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Kalthoren wrote:
*A new poster is up by the door, its simple and contains an old image of Sastri soaked through, it reads
Never forget the sacrfices we all make- Soldier, Barkeep, Hero, Freind for life- Sastri Rae'Lyn. Rest in peace my freind* Kalthoren looks at his handiwork with tear in his eyes, then sighs, and goes back to mindless cleaning


What is this I don't even! =O

O look, it's a person that used to be a person but is now a person.
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In the dead of night, the shadows materialized, and a figure appeared before this poster, a mask of black enshrouding all but his dark eyes. They studied the announcement, before they closed, a solemn head hanging.

"Foolish. What good is a contract, if yew not 'ere to 'old me to it?"

His accent seemed derived from the more forgotten cesspools of Stormwind, but somehow his actions spoke of more respect, more reverence than that of a petty thief. With a sigh, he retreated to his thoughts, a moment of silence, a breath, an utterance of farewell in a Common tongue to a fellow outcast, before a tanned hand reached up to peel back the fabric, revealing the youthful human face beneath.

"Your friends love you," he uttered to the mongrel's image. "If I did not already understand why your graceless snarls and violent outbursts would 'old such charismatic sway over them, I know now. Something abowt you defines the very soul o' every common man. Speaking to them, yelling at them as yew 'ave, forcing them to get along while 'ere in this establishment, yew and this tavern brought them together, uniting them when their social status, race, or political views would try so 'ard to keep them separate. Probably not the first to do it and definitely 'opefully not the last, but you 'ave proven that equality is possible in some worlds, though per'aps not this one, and per'aps not this era. But possible regardless."

A half smirk pressed the lad's lips, as his removed his mask completely and held it over his heart, kneeling down to pay his own homage, away from the eyes of those that might see a side of him he didn't want seen. "Though not a king, or even a knight, you 'ave become a champion in some odd way to them. I 'ave noticed 'ow they followed you, looked up to you, fought battles and risked their lives for yew to try saving yew. Per'aps it's because they know you would 'ave done the same, for them."

Those dark eyes softened, before a nod given, and the human stood again. "I do not owe you me allegiance anymore. With Grey gone, the contract you 'ad with me to keep those you loved safe 'as long since expired. So why is it I keep coming back 'ere, to keep following it?" Smirking in knowing, he read the mournful message again. "They better get you back soon, so's I can defy and piss you off, slander yow name wit'owt feeling as though I tread on yow grave. It innit awl that fun wit Esme and the others in a bloody fog mourning ye. No fun to prod and poke them. Doubt any fun will be 'ad 'ere until ye sit scowling in one o' these seats."

Soft eyes hardened into the driven stare of a man given another mission, an assassin assigned to a new hit. In resolve, and with steely determination, that mask returned to that face, yanked violently into place. "So where does this leave me? Normally, I'd go above an' beyond for someone 'oo paid me, or for someone 'oo led me kingdom. Someone I knew might grant me fame or fortune, provided I stay in their good graces. Not usually someone like yew. Ye ain't someone they'll ever speak o' around campfires after we've awl died and gone, and ye damned well ain't no knight or king. Or anyone really. You're a nobody. A street rat, a traitor. A murderer and scum to some. But to those 'oo love yew? Those 'oo you loved enough to let them love yew? They're abowt to risk it awl once more for yew, and 'oo am I to stop them?"

Grinning that feline grin, he turned from that poster, his back facing it. "They'll get yew back, Mongrel. Because if there's one thing I know, is that look in their eyes. The same look you always 'ad. They're going to fight to wrench your soul back. And if I believed in any o' that hocus pocus, I'd say that you're going to fight wit them. Some'ow.

Glancing upward, he studied the stars, then stared out at the ships emerging from the bay's black shadow, only to return back to it after a dock's loading. "'ero or traitor, 'oo cares, really? Because to them, Rae'lyn. A nobody, 'as become a somebody, and if you 'ad seen the toast in your 'onour that they gave you last night...You would 'ave thought they toasted Thrall 'imself."

Chuckling, he vanished as well.

"And that's good enough to 'ave me fight for you, too."

[Eltharis Sunglaive] says: Sastri...you better not have sex with my runeblade...."


A writer values a compliment even when it comes from a source of doubtful competency. --- Mark Twain
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If I had found out earlier about this I would have taken action way sooner, but B wouldn't B if she damn well wasn't going to do something about this!

This friday she will be holding a speech at the Keel to both commemorate Sastri and to call people into action.
It's her plan to get everyone who cares about Sastri together and find out who's behind his murder and make them pay.

Again, I would have done this sooner, but I only found out about it yesterday.
I noticed quite a lot of people didn't know about it either, so I think an event to at least bring the matter into discussion is in order.

You'd think someone would have organized a funeral or something by now...

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*A poster has been nailed to all the bulletin boards of every city. The slow-moving taurens and orcs who received the same treatment were not as happy, but they could at least be thankful it was only superglue that stuck the advertisement to their backs. The poster reads*


DON'T BE THE ONLY ONE NOT THERE!

The Broken Keel and Sweetbuns proudly announce a Hallow's Eve bash in Ratchet.
Requirement is to have a costume of some sort. Come dressed as your favorite ghoul, hero, or hated enemy, or something in between. Anything goes, as long as you're not going in the nude. You'll have to describe just who you are and why you chose it. Expect to eat monstrous meal portions of and tactfully spooky treats, and be sure to drink all the elixirs of evil before you make your final creepy curtain.

Where: Ratchet's Broken Keel
When: October 28 (this Friday) 21:00 (server time)
What to bring: Yourself, a friend, a hungry thirsty gullet, and a costume.

OOC

Themed food and drink. Face painting (need volunteers for this).

A scary stories contest and a costume contest. Winner of both will get 500 gold and a drink or food item named after them. Winners of previous contests see Sastri (whisper me) to remind him about theirs.

Even if your character don't have a costume, you can still show, but they can't participate in the contest without one.

Bumi and the Keel staff will be hosting. We still need volunteers to host the face painting (preferably a troll woman) and host the story telling things. Come and join the fun!

[Eltharis Sunglaive] says: Sastri...you better not have sex with my runeblade...."


A writer values a compliment even when it comes from a source of doubtful competency. --- Mark Twain
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Ahem!

I'd like to inform you all that Sweetbuns' has nothing to do with this event for two reasons.

One: No one asked us IC.

Two: Kal successfully pissed off B on several occasions and she refuses to help him for the time being.

This being said...I will still come to the party (and hopefully so will the rest of my guild) but unfortunately we won't be helping out.

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((Dangit. Thought that when you agreed OOCly you were already implying that ICly she was for it. There was no mention of needing to be told ICly, and no one whispering saying "so you going to ask Bumi to attend?" If it was needed, then a nudge would have helped, even if going through that special invitation channel does seem a bit unnecessary.))
[Eltharis Sunglaive] says: Sastri...you better not have sex with my runeblade...."


A writer values a compliment even when it comes from a source of doubtful competency. --- Mark Twain
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I'm bumping this, because due to my potential job, I will not be able to do the Friday Keel at some point. But a Friday Keel Night without Sastri is STILL a Keel Night. There are others who are willing to take over for Fridays and still make a good night for y'all. Kimara, Kalthoren, Logok, Bumi, Darmai, Esme, Molanie, and Amagh have all offered and done it at points, and all have done a great job. So my departure from the Friday scene should not mean your departure from it as well.

An RP event is not about the host. It is not a one man show, or a grand bandstand where everyone pays homage to the "king" or "queen" of the event creation process. An RP event is strictly about that: the event. It is about the RP opportunity for us to come together as a community, meet new people, find new potential RPers, and enjoy something at the same time. It is about the members who attend it. In this case, it is about the patrons, AND the staff. But without the patrons, the staff would not be able to do much. So you guys make the Keel what it is. Not Sastri, or Kalthoren, or Esme, or any of us as a single, standalone focal point. You ALL do.

This means that if ANY of you at ANY time wants to host the Keel, or join in as a staff member, feel perfectly free. You're not encroaching on anyone's territory. You're taking initiative. Bear in mind we need patrons to have a Keel, though, so try not to have everyone decide they want to be a staff member. *grins*

This also means that no one is pressured into attending every week. If someone isn't there, and a few show up? Make your own Keel Night! At any day of the week! All's fair. No holds barred. Do what you want with the place. I just ask, that you don't "blow it up" or ruin it for others.

Because I am so thankful for those who will be taking over the weekday Keel nights for me, I will be putting up a few helpful tips for anyone who decides to give serving, cooking, or hosting at the Keel a try. These tips probably could be helpful for other events as well. Watch this space for those tips.

[Eltharis Sunglaive] says: Sastri...you better not have sex with my runeblade...."


A writer values a compliment even when it comes from a source of doubtful competency. --- Mark Twain
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At around half eight on Saturday evening, the Void Storm reached the Barrens. Fortunatly, the residents of the Keel were out at the Darkmoon Faire when it passed across the Broken Keel.

Strange runic glyphs have appeared on the walls and ceiling, glowing and pulsing with an ominous, chaotic energy. The whole building emminates a strong demonic presence and will have to be cleansed by a proffessional before it is restored to normal.

Although not immediatly dangerous, the glyphs do invoke a feeling of longing and desire when stared at for too long.

viewtopic.php?f=42&t=1752&start=20 More info about the void storm here.

The Nickelbolt Emporium will not be held responsible for any harm that falls upon you following use of company merchandise.
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((<3 Awesome! I'll write a reply for Sastri tonight at work or tomorrow after it))
[Eltharis Sunglaive] says: Sastri...you better not have sex with my runeblade...."


A writer values a compliment even when it comes from a source of doubtful competency. --- Mark Twain
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Sunday morning: 6 am.

He felt it the moment he started up the path to the doors. Sastri slowed his steps, then stopped altogether to stare, unease creeping cold down his spine and furrowing brows. Not a piece of board upset. Not a nail out of place, but that was only on the outside. Those not sensitive to such energies might see this lack of disturbance as a promising sign. They might convince themselves nothing was wrong. He too could claim that all he wanted, could even try believing it--wanted to believe it! But he knew different.

Was afraid of this....

Grimacing, he rushed forward, barging through an entrace that he'd usually find welcoming, skirting down the short lobby and rounding that corner to the supping hall, his heart in his throat, his only lung hammering a knotted stomach. Please don't let it be what he thought it--

He saw the runes before he smelled the air. An acrid burn, like sulfur. Like demon.

Like fel....

He hissed a curse and glared at the symbols. They'd been seared in as if brandings, still sizzling in areas, the wood around them scorched, the floor hot in places, bubbles a clear evidence of now cooled but previously molten terra cotta. Pursing his lips he studied each glowing design. The same, the very same, he'd seen on Logok's hand. This was what the orc had warned him of. It had come, like they'd feared. Logok had told him to close the Keel for a few days, perhaps a week, but Sastri understood that with such a business he'd lose too much if he did that. There'd been a possibility it'd pass right over them, and he couldn't shut his doors until there was a guarantee it'd hit. But what had his stubborness cost others?

"Hello?!" He glanced around. No one in the hall. A closer inspection proved no one in the kitchen either. He found more runes, however, shattered glass and fel-warped wood, some corners more affected than others. A feral rage oozed hot and intoxicating through him, dizzying him as might a good whiskey. He fought it, understanding what it was and where it came from. and staggered from the kitchen toward the back of the Keel, where the rooms and most importantly his customers, resided.

"Anyone?!" He flung open door after door, wide-eyed as he scanned each room. All empty. His nostrils took in the taint of burnt skin and hair in some, and all bedsheets had been reduced to piles of flakey charcoal. As had been the case with the kitchen and supping hall, some areas of the inn section were worse than others, some rooms obliterated, while others still seemingly pristine. The more he saw the irregular damage, the more he agreed with the article he'd read: this storm, was sentient. It had goals, targets, preferences in what it took and what it left behind. Such destruction. It had carved a vicious path.

But had it killed? Was this all that remained of a full house? Where those runes downstairs the epitaph of his hard-working staff, the burnt flesh he smelled the result of something more gruesome than he'd feared? Another curse shot from his mouth as a gasp. His knees buckled, tripping him to slam hard against a blistered wall. He felt sick. "Please...." He begged, but who or what he aimed it at, even he didn't know. "Please, let this not be what it looks like...."

"It isn't."

Ryder's voice behind him snapped his attention over his shoulder. The young rogue leaned against the door lintel with arms folded as per his usual stance. He was shirtless and casual, but something about him was different. His face lacked the common smirk, replaced instead with a grimace of pain. He breathed heavier than normal, and Sastri feared he might drop dead on him--another casualty to a poor decision.

"Ryder..." Sastri whispered his name in shock, pushing from the wall to go to him. The rogue shrugged off his help, adopting a forced smirk that made him look more himself.

"Ye worry too much, mate. Just caught a few 'its from that thing as we emptied the place. "

"'We'?"

"Veyha and I." He forced himself to better stature, nodding. Sastri could now see a bandage on his side, another wrapping his shoulder. "Showed up fast, i' did. Not fast enough to lick us."

"...Does that mean--"

"Everyone, aye." He nodded as if knowing what Sas was thinking. "They're all safe. Nideret 'elped us file everyone into 'is lab. You know, the one by the Keel? The underground ''idden' one that no one's supposed to know abo't?" He grinned, then swayed, and this time Sastri caught him. "Eh, well, I do't think i' a secret no mores."

"And Veyha?"

"Also safe. 'urt bad, but she'll live. Same as I."

The mongrel's face darkened in concern and his struggle with the fel around him. "If everyone's out and alive, then good." His relief was short-lived as he saw his comrade's expression. Ryder would need attention. "But if we dun leave soon, we might not be s'lucky. S'all I can do ta resist, Rye..."

The rogue looked at him, and Sastri could see in his expression--however calm it was--that he understood. The two helped each other down the stairs, through the tavern, and out the door, and by the time Sastri exited, he was already gripping Ryder tighter than he wanted.

It didn't come with a warning this time. Usually it did, but apparently he'd been corrupted by the fel more than Verenar had had him believe. His world swayed, faster and faster until he felt himself letting go. He heard Ryder cursing and calling his name. And then nothing.

When he came to, it was to see Nideret standing over him, his brother's face one of forced amusement, though Sastri had known the paladin long enough to see the concern in those eyes. Someone was in a fit of barking coughs and wheezing gasps behind him, and Sas didn't have to ask to piece things together.

"...I did it again, huh."

Nideret nodded. "Nearly strangled Ryder." He forced a chuckle. "Dude, you can't even kill a human right. You fail like...real bad. You know that, right?"

Sastri rolled his eye, moved to punch him, but felt his fist held back. He glanced down to see the chains that bound his hands behind his back, and he understood enough of the situation that when he felt the tree he pressed against it didn't surprise him. Nid was still staring at him in meaning.

"Like...really really fail, man."

"Shaddup."

"No, seriously. If I was to stop trying, I'd still fail less than you. In fact, if I were to cut off my legs and arms, I'd still not even come close to the faildom that is you. Because that is how hard you fail. You are the king of failure. You'll go down in history as a failure to even all those failures who counted on you to fail less than them and show them that it was okay to fail as long as you failed in style. You can't even fail in style, man. You failed out of style. You're a failure that can't even set a fashion of failure. You're an out of date failure that not even my grandma wouldn't wear and go out in public with. They don't even make the fabric for your failure anymore, man. They like just...don't."

But Sas wasn't listening to his brother's jeers. He was staring at the Keel that he and Ryder had been hauled away from. It looked completely fine now. Not a piece of board upset. Not a nail out of place, but that was only on the outside. Those not sensitive to such energies might see this lack of disturbance as a promising sign. They might convince themselves nothing was wrong. He too could claim that all he wanted, could even try believing it--wanted to believe it! But he knew different. They all knew now.

And they all knew until it was fixed, they couldn't let anyone in.

"You would fail at showing people how not to fail, cause if they failed like you, they'd be worse than a failure. They'd be--"

Sastri closed his eye and blanked his brother out. A bit of latent rage flared in him, and when he lifted his lid and let himself see again, Nid had stopped rambling, and lay on the ground clutching his nose. Sastri lowered his foot and smirked in satisfaction.

"Nid, you fail at telling me how bad I fail, man. Now get up, and find us a shaman. Or better yet, get me an exorcist....Or better yet!" He grimaced, narrowing his gaze at the tavern and the memory of its familiar, yet longing, aura. " ...Get me Logok."

[Eltharis Sunglaive] says: Sastri...you better not have sex with my runeblade...."


A writer values a compliment even when it comes from a source of doubtful competency. --- Mark Twain
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