[Featured thread] The Foggy Dew

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Not found on any map, Endrykas is a large migrating tent city wherein the horseclans of Cyphrus gather to trade and exchange information. [Lore]

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The Foggy Dew

Postby Konrad Venger on December 29th, 2016, 4:21 am

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6th Bell - 20th Day of Winter, 516AV - Endrykas, Topaz Quarter


Calendar Entry20th - The cessation of the storm leaves behind a heavy mist which drifts in the air and clings to everything. The unnaturally thick fog causes hallucinations in everyone it touches.

The mist held no terror for him. He'd done some of his best work with it back home.

Then it was a cloak to his deeds and his form. It seeped in across the city from the sea, thick and stinking of rotting fish and the soot that was dumped into the bay. Stench so deep a man could choke on it, but a clever one could wait until every alley and street was a miasma of fog, and then use it.

Konrad wondered how he'd appeared, in those last few moments. Just a tall, fuzzy figure that seemed birthed by the mist, moving so fast that his target would not even make out his face before his blade moved, everything so choked of light that the steel would not even gleam... and then he would be gone.

Back into the fog. Vanished and vanquished from recollection before the mark was even finished bleeding out. Those kind of jobs... Konrad appreciated them. They added to his mystique, his reputation, important things for a sellsword in Sunberth. But out here, the mist was different.

Thicker, too.

Impossible as it sounded to him, his eyes didn't make his mind liars. The air was like soup, clouds dragged to the ground and then thickened by the rains. For two days there'd been nothing but a steady deluge across the plains, soaking the moving city wherever they traveled. By the second, Konrad could already tell that this was not a good thing.

Hunting and trapping became difficult, then impossible. The animals had trouble grazing, spooked by lightning and then robbed of food by the muddy, churned up steppe. Whenever the city stopped, by the next morning dozens of tents had been washed away or collapsed by impromptu waves, rivers running through the avenues between the pavilions every morning.

Konrad had felt useless. The rain meant tracks were obliterated within bells, so trapping was impossible. Hunting parties didn't stray too far and he was self-aware enough to know he hadn't enough practice with either his bow or his pony to go with them.

Speaking of practice...

The mist seemed to rush to greet him as he unfolded from out the flap of his tent. He inhaled and that cold, crisp wetness filled his lungs, so deep and close that-

Gods, it's like soup going down the wrong hole.

After that little coughing fit was over, he straightened back up, and was pleased to discover he could do that without his body rebelling under him. He pulled on his coat without his shoulder screeching below his ear; he stood up straight and the burning in his back was quietened down to a dull, mundane ache; his stomach growled, but out of hunger, not lacerated innards. And his leg...

Konrad felt an eel of worry turn the back of his neck to ice. The limp wasn't going away. It wasn't like he was dragging his foot everywhere or had to use a stick to walk, but still... no, he forced the future from his mind. It had been, what, fifty days since he brawl with Three Eyes? That was hardly enough time for injuries that serious to heal. Best to focus elsewhere.

Thus his mind turned onto why he was up so early. He felt little drips and splats of dribbling rain smack into his hat, the last dregs of the two-day storm. Around him tents and pavilions were great, grey smudges through the fog that was simply everywhere. He could see it crawling across the ground as if stalking something vast and unseen, curling under flaps and smothering the sky. There was no blue beyond the grey when he looked up, and Syna wasn't even a suggestion to be found.

Though if he had to guess he'd say... that way. Maybe.

"Mornin'."

Ah, that was a tone he expected from that weather. Morose and sluggish. One of the Pridesun pavilion trudged past him, hips swinging as he powered through the mud. Konrad gave him a crisp nod and watched him vanish... gods, barely a tick or two after. Into the fog he went and it was if he'd been swallowed by another world. The Sunberth man scratched his stubble-covered cheek, following his scars until he was near his temple and decided to stick with the plan.

"Don't go far," he muttered to himself as he squelched his way to the edge of the Top Quarter, where the usual sight of the eternal steppe had been replaced by a wall of hanging dew. "Keep the tents an' the torches in sight. Only gotta stick it fer a bell, remember?"

Ungodly or not, he knew Syna would be at full rise after that time, and he also knew that the fog would be burned down to wisps not long after. So he had some time to do some other practice that had been lacking, also because of that damned, endless rain.

Konrad stepped beyond the edge of Endrykas and closed his eyes. The hanging water coated his face and he smiled minutely, picturing a different liquid pulsing around his body. Feeling it, softly at first but stronger every tick he imagined it, until he tilted his head down and willed it gently-

Out.

-and opened his eyes to see the eerie green glow of rest wriggling out of his scarred palm.

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Note: As of Spring 516AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas, except to Jonas Pridesun
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The Foggy Dew

Postby Konrad Venger on January 2nd, 2017, 6:38 am

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All things ecame easier with practice, and queer as this wyrd was, Konrad was finding it no exception. The strain was ineffable, invisible, but still to be borne by his senses. The will and wit to bring forth the djed and form the flames was chipped away from effort after effort, each lesson lending more to his memory.

With each fresh session, he knew what to apply, and how, and braced himself for the exertion of doing so. So he smiled as he willed the glowing gas across his hand to rise, billowing softly like waves, then coming together as if pressed into a globe.

Light.

The thought was the trigger, but the movement of his lips... they aided him. They made it real, not just a construct in his head, but of his mind instead. His face, made a gargoyle by the green-black hum of light, was suddenly bathed down to the deepest scars by blazing orange and yellow.

He smiled wider. Hardly an attractive thing, but unmistakably smsacking of victory. He raised his hand and the fireball went with it, staying a few inches above his palm. He raised his other hand and moved his first to the side, as if getting ready to push the ball-

Over you go.

-from one hand to the other, sending it floating across empty air and soaking heath until it stopped above his other hand. He flexed the now-empty hand... ah, and felt no tingles through it. Simple stuff, of course, so less likely to be any, but still... reassuring.

Now, he thought, licking his lips and scanning the scant, sodden ground that wasn't covered in mist. A target.

Pickings were slim. Even without his range constrained to just a dozen feet or so by the mist, the Sea of Grass... well, mostly grass and steppe, really. A scattering of forests, copses and rocky outcrops were well-known, but just that: scattered. He didn't see anything worthwhile save for a slight rise in the ground, and shrugged. That would have to do. He drew back his arm and...

... no. Easier. Slowly. Try the new thing.

Instead of hurling the globe like a ball, his arm moved through the same motion, but slower. More deliberately. Only when it was free from his grasp and hovering through the air did it speed up. Konrad counted the feet with silent lips, until he reached eleven and then-

Burn.

-the ball grew brighter, larger, the gaseous core of djed igniting along with the surface. Now comprised entirely of flame, raindrops hissing into it was it went, it burned brighter and hotter and-

Exploded against the rise, sending a brief gout of steam into the air as a patch of soaking heather was turned into twisted, blackened charcoal in a second. Konrad watched for errant flames, but no. The mist choked the air and the ground was only a step or two from a quagmire. He sauntered over and smirked at the tiny crater he'd made. Ah, this kind didn't spread so well, more solid than the gas-filled balls he'd made before, but it surely burned hotter. He thought with amusement how it would fare against armor; how quickly a metal-clad enemy would begin shrieking as his protection became a molten nightmare fused to his flesh, burning into his org-

Movement!

It wasn't the word so much as the feeling. The flash of something in the corner of his eye, and the way his body reacted to it before anything conscious or worthy of language even formed in his mind. By the time that thought barked in his brain, Konrad had already turned to face his trouble, kopis sliding a few inches out of its sheath-

To be confronted by nothing. Just mist. He frowned. No, there'd... there was something. He'd seen birds swoop low out on the plains, fast ad flitting but this was... bigger. It moved at the height of a man and now it was... where had it gone to?

"Mage now, a'yeh?"

The words were muffled and tiny, shouted as if through, well, fog, but the tone, the voice, the memory was an arrow through him no armor could defend against. Konrad felt his throat seize up and is sword was out and held tight, sweat a sheen across his brow as a thousand memories roared their way up from the dregs of his mind.

He knew that voice. He would never, could never forget it.

"You're... He's dead," he rasped to himself, licking his lips and scanning every inch of softly floating fog. "Has to be, by now. An'... An' even if he wasn't..."

It took more will to sheath his sword than to pull it. Konrad was sure the scholars would like that little example. He did it slowly, eyes ever-moving, sure that when he felt the hilt tap against the top, he would appear... but he did not.

"What would he be doin' out inna' middle a' the petching Sea?" Konrad finished, shaking his head at his stupidity and remembering his lesson. "Gods, man. Petch've youse been drinking? Musta' been that sodding Tolm..."

He dragged his mind back to his practice, not the ghosts of the past. He licked cracked, deformed lips and decided to try something new. He'd seen Trevin do something vast and terrible when facing the Zith earlier that year, and ached to try something similar. But his own powers... no, a mere fraction of that dead mage's. Better to keep it small and simple.

But still similar. Sort of.

Konrad closed his eyes again and tapped into that well within him. No, not a well. A river. A reservoir, with a thousand little streams leaking out of it, out from his heart into his finger tips, his hair, his toes, beating under every scar he had. He flexed his neck and raised his hand, diverting that flow there... slowly... letting it well...

Come.

He opened his eyes and saw the formless, glowing mess of djed above his hand. Not in a globe this time, more of a cloud, raised from the ritual scars on his palm and broiling half a foot above them. He turned his hand - palm-outward, as if he were about to catch a ball - and focused, imagined what he wanted to do.

Go!

The new, the unfamiliar, that's where he felt the most strain. He hissed as his arm groaned down to his bones as the cloud spewed away from him as if hit by a stiff breeze, spreading as if blew away-

Burn!

-then it ignited, spreading from its center, one flame becoming larger until the whole gaseous mass the size of his torso was burning air, flying through the mist-

-until it burned itself out, like an oil lamp devouring every dram of liquid without thought or concern for the future, and dying in the mist. Konrad groaned and rolled his shoulder, frowning at the oddly-clear patch of air his fire-cloud had made. As it filled again he thought the flames were not so scorching, but he could make them stronger... and either way, it was quite a distraction. What enemy could keep his attention was a gust of fire bearing down on them? It would certainly give him an-

"Petchin' dizgrayze, you is."

It was closer. It was louder. His kopis was out again and Konrad had to batter his own body into not trembling as he held it. He spun and circled, glaring at the mist with eyes both wide with fear and raging with hatred. That was him. He knew that was him. No man could imitate his broken Common, his slurred tone, the grating, ugly way he spat his words.

His mind tried to soothe him. Rationalize. Reason. They weren't just off the Kabrin Road, they were leagues from anything resembling a settlement or trade route. One man, no matter how big of a bastard, couldn't survive out there. No, it was... it was something else, it couldn't be-

"Come out," he growled, drowning out his mind, smothering it for good when his next words came out as a furious snarl: "Show yourself!"

But he didn't. There was no shadow from the mists. No shape from the past. Just laughter.

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Note: As of Spring 516AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas, except to Jonas Pridesun
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The Foggy Dew

Postby Konrad Venger on January 2nd, 2017, 9:50 am

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Petch the practice. He was done with conjuring fireballs and flexing his djed muscle in the mist. He'd never admit it, but Konrad yearned for the relative safety of numbers now, the cover of his tent, being surrounded by other men and women.

Sure, that was just so he could put them squarely in his path, but it still brought him back into the collection of tents that was the Pridesun section of the Topaz quarter.

They were still quiet. Shuffling and movement in a few, but the rest were quiet, restful. Konrad glanced around, scouring hanging fabric for a familiar outline, kopis still in his hand... nothing.

No, he's out there. You heard him.

Another flicker. Fast and close enough for him to swivel around, sword raised in a guard... against nothing. His breath came out in heavy heaves, streams of smoky steam in the air. Gods, where was he? Why wouldn't he just face him down and be done with it? Why else would he have tracked him all the way to this horse-stinking shykehole?!

Something chuckled. Something big slurped out of the mud behind him, but there was still nothing. Konrad felt himself start to unravel, and that alone was enough to drive a stake of iron through him. He ground his teeth... and shoved his weapons defiantly back in its sheath.

"Don' need it fer youse," he snarled to the empty air around him, heedless of who else would hear. "Nodda' petchin' kid anymore, ya sack a' shyke. You go on n' hide."

Horses snuffled. Tent-dwellers groaned and snored and shifted. Camp fires sputtered in the mist that tried to choke them. Drykas and human and maybe a few others, but no Myrians. No-one that rose from the ground like a ghost, covered in ink and stinking of grog. He balled his fists and fixed his glare solid as a beam over a door across his eyes.

"What? Only women, is it? S'all youse're good for when y'want to wet yer steel? Answer me!"

He shouted the last words and the camp stirred and... and he blinked. Konrad glanced around and he saw Endrykas and tents and mist and... what was he even shouting at? He screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his face, as if to reassure himself he was still there, still awake. Gods, was he sleeping? Was this all a dream?

"He's not here. He's not here," he whispered to himself, a tall, ruined figure spied by a handful of bleary eyes peeking out of tent flaps. A hand still covered his face, hot breath against his palm. "Yer... Yer seeing things. He's not-"

"Petch me, mate, youse talkin' to yerself?"


The hand came down and Konrad's jaw came with it. Three Eyes stood a bare dozen paces away, pudgy and stout and grinning his tattooed arse off in the mist. For a long chime, Konrad just stared. Looked up and down and... there were no scars. No wounds. No streams of blood. No gaping, gushing hole gouged through his throat where he'd finally-

"You're... dead," he finally managed to get out, point a finger as if accusing him of violating some law by just standing there. Which, as far as mortality went, he was. "I petchin' killed ya, y'petchin' turncoat piece a'-"

"Aye, yet here I am,"
Three Eyes said, taking a step and spreading his arms as if to show off his unmarred body. Konrad took a reflexive step backward, hand sliding to his sword as he did. "An' turncoat? Like I told ya, Kon, if the boot 'twas on the other foot, you'da done the same."

"Petch're you doin' here? How... How did you-"


He stopped. He was talking to a corpse. He knew he was because he'd made him that way. Just-healed wounds were on fire again across his body, evidence of their final, fatal brawl. No, this wasn't real. He had to be asleep. Three Eyes had turned on him and nearly killed him but he'd carved the bastard's throat open. Watched him bleed out in front of him.

"You. Are. Not. Here." He said, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe normally. "Gods, what the petch did I-"

There was a screech above him. Another memory that swooped screaming from his mind, of wing'd monsters that had attacked the caravan he was on a couple of seasons before. Zith, that's what they were called. He'd heard tales about them from the Drykas around many a camp fire. He looked up and saw gigantic wings like a bat rush over him, crouched low and-

He was gone. In a blink, Three Eyes had vanished... but why was no-one else waking up? Didn't they hear that thing?! He scuttled to a tent and flattened himself against the side, getting down on one knee and scanning the skies, waiting for-

There!

-like a shark lurching up from muddy water, an abomination of man and bat howled from the mists towards him, claws outstretched and he drew and swung up to meet it with a roar-

"Petch me, man?!"

THUNK


The kopis slammed into upright pole at the front of the tent, nearly cutting it in half. A terrified figure only just getting out of it fell back into the mud, scrambling backward on his arse through the mud away from the wide-eyed lunatic swinging a sword at sodding nothing. Konrad looked down and then up and there... petch... where was-

"The Zith!" He barked, yanking his sword free and twisting his head around, jaw jutted up and out so far he was almost falling back. "Didja see it?! Where'd it go?!"

"Z-Zith? What're you talking about?!"

"The Zith, you moron!"


It didn't take much to drive Konrad from simmering to raging, but that morning he was frayed worse than normal. If he hadn't woke the pavilion before, he damn sure did when his voice boomed straight down at the stunned man, now staring at his ruined face above three feet of curved, implacable steel. Konrad's chest was heaving, his face lined with sweat and anger, surrounded by enemies dead or invisible or flying and-

"Th-There's... There's no Zith... please, I... I don't know what you're talking about..."

But Konrad wasn't listening. Not to him, anyway.

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Note: As of Spring 516AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas, except to Jonas Pridesun
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The Foggy Dew

Postby Konrad Venger on January 3rd, 2017, 12:42 am

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"A'ways tryna' play the big man, incha?"

"Petch off, ya old bastard."


It had been too strange and trying a morning for Konrad to go trembling and running when he heard him again. He looked around, ignoring the shaking wretch at his feet, and saw a figure carved into the depths of his soul striding out from behind a tent. Holding a filthy bottle of grog.

That's it, I must be dreaming.

The Myrian sniffed so hard his nostrils looked like caves set into burnished rock, and he spat out a filthy green gob into the grass. He looked over the man, then Konrad... and took a long, deep drink.

"Well? Gun' take all petchin' day?"

He wasn't there. The more Konrad stared, the more specter existed before his eyes, the more it lost purchase on his comprehension. He studied the lines on his face... and the lack of them. The last time he'd seen this man, he was still in his thirties. By now he could be past sixty Summers, and even a Myrian would be showing his age.

Not this one. Not after two decades of booze and powders and herbs and ungodly concoctions snorted, smoked and crammed into his body through filthy tinctures.

"Poison."

He spoke the word and looked away and that smirk vanished from the upright monster's face. Not even his specter could bare not to be the center of his... of his attention. Konrad looked around and there, again, was a shadow huge as a pavilion, swooping and screeching and... no-one else saw it. No-one else was waking up.

"Dunno how," he said slowly, licking his lips and forcing his heart back down his throat. "But... yeah... s'makin' me see things-"

"Boy wadda petch're you ta-"

"Petch off and die, old man."


And he walked away. He didn't look back, didn't spit, didn't sneer, he simply ignored him. He was ten paces away when the mud churned under the Myrian's feet and he reached out-

Konrad's mind screamed itself in two. One half was rooted in the present, gamely fortified in the reality where this man was not there, and he knew he was not. He'd been waylaid, some poison or potion warping his mind and his eyes. But the other voice... gods, it was still so strong. So much older and still howled with the tones of a boy who'd staggered from his home, mutilated and alone, every tear he could ever cry drying on what was left of his face.

That voice remembered. It begged and sobbed in his mind and Konrad felt his knees turn to water, turning around...

"You're nothing," he said, looking down and feeling the barest breeze of a grip against his arm. Whatever the man had been, he'd been strong. Didn't look it, under a body that had gone to seed long before time, but he was. The hand that tried to grasp his shoulder and hold him in place... it was that of a shade. "You're a ghost."

The Myrian's teeth peeled back and a hideous deluge of black speech came pouring out of his mouth. Konrad followed it, just barely, and only because it was mostly curses and insults, and then he heard-

-your whore mother-

-and he tore his arm away. Ached to hammer his knuckles and elbows and knees and forehead and feet into that ink-stained sack of flabby flesh until they broke. Yearned to draw every weapon he had and take so long, so very long, to make this bastard suffer. Syna would rise and fall and all she would see would be the horror he would wreak upon-

"You're in my head," Konrad growled, voice as drained of anything humanity. He leaned closer and let the man get a good look at his work. "But you best be dead, old man. Cuz if you ain't, one day. One good, good petchin' day..."

He knew what he had to do as he turned away and ducked into his tent. He left the ghost behind, nothing else left to say. Instead he scouted out his pack and ripped through it until he found his little parcel of Tolm. He sniffed the pungent herbs and blew his breath out through puffed-up cheeks.

Petch me. This is gonna taste sodding awful.

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Note: As of Spring 516AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas, except to Jonas Pridesun
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Konrad Venger
There Ain't No Grave...
 
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The Foggy Dew

Postby Konrad Venger on January 3rd, 2017, 1:15 am

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There were Zith circling the tent and monsters loping in the mists and he was talking to dead men. Now he was just saying it to himself, Konrad felt like a right tit.

"Seeing bloody ghosts," he muttered to himself, shaking out a handful... no, a generous handful of Tolm into his palm. Self-disgust quickly turned to anger though, twisting features already contorted. "I find out what shykey cunny petchin' did this t-me-"

"Hans, wuddafu-"

"G'back t'sleep!"


He snapped at the human just waking, so tired his eyes were barely open. The wahlak turned over and did as he was told. Man was exhausted enough, he wouldn't give a shyke what orders he was given.

Konrad looked back at the Tolm and he heard-

Screeching. Whooshing wings. Chattering, cackling things in the grass beyond the tents... and shadows... long and clawed and sliding across the ground outside.

Petch this, he thought, and necked the whole reeking handful.

Taste. Texture. Consistency. The worst of all three by any sane palate and that's what Konrad forced down his throat. He could feel the bile already bubbling up and jammed his hand over his throat. No, he knew the difference. He'd been rat-ass pissed out on the town and drugged out of his mind and had his insides battered senseless enough to know what kind of vomit he had ready to spew out of him. He willed his jaw to go up and down, chew and grind, until he could swallow-

Hell's petching shyke-!

"OOFFFERSHYKESSAKE!"

The formerly drowsy, then back to sleep man was awakened again by two hundred pounds of feverish Sunberth mercenary crashing over him as he lunged for the tent flap. Konrad rammed his head outside and voided himself into the muddy grass. Bitter and stinking and burning like acid, but as he blinked he couldn't see food and-

Unbefu-

-forced his fingers down his throat until-

"What in the hell is wrong with you?!"

Konrad finishing what he was... doing, first. His second reaction - after wiping his chin with the back of his sleeve - would have been to spread the bastard's nose across his face and send him back to sleep. But he wasn't in some Sunberth shebeen manned by some 'tender and waitress that would barely raise an eyebrow at a murder, let alone a broken nose. He was in Endrykas, "guest" of Jonas Pridesun, and there would be consequences.

That calculation took place, but it was muted a little by the holocaust of excrement that seemed to be caking every corner of his mouth. He spat and swallowed and gods, that just make it worse and he retched again, but when his vision cleared and the tears dripped away, he could see food. Cheese and bread and ham and a putrid stream of wine.

Had to be in there, he said to himself, finally being able to swallow without choking back stale bile and half-rotted food. Just stay in the tent. Go back to sleep.

"Dun' ask."

That was all he said as he half-crawled, half-collapsed himself back into his bedroll. The awoken man scowled at the back of his head like he would bore a hole through it, but Konrad had already forgotten him. He'd closed the tent flap, after all. Surely that had to count in the way of politeness!

"Crazy sod..."

He decided to let that slide. Gods, he hated to think what they'd be whispering when he emerged later that day, the man that had been babbling about Zith and monsters in the wee hours. Konrad winced at the thought and groaned inwardly. Well. Too late to worry now. So instead he got comfortable on his back and rested his hat over his face.

In a blink the rising glow of Syna outside was dashed away completely. Konrad didn't much like the idea of trying to sleep with his mouth tasting like a gutted cat's arsehole, but for one morning, it would have to do.

Besides, he reminded himself as he drifted back to an uncertain sleep, practice went well.

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Note: As of Spring 516AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas, except to Jonas Pridesun
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Konrad Venger
There Ain't No Grave...
 
Posts: 867
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Joined roleplay: November 23rd, 2015, 4:05 pm
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The Foggy Dew

Postby Rufio on January 24th, 2017, 5:36 pm

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g r a d e s


xp

Reimancy +2
Observation +4
Mathematics +1
Logic +2
Tactics +2
Detection +1
Kopis +2
Intimidation +1
Socialization +1
Medicine +1
Endurance +2



lores

Reimancy: Throwing a fire-ball
Reimancy: Crafting fire mist
Mathematics: Counting distance by sight
Tactics: Wielding fire-mist as a distraction
Detection: Trusting periphery vision
Logic: Discerning reality from hallucination
Medicine: Sticking fingers down the throat to induce vomiting
Fog Hallucination: Haunted by ghosts of the past


penalties

Konrad will feel exhausted for 12 bells after the hallucination without rest, or for 8 bells with rest.
Difficulty sleeping will persist for 1 night after the hallucinations.


  
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