Sundren Award Ceremony

[Poltergeist]

The city buzzes with news of a long-awaited award ceremony to honor the heroes that defended the city up until the very end. It is said that the Imperitu will be awarding the medals and making announcements regarding the city's future. The Hands, led by a Magus with a flair for the dramatic, use impressive scrying and teleportation magics to leave invitation scrolls for those that will be honored at the festivities

• High Adjudicator Dain Tornbrook, of Tyr
• High Adjudicator Darius Blackwell, of Torm
• Centurio Emiliana Blackwell of the Legion
• Magus Dante Swift, of the Hands
• Salararius Hignar Detrin, of the Legion
• Initiate Altherion Goldleaf of the Hands
• Abagail Valaria
• Davey Brinnerstaal
• Leithian

OOC Note: Those that wish to roleplay finding their invitations, feel free to take liberties in how it appears. The event will occur this Friday evening (roughly 8PM) -6 GMT.

[Gamling]

A package is sent to the Gate of the Sunderer with a card attached to it. The package is instructed to be handed to Dain Tornbrook and is signed by Adeodatus Exitium.

If legionnaires examine the contents they would find an expensive, black tunic with white under-shirt and expensive, black dance shoes.

The card merely reads "Have a great time. ~Adeodatus"

[FoogooFish]

Per the orders of Centurio Blackwell, nothing sent to High Adjudicator Tornbrook (or anyone else) from Dreadmaster Exitium is permitted into the city.

[wangxiuming]

Leithian uncorks a bottle of clear liquid, preparing to down it when a scroll materializes besides him in a quiet flash. Frowning, he unfurls the parchment and reads the words slowly - once, twice, three times - to make sure he's read it right.

"An honor that should have been given to her Grace ... "

He closes the scroll, wrapping it neatly and tucking it away into the folds of his vest, his expression now one of contemplation and decision.

[ForsakenMustache]

"Huh? Ow!"

Having been distracted by the scroll that had appeared out of thin air, Davey found himself being suddenly knocked down by the possessed peasant. The peasant used the opportunity to summon a succubus to assist him in the fight. Only a moment later, however, Davey had gathered his strength, gotten to his feet, and beheaded the peasant with a precise swing from his greataxe, thus sending the succubus back to the plane it had come from.

"Now what do we have here..." Davey snatches the scroll out of the air and reads over it quickly. Upon understanding the implication of the scroll, he smiles proudly to himself and stuffs it away.

"About time!"

OOC: For anyone confused about the time, 8 PM -6 GMT means 8 PM Mountain USA time (i.e. Colorado, Utah etc.) since we're in daylight savings time. So the event is Friday at...

GMT: 2 AM
Eastern USA: 10 PM
Central USA: 9 PM
Mountain USA: 8 PM
Pacific USA: 7 PM

[thaelis]

Altherion awakes in the Temple of Helm, his head pounding, and looks about dazedly.

"Agh...what in the Demonweb pits hit me?!" he shakes his head, pressing his fingers to his temples as he swings his legs over the edge of the infirmary bed and stands up slowly.

"That is a good question, but not the most important one!" a voice chimes from the shadows behind him. As he spins in surprise, his hand reaches for his rapier, only to realise he is wearing little but his underclothes.

The Elf's face abruptly reddens slightly "Can I help you?" he asks more than a little aggravatedly. The man, who is wearing the robes of the Hands of Mundus, obviously doesn't work in the infirmary.

"On the contrary, it is I who can help you!" the man says excitedly, obviously having waited some time for this moment, he waves his hands in a showy display of conjuration magic as a cloud of purple smoke and cantrip-level fireworks fills the room.

Altherion merely stands stunned at the ridiculousness of the display as a scroll shoots out of the cloud of smoke, tumbling through the air towards him to be caught deftly. He quickly glances it over, giving a single nod, the corner of his lip turning up in a half-smile.

"About time..." he mutters, picking up his clothing and leaving the coughing wizard to his hat-waving attempts to clear away the smoke.

[Memnoch1962]

UOTE=ForsakenMustache;137740]

OOC: For anyone confused about the time, 8 PM -6 GMT means 8 PM Mountain USA time (i.e. Colorado, Utah etc.) since we're in daylight savings time. So the event is Friday at...

GMT: 2 AM
Eastern USA: 10 PM
Central USA: 9 PM
Mountain USA: 8 PM
Pacific USA: 7 PM[/QUOTE]

Yep I admit it. I was a bit confused. Thanks for clearing it up. I really do have to get this GMT stuff figured out

[Fezzik]

Abi stood over the man on the table. She used her fingers to find the remainder of the arrow in his intestine. Her finger pressing on a vein. She looked around... "Being me that baster and suck out some of this blood!" The cook just looked at her blinking... "Now!" The sharp authoritarian voice made the gruff cook jump and rush over sloppily doing what was needed. This would be so much easier with proper nurses!

The bleeding stopped and she deftly plucked out the remaining feathers in the wall of the ilium. She sewed up the wound and soused it with some of the alcohol she had on hand. Thank the broken one you're unconscious. "Bandage!" She heard the cool move behind her and held out her hand. She felt something in her hand... She slapped it to cover the wound; then stopped. "This isn't a bandage!" She turned to look at the cook who was still across the room. She frowned as he eagerly turned finally with a bandage. She removed the imposter without looking at it handing it to the mans wife, bloody and wet.

"Will he make it?"

"Gods willing and with strength he will yes. But he won't be moving for at least a week." Abi cleaned herself off and gave instructions as to a course of treatment of the dressing and action that should be taken in case of fever. Then, finally looked at the blood soaked royal sealed missive. Bloody Hands always have the worst timing!

[Yevelian]

Kirk quietly sits down near the pond in the city, contemplating the ceremony he's hearing about. Not seeming all that surprised that certain people seem to not be getting mentioned as honorees, he cracks open a peanut and just smiles looking at the pond.

Well.... this is something Peter will have to see I guess.

[Memnoch1962]

Dante' was tired, dead tired. He had returned to his room after having spent several weeks at Sinistrum researching a new spell on behalf of True hand Mizrahi.

Sitting down at his writing desk with a glass of water he set about making a journal entry.

Behind him he heard a faint knocking sound. Expecting no one at this hour he wearily rose and walked to the door.

"Yes, who is it?"

Silence..

Thinking he was hearing things he returned to his desk, just as he sat down there was another faint knock at the door.

"Who is there?" he said a bit louder this time.

Silence......

Dante rose, quietly he cast a few wards of protection and again walked to the door. He snatched it open. Nothing.. Only a faint gust of wind blew past him into his room. Looking about and seeing no one he shut the door and turned to go back to his journal.

Returning to his desk he saw a sealed scroll case bearing the seal of the Hands of Mundus.

"This wasnt there a moment ago" he thought.

He opened the case carefully. Withdrawing he scroll he untied the black ribbon keeping it rolled tightly.

His eyebrows raise as he reads the writing on the scroll. Afterwards he ties it with the ribbon and places it back in the case.

Thinking of the honor of standing with such esteemed company he smiles to himself and begins his journal entry again.