Griznuq Gaming

Shannon smiled at her father and looked over her shoulder at the judge's imposing form. Just as the judge instructed, she went to her mother and gripped her tightly enough to be protective but not so tight as to irritate her mother's obvious wounds. "I'll write to you Mom. I won't say goodbye. Instead I'll say, until we see each other again. You are my lantern in the night Mom."

Shannon embraced her mother showing no signs of letting go and trying her best not to shed any tears. She had to stay strong for her parents.

The young girl understood completely. All her life she knew that when her father had plans he would follow through. Add to that the vengeance her mother must be plotting and Shannon knew there would be blood flowing when the time was right. How long would that be? She wondered.

Another thought occurred to her as her father spoke. He had said '...to a new land'. Safe-Haven wasn't the only sanctuary in this world. The lies told by the authorities began to unfold in front her.

Shannon nodded her head in acceptance of her father's orders despite her twinge of disappointment. "I will write you and Mom letters...to tell you how things are going. Maybe even some pictures if they'll let them through." she said quietly.

Shannon closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly. She spoke softly but forcefully, "I hate them Dad. I hate what they've done to us. I hate their rules and fears. I don't understand how to be a kind person that you would be proud of and yet want to hurt people for what they've done." Shannon looked at her Dad, "I don't understand how the sun can shine while I feel surrounded by darkness." she stated sadly.

OOC: And the gears grind in anticipation of a continuing post and/or continuing where we left this dialect of the adventure...

Admiration of her father swelled in the young girl. Despite being chained to the wall, his defiance, strength of will, and dignity were all intact. He was a soldier trained to face the evil denizens of the rim. Retreat or surrender was not an option. Professional soldiers of this sort were among the hardiest of warriors harboring a disciplined bloodlust and unwavering dedication. Shannon knew they had unleashed his bonfire as well. 'They have no idea what they have just done to themselves.' thought the proud girl.

Shannon approached Dakin and lifted the blindfold from his eyes. She looked at him intently "Dad, the last thing you said to me was to 'forgive you'. Be brave, Dad. There is nothing to forgive...you did what was right." Shannon professed. She lowered her voice to a near inaudible whisper "I'll be brave too...for you and Mom. Someday I'll get you out of here, I swear it."

OOC: Meanwhile, back in reality...

Zurn reflected on his past studies upon hearing the question. It suddently opened up a flood gate of other memories that were too numerous for him to savor individually. He pushed those back to be enjoyed later and concentrated on the question at hand.

"Nay...there dunna need to be any spell on ye to channel Moradins power. It's one o' those things that's gonna happen by the All-Fathers will through yer righteous actions." Zurn explained. "I'm bettin' that Moradin'll let ye know when it does."

As a priest, Zurn enjoyed these questions. As a dwarf, he shared Belwar's frustrations in that there was nothing solid to lay answers on. Not even faith was physically solid. Ironically, it could offer someone more protection than the broadest of shields or the thickest ramparts. It was a sort of love and love could never be explained.

Gretta went into her sales pitch like as she did with every customer talking about the variety of breads and where the grains came from. She also spoke of the sorts of toppings and finally settled with, "...but you did mention honeybutter and I do have some fine honeybutter to be had. So, set right here..."and she motioned to and empty seat behind her booth, "...and have some water while your bread toasts."

Gretta quickly cut a thick slice of bread and placed it upon a toasting iron over an oil lamp. As the bread was warming she picked up her cross-stitching and continued to thread the fabric secured in a plate sized hoop.

"Y'know, now that I think of it, that honeybutter there is getting old. I'm not sure if you've ever had soured honeybutter but let me tell you, it'll turn your tummy inside out. I'll get you a fresh jar." Gretta explained.

Gretta put down her project and got up and went to back of the booth. As before the back of the booth was placed against the back wall to The Half Pint. As Laren watched her pick through the boxes he noticed the subtle way in which she turned and "bumped" the door loose. Laren knew that it would take an army to open that door if they didn't know how. The subtle way in which she did could be considered artwork by some.

"Here's a fresh jar for you and feel free to grab another jar before you leave. I imagine you get hungry on the streets." The Halfling woman offered. "In fact, get it now so you don't forget. It's okay, really. No one will see it to think you're stealing." Gretta sat back down on her chair and continued to cross-stitch.

Shannon smiled back showing her mother the picture. Sasha barely noticed the picture since her gaze was fixed on her daughter. The girl placed the picture on the stone floor of the prison cell being careful that it didn't touch anything wet. Again Shannon went to her mother and hugged her gently being careful this time not to irritate her injuries.

"I'm proud of you, Mom. I hope to be as strong as you someday. They can take away a lot of things but they can't take away love." Shannon held Sasha close to console her crying mother. In the slightest whisper Shannon reassured Sasha, "You did the right thing." At that Shannon reluctantly let the embrace slip and walked to her father.

As Laren plotted the other way he heard Lasher remark to his protégé, "Ye take care o' Oscar 'cuz ye never be knowin' when ye'll need his tongue." At that the heavy boots continued to walk in the direction they were going in before the fall.

Some of the passer-byes shook their heads as they witnessed Laren's Oscar-mimicking antics and speech. Others openly laughed and commented, not derogatorily, on the strange fellow. In this poorer section of the city folks seemed to be familiar with Oscar. He was by no means the only homeless one on the street but he was the only homeless one that was known for his eccentricities. All the other homeless seemed to blend into the walls and were looked past by many.

Lasher and Finkle plotted their way to The Half-Pint. There was no secrecy in their route and Laren observed the occasional cuff by the perturbed dwarf on the back of Finkle's head. This was typically followed by a verbal condemming.

As Laren watched the two rogues conversing at the door of the tavern, he realized in his anticipation he was perhaps closer than he should have been and tucked himself in a side street. "Would you like some bread, Oscar?" Laren heard a woman ask. Glancing over he could see that it was Gretta the bread lady. (ref. Once Home Page 3 Post 7)

Ah...fair enough...

Rereading what he wrote...I get that now.

The youth looked nervously at his shorter mentor obviously nervous about "Oscar" and anxious as to what the tough street fighter would do. Reflexively he put his hand on the hilt of his dagger, in throwing grip. "Lasher?" he asked.

Saorse "Lasher" MacTeague raised the eyebrow over the empty socket and smirked from the side of his mouth under his good eye. It gave him a comical and twisted look to his face. Laren could see he was calm and not the least bit intimidated. "Ah Oscar! Tha' be a good one! Getting' Finkle here all nervous as a gnome about to fight!" Lasher exclaimed in a loud belly laugh.

He slapped Finkle's hand from his dagger and grabbed him by the shirt collar easily pulling him to his face. "The next time ye be sayin' me name on the street'll be the last time ye be seen ten fingers on yer hands. Ye hear me? Ye ain't exactly in me fine graces right now." Lasher warned.

Finkle frowned, knowing that he had made a mistake, and simply nodded his understanding of the consequences.

Shannon desperately tried to contain her shock and outrage. She didn't have time for her whirlwind of emotions right now since her time for farewells was growing shorter by the minute. Sorting out this injustice would come later and almost certainly while she was with her pen.

"Mom...please...if you can, open your eyes. It's not at all bright in here. I think you'll like the picture I drew for you and Dad." The girl looked back to her father for reassurance.

As she noted earlier, he was relatively unharmed. This fact unnerved Shannon and offered her more insight into the system of laws and morals of the society she was stuck in. Her father, Dakin, an officer in the army defense on the rim, had seriously injured three guards almost killing them with efficient ease. Yet he was minimally physically punished, if at all. Her mother, Sasha, healed her father, saving his life when the medics could not. Here she is with her tongue cut out and whipped until her flesh was raw. The toll extracted from each seemed to be upside down. There was fear of her mothers gift. It had to be more than the excuse of it, "leading to bad things" as Criss had said...much more.

The gruff dwarf stood up in a huff bringing his sidekick with him. He was grizzled fellow with a brown beard pulled to a point and held with an iron clasp tie. He wore brown and black patchwork pants and a black and red checkered vest that had seen better days. His boots went up to his knee- which wasn't too much higher than Larens- and were wrapped tightly with chains. Laren noted that the toes of his boots each had a crown of vicious little spikes. It was apparent as to why Laren had heard the boots of this dwarf earlier. Strapped to the side of each boot was dagger. Perhaps the most striking feature was the dwarf's missing eye and the scar that creased from the top of his forehead, across his missing eye, down to his neck. As if that wasn't enough to make someone cringe at first glance, the uncovered eye socket surly would.

The ruffian that was with him could not have been out of his teenage years Laren guessed. He had black hair messily tied back and sparse facial hair. He was wearing brown pants and a green shirt. Judging by the dirt that seemed to be sewn into the fabric and the smell that oozed off of him they hadn't been washed in weeks. The young man wore leather boots, not nearly as vicious as the dwarfs, that were in disrepair. Strapped to his belt was a dagger with a hilt inlaid with garnets.

The dwarf brushed himself off from the tumble (not that Laren could tell when he was finished) and looked at Laren. His head cocked to one side and studied the disguised Halfling with a slight squint. His face relaxed after a moment and he said, "Me sorries to ye Oscar. Me boy here dunna be knowin' how to be getting' outta tha' way o' wagons." The "boy" looked at the dwarf, shoulders shrugged and hands raised, with an incredulous and shocked look on his face. "Yer old bones okay then?" the one-eyed ruffian asked.

OOC: Not really...sorry to say. The question before us is, "How does Belwar officially become a Paladin". Does Zurn know if there is some rite of passage, divine appointment via cleric, quest given by Lord Farquad, or smacks on the ass "thank you may I have another style" that Belwar must perform / endure to begin his career as a Paladin?

OOC: You do, in fact, have a record of them.

The activity on the street was increasing and Laren knew that lunch was quickly coming to an end for most folks. That routine was a cherished way of life for many Kurrians. The day could be measured by the daily ritual almost as accurately as the placement of Kossuth spanning the sky.

Shortly after Laren began to amble, as only Oscar did, back to his old house for any sort of lead to his search, he heard a deep and gravely voice amidst the afternoon shuffle getting louder as it approached from behind him on the narrow street he walked.

"I canna believe ye be knowin' this fer weeks an' ye dinna tell me." the voice growled. "Yer lucky if'n I don't kick yer hides from here to tha' Wildlands ye pack o' hammerheads." Laren distinctly heard a pair of heavy boots coming up behind him on his left as a wagon full of barrels rolled, and occasionally bounced, towards him to his left.

The gritty voice Laren heard was now at pace with him. He could see that it belonged to a dwarf accompanied by the goon he trailed from The Half-Pint. Either eager to get past Laren wherein his legs were not swift enough or too caught up in the moment to notice, the wagon rolled by pushing both the dwarf and his lackey into Laren causing all of them to tumble to the ground in an unceremonious heap.