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Posterium. Jewel of the West. The Seat of Adventure. City of a Thousand Asses...
...is about two days of hard travel away. The road here is reasonably well maintained, but narrow and winding, forced to navigate through the rocky hills that cover this region. It's not an especially dangerous area, being pretty well trod; there's a goblin tribe in these hills that occasionally pranks travelers, and the odd robber that tries his luck, but being attacked is a pretty minor concern.
The weather, on the other hand, can be a much bigger problem. It's the rainy season, and while those unfamiliar with the area might dismiss that as a minor nuisance, those familiar with Posterium and the outlying lands know that the rain hits fast and hard here. The road is swamped by a fast-moving river, scouring between the hills with enough force to knock even a strong man off his feet. There's no use trying to travel in this, all you can do is take shelter.
Right now, shelter takes the form of a squat stone building on a hill next to the road. It's a shrine of some sort, but whatever it was dedicated to is impossible to say, any identifying marks long since worn off. The structure is sturdy, though, and better than drowning in the rain. A small campfire has been set in the middle of the stone-tiled room, in a circle of soot-blackened stones that have undoubtedly been used for just this purpose by hundreds of travelers over the years. A squat little altar sits in the back of the hall, carved from some kind of grey wood, with a few coins left on it as an offering to the unknown patron of the shrine; better to be safe than sorry, and pay respects.
One man is already seated by the fire when you enter, a huge bear of a man with a braided red beard. He's wrapped in a rough brown cloak, damp from the rain, and he has no visible weapons, only a small leather pack.
Orfo is on his way to Posterium, of course, searching for his father. It's been several days of long, boring travel so far, but there have been a few moments that livened things up. Last night Orfo stayed at an inn on the road, and when the chef found out about Orfo's profession, he challenged the firbolg to a contest! Posterium rules, of course; loser takes a penalty for the winner... did Orfo win, and get to practice the skill that he'll surely have plenty of cause to use in Posterium? Or did he lose, and earn himself a sore butt that he's been walking off ever since?
Killian is on his way to Posterium to track down Alren. He's hundreds of miles from Lyses-Tel already, but thankfully, his journey is nearing its end. Not all of that travel has been on safe roads; he's tangled with goblins once or twice, lizardmen in the swamp, and a pair of bratty harpies just making it this far. Fortunately, his skills have been up to the task so far.
The current stretch of road seems relatively safe in comparison. Last night, Killian was even able to stay at an inn. Of course, these rural inns have hazards of their own... he caught one of the owner's sons, a freckle-faced lad barely out of his teen years, trying to steal his bow! The lad swore that he just wanted to try it out, having never seen a bow so fine before. How did Killian deal with it?
Zarden is just passing through, at the moment. He has no business in Posterium, but going past it is the quickest way to the neighboring kingdom of Armorear, which is his goal. He's heard a rumor of aggressive plant-creatures there, attacking people... a sure sign of a serious imbalance in the natural order. Armorear has put a bounty on the monsters, but that's just a lazy attempt to treat the symptoms without addressing the cause... However, this storm is beyond even his abilities to navigate safely, so it's looking like he'll have to stop for the night.
As a druid, of course, Zarden has little need to pay for lodging at inns even when they're available, but it can be worth checking on them anyway... such as this time, when he noticed a maltreated horse in the stables as he passed by, owned by some noble fop on an "adventure". How did he address the situation?
Mouse could be headed anywhere, really... Posterium is an appealing target, a city full of spankable asses and underpants to steal, but if he doesn't like it he can always move on, right? Unfortunately, getting anywhere requires a lot of walking, if you can't afford a carriage. So now he's stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no shelter in sight except this drafty old ruined shrine.
At least last night there was a proper inn. A few picked pockets could easily cover the room fee and then some, and there's always plenty of entertainment. This place even had baths! Did Mouse give in to his urges and swipe anything last night? And if so... did he get caught?
Orazi is headed to Posterium today, to the arena. He's had good success in several smaller arenas, so it makes sense to go for the big one now. The competition will be fierce, but the money will be much better. That is, if he survives this rainstorm...
He spent last night at an inn, far more comfortable than this. Someone had recognized him there from his last arena gig, then insisted on an arm wrestle in the middle of the dining room. Of course, that meant the penalty was played out right there too... the question is, was it Orazi's ass that paid it, or his opponent's?
Tambourin is headed to Posterium on an errand. His uncle gave him a shopping list and a rather heavy pouch of gold, warning him sternly not to waste it or be careless with it. As long as nothing goes wrong, he should have more than enough to get everything on the list and make it back. A bit of rain may be inconvenient, but at least it's not a robbery.
Last night was much warmer than this, in comparison. There was an inn, with some nice food and plenty of drinks. A good opportunity to carouse and have fun... or to get into trouble, if one is careless. How did Tambourin spend his time, once people started getting rowdy?
Zarden's first stop had been the stables. At first it'd been merely to find a place to rest--he preferred the company of animals over people--but when he noticed the horse with the lame leg, and its rump covered in lash marks, he knew he had to intervene. The leg was easily treated with a few whispered words and a poultice Zarden was able to brew from dried sap and thistle he carried on him. The problem of the horse's owner though would be another matter entirely.
He found him within the inn's common room. Confronting him, Zarden merely informed him the horse would need to rest for several days to get back into peak shape. He could be walked, but not ridden. The man--a noble, by the look of him--merely sneered and said he had to be within the walls of Posterium by the following evening, and would be, even if he had to whip the beast every mile of the way. It was an impossible ride even on a horse that was healthy. Zarden looked down his lion nose at the man.
"In that case," he'd said in a deep growl. "I have no recourse but to ensure you can't sit upon the saddle until the horse recovers."
"What--But who are--Unhand me you lout! I--How dare you!"
His words had meant nothing as Zarden grabbed him and drew down his pants. Over the cat's knee the nobleman went, and he was soon regretting his lack of compassion as he wriggled, squirmed, and kicked. Well, probably regretting it. It wasn't really any of Zarden's concern, so long as he quit abusing his damn horse...
-
Now.
Zarden hates being wet.
He stumbles into the shrine, his cloak dripping and plastered to his body. On better days he'd resemble a muscular and well-built leonin, resembling a lion. Now he resembles, well, a cat that got caught out in the rain.
He has mature, perceptive eyes and a proud nose. Tanned fur covers the entirety of his body, and a mane of fiery red covers his head and some of his upper back. Little sticks and leaves are stuck in it. Calloused paws. A red-tufted tail trails behind him, jutting out through a hole in the back his trousers. If he were human, Zarden would look to be in his mid-thirties.
Sopping wet. He growls a bit as he attempts to wring out his cloak. The rest of his clothing are a sleeveless deerskin tunic and trousers. He wears no boots. Numerous feathers and assorted natural poultices and weapons/tools hung from his belt, as well as from the leather straps criss-crossing his strong chest.
He gazes into the bearded man's eyes and gives a wary nod. Two strangers, riding out the storm.
Killian had spent days making the trek from Lyses-Tel and for all the legs of this journey, this walk had been the most boring and cold of them all. The Lijang swamp were horrid but at least they had the ability to be interesting to walk through, afores the rather pesky harpies and the lack of actual game meat for food to hunt.
Having found this inn, Killian went against a bit of his better judgement and made the choice to sleep inside. Despite being half-elf, Killian had very little interaction with human society as Lyses-Tel was pretty strict on its views towards other races. This whole journey had been a bit of a culture shock but Posterium would be worth it all in the end.
Killian had almost settled off to sleep when he heard a rustling through his pack that he stored at the edge of his bed. He caught sight of the tavern owner's son starting to peer through his items and those slippery fingers etching towards his bow. The Half-Elf's senses had been finely tuned through years in nature, thus he was on the son in a matter of moments.
"Looking for something? I think I've got exactly what a brat with sticky fingers like you needs."
"Wait...Wait...No please! I'll leave and not bug you...OWWW!"
Killian had taken the brat over his knee and tanned his hide bright red with his bare-handed. His hands had grown rough and rugged over years of climbing trees, rigging traps, and all other sorts of work associated with training as a Ranger. The freckled brat had squealed plenty at that and got even redder when he was dragged in front of his father and made to confess what he'd done. Killian had nearly spanked the father too but simply spent the night and left the next morning.
Next Day
Killian didn't mind the rain truthfully, it was something he'd dealt with enough that the gentle patter of the water across his firm shoulders and the trickling of it down his dark brown hair made it almost a comforting presence. All the same rain was a nightmare to navigate through and any landmarks he could rely upon his map were obscured by the water as well.
Killian's trained green eyes and sharp nose has surveyed the surrounding area, keeping his head tucked beneath his hood and the rest of his body covered beneath the light armor he wore for basic protection. Lean but muscular in all the right ways and looking about twenty years of age.
Soaked and drained from another day's hike, Killian found his cover in the shrine that had appeared, cautiously making his way inside. He tips his head towards the red-haired male and made his way into a quiet spot in the shrine, acknowledge the other presence but remaining silent for the moment.
The Father Sea is far away, but his touch is in every drop of rain. Even though his life is far behind, Mouse still hasn’t completely abandoned his ways. He must look odd- a human enduring this rain. He kneels for a bit in the cold spray, feeling the rivulets flowing off his body, feeling the way it stole his breath. If he focused, he could feel every drop of rain as they fell from the sky, could almost swim in it. The icy chill reminds him of the ocean, the biting cold. It soothes him, his mind…and other things as well…
“Hehehe, these guys really carried a lot of gold with them.” He whispered to himself as he dug through the pockets of another pair of trousers, stuffing his ill-gotten coin into his pockets. He moved quickly, quietly, a trickle of water making its way through the forest, its advance covered by the sounds of the wildlife.
He licked his lips as his eyes spotted a prize…it was a pair of fundoshi, still warm to the touch. He picked it up, lifting the crotch up to his nose, taking a deep whiff. Gosh…what a manly smell~ It made his head swim. He took another whiff, enjoying the scent, until he felt a hand fall on his shoulders.
“Hm? What have we here?” Came a deep voice, a low rumble that ran through the thief’s bones. With a shaky head, he turned around to spot a lion of a man- over twice his size!- glaring down at him, eyes drifting over to the cloth in his hands, then back to the thief’s face. “I see…a thief after my gold, and decided you want a different kind of prize, huh?”
“I-I-“ Mouse’s voice caught in his throat, his excuses piling up in his head. The man’s hand tightened. He didn’t even look away as he reached behind him, grabbing one of the long handled scrub brushes hanging from the hooks on the wall.
“I guess I did need to relieve some stress anyways…” He muttered as he hauled the would be thief over a bare knee.
Llyr grimaced. His ass stung still! He checked himself out in the mirror before he left this morning only to find it had turned a pale pink. Sure, as a Child of the Father Sea, he may be able to heal faster, but spankings still hurt like hell!
He turned away, moving away from the rain and closer to the fire, kneeling next to it, eyes, one blue - one green, dashing to the others around, analyzing, weighting.
‘Broke…broke…huh…I wonder if it’ll be fun to steal from him.’ He thought, eyes settling on the leather pack.
Orford is a Furbolg and apparently to the people of the land this was a new concept? Questions upon questions piled in about him, why does he have a tail? Why are his ears all floppy like a fawn? why is he wearing a kilt and how is he so tall?
Orfo decide that the best course of action was to explain to everyone during a meal. Orfo made it of course and there was a very positive reception in the Inn.
Unfortunately this caught the Inn's head Chef's attention who was this great fat man. He confronted Orfo and proposed a simple challenge to him. If he wins he tans Orfo's ass and he stops cooking his amateur level food and if Orfo some how wins then he does the same to him.
It was a fierce battle but, in the end, the enigmatic chef's cuisine didn't hold a candle to Orfo's seasoned forest oddities and Orfo got his first hands on experience into the "punishments" of Posterium.
Now.
The rain was always a blessing in disguise to Orfo.
He loved the way his trots turned to ploshes in the soggy mud, his only downside being his ancient frying pan which he had determined was his instrument of choice after testing it on the arrogant chef last night.
Orfo spotted a shrine in some way and dashed as fast as he could to prevent the ancient tool from rusting, fortunately, closing the distance didn't take take too long to do.
He bounded in thinking it was and empty place and sprawled himself on the floor only to look up and see a decent amount of people looking back at him confused, some even looked ready for a fight.
Orfo picked himself up and all he did was give a hearty smile as he rubbed off his pan.
As he was tearing into his meal and reviewing some transmutation notes in the corner of the inn's tavern the previous night, nothing had yet gone wrong: the gnome dared to think to himself that maybe the errand his uncle Tabor forced him on would be simple after all, and maybe he really could do them without an escort or bodyguard in the future. Just as he was thinking this, a mildly tipsy half-orc swaggered up to him.
"Oi there, you eat like a starving pig, little one!" the half-orc slurred merrily. He was not given a chance to explain that he simply wished for a friendly chat.
"Go away!" Tambourin snapped, with an offended and paranoid edge in his shrill voice, "If I needed someone's drool to glue my notes together, I would have smeared my papers all over your hanging tongue already. Now leave me before your fluids drench my table."
The wizard had a brief moment to instantly regret his needless temper. One of the reasons the gnome feared travelling alone was due to his uncanny knack for upsetting people very quickly with his aggressive behaviour: the scarier his company looked, the more likely it was he would panic and rebuke them to try and shake them off, which of course had the opposite effect.
Naturally, the half-orc decided to haul the wizard to his room to the wizard some manners with a good spanking in front of some of his friends. An already resigned Tambourin chose to accept the punishment rather than risk angering them further or losing his belongings or the room he booked by fleeing. One tiny reddened rump later, the half-orc and his gang were sufficiently entertained, and left the wizard a drink for being a good sport: it was enough for the wizard to sleep through the stinging, mostly, though other distracting sensations cut his rest further still...
Tambourin spent most of this day travelling through thickets close to the beaten path to keep some of the rain at bay, though progress had been slightly slowed by sore buttocks, and his robes still ended up very damp by the time he found better shelter. He took a brief moment to inspect his his pack's contents for water damage once shielded, and was relieved to find everything was still somehow intact.
As he moved deeper towards what looked like a faint glow of light, mixed feelings swelled in him as he saw both a fire and others who had taken shelter in the shrine. They did not seem hostile, but looked capable and were all far larger than him. He risked getting near to the fire so his wet clothes could dry faster, as others were. In the light, more of his features were clearer to the others: his robes were simple and mostly orange in tint, he wore thick boots for travelling, and his head was as fiery as his being - wavy red hair with mutton chops, ears that flicked up and back, and a near-permanent scowl, rounded off with thick and circular glasses.
Tambourin struggled to sit still in front of the fire without fidgeting, as if physically forcing himself not to throw off his uncomfortable clothes in front of a bunch of strangers.
A tall orc stiffly rode along the dirt road. His fangs were clenched tight in annoyance.
And it wasn't the rain that was the issue. Any other day, a trek in the rain would just be business as usual for him. He'd grown up in the Nazif tribe, which had meant traveling and hunting in all sorts of weather.
No, the rain wasn't the problem at all. It was the horse.
"Ha! All bark and no bite. That's what I expect from humans!"
Orazi was enjoying himself greatly as he pulled the burly man over his knee. Screw decorum or any of that BS he normally had ranted at him, he'd do as he wanted. And in this case, he wanted to show this idiot that it was a bad idea to challenge an orc.
"Hold on, I'm not
"What a weakling! I bet there's not a single man in here who could take me. Come on, who wants to be next!?"
Orazi grinned as he saw the expected averting of heads and nervous shuffling. Who was going to bother trying after a display like that—
"I'll take you on!" One man, a muscular man with a thick red beard, slammed his mug down.
"Aye, me too!"
"And me!"
...He'd really shot his mouth off again hadn't he. Sure he'd held out for awhile, but eventually he'd gotten his own ass turned red, much to the amusement of the rest of the room. And now, every bump and jerk of this damn horse was bothering his still tender behind. So when he saw another traveler head off the path, he bothered to see where. As soon as he saw a place to take shelter, he didn't ask any questions. It was time to take a break.
He walked in, seeing the place was filled with others who seemed to have the same idea. But strangely enough, it was dead silent. "What, did someone die in here?" he asked as he looked around the room.
Last edited by Hiran; July 18th, 2021 at 02:56 AM.
Reason: Tyyyypo
"I was personally quite enjoying the silence, and the fact we were all keeping to ourselves. I'm sure others felt the same," Tambourin huffed bitterly: controlling his urge to speak his mind ended up being impossible when cold and wet cloth weighed down his mood. He looked around the room to the others, desperately hoping there was some consensus with his opinion.
Though Zarden privately agrees with Tambourin's sentiment, he's not about to get involved one way or the other. When the gnome looks his way, he merely sniffs and returns to his work. He has summoned a small ball of flame and is using it to dry his cloak, as well as his fur.
As soon as the rain lets up, he's planning to be on his way. This place is much more crowded now than when I arrived...
Curse of the Red Cheeks (invite only)
