Sad? He is just not mindless in his actions. Even if they are for the greater good.Nyarlathotep wrote:Vas seems sad, he should find a way to enjoy his work more. I suggest arson.
Anyone can start a fire. What Vastiani does is pure ART baby!
The Good, The Bad & the Not so Ugly
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Brimsar the Wanderer
- Frost Giant
- Posts: 757
- Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 10:56 pm
- Location: GMT -5
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Brokenbone
- Chosen of Forumamus, God of Forums
- Posts: 5771
- Joined: Mon May 16, 2005 1:07 am
- Location: London, Ontario, Canada
Vastiani seems pleased to discuss NPC and other PC retirement options. Even if it's not necessarily with the NPC or PC in question.
Good story.
Good story.
ALFA NWN2 PCs: Rhaggot of the Bruised-Eye, and Bamshogbo
ALFA NWN1 PC: Jacobim Foxmantle
ALFA NWN1 Dead PC: Jon Shieldjack
DMA Staff
ALFA NWN1 PC: Jacobim Foxmantle
ALFA NWN1 Dead PC: Jon Shieldjack
DMA Staff
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FanaticusIncendi
- Illithid
- Posts: 1725
- Joined: Sun Dec 19, 2004 9:58 am
- Location: Exile
-
Brimsar the Wanderer
- Frost Giant
- Posts: 757
- Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 10:56 pm
- Location: GMT -5
Would you kill for the one you loved?
I mean it. Would you murder for no other reason than the one you loved asked you to? Not because your love was in danger, or threatened. Of course any man and some women worth their salt would then. But could you really, slide your blade thru a man or woman's stomach and watch the horror, the hatred and finally the acceptance in their eyes?
Many would jump and say "Aye", never suspecting that they would actually have to take a life.
Many would say "Yes" hopeing that they never had to.
Some would be honest of course and say "NO."
What if the Mark was someone you knew?
Someone that you found useful?
Someone you had sworn to protect?
"If she kisses you again, I want her head on a platter" - She says.
For someone such as I, who has known what "nothing" is, all to well, her words lead to a different question. I who have lived in squalor, I who have slept in alleys and places the blue bloods would rather forget, I who have stolen just for food, and now avoid thievery, I who have come to realize that respect is not given but taken, it leads to one question only.
"Would you prefer a silver or golden platter?"
The Gods smile upon me, she has such simple and elegant taste, she prefers Silver.
I mean it. Would you murder for no other reason than the one you loved asked you to? Not because your love was in danger, or threatened. Of course any man and some women worth their salt would then. But could you really, slide your blade thru a man or woman's stomach and watch the horror, the hatred and finally the acceptance in their eyes?
Many would jump and say "Aye", never suspecting that they would actually have to take a life.
Many would say "Yes" hopeing that they never had to.
Some would be honest of course and say "NO."
What if the Mark was someone you knew?
Someone that you found useful?
Someone you had sworn to protect?
"If she kisses you again, I want her head on a platter" - She says.
For someone such as I, who has known what "nothing" is, all to well, her words lead to a different question. I who have lived in squalor, I who have slept in alleys and places the blue bloods would rather forget, I who have stolen just for food, and now avoid thievery, I who have come to realize that respect is not given but taken, it leads to one question only.
"Would you prefer a silver or golden platter?"
The Gods smile upon me, she has such simple and elegant taste, she prefers Silver.
Late,
Brim
Brim
-
Nyarlathotep
- Owlbear
- Posts: 551
- Joined: Sat Jan 03, 2004 3:24 pm
- Location: The Hollow
- Contact:
I love this line.The Gods smile upon me, she has such simple and elegant taste, she prefers Silver.
Luckily Caleb probably won't be kissing Vas in the near future, it seems a dangerous enterprise.
Lurker at the Threshold
Huntin' humans ain't nothin' but nothin'. They all run like scared little rabbits. Run, rabbit, run. Run, rabbit. Run, rabbit. Run rabbit. Run, rabbit, run! RUN, RABBIT, RUN! ~
Otis Driftwood, House of a Thousand Corpses
Huntin' humans ain't nothin' but nothin'. They all run like scared little rabbits. Run, rabbit, run. Run, rabbit. Run, rabbit. Run rabbit. Run, rabbit, run! RUN, RABBIT, RUN! ~
Otis Driftwood, House of a Thousand Corpses
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Brokenbone
- Chosen of Forumamus, God of Forums
- Posts: 5771
- Joined: Mon May 16, 2005 1:07 am
- Location: London, Ontario, Canada
Vastiani and his low rent ride... good tale.
ALFA NWN2 PCs: Rhaggot of the Bruised-Eye, and Bamshogbo
ALFA NWN1 PC: Jacobim Foxmantle
ALFA NWN1 Dead PC: Jon Shieldjack
DMA Staff
ALFA NWN1 PC: Jacobim Foxmantle
ALFA NWN1 Dead PC: Jon Shieldjack
DMA Staff
-
Brimsar the Wanderer
- Frost Giant
- Posts: 757
- Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 10:56 pm
- Location: GMT -5
Traitors.
Rats.
These people infuriate me. They are the essence of cowards. I am no righteous man by any measuring stick. I bear the mark of my crimes upon my wrist. The poorly done tattoo of a rat, marks me as a past recipient of the hospitality of the Selgaunt Jailhouse. It also means so much more.
It means not that I have since become a righteous warrior fighting for some greater justice. Nor does it mean that I am some low-life, uneducated beggar and scoundrel for coin.
It does mean I was not good enough.
It does mean I failed.
I failed...... another thing that infuriates me.
Perhaps these things are the reason for my dour mood this evening. Traitors, rats and failure.
I watched him for near six months. I tested him. I showed him a side of the city that few know about, and even fewer dare tread. And when he was ready... I trained him. I trained him hard. I am no great leader of men, that can inspire courage or bravery, with mere words. I trained him the only way I knew how. With punishment. With fear. Cuts, scraps, bruises and the fear of death were the penalty for failure.
He had promise. He could have been one of the best at what he did. Silver tongued and fleet of foot were his trademarks. A joy to train, and to work with. A Joy? NO.... Joy would not be the right word, a pleasure perhaps? Refreshing... yes, he was refreshing to train and work with.
I trusted him.
That is an odd thing for me, for trust more often than not leads to betrayal. And as it turned out, this time was no exception; my trust was misplaced.
It seems he was a traitor for another.... meddlesome group. It seems he was a rat, who had a habit of dropping the wrong names to protect his own hide. It seems, that despite my training, despite my trust, I failed. Again.
There will be no tattoo upon my body to mark this failure as with my last one. This one shows no visible mark, but it is there. A mark I must carry. A mark that others will likely pay for in the times to come, even if they cannot see it. A scar upon my own judgment and conscious.
I place the half consumed glass of Calishite wine down upon the bar, and walk out the door.
The darkness awaits me, the comforting shadows of night cloak me as I head for the small but bright light in my darkness. She will know. She wont ask, nor would I say, but she will know nonetheless. She will welcome me into her arms and sleep will come peacefully.
It was, after all, just business.
He lived a silver tongued scoundrel, and good at what he did.
He died a rat and a traitor in an alley face down in a pool of his own blood.
He was buried with honors in the cemetery north of the city.
"Far better than you deserved all the way around, my...friend."
In the darkest alleys and deepest shadows of Selgaunt, the price of failure is steep indeed.
Rats.
These people infuriate me. They are the essence of cowards. I am no righteous man by any measuring stick. I bear the mark of my crimes upon my wrist. The poorly done tattoo of a rat, marks me as a past recipient of the hospitality of the Selgaunt Jailhouse. It also means so much more.
It means not that I have since become a righteous warrior fighting for some greater justice. Nor does it mean that I am some low-life, uneducated beggar and scoundrel for coin.
It does mean I was not good enough.
It does mean I failed.
I failed...... another thing that infuriates me.
Perhaps these things are the reason for my dour mood this evening. Traitors, rats and failure.
I watched him for near six months. I tested him. I showed him a side of the city that few know about, and even fewer dare tread. And when he was ready... I trained him. I trained him hard. I am no great leader of men, that can inspire courage or bravery, with mere words. I trained him the only way I knew how. With punishment. With fear. Cuts, scraps, bruises and the fear of death were the penalty for failure.
He had promise. He could have been one of the best at what he did. Silver tongued and fleet of foot were his trademarks. A joy to train, and to work with. A Joy? NO.... Joy would not be the right word, a pleasure perhaps? Refreshing... yes, he was refreshing to train and work with.
I trusted him.
That is an odd thing for me, for trust more often than not leads to betrayal. And as it turned out, this time was no exception; my trust was misplaced.
It seems he was a traitor for another.... meddlesome group. It seems he was a rat, who had a habit of dropping the wrong names to protect his own hide. It seems, that despite my training, despite my trust, I failed. Again.
There will be no tattoo upon my body to mark this failure as with my last one. This one shows no visible mark, but it is there. A mark I must carry. A mark that others will likely pay for in the times to come, even if they cannot see it. A scar upon my own judgment and conscious.
I place the half consumed glass of Calishite wine down upon the bar, and walk out the door.
The darkness awaits me, the comforting shadows of night cloak me as I head for the small but bright light in my darkness. She will know. She wont ask, nor would I say, but she will know nonetheless. She will welcome me into her arms and sleep will come peacefully.
It was, after all, just business.
He lived a silver tongued scoundrel, and good at what he did.
He died a rat and a traitor in an alley face down in a pool of his own blood.
He was buried with honors in the cemetery north of the city.
"Far better than you deserved all the way around, my...friend."
In the darkest alleys and deepest shadows of Selgaunt, the price of failure is steep indeed.
Late,
Brim
Brim
-
Brimsar the Wanderer
- Frost Giant
- Posts: 757
- Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 10:56 pm
- Location: GMT -5
Witness Protection - Selgaunt Style PT I
WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM - SELGAUNT STYLE PART 1
*****
A poster, torn from a lamp post roughly depicts my own face. "WANTED" it says. It is the last of the posters that has been seen in Selgaunt for some time now. Though I admit hiring a small band of urchins to tear down the posters was more expensive than I thought. But it was not something, someone such as I could just walk into the Garrison and explain as a misunderstanding. "4000 fivestars Dead or Alive". A sum that is both ironic and obviously tempting. I did not assist on the fall of the Black Temple, where countless men and women died. I did not assault the Black Knight garrison or attend the execution of the High Captain. But all the same it was I who was wanted for murder of Black Knights.
I did what any respectable citizen of fair Selgaunt would do. I retained a lawyer and then went into hiding. My chances of being absolved of these crimes was minimal as it seems there was two former Black Knights and now Scepter's that aimed to testify against me at my trial weather I was there or not.
Well then; my first good news in over a month. Men, for all their success, all their accomplishments, were ambitious and greedy. Men, who held a city in fear, Men, who have served, arrested, tortured and killed in the name of Selgaunt, were men none the less. Men could be bribed, intimidated or removed.
It became business then. No longer a thing of personal vendetta or skin saving actions. My days sleeping in a bed without HER were done. My days of slinking thru the sewers to get from the House to the Coppers were soon coming to an end. My days of relying entirely on informants would soon be over. Much had happened in the last two months, things that would not have, had I been free to walk the city streets, or just be seen publicly. I am not ignorant to the fact that my presence keeps many things in check within the city. I am aware of my station in Selgaunt, as well as the respect and fear it inspires. I am also aware that the price of 4000 fivestars becomes even more tempting when it is I that is the hunted.
Even the underbelly of Selgaunt has a social class. Unlike Noble families you are not born into this social class. You earn it, by action, by word and most importantly by deed. There is no pecking order either, like the noble families, based upon blood line alone. Again it is earned, and often the only way to move up the ladder that is the Selguant underbelly is when someone above you falls. Nothing is granted for free in the true shadows of Selgaunt. 4000 fivestars for Vastiani, Dead or Alive. A tempting offer indeed, that more than a few have thought to collect.
They did not.
Thus is the curse of being the Dark Prince of Selgaunt.
*****
A poster, torn from a lamp post roughly depicts my own face. "WANTED" it says. It is the last of the posters that has been seen in Selgaunt for some time now. Though I admit hiring a small band of urchins to tear down the posters was more expensive than I thought. But it was not something, someone such as I could just walk into the Garrison and explain as a misunderstanding. "4000 fivestars Dead or Alive". A sum that is both ironic and obviously tempting. I did not assist on the fall of the Black Temple, where countless men and women died. I did not assault the Black Knight garrison or attend the execution of the High Captain. But all the same it was I who was wanted for murder of Black Knights.
I did what any respectable citizen of fair Selgaunt would do. I retained a lawyer and then went into hiding. My chances of being absolved of these crimes was minimal as it seems there was two former Black Knights and now Scepter's that aimed to testify against me at my trial weather I was there or not.
Well then; my first good news in over a month. Men, for all their success, all their accomplishments, were ambitious and greedy. Men, who held a city in fear, Men, who have served, arrested, tortured and killed in the name of Selgaunt, were men none the less. Men could be bribed, intimidated or removed.
It became business then. No longer a thing of personal vendetta or skin saving actions. My days sleeping in a bed without HER were done. My days of slinking thru the sewers to get from the House to the Coppers were soon coming to an end. My days of relying entirely on informants would soon be over. Much had happened in the last two months, things that would not have, had I been free to walk the city streets, or just be seen publicly. I am not ignorant to the fact that my presence keeps many things in check within the city. I am aware of my station in Selgaunt, as well as the respect and fear it inspires. I am also aware that the price of 4000 fivestars becomes even more tempting when it is I that is the hunted.
Even the underbelly of Selgaunt has a social class. Unlike Noble families you are not born into this social class. You earn it, by action, by word and most importantly by deed. There is no pecking order either, like the noble families, based upon blood line alone. Again it is earned, and often the only way to move up the ladder that is the Selguant underbelly is when someone above you falls. Nothing is granted for free in the true shadows of Selgaunt. 4000 fivestars for Vastiani, Dead or Alive. A tempting offer indeed, that more than a few have thought to collect.
They did not.
Thus is the curse of being the Dark Prince of Selgaunt.
Late,
Brim
Brim
-
Brimsar the Wanderer
- Frost Giant
- Posts: 757
- Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 10:56 pm
- Location: GMT -5
WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM - SELGAUNT STYLE PART 2
One of the two would be witnesses against me in this misunderstanding was Yulias Vegans, a married man of three children I learned. New to the Black Knights when they were overthrown, but by all accounts a good man with a sterling reputation. A soldier, learning the ropes and not smart enough or experienced enough to ask questions. He did not like the bottle or the taverns. But worked hard for Selgaunt during the day and went home to his wife and children at night.
I, along with two of associates of mine, found his house, located within Arken Quay. We found the small house just as they were turning in for the night. The lights from the candles inside, went out one by one as they turned to bed early presumingly as one of my associates suggested, a rather intelligent one who favored fine clothing and mage trinkets, the Vegans' turned to bed early so that Yulias could rise early for his day serving the city.
"Patience Vastiani, patience. You have waited two months to walk the streets of OUR city."
We waited. Quietly, patiently waited, and as expected before the sun had cast the eastern sky in the familiar gray of pre-dawn, the candles in the house were lit. It was here we entered, silently, thanks to my other associates impressive skill with locks, we entered into the kitchen. Yulias was there finishing up with a bite of left over dinner for breakfast, as he fastened his blade to his belt. The wife and children asleep. That was good. Not only did we need no witnesses, but the wife and children were innocent. They had not made the choice for Yulias, and therefore should not suffer the consequinces of his decisions. I have never struck down a man or woman that was truly innocent and had no intention of starting then.
Yulias came to the kitchen then to return the crockery he had dirtied. It was quick, silent and effective. His blade never left its scabbard and my associates were quick to catch him and lower him silently to the ground. We took nothing as we left, save the ring of the Scepters and the finger it was attached to. My ex-sailor associate had an idea for its use. Our exit was silent as we left, the nine-fingered body of Yulias Vegans the only sign of our passing.
It was dawn. Our next "appointment" would have to wait. Back to the sewers I retreat, away from prying or alert eyes.
Our next visit come at dusk to Corporal Bryan Sulston. A single man that liked to drink a bit and seemed to enjoy the company of his fellow soldiers at the local taverns after his shift. We found the tavern he frequented, and my would be mage associate ensured he would be there for a few hours more before we headed to his home, he kept alone. A small home, one you would expect from an unwed soldier. Few furnishings and fewer decorations adorned the wattle and daub building. We entered the empty home and waited in the darkness. I choose a seat at a table where he took his meals when he ate at home, and my associates waited silently in the shadows on either side of the door. It was dark when the front door opened, stumbling only slightly from the drinks he had partaken of.
The door shuts, as I light the lone candle sitting upon the table. The burning flame, and a bloody finger with a familiar ring are the only things upon the table. His eyes widen at the light trying to focus, and his face contorted from one of confusion to one of realization and fear as he noticed it was I, the "Wanted" sitting comfortably and patiently at his table. His hand instinctly went to his blade. This man had seen his share of battles and was no stranger to combat or swordsmanship.
I did not move. Did not speak, only looked at him with a deadly calm look. I did not have to move or speak, my associates were behind him, and quickly assured him of the folly of drawing the blade from its scabbard. My gaze never wavering. Intently studying the man silently, as if measuring him up.
His own eyes belied his hesitance when he knew he was alone and outnumbered three to one. Defeat was evident once he laid eyes on the finger and ring, just as my sailor companion had suggested.
"Sit down." - He did hesitantly.
"You know me and know why I am here." - it was not a question yet he nods his head affirmative.
I was impressed he did not call out for help or just to gather attention, but stared back at me a mixture of confidence and fear upon his face. We spoke well into the night, my associates listening and guarding the door. It is amazing what a single finger can do to open up negotiations for financial arrangements.
He understands the price of betrayal and failure, and understands as well the profitable situation he has found himself in.
We leave, though my would be mage associate lingers behind to ensure his compliance to our agreement.
A tenday has passed now, and it appears the two former Black Knights that would testify against me did not make it to court. One was found dead it seems in his own home and the other admitted to a mistaken identity and rectified it by identifying the true murder; a traveling elven merchant. I am told by my contacts the elfs trail is in a half a tenday, and he has already been detained. That is good. It is always good to see justice work and hardened criminals removed from the streets of OUR fair city.
I walk the streets now openly, the fliers for my arrest a forgotten memory with the fall of the Black Temple.
The roughnecks of the Copper Alleys have relented some with my presence.
People note my passing again.
SHE holds me in her arms as I sleep in her bed. I have promised to take her dancing again.
People pay their respects, and bring information in exchange for advise or assistance.
Rashid pours me a mug of my favorite tea.
"Now..... it is time to see to a few issues that arose in my absence."
This is the benefit of being the Dark Prince of Selgaunt.
One of the two would be witnesses against me in this misunderstanding was Yulias Vegans, a married man of three children I learned. New to the Black Knights when they were overthrown, but by all accounts a good man with a sterling reputation. A soldier, learning the ropes and not smart enough or experienced enough to ask questions. He did not like the bottle or the taverns. But worked hard for Selgaunt during the day and went home to his wife and children at night.
I, along with two of associates of mine, found his house, located within Arken Quay. We found the small house just as they were turning in for the night. The lights from the candles inside, went out one by one as they turned to bed early presumingly as one of my associates suggested, a rather intelligent one who favored fine clothing and mage trinkets, the Vegans' turned to bed early so that Yulias could rise early for his day serving the city.
"Patience Vastiani, patience. You have waited two months to walk the streets of OUR city."
We waited. Quietly, patiently waited, and as expected before the sun had cast the eastern sky in the familiar gray of pre-dawn, the candles in the house were lit. It was here we entered, silently, thanks to my other associates impressive skill with locks, we entered into the kitchen. Yulias was there finishing up with a bite of left over dinner for breakfast, as he fastened his blade to his belt. The wife and children asleep. That was good. Not only did we need no witnesses, but the wife and children were innocent. They had not made the choice for Yulias, and therefore should not suffer the consequinces of his decisions. I have never struck down a man or woman that was truly innocent and had no intention of starting then.
Yulias came to the kitchen then to return the crockery he had dirtied. It was quick, silent and effective. His blade never left its scabbard and my associates were quick to catch him and lower him silently to the ground. We took nothing as we left, save the ring of the Scepters and the finger it was attached to. My ex-sailor associate had an idea for its use. Our exit was silent as we left, the nine-fingered body of Yulias Vegans the only sign of our passing.
It was dawn. Our next "appointment" would have to wait. Back to the sewers I retreat, away from prying or alert eyes.
Our next visit come at dusk to Corporal Bryan Sulston. A single man that liked to drink a bit and seemed to enjoy the company of his fellow soldiers at the local taverns after his shift. We found the tavern he frequented, and my would be mage associate ensured he would be there for a few hours more before we headed to his home, he kept alone. A small home, one you would expect from an unwed soldier. Few furnishings and fewer decorations adorned the wattle and daub building. We entered the empty home and waited in the darkness. I choose a seat at a table where he took his meals when he ate at home, and my associates waited silently in the shadows on either side of the door. It was dark when the front door opened, stumbling only slightly from the drinks he had partaken of.
The door shuts, as I light the lone candle sitting upon the table. The burning flame, and a bloody finger with a familiar ring are the only things upon the table. His eyes widen at the light trying to focus, and his face contorted from one of confusion to one of realization and fear as he noticed it was I, the "Wanted" sitting comfortably and patiently at his table. His hand instinctly went to his blade. This man had seen his share of battles and was no stranger to combat or swordsmanship.
I did not move. Did not speak, only looked at him with a deadly calm look. I did not have to move or speak, my associates were behind him, and quickly assured him of the folly of drawing the blade from its scabbard. My gaze never wavering. Intently studying the man silently, as if measuring him up.
His own eyes belied his hesitance when he knew he was alone and outnumbered three to one. Defeat was evident once he laid eyes on the finger and ring, just as my sailor companion had suggested.
"Sit down." - He did hesitantly.
"You know me and know why I am here." - it was not a question yet he nods his head affirmative.
I was impressed he did not call out for help or just to gather attention, but stared back at me a mixture of confidence and fear upon his face. We spoke well into the night, my associates listening and guarding the door. It is amazing what a single finger can do to open up negotiations for financial arrangements.
He understands the price of betrayal and failure, and understands as well the profitable situation he has found himself in.
We leave, though my would be mage associate lingers behind to ensure his compliance to our agreement.
A tenday has passed now, and it appears the two former Black Knights that would testify against me did not make it to court. One was found dead it seems in his own home and the other admitted to a mistaken identity and rectified it by identifying the true murder; a traveling elven merchant. I am told by my contacts the elfs trail is in a half a tenday, and he has already been detained. That is good. It is always good to see justice work and hardened criminals removed from the streets of OUR fair city.
I walk the streets now openly, the fliers for my arrest a forgotten memory with the fall of the Black Temple.
The roughnecks of the Copper Alleys have relented some with my presence.
People note my passing again.
SHE holds me in her arms as I sleep in her bed. I have promised to take her dancing again.
People pay their respects, and bring information in exchange for advise or assistance.
Rashid pours me a mug of my favorite tea.
"Now..... it is time to see to a few issues that arose in my absence."
This is the benefit of being the Dark Prince of Selgaunt.
Last edited by Brimsar the Wanderer on Thu May 24, 2007 2:21 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Late,
Brim
Brim