find a Gnome in a shop?' Rattlepot incredulously demands 'Did you find a crazy thing that exploded?!' Nethaxion thinks for a moment, shaking his head slowly. Nethaxion says 'I saw something that resembled a gnome... but there was no shop. It was in a field.' Nethaxion says 'He appeared to be some sort of projection or illusion. He disppeared quickly, before I could investigate further, though he did leave me a piece behind.' Rattlepot says 'Hrmmm.' Rattlepot says 'That is weird. Very odd.' Nethaxion thinks for a moment, then reaches into his robe, drawing out a small satchel and dangling it in front of the kender. Nethaxion slowly states 'How about... I'll give you a pouch filled with all manner of interesting things in exchange for that piece you 'found'? I'd like to research these occurrence more fully. ' Nethaxion grimaces. You say 'And... perhaps it would be safer in my care.' Rattlepot says 'Oh sure! Heck if I can think of what to do with it.' Rattlepot starts playing with the faceplate absently. Rattlepot slowly states 'Yeah, safe...' Nethaxion slowly states 'Excellent. I'm sure you'll be able to LEGITIMATELY pay for many sandwiches with the contents of this pouch. ' Nethaxion gives a leather money pouch to Rattlepot. Rattlepot gasps in astonishment. Rattlepot exclaims 'Oh Wow!' Rattlepot gives Nethaxion the Faceplate of the Device. Rattlepot exclaims 'These sure are pretty!' Nethaxion gingerly accepts the delicate component, carefully stowing it in a pouch. Nethaxion says 'Well, then. It was a pleasure, little one. Seek me out if you happen to 'find' any other pieces, and I would gladly reward you.' Rattlepot exclaims 'You bet!' Nethaxion bows before Rattlepot. (As shown, I traded Rattlepot some money for the piece he received earlier. Thanks for the RP!)
Ringringringring... Nethaxion's eyes flickered open at the sound. His room was dark; gauging by the moonlight filtering through the window of his room, it was hours yet until morning. He swiftly moved over to his desk, his eyes scanning across the series of bells he had scattered across a map of Ansalon. One of them was hanging in the air, ringing frantically. It was hovering over the Isle of Mithas. Reaching out a hand, Nethaxion stilled the bell, resetting its position on the map. He had set up the series of alarms after missing several of instances of the magical phenomenon, but time was still of the essence. The appearances and duration seemed chaotic and unpredictable. Quickly donning his travel robes, Nethaxion cinched his belt and pouches around his waist and grabbed his staff from it's place near his bed. Ensuring his necessities were all in place, he turned and locked the door behind him, traveling quickly down the steps of the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth. He passed the rooms of many other initiates of the Order on his way, most sound asleep at this time of night. He had put the word out of his strange findings, though there had been little interest amongst his brethren. Many seemed content to simply pursue their studies within the safety of the tower. Neth found that to be a timid and contemptuous path. Practitioners had been doing the same thing for hundreds of years, and were more interested in desperately holding onto what they had instead of advancing their art. But they had their uses. Reaching the bottom of the steps, Nethaxion moved into a larger chamber, finely wrought silver runes set into the floor, walls, and ceiling. Finding the correct location within the room, Nethaxion knelt and touched several of them, chanting softly and watching as they blazed alight at his touch. As the circle completed, a shimmering portal appeared, and Nethaxion stepped through. He emerged into a field of grass, a slight distance from the city of Lacynos. This far east, the sun was beginning to brighten the horizon, though it was still some time before the city would awaken. Nethaxion swiftly pulled a clear crystal prism from one of his belt pouches and uttered a few words. His eyes began to glow with a soft, luminescent halo, and he swept his gaze about, seeking the source of the magic. There - he caught just a wisp of magic escaping from over the city walls. It was weaker than the blast he had seen before, but Nethaxion was still wary, for he knew little of what was causing it, despite his research into the pieces he had acquired thus far. Stowing the prism in his pouch, he thought for a moment, then decided to be prudent, and with a few words, wrapped himself in a field of invisibility. He had no contacts within the minotaur city, and didn't trust to be left alone. The spell complete, Nethaxion quickly moved toward where he had seen the bit of magic. The streets were still mostly empty, though a few early-risers could be seen, trying to get an early start to the day. The roads were muddy in places, and he did was he could to avoid getting any on himself and revealing his presence. The entire city has a bit of an odor to it, musty and unpleasant. Shaking his head and remaining focused on the task at hand, Nethaxion turned a corner and found his target. A small group - not yet a crowd, but rapidly growing - had formed in a plaza of the city. Standing in the center and beaming obliviously at the hostile figures around him stood a short, transparent gnome, prattling along nonsensically at the minotaurs surrounding him. Cursing under his breath, Nethaxion approached, gliding between the slowly closing ring of bull-men. He had to move quickly or this situation could turn bad - very bad. He barely slipped past the last of the creatures and found himself before the Gnome - who turned and looked directly at Nethaxion, smiling widely. Once again, he held out a small trinket, proffering it. (cont.)
The citizens of the city, clearly confused by the appearance and subsequent disappearance of the strange gnome, slowly dispersed. Many made signs to ward off bad luck or muttered curses as they went, their voices deep and gravelly, not unlike stones being ground together. Once they had separated enough, Nethaxion slipped through them again, making his way out of the city with great haste. Nethaxion made his way back to where the portal had originally deposited him. Pulling a finely carved bone from a pouch, he snapped it in two, uttering an arcane word. With a blinding rush of magic, he found himself back in his room. Tossing the ruined talisman into a trash receptacle, Nethaxion pulled the new trinket from his pouch, studying it in the soft candlelight. It appeared to be some sort of clockwork mechanism. It was exceedingly complicated, and without context, Nethaxion couldn't begin to imagine what it did. Studying the tiny, perfectly wrought components, Nethaxion flipped it over, and found tiny words engraved on the bottom: 'Obstruct not its flow.' Still unsure of what to make of it, Nethaxion took it over to his desk, unlocking the top drawer. The other pieces were securely inside, and he placed the newest with it, the closed and locked the drawer once more. Come morning, he would continue his research into this strange device.
Nethaxion ducked through the crowded market, eyes scanning the crowds, seeking any indication of a disturbance amongst the populace. His alarms had fired several other times since his last acquisition, but he had failed to reach the area in time to interact with the gnomish apparition. His latest alarm had sent him scrambling in the direction of the city of Palanthas. He had made haste in reaching the city as fast as possible, but had lost the trail shortly after arriving. Not having found any evidence of the ghostly Gnome's passing, he despaired, wonder if he had once again missed an opportunity. Doubt filling his thoughts, nearly missed the soft glow of magic just at the edge of his peripheral vision, his detection spell permitting him to see the magic auras. Though magic could be found rarely on other residents within the city, nothing they carried possessed the powerful glow he saw just around the corner of a temporary stall, cloth walls drifting lazily in the midday breeze. Brushing the cloth curtains aside -- eliciting a 'hmmph' from the owner of the stall -- Nethaxion turned the corner and saw, much to his chagrin, another kender, unsuccessfully trying to join several golden trinkets together. Even a casual glance -- combined with the magical aura revealed by his detection spell -- proved without a doubt that these trinkets were akin to the pieces he had already gathered. Clearing his throat loudly, Nethaxion waved at the kender, attempting to draw its attention -- without luck. Sighing loudly, he reached out and forcefully tapped on its shoulder. .It jumped slightly, then smiled widely, raising its hand in greeting. Nethaxion forced a smile and returned the gesture. 'Hello there, traveler. I'm interested in those trinkets you've acquired, and would pay you well for them if you'd be so inclined.' Nethaxion spoke warmly before continuing, 'I am a practitioner of the arcane arts, and I am currently working on a particular piece of research. I could pay you handsomely for them.'
The Kender looked up at Nethaxion, tilted his small head as Nethaxion spoke. As the mage finished, the Kender shrugged his shoulders, saying simply, 'Nah. Nethaxion trailed off, taken aback. The Kender turned backed to fiddling with the pieces in his hands. 'Well, surely there some manner of server I can provide in exchange for those. I have gathered several myself, and would be very eager to compare what you've found withe the pieces in my possession.' Neth continued, attempting to regain control of the conversation - and his composure. Again, the Kender shrugged. 'I don't really need anything. I'm just trying to figure out how these things work. See, I was walking around -- I do that a lot! -- and I saw this funny looking gnome. He was kinda see through, like a ghost maybe! Anyway...' Nethaxion bit his lip sharply as the kender continued to drone on, conveying his inane story. Tasting blood on his tongue, Nethaxion licked his lips quickly and interrupted the small (yet long-winded) creature. 'Surely, friend, there is some way that I can convince you to sell me those interesthing gadgets you've found.' Unperturbed by the interruption, the Kender looked up at him quizzically. After a moment, he spoke, 'I mean... I like these. You have some, too? I really want to figure out how these work. You see, my Uncle Trapspringer once found something like this when he was walking through the Minotaur isles. He had been living among the Minotaur for a few months by then...' Nethaxion cleared his throat loudly as the Kender rambled on, breaking the creature momentarily free of its tale. 'OH! Well anyway... how about we bet? Flip a coin, and winner gets everything!' The kender smiles widely, quite pleased. Sighing inwardly, but unsure of how else to handle this stubborn creature in broad daylight, he nodded, pulling out a simple coin. 'Call it, ' Nethaxion said, flicking the coin up into the air. 'HEADS!!!' Yelled the Kender, startling several of the nearby customers. The coin flipped end over end, tumbling over the cobblestones, the midday sun glinting off of its golden surface. It finally fell to rest, and both Nethaxion and the Kender leaned over to witness the result. Tails. Cheering inwardly, Nethaxion offered a slight bow to the Kender. 'My condolences, good sir, though fairly played. The items, please?' he asked, extending a hand. The Kender snapped his fingers in frustration, but passed over a handful of small golden gadgets, which Nethaxion quickly secreted away in a secure pouch. 'My thanks. Best of travels to you...?' Neth continued. The Kender had already began to gather up his things, though he looked up and smiled once more and waved before saying, 'Dartanioo! Good luck figuring out what that stuff does!' With a final wave, the Kender turned and slipped down the road. With a grin, Nethaxion ensured he had everyhing accounted for and turned back the way he had came. He had not expected such a turn of good fortune, though he would not squander it. He made haste to return to his chambers as soon as possible to continue his research. (Dart and I diced off against each other to determine who would get pieces, since neither of us had anything that interested the other. Sorry for the late post, crazy RL stuff going on...)
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1wKs0VxADcVPiAdXDYMuFime1Yvi2D0Gi1K-7mPIxVFI/edit?usp=sharing
Oh, Sharpen Provider of miniscule DPS increases, Oh, Sharpen, skill of dubious worth You devour my time and empty my bank Burning through whetstones like coals in a hearth. Your willful refusal to achieve perfection, Wears constantly upon my sanity though as I toil, in reflection I realize the cause is my own vanity.
The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD
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