The Shadowed Legacy

[Magus]

The night was moonless, dark and empty, as the shadowed figure walked through the door of the Green Griffin Inn. The lanterns’ soft light glimmered off his long silvery hair, dark shadows clinging to a fine, angular face. He moved to the counter without a word, his gait smooth and effortless, his footsteps barely discernible among the light whispers and soft chuckling of the late night patrons. Now and then the slurred mutterings of a comatose patron could be heard, trailing off as the sod slipped back into a fitful slumber.

“Damn drunks,” muttered the bartender, a wisened old man whose scars told of adventures long past. He really needed another bouncer, if only to throw out the damn bums who continued to use the bar as a free resting place.

“Wine.”

The bartender looked up, startled. An elf in worn gray traveling clothes stood before him, his face obscured by shadow. Hanging by his side was an ornate katana, the hilt shining silver atop a dull brown sheathe. “What kind?” the grizzled barkeep finally muttered.

“Wine.” The elf lifted his head, his expressionless gaze boring into the barkeep. His eyes were grey, lifeless voids. Dead and unfeeling, like a zombie, he thought. Beginning to feel uneasy, the barkeep reached for a bottle, the specialty of the house. Cheap wine in water, that is. Not that the swill around there could tell the difference. He poured a large glass and set it in front of the newcomer.

As the elf drank, the barkeep got a better look at his face, and raised an eyebrow in surprise. The “elf” was a half-elf, though even a keen eye might be hard-pressed to spot it from a distance. Some time passed before the barkeep realized the newcomer hadn’t paid. “You intend on paying for that?” the barkeep grumbled, half-angry at himself for the oversight.

“I asked for wine. This isn’t wine,” the half-elf murmured as he finished the last of it, not even bothering to look up.

The barkeep’s face flushed with fury. Without warning his arm shot out and grabbed the impudent fool by the collar, hoisting him up to face level. All eyes in the bar were suddenly on the two.

“Wrong answer,” the barkeep stated menacingly, glaring at the figure dangling before him.

The half-elf stared back, his gaze cold, emotionless. Empty.

The next moment the barkeep was on his back, stunned. The half-elf stood over him, indifferent, helping himself to a glass of expensive wine as he stared silently into the distance.

[Rob-hin]

“Sweet, but firm.”
He held his crystal glass up in front of a light.
“Nice and red too. Aye, this is a fine indeed”

In a small room, a dwarf sat in front of a fireplace. In his hand he held a glass of wine. The light got bent through the crystal and lit up the room with strange colours.
The crystal and the wine were probably the only things really worth something in the whole place, yet it didn't look poor. The room was nicely, but humbly decorated.

After he finished his glass, he put it down on a small wooden table next to him. “The salesman wasn’t lying, this is an excellent wine. I’ll visit him tomorrow to see if he has some more.”
For a couple of minutes, the small dwarf just sat there with his eyes closed. Deep wrinkles made a frown on his forehead, as if he was deeply thinking about something.

Without opening his eyes, he reached out to the table next to him. He picked up an old looking pipe; it was carved out of a single piece of wood and covered with simple stones.

As he lids it, dark smog rose up.
It was a perfect picture.

Suddenly, outside he heard excited young voices screaming.
“Fight, there’s a fight! Come on! Someone knocked down the barkeep at The Green Griffon!”
The voices died out again.
He recognised the voices. It were some farmers boys. Nothing much happends for them, so this was exciting.

Damn, can’t these low-life pit dwellers go and do something useful for a change?
Slowly, he rose up from his chair.
“Might as well go for a walk and see who’s responsible for all of this”

Slowly, the dwarf walked across the room towards his cape. In one fast move, the cape dangled on his back.
He picked up his staff and walked out the front door, out into the darkness of the night.

Then he started walking towards the Green Griffon Inn. It wasn't far, but he didn't feel like walking fast.

So he took his time.

[Aegis]

Heresh sat in the bar, at a lone table off to the side. His green tinted glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose, and his coat flowing off his body, and towards the ground. He sat leaning back in the chair, his head rocked back, legs spread open, one to either side of the chair legs, and his mouth a gape, almost as if he were sleeping. In all reality, he was merely enjoying being inside a building. He had been wandering up and down the Sword Coast a lot lately, ever since he had accidently stepped into the Prime Material to be exact. The others in the bar looked on him only as a drunk, and didn't even bother to ask his name. Heresh didn't really care either. He didn't even notice the nercomwer to the bar.

It wasn't until her heard the loud thump of the bartender hitting the ground that he bothered to looked up, with a bit of a dazed look on his face. He had swung his body forward swiftly enough, that the momentum brought him towards the table, where his hands were waiting to catch his chin, or at least thats where he thought his hands were. His torso swung forward, and past his arms, slamming his chin into the hard wooden table, creating another loud noise for the patrons to laugh at. He left his head laying on the table, his eyes squinted shut, and his teeth greeted. People's attention, taking a second to look at the fool at the table, watched in silence for a second, baffled at the fact he hadn't made a noise. They thought a moment too soon. Soundly this ungodly, high pitched wail came from the man's throat as he reeled backwards, his hands flying to rub his bruised chin. He reeled back so fast, though, that he knocked his chair off it's front legs, and sent it tipping to the ground, sending the back fo heresh's head tumbling towards the hard wooden floor. The patrons heard another ungodly wail come from as he moved one of his hands to rub the back of his head. The others in the bar erupted in laughter at the sight of what they thought was a drunken fool, before turning back to the man standing over the bartender, enjoying a glass of wine, who had barely even twisted his neck to look towards Heresh, holding little interest.

Heresh remained on the ground for a few moments, stifling a the low whines, and holding backs the tears. When he finally did stand back up, he noticed no one was looking, instead they had all shifted their attention back to the new comer. Rubbing the back of his head one last time, he ran his hands through his short, spikey blond hair, straightend his coat. He then gritted his teeth, and sauntered over to the man with the wine. Walking about behind him, he slapped one hand on the man's shoulder, and with a big grin on his face, moved his body to face him. The man looked up towards him, a displeased look on his face.

"Hail!" Said Heresh, rather loud. "Mind if I join you?" Before the man could answer, Heresh was already sitting next the new comer, hands folded over each other, leaning on the counter next to him, the same large grin still plastered over his face.

[Craig]

"All I ask is for access to your library," Said the skinny stranger, freakishly silhouetted against the stars.
"Step over here lad," Said the gruff voice of the guard, he was wary enough to see who it was before letting the seemingly small and insignificant lad in.
"If not your library, then a mage," the guard spat, "A cleric, then."
"Aye and what for? I ain't letting a pale stranger in for no reason." Replied the guard, seadfast.
"If you must know it is a matter of my heritage, and of what I am," said the inquisitor, kimono waving in the night winds.
"Why would you want to do that?" Replied the guard with a chuckle, stopping as a steely gaze lock on to his eyes, he hadn't seen a look like that, even from the resident mages. As if touched by sympathy he said, "Aye, if you wish."

He entered.

[Bad Karma]

Arvyon wandered up to the inn. Through tired eyes he saw the sign, which read "The Green Griffon." It's as good a place as any, I suppose, he thought wearily.

No sooner had he walked in the door, the innkeep grabbed--an elf by the looks of him-- by the collar and said something that Arvyon didn't catch. The next instant, the positions were reversed, and the innkeep lay on the floor.

This elf obviously thinks he is in some way above courtesy and justice. How wrong he is. Arvyon, however, is unable to do anything about it. He becomes dizzy, his mind swirls, his legs become wobbly, he stumbles to a chair and lays his head on the table. I should have rested in the wild rather than doubling my march. Now I feel powerless to do anything. I must have rest.

[Craig]

As he entered, Rojin snuck away into the shadows, he quickly looked for someone on the street to talk to.
"'Ey!" He said reverting to the accent he was born to use, trying the universal slang. "Wha's in town today?"
"I ain't telling no monk!" Said the worried voice engulfed by the shadows.
"Tha's wha' I tol' 'im," Rojin forced a laugh, and the stranger in the shadows joined in.
"Nofin', coarse if ya new, you migh' wanna watch the mages tower, down that way. I'm gunna see if I can scrag some stuff from the The Green Griffon, when tha fights ova ofcoars'."
"Which ways that?" Said Rojin, wanting to see if he could stop it.
"Down Crown Street." He replied, mistified.
"Thank you," said Rojin with a smile as he returned to his normal accent, kicking high and up into the theives noes, speeding away towards The Green Griffon

[Rob-hin]

Few stars were to be seen this night; even the moon was missing in the black sky.

Ambron inhealed deeply trough his pipe; the tobacco had a strong aromatic taste. Smoking and wine were the two only things he was willing to spend descend amounts of gold at.
He had gotten used to drinking and smoking some of the best quality money could buy.

He looked at the blackness of the sky for a few more minutes; then he remembered where he was. I’d best pay more attention to the small crowd. He thought. My moneybag could be gone in a second if I’m not careful.

He didn’t really have to worry about thieves; most of the people knew and respected him. After all, he had been living around there for quite some time now.
He was known among the small farms around there and a little bit in nearby towns.

Sometimes, however, he longed back to the days when he was still adventuring.
“Aye.” He sighted. “I hope I’m not getting to rusted after all that time.”
Suddenly he felt very old.
“Bah, who am I kidding? Those days are gone…”

A man gave him a friendly pat on the back. “Hey judge, are you going to pass sentence today?” The man first smiled at him and then he laughed. It was one of the local farmers.
“Perhaps, perhaps” Ambron replied.
It wouldn’t be the first time he had interfered in bar fights or market arguments.

This had given him his nickname. “Judge”

Judge he though.
His face lightened up and he smiled.

Then he continued walking towards the Green Griffon Inn.

[Craig]

"I am sorry! Could you please direct me to the Green Griffen, good sir?" Asked Rojin, after bumping into a dwarf.

[Arcane]

The lone haffer trudged across the path, looking for something.
"Com' un Gooch!" cried the gnome to the human standing in shadows. "Thi' haffar's got sumfin' 'bout him. Don' be'r so shure." muttered Gooch to his partner, La. "Com' un! Wha'rs the mattah wiv ya? Its just a haffar's!" La muttered.

The two stepped out onto the road and Yllidan wheeled. His Halfling Staff came into view. He DID have something about him. An aura of command perhaps, he looked fierce indeed as he stood. Gooch walked camly at him and was brought to his knees in revelation as a Daze spell knocked him to his knees. La charged, his mace held high. A bolt of frost, icy cold, hit La in the stomach, followed closely by missles of energy.

La fell to the ground, dead. Gooch followed soon enough, his skull cracked open by a Haffer's Staff.

***

Yllidan stepped into the Green Griffon inn, he soon became the point of suspicion. How did haffer's ever become sorcerers? A dazed looking elf, no HALFelf, sat dranking glass after glass. The bartender was nowhere in sight. The patrons were removed from the half-elf, who seemed to be ignoring a drunk sitting next to him. Yllidan looked about and saw several figures approaching the door. He looked for a spot to hide and watch and found it under the table near the stairs.

He had no doubt of his abilities as a sorcerer but he won't use his powers unless he himself is brought into the fight.

[Rob-hin]

His vision was clouded by a train of thoughts.
Though he had no worries, Ambron seemed to be absent a lot of the time; thinking about things; little and small, important and insignificant.

As he walked, he bumped into somebody.
"I am sorry! Could you please direct me to the Green Griffen, good sir?"
With his attention back in reality, Ambron quickly recaptured his senses.
“Excuse me good man, I didn’t watch where I was going.”

Then he took his time trying to get an impression of the man behind this new voice. There was something about him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was exactly.

“By all means young’n, I’m on my way there now. Walk with me if you’d like.”

He took a sip from his pipe.

[Aegis]

Heresh was just making himself comfortable. He had ordered another mug, and was absent mindly sharing stories with the Half-elf, even if the half-elf wasn't sharing back. He wasn't paying attention to the door, and missed the robed man come in, but the following group made sure they were known. Three men came through the door, each adorned in the armour of the local enforment, which consisted of nothing more than patch-work leather armour, old swords, and a rather funny looking chicken emblam.

"We are looking for a fugitive." annouced the lead man, placing his hands on his hips in an authoritative manner. His eyes carefully scanned the crowd, passing over the common patrons, the man hiding under the table, the half-elf, and Heresh, who was in mid swig of his new drink. "He is wanted for the robbery of Tillibrad Maychief's coach. Heresh almost choked on his drink, stifling the liquid down his throat. "There is a 1000 gold coin reward for his capture!" the others in the tavern seemed to lighten up to that comment, as the sound of several weapons could be heard sliding out of their crude sheathes.

Heresh shot his glance from side to side, and slowly placed his mug on the table. Then, he quietly slid himself down the stool, and onto the floor. The half-elf c0cked his glance towards Heresh, but didn't care much. Heresh began to crawl along the floor of the tavern, snaking his body between stools, chairs and tables, his arms tucked into his sides tightly, and his red jacket trailing the ground. He had almost made it to the door, when his nose accidently bumped into a rather inoppertune object. He looked up, a large childish grin on his face, and his eyes squinted.

"Hello!" He said casually. The lead man snorted, and placed his hand on the hilt of his weapon. Heresh chuckled nervously, then, in a instant was on his feet.

"You're under-" started the man, but was suddenly cut off by the sight of Heresh snaking past him, and his compatriotes, and out the door.

The three men followed. The man who had crawled under the table crawled out, and looked curiosly at the door, somewhat baffled by what had just happened. Suddenly, everyone in the tavern heard shouting, and the sound of blades being drawn, followed by four loud cracks, as if the sky was torn asunder by something. They then heard some quiet, childish, nervous, laughter, and the sound of leather boots running off. One of the patrons went to the door, and opened it up a crack. Outside, the three enforcers were laying on the ground, in a heap, the rather large bulky sign of the Green Griffin laying on top. Scattered around them, their swords were laying in the dirt. The man peered off down the road, catching the last glimpse of Heresh running off, knees raising high with each stride, arms pumping furiously into the night...

[Arcane]

Yllidan took a look outside, at the stunned bodies and at the running figure. He looked back inside the bar and then ran after the fleeing man.

The road sloped high and Yllidan saw the man sitting down near the road.

Yllidan waved to him and raised his hands in an offer of truce.

"Hello there."

[Craig]

Rojin looked upon the dwarf, he had no way to look at the situation in the green griffen, but he thought it best to come with the dwarf.
"Yes, I thank you." Replied Rojin, and trtying to be polite said, "Of what profession do you come from?"

[Magus]

The newcomer sat sipping his wine. The barkeep had risen, but did little more than glare at the half-elf, a mixture of fear and animosity in his dirty eyes. The half-elf glanced at him, then flipped a few gold onto the counter as an afterthought.

Without warning a hand slapped into his shoulder, splashing red wine all over his tunic. The hand forced him around, and he found himself faced with a disheveled mess of a human, a stupid grin on his face. The newcomer eyed him, a displeased look on his face.

"Hail!" said the brute loudly. "Mind if I join you?"

Before he could answer, the human was already sitting next to him, hands folded over each other, leaning on the counter next to him, the same fool grin still plastered over his face.

While the man prattled on to no one in particular, the half-elf withdrew into the winding corridors of his mind, trying to recall where he was, why he was there. He was in a tavern…green something…Green Griffin. What was he doing there? He glanced at his wine glass. Drinking wine. But there was no wine. He looked at his shirt. I spilled it. Then he looked at the man. He made me spill it. His displeased look returned. He should teach the fool a lesson. Bah, what was the point? He looked at his wine glass. He needed more wine.

He glanced at the bartender. The man glared at him angrily. What was his problem?

“More wine.”

The barkeep reddened. “Get out.”

To Hell with it. He began to rise.

Suddenly some men in leather armor burst in. They said something--he wasn’t really paying attention--and then the drunk beside him dropped to the floor and began to slither to the door. Odd as it was, he gave it nothing more than a cursory glance before sitting down. He heard some cries, and then the men were gone, most of the patrons with them. He glanced around. The tavern was almost empty.

“Hi friend, nice weapon you have there,” said a pleasant voice behind him. He turned around. A man in black studded leather stood before him, his face handsome and clean-shaven. “Could I have a closer look?” He eyed the sword by the half-elf’s side with intense curiosity.

His hand strayed to his katana reflexively. He felt a tingle of warning. Something wasn’t right. He eyed the stranger silently, on his guard.

The stranger shook his head. “Looks like we’ll have to do this the hard way,” he said with a small smile. He snapped his fingers, and several figures arose around the room: a man in fine black robes, a burly looking fighter in battered half-plate, a shady-looking man in black wool garments that obscured his face, and a bored man in splint mail, his eyes brightening at the prospect of some action. The fighter lifted a huge great sword from his back, while the man in splint mail pulled out a sturdy longbow. The other two eyed the half-elf calculatingly.

The rogue pulled out a pair of wicked-curved daggers. “Care to reconsider?”

The half-elf’s gaze encompassed his opponents. “Go to Hell.” He took a sip of wine with his free hand. It was empty.

“As you wish.” The rogue leaped forward, daggers extended for the kill. The half-elf hurled the wine glass and drew his katana almost in a single motion. The glass shattered in the man’s face, dazing him, as the katana streaked out and sliced him in two. The fighter came barreling at the half-elf, overturning tables as he passed, while the two black-robed figures chanted in the language of magic, and the archer loosed his first arrow.

[Arcane]

"Hello??"
Yllidan looked around once more. He was sure there was that strange man a minute ago. Suddenly he heard crashes and yells. He high-tailed back to the inn.

***
He found it in near-shambles, and men were still fighting. The halfelf was swinging his blade, doing serious hurt to whoever got in his way. Suddenly, Yllidan was nailed near the wall by a loose arrow.

"That does it god damnit!"

The archer who was lining up his next shot was hurled against the wall by several Magic Missles causing several deep cracks in the oak. The missles were soon followed by flame, then by numbing cold.

Yllidan ran to where the archer lay groaning and cracked his head in with his staff. Twice. For good measure.

He looked about and aimed for the man in fine black robes.

[Craig]

Wirth the noise coming from the tavern and the images through the window, Rojin broke into a run.

Rojin came crashing through the door, and almost stumbled over one half of the rogue and grimaced. He strode over to one of the patrons, unsure who's party to side with, he suddenly realized the religious signs of Mask on one of the cloaked figures as he passed by. He struck him on the head, unbalancing the cloaked figure and clearly disrupting the spell, then he knocked him over forcefully, the body thudding to the floor. He was about to subdue him with a sound blow to the head, but the man chanted a few words and disappeared, and his blow hit empty air. A floor board creaked beside him and he lashed out, again with no result. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and before he could even react a terrible pain shot into him, making the arm go limp. He whirled around and smashed the now visible cleric in the face with his elbow. The dark figure fell in a heap to the floor, his face noticeably rearranged.

[Arcane]

ooc: how do i delete this post?

[Magus]

“That does it god damnit!”

The archer, who was lining up his next shot, was hurled against the wall by a couple of Magic Missles, causing several deep cracks in the oak.

The archer grabbed his side and dropped his bow. Then, glaring at the little halfling, he drew a longsword. “You should have stayed out of this, runt.” He charged forward, as flames shot forth from the halfling’s fingers. He pressed onward, screaming as the flames engulfed him, and slashed for the meddler’s pudgy head. Yllidan threw himself to the ground, feeling the blade graze his shoulder as he dived. As he struggled to his feet he heard a thud, and he looked down to see the archer had fallen, his body charred and smoldering. He glanced at his shoulder. It was bleeding.
* * * * *

Rojin came crashing through the door, and almost stumbled over one half of the rogue and grimaced. He strode over to one of the patrons, unsure who's party to side with, he suddenly realized the religious signs of Mask on one of the cloaked figures as he passed by. He struck him on the head, unbalancing the cloaked figure and clearly disrupting the spell, then he knocked him over forcefully, the body thudding to the floor. He was about to subdue him with a sound blow to the head, but the man chanted a few words and disappeared, and his blow hit empty air. A floor board creaked beside him and he lashed out, again with no result. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and before he could even react a terrible pain shot into him, making the arm go limp. He whirled around and smashed the now visible cleric in the face with his elbow. The dark figure fell in a heap to the floor, his face noticeably rearranged.

* * * * *

The half-elf stepped back as the great sword came sweeping across. Then he slipped behind the blade and sliced out, drawing blood. The burly man stumbled back, as if taken by surprise. For an instant, the half-elf stood there, wondering why this was happening. He just wanted to be left alone. What he was doing fighting this pointless battle? Then suddenly the muscled fighter charged forward with a roar of rage. The half-elf’s blade shot out reflexively to deflect the blow, but the massive sword batted it away like a toy, descending to part the half-elf’s head from his shoulders.

As the sword cut towards him, the flash of incoming magic missiles caught his eye from the side. With inhuman agility he tucked his head down and threw himself forward and to the other side, the great sword slicing stray hairs from his head as it passed. He heard the thud of magic missiles striking flesh, and he leapt to his feet to meet the fighter’s next blow, two round concussion marks blasted into the man’s back.

* * * * *

Farul had seen enough. That half-elf had cut down Erik before the poor bastard knew what hit him, and it looked like that fool Garth was soon to follow. Hells, the freak had managed to evade magic missiles! And now two random strangers were waylaying Jerard and Ramon. Screw it...no amount of money was worth losing your life.

He chanted a spell and abruptly disappeared.

[Arcane]

Yllidan lay upon the floor, his shoulder burned like nothing he had encountered.

"Damn, I should've followed what my mammy said and became a priest..."

He passed out upon the floor.

[Rob-hin]

As Ambron and Rojin found their way to the Green Griffon, loud noises came from inside. Before Ambron could answer Rojin question, he had already ran of to the inn.

“These youngsters… always in a hurry.”
Ambron kept on walking towards the Green Griffon. As he approached the inn, the sounds became louder and the air got filled with the smell of blood. It made his lost instincts surface, and he noticed he got excited.

“This doesn’t sound like an ordinary bar fight. I wonder what’s going on.”
He stopped at the door and looked inside.
People he had never seen before were fighting. And some of them were very capable indeed; especially a half elf, a dark and somewhat absent person.

Unsure who was wrong and who was right, Ambron decided not to interfere. He blocked the front door to prevent anyone from leaving.

He stood there as the fight seemed to come to an end.