Marin's Fortune

by **Marin** on May 20th, 2012, 4:42 am

Marin exited the tent and was surprised to see how far the sun had sunk. The day was still young enough, and the Spring Market was still the center of attention of the city. People, though consideringly less than before, were still milling about the streets.

Marin continued down the streets one by one, until he was distracted by an older looking street branching off from one road. The buildings looked to be ages old, or at least so for this city. The pavement changed to an older stone, worn and flat from years of travel. The color had almost washed from the stone. The buildings were in the same condition of the road, pale and worn.

The style of the houses were different though, almost as if from another world; simplistic, yet stylish. The windows were decorated with carved stone surrounding them, the doors the same. The rooftops pointed and clean. There were stairs up to every house.

These, compared to Marin’s own home, were rich and large. The difference always gave Marin a sense of humbleness; he never needed much more than he had. These people may be rich traders, or political units. Marin never felt the need to go to such lengths to get the money he needed, hunting was always a good way. Knowledge to Marin was the riches that he needed.

Marin continued down the street, watching the houses, only one person who was outside even dared to look at the passerby. At the end of the road, the pavement changed and the style and richness of the old neighborhood faded back into a plain, simplistic fashion. People were about, and the quiet manner morphed back to a loud mood in comparison.

What a deep city this is. If there ever was a way for me to explore its depths, I would. The secrets and chambers of the underground, the laissez faire of the rooftops, the human qualities of the streets all had their meanings and feelings. Only if I had the time...

by **Anselm** on May 20th, 2012, 6:10 pm

The morning of the 91st of Spring
Treasures of the Sea, Zeltiva

The first thing that struck Anselm about Treasures of the Sea was how full it was … of junk. All kinds of junk. A bewildering variety of miscellaneous “treasures” lay about on tables, on the floor, on shelves, on hooks. Pretty much any place there was a place there was junk. Anselm resisted the urge to start poking around for something of interest.

The second thing that struck Anselm about the shop was the man with long dark hair tied back in a pony tail. He had a thin beard running from ear to ear by way of the tip of his chin, and a huge grin that made you want to either punch him in the face are start grinning with him. Anselm did neither. He approached the smiling man.

“You would be Raleaph?” he asked.

“I would? Oh, yes. Of course I would.” The man sniffed the air and continued without missing a beat. “What can I help you find today, my dear Nuit?”

Anselm was suitably impressed. Both that Raleaph immediately realized that he was Nuit and that he didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the realization.

“It is rumored that you, too, have lived for an inordinately long time,” Anselm said.

The man's smile disappeared and was replaced by a frown. “It is a strange story,” he began. “I was once a treasure hunter. I suppose I still am in a way. But at that time I was searching for a chest of gold rumored to be hidden in a cave deep in these very mountains.” He gestured toward the mountains guarding the tiny sliver of a plain on which resided the city of Zeltiva. “I had an old map and it led me to a deep, ominously shadowed valley. The valley dove deep into the mountains between two mighty peaks. I followed. I soon realized there was no sound of birds, nor any sign of animals. The air was hot and heavy and humid. But I pushed on. The valley narrowed to a ravine steep on either side, which in turn brought me to a narrow cave in the side of a granite cliff. I squeezed through the narrow crack of an opening and found myself in a maze of tunnels in which I quickly became lost. After two days of wandering around in the tunnels I came upon a campsite. It was occupied by – you're not going to believe this part – an elf. I surprised him, and in his surprise he rose up and cursed me: 'May you be imprisoned in this life forever!' Then I blacked out. When I came to, I was in the ravine outside the cave. The entrance had vanished. This happened a very long time ago, and I appear to still be imprisoned in this life. But so far it has not proven to be much of a curse.”

Anselm thought about this for a few moments and decided the man had made it up. That he was a weaver of incredible stories was not a rumor Anselm had heard.

“I see,” he said. “It is also rumored that you have knowledge of ancient times, as well as more recent history. I have something I would like to show you.”

“Ah!” said Raleaph. “You have come to sell me a treasure!” His huge smile had returned and he seemed positively delighted at the prospect of adding more junk to his collection.

“Not exactly,” said Anselm, wishing the conversation would stop veering off in unexpected directions. “I am seeking information about a very old bow that has unusual markings on it.”

He took out his drawing of the bow and its markings, unfolded it and laid it out on a clear space that seemed to have magically appeared on one of the tables. As he showed it to Raleaph, Anselm was looking not at the drawing but at the aura of the man as he examined the drawing. Raleaph had a surprisingly strong aura. It shimmered and changed colors several times as he looked at the drawing. Then the shimmering vanished and Raleaph said, “I do not recognized these markings. Perhaps it is an ancient tongue?”

“Perhaps,” said Anselm. “I was hoping you would know.”

“It is indeed a mystery,” said Raleaph in a conspiratorial whisper. Then he seemed to have a sudden thought. “If you were interested in selling this bow ...” He left the sentence hanging and looked at Anselm with an up-raised eye brow. Anselm could not help but admire the man's subtle persuasiveness.

“I do not have the bow in my possession at the moment,” said Anselm. “But I am acquainted with the person who does. He is most interested in knowing it's lineage. I suppose he might be persuaded to part with it if the price were right, because he has come upon hard times and is in desperate need of money. But I'm quite certain he would want to know exactly what it is he is selling before he would conclude such a transaction. You are sure you have not seen anything like this before?” Anselm could play the persuasion game too.

“No,” he said flatly.

“I see,” said Anselm. As he folded the map up to return it to his pocket he extended his aura to include Raleaph and made a hypnotic suggestion: You can tell the old man what you know. Then he said, “You can tell me, you know.”

Raleaph froze for a moment, seeming to wrestle with his own thoughts. Then he said, “I have indeed seen these markings before. There is – or at least there was – a reclusive tribe of Myrians in the southwestern part of Falyndar. They are called the Dasjai. Among them there was a legend of a warrior of great renown. Marka was her name. She owned a mighty sword and a mighty bow, both of which were rumored to have magical powers, and both of which had this very inscription on them. It translates to “Marka's Bringer of Death” and apparently the weapons lived up to their name. I once lived among them. They taught me the art of toe nail painting and firefly keeping. I taught them the art of finger painting and underwater bee keeping. It was an equitable exchange of knowledge.”

It took Anselm a moment to realize he had been had. Raleaph was once again beaming at him with his huge grin. “Nice try, though,” he said.

As Anselm left Raleaph's shop, he felt as though he was leaving knowing less than he knew when he had entered. What a strange man, he thought to himself as he made his way to the University.

OOC :

by **Marin** on May 22nd, 2012, 5:01 pm

The mood continued to change as Marin walked deeper into the newer part of the city. The brick less old, the road itself less worn. There was no story of old travelers; no story of kings chariots that rolled among the streets. The glorious decor had fallen to simple squares.

As Marin walked he thought:

I wonder what Anselm will find, hidden in the old library... What books there must be! The old tomes of long lost battles! The history of evil mages! In which book will he find the bow... Or maybe there is no book at all... It could have been destroyed in a fire, the burning of the world... It could have drowned, sunken in a traders bag, as his ship became the furniture of the deep.... But if there IS a book!

Marin’s thought continued, and soon he neared his corner of the world, the nook at the edge of the city: a small simple cottage. He neared the door, simple brown wood. As he put his hand on the door handle, the familiar wood spoke to him “You are almost home.” Inside Marin lit the hearth and lay his backpack near his bed, and sat, waiting.......

by **Anselm** on May 24th, 2012, 3:15 pm

He found Khawte sequestered in an out-of-the way corner of the Library at a table with two piles of books. He was flipping rapidly through one of the books when Anselm found him.

“Anselmee,” he said, closing the book with a bang. “How be favorite dead guy?”

“It would appear you are in a unusually good mood this morning, Khawte.”

“Indeed I am. I woke up today. I have always believed that to be auspicious beginning to day. Do not ye agree?” He looked startled for a moment. “Oh, sorry. Ye do not wake up do ye? Ah well, such is life … or in your case unlife.” He produced a huge grin and his eyes twinkled.

Anselm ignored him. “I am tempted to interpret this unseemly display of joviality to mean that you have learned something that might be of interest to me.” He gestured toward the piles of books.

“Indeed I have!” Khawte announced triumphantly, looking at the books with a surprised look on his face. Then he waited. As did Anselm. Damned Eypharian, he thought. You just have to have a little fun with me, don't you?

Anselm relented. “And …”

“Oh ... yes … where was I?” Said Khawte, as though he had lost track of the conversation, which Anselm knew very well he had not.

“You were about to tell me what you have learned about the bow.”

Khawte's expression turned serious. “This is most interesting bow ye ask about. I have found three references to it in histories of Mizahar. It is old, as ye suspected. Very old. Maybe even pre-Valterrian. I cannot be sure. There are legends about it.”

“And the symbols?”

“They are always mentioned with bow. That is how I know it is correct bow. But I have not found anything about meaning of symbols. I am sorry. That is all I have for ye. But if ye learn more, I would be happy if ye would come back and tell me about it. This is most interesting bow.”

- - - - - - - - -

Later that day, at Marin's house, Anselm laid out what he had learned. “I have not been able to determine exactly how old it is,” he said. “Only that it is very old. Nor have I learned what the meaning of the symbols might be. More research might be possible, but would require a journey to Syliras and possibly to other places. I could undertake such a venture for you, but it would be expensive. I fear we have arrived at a dead end.”

OOC :

by **Marin** on May 28th, 2012, 12:49 am

Marin looked at the man. His black appearance took over the simple single room cottage. The room became small with the two of them, one with an aura of blackness that commanded the place, the other just a simple man, with a simple appearance.

“It seems that we are at a standstill then. Whatever you have found, you have given me, and whatever history of the bow is hidden somewhere over a long trail of books and scrolls over the entire world.”

“I must thank you for doing what you have, Anselm. I owe you for what you have done. If you need something, a small amount of Mizas, or a favor of some sort, I can achieve what that for you.”

Marin extended his hand to the man, in a final handshake gesture.

I wonder what a dead hand feels like....

by **Anselm** on May 28th, 2012, 2:18 am

Anselm ignored both the offer of payment and the extended hand. “Things are not always as they appear,” he said. “There may yet be more to this story.” He stood up and walked out the door. As he made his way home, he felt a vague disappointment. He couldn't decide if it was because he had not yet found a way to get hold of the bow or if it was because the investigation had reached a dead end. What he did decide was that both problems merited further thought.

OOC :

by **Cascade** on June 15th, 2012, 2:04 pm

Adventurer's Loot

Anselm's Loot :

Marin's Loot :

Good thread, guys. Please remember that if the bow is actually a valuable artifact, it probably costs more than 50gm and hence is not suitable as a family heirloom. Same goes if it has any special history or abilities. If this is the case, you might have to get it approved through HD. However, there's really nothing wrong with investigating something (just as long as you don't 'discover' what I have stated without the right permission), and this was a good and spontaneous thread. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me!