Author Topic: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin  (Read 21920 times)

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #50 on: July 03, 2012, 10:58:05 PM »
Betrayal runs deep

Coralina's face was smeared with ash and soot as the fire devoured her father's home. With a tear streaked visage she watches Tredow's advancing form. His righteous anger and indignation.

"Don't hate me for this." She pleads, almost begging.

Anger, hurt, betrayal. "Hate you!? Coral what in the Nine am I supposed to feel for you right now!?" Tredow slashes at the air with the Gondite doglock in his hand as he tries to make sense of it all.

Whimpering, Coralina looks for an escape but there is none. The fires claimed the North Ward quickly and the world she knew was quickly collapsing around her. The floor cracks beneath her feet and in her panic, she  flings herself at Tredow to gain her footing. The two embrace shortly but not as the lovers they were. The doglock's sharp retort above even the roar of the fire is loud.

Staggering back, hands clutched to her bloodied chest in shock and disbelief, she stares at Tredow who himself cannot believe what has occured. Tossing the pistol to one side he reaches out for her and catches her by the hand just as the landing gives way.

In what seems an endless moment, she looks him in the eye, in the soul and mouths silently two words, "I'm sorry", and she lets go of his hand to fall into the inferno below already dead.

With a voice hoarse from the smoke, anger, sadness and loss Tredow bellows into the fires that claim Coralina, shouting her name over and over again before the timbers collapse upon him also and his world turns to darkness. A darkness only interspersed with brief flashes of digging and the face of Ossiah Barton looking into his vision.


Waking up with a start, Tredow moves to sit at the edge of his bed. With elbows on knees he regards his hands. Slender fingered like his father's, they look like such strong hands yet he couldn't hang onto Coral desptie what she was. Clenching them into fists, he turns to regard Laila's form entangled in the sheets as her breath comes in the slow and measured pace of someone in deep sleep. He can remember clearly the day they shared their first kiss and he opened his heart to someone once more, the salt of her tears mixing with the embrace.

She was something he never let go even when when he should have by Westgate's rules. Here, in this place he found a different kind of strength and he wasn't about to give that up for anything or anyone...
« Last Edit: July 03, 2012, 11:09:56 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #51 on: July 05, 2012, 10:37:19 PM »
Sister Sofiya

"You know, it's kinda funny. Me and you aren't the most sociable of sorts, we do a task and we do it well without any excuses to justify it. After the assault on Avernus, everyone else seemed to just start eating one another and yet they shun us for being blunt about our nature because we have few kind words anymore."

"Most people are ridiculously hypocritical, especially zhe self-proclaimed 'good' vuns."

"I could bore you to tears on that subject but I won't put you through that."

"Puzhalsta Tredow don't, spasiba."

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #52 on: July 06, 2012, 09:19:06 AM »
The day Caim came calling...


Frowning, Tredow attempted to scry for his familiar again but just felt a blank wall of nothingness. It was strange, the raven usually came back most nights. Glancing up at the moonlit sky, clouds billowing ominously, a scratching sound from the alley outside Services he stands in draws his attention. With it likely being some rat neuri or unpleasant creature with big, pointy teeth he carefully readies his sword and makes his way towards the pile of refuse the sound originates from.

Using the point of his blade to draw aside a torn sack, a tiny black shape tumbles out to stare at Tredow with luminous green eyes that eerily have no pupils. Shaking in fear, the midnight cat awaits the boot that is inevitably going to end its short life as often happens with those who discover his kind's unnatural appearance. Sheathing his blade, Tredow picks the scrawny thing up by the scuff of his neck and regards those strange eyes peering back at him.

"Ho, well aren't you different? I guess we can keep each other company tonight."

Quietly, in a voice not unlike a child's it responds. "Multumesc".

Quirking his brow in surprise, he enters Services through the back door with his new acquisition held out by the scruff of his neck still. "Hey Laila, come and see what I just found. A weird, talking cat!"

The cat grumbles in his feline way at being called weird.

Laila calls out from her office. "Heart, if this is another one of your jokes I swear you're walking away with a new scar. You better not have a dead cat on puppet strings."

"Would I ever?" Indignation at being labeled a cat killer. "I do have a Cormyrean mother you know? Killing cats is a capital offence where she's from." He could hear Laila's office door being locked but not her silent approach.

"Well your sense of humour is so dar-oooh! Let me hold him! What's his name!?"

Rubbing at one eyebrow, Tredow muses. "Uh...I didn't ask".

"Caim." The cat responds, lapping up the attention Laila gives him though she almost drops him in shock at his speech. "Are name Caim."
« Last Edit: July 06, 2012, 05:19:55 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #53 on: July 07, 2012, 11:30:48 PM »
Skulking in the woods


"Īn spatele nostru!" Caim's quiet voice calls out from one of the pouches in Tredow's backpack as he makes his way slowly west after the meeting with the rest of the "family". Quickly turning one hundred and eighty degrees, he crouches to one knee, with arrow nocked and eyes alert for whatever spooked Caim. Breathing slowly and calmly he lets his ultravision-enhanced eyes adjust to the forest in front until he spies the beast trying to skulk in the shadows and lets his arrow fly from Heavy Rain.

"Akalu annu!" With an Untheric curse he releases another and another, the sound of glass breaking denoting the alchemical arrows finding their target as the creature shrieks in pain into the night. Answering calls from its pack respond.

"Mai mult īn jurul!" Caim's sweet voice rings out in fear at the sound of the pack closing but his master soothes to him softly.

"Taci putin Caim. I nu va fi decit o clipa." Setting his pack down gently, he draws Imbroglio. Exhaling through his teeth, he awaits the first move as the lunar hunters circle him. Laila is waiting for him in that place and the denizens of "old naopte" will not delay him...






((Translation))
Īn spatele nostru! - Behind us! (Balok)
Akalu annu! - Eat this! (Untheric)
Mai mult īn jurul! - More around us! (Balok)
Taci putin Caim. I nu va fi decit o clipa. - Hush little Caim. This will take but a moment. (Balok)
« Last Edit: October 08, 2013, 08:41:24 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #54 on: July 12, 2012, 01:34:07 AM »
Men of action

Cloaked under invisibility, Tredow watches the comings and goings of those who linger within the outskirts. The cigarette smoke clearly marks his position but no one really notices much in this place. He's only here for a morbid sense of amusement as he regards all the posturing and posing with his cynical, appraising eyes. Slate-blue they take in body language, inflection, facial expression, all the slightest details that make up the characteristics of a person.

All the things that hint whether they be genuine or false until a figure stood on the ridge catches his eye. His "brother-in-law". Pushing up from the tree stump, flicking his half smoked roll of tabac aside, he makes his way up the ridge to where Von Ritter looks down at his friends. His approach isn't silent, he's not trying to be but it certainly goes unnoticed until he's right behind the man. With that self-same hoarse voice that expects answer he speaks low and quiet.

"Don't turn around, don't react and don't even think about drawing a weapon. I'm going to ask you a few questions, nod your head yes, shake it no. Do you understand?"

Michael nods once, his expression neutral but this is a prideful man. He stands upright, back rigid and straight and hand gripping his blade below the hilt in its sheathe in a calm manner as he listens.

"My first question is this. Do you still have any love for my sister's memory?"

Michael nods once again.

"You and I full well know what she's become and so it rests to us, her brother and betrothed to put her to rest. You know we cannot let her continue harming people, men like us don't let that rest easy on their conscience."

Michael's voice is low, even and yet seemingly heavy with weariness. His expression hidden from Tredow as he gives a small wave to Ana who looks up at him curiously.

"She's still in there somewhere, buried deep..."

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #55 on: July 12, 2012, 01:55:24 AM »
Trials and tribulations

Having put up with the passive-aggressive comments of men who will surely be dead within a few moons as garda often seem to wind up and speaking to Eugen without any apparent resolution, it felt good to be away from the citadel. The place reeked of hypocrisy and corruption, stunk of blood both fair and foul. Laila walks alongside him quietly, reading his expression for what it is. Irritation.

"It won't be much longer Heart, then they can do as they wish and it won't matter to us anymore."

Grunting in agreement, Tredow can't help but retort in his sardonic manner. "Oh and I'm sure the little self-centered lot we've got on the boil at the moment will prove to be such a long-lasting legacy. I've met children who needed less looking after and monitoring."

Frowning at his words, Laila lifts her head slightly. "We walk away whole Heart. No strings attached like last time, we walk away. We did far better without having to second guess everything all the time. When we dealt directly with employers and not as employees."

"At least this way I'll be free to put anyone who decides to make an enemy of me down. There are a few names I'd like to send to a deep dark place and trust me, I'd have fun doing it." A loose cobble is kicked down the street, clattering and loud in the dusk.

"You don't mean that, that's never been your style."

"Maybe not but it fits my mood right now. We tie up loose ends and I'm handing in my gear, there's no reason to delay it any longer now." Laila knits her brow and wrings her hands in worry as she looks up at her husband's dark expression, knowing the war of emotions going on there before he looks down to her as they reach Tigan's. "Don't fret. We're not spending the night here, not while she is skulking about Heart."

The sigh of relief from Laila is almost explosive.
« Last Edit: July 12, 2012, 02:01:02 AM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #56 on: July 13, 2012, 12:17:43 AM »
Secrets

A long day it had been indeed. Secrets. What was it Sergieu and Draguta were referring to? The secret to why the Red Vardo existed? They reacted with shock at his announcement at resigning and told Tredow under no uncertain terms that to know this secret kept, gaurded under layers of deception, would mean death if one opted out. Some secrets are best left unknown and with that Tredow declines to know the true reason of the Red Vardo's existence. Instead he takes the young Natyra to where she can develop her Art more while the Elders talked. A fixer and mercenary, that's how Tredow made his contacts and allies and how he will likely live without the title of Captain weighing on his shoulders. To point people to where they needed to go. It felt good to feel the road under his feet once more.

No one ever really leaves the RVT, once you're in and in deep it's in your blood and so Tredow will always have some allegience to it even if he's no longer taking their coin. Laila would surely do the same thing for Popovici again as she did after Masame's trial when the rat neuri closed en masse. She recieved a ring from him, the family ring, that is a token of favour and wore it with pride but it would be hers no longer to keep so she passed it on to Rosseau for safegaurding.

Natyra is pleasant company, a strong will and good attitude towards others. She has ambitions yes, everyone wants to be rich but she doesn't seek to use others and cast them down to gain that. A very solid member she'll make indeed, one who could change the perception of the RVT for the better. But for now Tredow watches her with an indiscernable smile as she clutches the small token of Mystra at her chest reverently. Mihas awaits them at the Blood when they arrive there and they talk on things important and petty as always until the strange phrase is passed on.

"Raven's nest."

Trying to remember that wereraven's name a couple of years back, 'High Tree? High Branch?', a chord is struck in Tredow's mind. It attacked him on the roads thinking he in league with Carrick's Banites and demanded, not asked, where they could be found. The Monastary of Silver Threads. It passed on two phrases to him and spoke thusly if he ever wished to be regarded as an ally to his people he'd answer the counter to whoever may seemingly talk out of turn with the former. An oddity that remained forgotten until now.

Learning from the trespassers allies the reason of their intrusion into Ravenloft, Tredow cannot help but tilt his head back and laugh in his mocking, sardonic manner. He has seen entire villages impaled at the hands of Falkovnian marauders. Vistani slaughtered by the Darkonese lancers and their bodies defiled further even in death. Friends fall by his own actions and those of others and the countless burden and karma of defeated enemies blood staining his hands. He knows life and death intimately and so withdraws into the shadows to be a man of no consequence to anyone any longer that is not looking. It's almost a mockery of its own then to learn that two people threw their own lives away all for a stuffed toy bear the spirit of a young girl desired.

The paladins he spoke to, friends of one of the trespassers, are self-righteous and plain in their actions. They don't appreciate the complexity of Barovia and the true value of its people, its heart, its soul. Some things are just not meant to be and if the souls of children mattered so much then Tredow could have dragged them all by the hand into Von Zeklos keep's bowels into the foundations and shown them the multitude of children's souls unliving in unrest.

Things were not as simple as they once were anymore. What was the true reason the Red Vardo existed and what were these 'Keepers' Shy'nar referred to? Sometimes curiosity was annoying. Thank heavens Mihas was there to talk endlessly about anything and everything mundane and yet seemingly more important now, more than ever.
« Last Edit: July 13, 2012, 01:04:21 AM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #57 on: July 22, 2012, 08:24:32 PM »
War of Shadows

With a cigarette slowly burning away between his lips, the fragrant smoke filling his office with a haze, Tredow reads through the stacks of papers archived in boxes around his desk. The reports of half a decade past, sifting the chaff from the grain. Countless successes and failures, triumphs and defeats. The legacy of the Vallaki outpost of the Red Vardo Traders. A small and somewhat insignificant thing compared to Kresk's operations and often the personal fiefdom of whatever little tyrant suddenly thinks a ceremonial rank equates to real political and economic power.

But Tredow is far different than his predecessors. He does a job, he works for the pay and the thrill of the action. He is cautious, some might say paranoid, but he prefers practical. After all, he's alive and those who pit themselves against him are dead. Whether by steel, magic, wits or simply the biding of time. But soon he would be clear of it, soon he'd be free to take whatever path he desired and no doubt be paid handsomely for his expertise if it was ever called upon.

Right now though, with the brandy refilled in his glass and his silver case full of the dark brown rolled tabac imported into Dementlieu's docks, Tredow plans for a possible war of shadows. The old Drain boss stirs and sends word and Knives has thrown his lot in with the traitors Vasco and Vlodoi by all accounts with Zachary no doubt manipulating them against one another as has always been his way. A very tangled web to snip and sort indeed.

In shadow or the light, war was war and it was what Tredow was bred to do. The first step was once again speaking to Eugen and laying the heavy burden of the Captain's mantle on his successor's shoulders. Time would tell if she lives up to expectations.
« Last Edit: July 22, 2012, 08:28:06 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #58 on: July 23, 2012, 07:19:46 PM »
The Shaved Ape's sister

The walk is uninterrupted, by now he's learnt how to travel unmolested even without the use of cloaking and stealth. A short jog past the ogre's haunt and slinking along the Devil's Descent finds him at the Village once more. A lot had occured in this melancholy place over the last three years, more woe to add to the lament of silence that hung over it like some magician's paling.

Still, this is where he was hoping to find some answers from one of the few people who remembers past the last week and so he heads to the Blood. Ordering the usual vinegary wine at the bar, he takes a discrete sideways glance and spies Eliza watching him with what would appear to be a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

Sliding his wine along the bar as he walks towards her, sat in the same seat he'd choose, he stuns her for a moment by asking if he may sit. She responds in the affirmative and Tredow settles on the chair. He can't shake the nagging itch at the back of his neck for having it turned against the door but it's only a small matter.

"As I recall, last time we talked, you tried to shove one of those awful bananas in me."

Eliza's smile doesn't reach her eyes, a practiced "waitress" smile no doubt. "Be thankful you were standing up at the time."

A wry smirk from Tredow, few people understood innuendo nor could use it without coming across as crass and vulgar.

"I dare say..."

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #59 on: July 24, 2012, 09:48:51 AM »
Smiling Knife

Services was always quiet this time of night, a good place to think and reflect but Tredow's thoughts were interrupted by the familiar signal at the door. The rasp of a claw followed by the series of knocks. Drawing his feet off the table top, he moves to the door, hand on the hilt of his sword and admits the caliban. Gnarled and wiry, with his long drooping nose, he could pass as a larger goblin back home. Most caliban were dull-witted, a life spent reviled and shunned doesn't develop a sharp mind beyond survivor's instincts, but this particular one is very apt at the work and forward-thinking. Were he an unspoiled human he'd probably have risen to high places but fate ensured his lot was in the sewers beyond the sunlight where his kind generally wind up.

They talk about the present situation, names, possible removal of key individuals, who to bribe, who to lean on, who to be wary of. The usual fare of the underworld. The caliban himself is wary, cautious. Betrayal runs deep in the Drain and it was the actions of former members of his own organisation that causes him to be so but Tredow makes a point of reminding him of how generous he has been with regards to recompense. You don't punish disobedience, you reward loyalty. Beating a child is much easier than nurturing and developing it but it'll usually rebel in the end. That's generally how the underworld is in Vallaki, a quagmire of schemes, plots and counter-plots. It would have been far easier to cut the losses and execute everyone, a single night of purging to start afresh but that wasn't Tredow's call to make.

What was his call was the next steps of shining some light in this developing war of shadows.

"Hsss! Bewares the unu with the hook-hand!"
« Last Edit: July 24, 2012, 03:52:26 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #60 on: July 25, 2012, 07:37:22 AM »
Passing on the millstone.

Yuliya found it unusual she was given the head chair and the shock had only just subsided when Tredow practically dumped the Captain's cloak around her shoulders and moved to slouch in one of the side chairs. He resisted the urge to ruffle her hair patronisingly. He rattled off a list of do's and don'ts, what the current situation would be like and what to expect in her new role. Unorthodox as it was to give the position to a relatively new member it was a fairly logical choice all the same. Draguta sits with them, chatting over several aspects that needed addressing before having to leave to screech at the Traders arguing about their pay, her drillmaster's voice cutting through the air like a knife.

Concluding the meeting, Tredow heads to the surface. Standing on the junction of the main street, he breaths deep with eyes closed. The air, made frigid from the cold coming from the mountains, was exhilarating as the world passed by on its own business. Taking a moment to drink in the sights and smells of the late morning, the feel of a small hand clasping itself around his causes him to look down and regard Laila's face smiling warmly up at him from under her ever present hood. A smile mirrored with one of his own rare, genuinely warm ones.

"Hello Heart, you look....lighter."

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #61 on: July 25, 2012, 11:16:13 PM »
Travel light

Equipment is strewn around the room in organised chaos. His spellbook, weapons and velvet-fronted brigandine take central place on the table set against the wall and everything else fans out in their alloted places. Poisons, potions, varnishes, countless magical trinkets and things few people have names for. Muttering as he digs deeper into his pack, his attention is diverted by Laila's knock. The small series of signals they devised when traveling told him 'It's me, all clear, no one followed.'

Opening the door for the space of a heartbeat, Nebibi slinks by seemingly alone and promptly curls up under the table next to a practically comatose Caim spread out. Laila slides out of the shadow cast by the tallow candle burning on the table and rises up on tip toes for a kiss. Looking around the room she purses her lips, eyes alight with mischief.

"Doing a little cleaning?" An arched eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Mhmm, unlike you I like to only carry what I'm going to need. Anything else is going in storage or sold off. You should think about doing the same with that abyss you call your pack."

Laila mimics a nagging mouth with her hand while Tredow talks and quickly hides her hands behind her back when he glances at her, beaming at him from underneat her hood. As response to his eyeroll, she quickly changes the subject.

Taking a small vial she holds it up to the light and shakes it. "Oooh! Poisons! Which one's this?"

"Weep-me-lassy, don't do that!" Tredow's chagrin at the rough handling of one of the Core's most potent extracts from Forlorn.

"And this?" She continues the question picking each vial up.

"Twin Shudders, Cynanide, Somnos Wine, Nightshade, Monkshood and Azalea. Laila that's flax oil for making tacky rags."

"Oh!" She clears her throat and sets it down. "Well can I have these? I like collecting interesting things."

"Yeah I noticed, more clutter to add. Well you can take everything but the Weep-me-lassy and Somnos Wine. They're the only two of any practical use for me anyway. Scooping the vials into her bag, she gives him another peck on the lips on tip toes, Tredow leaning over slightly for her.

"Such lovely gifts for my Heart. Aren't I romantic?"
 
"Not until you clear all your junk off that bed you're not!"

"Yes dear, right away dear."
« Last Edit: July 26, 2012, 01:17:32 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #62 on: July 30, 2012, 05:45:07 PM »
Hidden depths

The joviality of the previous night with Eliza and Sedrik seemed a distant memory now as Tredow places a hand on the wall, staring down into the abyss at the bottom of the steps below. His mood had soured with the delays in the tasks at hand and he had become restless as usual. Only shortly earlier he had fought alongside two of his "Sisters", the battle bloody and short with no survivors who were left lingering but there was no challenge in it. The Darklings were taken down fast and swift under the weight of spell and sword and they parted ways to cover ground and do what they always have.

But here, stood at the precipice a thought comes unbidden to him and he pushes it deep down where he buries angst and fear far from the light. Far from the light...he chuckles to himself with the irony of that. His problem has always been curiosity, the need to know. And so, taking the steps one by one, cautiously, carefully, he withdraws the ring that shines in the darkness and keeps it hidden and safe. He descends, swallowed by that permeating, almost sentient presence that darkness sometimes has.

[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&list=FLaVvoOQ2bhHHKsbZOc7_Y5w&v=jRqEhWibJ9s[/youtube]

Alone.
« Last Edit: August 05, 2012, 01:20:52 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #63 on: August 02, 2012, 08:11:38 PM »
Into the light


It felt calming to step out into the subdued light of a cloudy early morning. Compared to the day spent in the pitch black of the temple's bowels, it was like he stepped out into another world entirely. Tredow's ultravision enhanced sight stung, much the same way Laila's always did in direct light, as they slowly adjusted to the new stimulus. He mimics her action of tugging slightly on his hood to veil his eyes.

Some hunted through that place for treasures but he had always gone for reasons his peers found strange. He just enjoyed looking through the vast libraries hidden in the dark for books he hadn't read yet. Gods did he hate that bard's work that literally infested every shelf.

No one could ever accuse Tredow Folquin of being predictable but in the mist camp, his reaction to seeing Masame Irou, his right hand man when he was Captain, alive and well is certainly his usual form.

Planting a hand on his hip, lit cigarette glowing between his lips, he smirks.

"Well, well, well..."
« Last Edit: August 02, 2012, 08:14:25 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #64 on: August 04, 2012, 07:38:33 AM »
Azazel's story

They hit the ground running, never ceasing until they were inside the temple and the relative cover it provided. The demons warred with one another inside, hurling baleful magicks and rending with claw, fang and blade and the party takes cover behind the pillars and awaits the outcome of this battle. The victors, weakened and roaring with their triumphs fell swiftly to the unexpected surprise attack from five mere mortals and hell boiled over to swarm them.

Chopping down the squat things that charge from every direction and the maddened cultists directing them, they pant and heave, taking respite from their efforts for the next hurdle but for now Tredow circles what he assumes to be the great edifice to the demon that razed Krofburg. Looking up at that daunting figure, he's only filled with more questions.

The prisoner at the peak.


Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #65 on: August 04, 2012, 12:37:13 PM »
The Prisoner Keeper

Pressing on, they pass the bridge spanning over an expanse of murky water in the gloom and the way back is blocked by a cave in, no doubt one caused on purpose. Forward is the only way to go and Malphor sends forth illusions of humans to try and trick the party. He is master in this realm, shaping imagination into reality.

Forward is the only way to go and so they must press on into the lair of the Prisoner Keeper, a great Prince of hell perhaps or maybe just the janitor of this place. Who knows? A place of pain and misery and the slain of many races decorate the caverns like macabre bunting for an infernal celebration.

With trident in hand the Prisoner Keeper mocks the party, their efforts like the weak crawling of a lame child yet they silence him with their combined efforts and Mari destroys the profane altar with her arcane. This act however, draws the ire of the demons and they break through reality to assault the slowly tiring party.

"BEAUTY! BEAUTY IN CHAOS AND MURDER!" The Balor cry and once again battle commences, pushing the five into a leap-frogging withdrawal...












Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #66 on: August 04, 2012, 06:27:30 PM »
Growing wings, the scar faced dragon

Forced to flee, the cavernous halls of the profane temple shake and shudder as masonry falls from the ceiling lost in the darkness above. Smashing down around them, their path is treacherous and dogged by the onslaught behind. As they reach the first junction where the blockage occurred they stumble on something indeed out of place.

Serafim

Rushing over to the dying form, Tredow shakes her by the shoulders but it dawns on him. 'She would be dead with her friends if in this state and certainly not alone this far.' Warning the others, the dwarf Olaf strikes her but it looks like trying to strike a solid wall. The figure of Serafim laughs and bellows.

"Bring her to me. TO ME!"

And then it is gone.

With the way blocked and no escape from whence they came, Ana and Marji look to the others for answers. The sardonic smirk from Tredow touches his lips as he responds in his equally sardonic manner, reaching for a scroll.

"And you're supposed to be the mages."

Speaking the Draconic words, how fitting, his form bursts into that of a great red dragon. Curiously bearing a long scar down the left side of its face, the personality of the dragon is in control before Tredow can adjust to this form he has never taken before and he lifts his sinuous neck to the vaulted heights above and bellows.


The sound shakes the earth and the others scatter almost in terror as further tremors rock the hall. Deep blue eyes pierce the dark at them with their malice and Malphor taunts, their cut off escape. With several great thrusts of his wings, the dragon sails through the air towards the bridge on which the demon lord stands and alights, gripping onto the small landing with back and fore claws.

Marji follows suit as a pixie, cursing at the dragon when his wings buffet her, trying to carry a rope across the gap to secure on the bridge. Malphor's voice draws all their attention as he laughs, dripping with hatred and freezing the marrow.

"YOU WEAK PATHETIC FOOLS!."


And with that, the dragon raises his voice in challenge with wings outspread and the two colossal creatures fight. Raking one another with claw and fang, they grapple and wrench at each other, roaring in their anger and rage. Though the dragon's talons cannot pierce the demon's supernatural form, Malphor's own find their mark and the dragon bellows in his fury with each slash at his red scales. Launching forward, catching the demon lord with his forearms, they thrash and twist as they grapple, Malphor pushed back by the weight of the titan before him


But even this herculean effort to keep him at bay seems amusing to him and once again, his voice thick like molasses he mocks them. With a disdainful flick of the wrist, the dragon watches as Malphor's hellball spirals towards Olaf, Masame and Ana and tries to lunge but finds himself unable to muster the strength, weakened from the blows of the demon lord.

Releasing the form takes incredible concentration and willpower as the personality of the dragon threatens to overcome him and Tredow sags to the bridge, crying out in hoarse pain as the demon's wounds sizzle and crack on his human body. Literally bathing himself in healing tonics, he looks over the gap to see Ana bloodied but out of danger's reach and cannot believe his eyes. Masame and Olaf slashing at the demon lord, hacking away at his form and amazingly driving him to retreat. They destroy his physical manifestation and make good their escape now the way is free.

Fashioning a cage from his will, Masame is trapped by the demon lord but the quick thinking of Marji dispels the illusion and they flee. One of the cultists, with wet, choking breaths cries out doom at the hands of the silent lord and once again the demonic forces explode into this reality to try and rend these interlopers.

Cut off, separated, they all flee as best they can with each having to abandon the others in order to save themselves. Tredow, with invisibility fading sprints like hell is on his heels and it is. Fire spurts from the ground, black claws and maddened creatures tear themselves from hellfire all around him to snap and bite at his passing form.

Literally screaming for the Vistani to ride, he's joined by the others left behind and they make good their escape, with the vardo bucking and shaking with the team's efforts to flee from the enraged demons. Laughing his scorn at their fading forms, Tredow raises a middle finger in defiance at them and promptly collapse in exhaustion in the pallet of the wagon. Some say you lose something of yourself when you enter these lands and others like it. Tredow certainly did.


He lost some of his dignity.


[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-lDOeb_Geec&feature=player_detailpage[/youtube]
« Last Edit: August 05, 2012, 03:04:32 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #67 on: August 05, 2012, 09:45:38 AM »
The black hound and the little sparrow

Once upon a time, a black hound and a little sparrow went for a walk up a mountain. The black hound would grumble and bark in his way while the little sparrow flitted here and there, bright with questions. The black hound always felt it necessary that others like the little sparrow should learn more about the world they inhabit from first hand experience and so went to show her a mark left on it from years past. The little sparrow had grown restless cooped up in her roost and longed to stretch her wings so welcomed the flight.

Although the cold nipped and bit and the soaring spirits of the dead that circle these heights, bemoaning their loss, tried to stop the strange pair they finally enter the relative warmth of the now forgotten place. Things from an aeon past like to sniff and dig there just like the black hound does and he savages them with his steel fang, their kinds of games not ones he enjoys.

And so, shown the door to the Prisoner's cell, the black hound tells the little sparrow about the links between this place and another. The little sparrow listens curiously in her detached way and the black hound rewards her attention and time spent with him by letting her have all the shiny bones from the cage. The black hound had enough shiny bones already.


"The breach has been sealed, the price paid. Solace remains only in the stars."















[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCvKypQeD3E&feature=player_detailpage[/youtube]
« Last Edit: October 08, 2013, 08:43:56 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #68 on: August 05, 2012, 11:45:48 AM »
Natyra and the sister awake for too long

A quiet walk with Natyra leads to questions about her relationship with the Von Ritter man. She tells him and Tredow grimaces in chagrin.

"Ah. Might be a slight problem with that."

"Of what kind?"

"His wife."

Nat looks shocked and a little indignant and responds with confusion. "He never mentioned a wife."

"Of course not, she's dead."

"Oh, I am sorry for his loss. No wonder he'd not speak of such a thing."

"I wouldn't be so sorry just yet. Being dead isn't really going to stop her if she decides to play games with him using you as bait."


With that cryptic revelation he reveals further to her the story of his sister and his sting at the betrayal he felt when she chose the Red Vardo over her brother and sister that day years past, standing next to Selena like a loyal puppy without a word in their defence. Of the day he mourned her death and the anger at the knowledge of her fate becoming known to him two weeks after the fact. Two weeks of her hiding it from him, being alone with he and his wife. It unnerved him to see that once warm, gentle woman with an easy smile and light laugh a cold shell of indifferance and longing. Laila is alongside Tredow, holding his hand as he speaks to the stunned and shocked Natyra with a subdued expression. The loss of her sister deep as Tredow's and fear of her new form.

"There is one person she does fear though."

"Who is it?"


Tredow places a hand on his chest. "Me. Because she knows I'll attempt to make good on the promise we both swore to one another years ago."

Natyra's mind is reeling as she discovers the true identity of Tredow's sister and he decides now she is in the deep end to further increase the depth. To that place far below in shadow. From that day forth, Natyra was likely never going to be the same again...






[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDgjTP8fuz4&feature=player_detailpage[/youtube]
« Last Edit: October 08, 2013, 08:45:30 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #69 on: August 05, 2012, 12:25:26 PM »
Demons, why demons?

Inari was more an associate than a friend. Tredow was none too fond of those she did call friend but to say he hated them was far too strong. He just didn't like them much but that didn't mean he wouldn't help. That would be childish. She is full of questions and answers and travels as varied and wide a road as Tredow does. Roads that seem to be heading towards the same direction. She details this Black Augery and the further plots and plans of the Hyskosa sect of which Tredow recalls encountering in Hazlan when the girl-child was around shaking foundations and the Gentleman Caller that pops up whenever there's some new woe.

It hurts his head to try and piece all these bits and pieces he learns of from Inari and she also voices her own confusion at certain vague details left unclear. But like the little sparrow and he did before, he decides some things are best shown rather than spoken of so he takes the poor woman, shivering from the cold up to the place hidden high and secret. He shows her something that may be of use in their struggle along the way, a place of Power. A Focus, Tredow calls it.

Rattling her teeth, voicing her desire to be out the cold before her digits drop off, they enter the hermit hole and Tredow offers her the high chair while he tells a story. He likes stories, especially ones he's seen with his own eyes but does have a bad habit of waffling on sometimes. But this story is poignant. The story of how his perceptions were changed about the world he lived in.

Once upon a time, a few years ago, a husband used to go up Ghakis to hunt winter wolves. Their furs and tongues were good commodities, much sought after and decent coin paid for them. He did this often and would spend entire winters up their hunting them till no sight of them was evident. One winter he took his wife with him and yet still, there was no sight of them. Perhaps there were no more and this made his wife both angry and upset with her husband, confusing him as to why.

They enter a cave and again, no sign of them and reach its deepest cavern. Growls from feral throats rise from the darkness all around and the white wolves and their neuri counterparts surround the husband, his wife leaps into the shadows to try and form some plan to get her husband out of this peril but there is little that can be done now the trap is sprung. A neuri, greater than those around it standing perhaps three times the husband's own stature moves into the center of the circle and roars his challenge, leaping at the man.

The man was sorely pushed, the ferocity and sheer force of the attack overwhelms him and he is beaten to the ground bloodied and defeated. The great neuri, his blue eyes shining howls in victory and moves in for the kill with the man's wife calling out his name in terror. Her pleas are silenced when a woman appears, expression serene and calm wearing some form of blue robe. She soothes to the angered pack and walks confidently up the huge neuri and firmly, surprisingly for a woman of her diminutive stature commands the neuri back. He does so grudgingly and she beckons the wife over while she uses her divne magicks to heal the husband's wounds, tending to him while he lays propped against a rock.

"They are angry because you do nothing but take and have killed many of their brothers and sisters. There is no balance and my Heart.." She looks to the man's wife in the unreadable sign language only women ever seem to understand. "...is very angry at this indeed. Many of those you slaughtered close to he and I and our grief deep. But I can see in both your hearts that you are not cruel people, just misguided."

Feeling a strange shame at the woman's words, husband and wife walk down off the mountain with a strange sense of awe at what had happened. Awe and a changed perception of what others see as mindless monsters. Some time later the white pack is forced to hunt lower off the mountain because of a bad winter and are set on by adventurers. The gentle woman who healed the husband's wounds pleads and begs for the couple's aid and they give it willingly, fighting off many of those who try to kill the great white neuri while an Ezrite Knight known to them pleads with the mad crowd for restraint, risking his own reputation so that a good deed could be returned.

They take the wounded neuri, in his wolfen state, to a secret cave where his mate waits and she throws her arms around him sobbing into his fur and giving gratitude for a life debt repaid in turn. She gives the wife a ring that marks them as sisters of compassion and gives the husband a gift in return, his pack name.

"My Heart tells me that you and he are alike and yet different. In the same way wolves and dogs are the same yet not. A wolf roams free and lives by instinct, a dog is tamed by man and leashed and put to a set purpose. He calls you Black Hound, always digging up a trail and sniffing a scent where others fear to tread, never letting go once he bites..."


Tredow can't tell if Inari's fallen asleep but it just appears she's lost in thought, mulling over the tale. He gives her a tour of the hole and she shares a few tales of her own and more details of this threat that looms over all before stopping and staring over Tredow's shoulder.  When he follows her gaze, his heart leaps into his mouth. Caught unarmoured and unwarded without having memorized and spells in the last day, he moves to stand with Inari as he wracks his brain for a way out which this...abomination is blocking.

He looks like an abortion if it came to term and lived a life of violence. Dressed for war and carrying a great blade negilgently propped on his shoulder he regards the pair with a mixture of curiosity and disinterest. Much the same way a horse's tail idly flicks at a fly. But this one is known to Inari by name and reveals his nature and the reason he radiates a sickly green hue. Half demon, half drow. All nightmare. Inari grips the tsuka of her katana in both hands preparing for a fight but Tredow raises a warning hand to her. This thing would likely be able to kill them without drawing a breath and Tredow's mind bubbles with notions that are as discarded as quickly as they come as he tries to think.

'I don't have any scrolls likely powerful enough to get beyond his form's natural resistance. He'll have supernatural skin, can Imbroglio cut through it? I have varnishes that will likely help with that but how long would I last if I'm forced to fence with the thing? He'll be far faster and stronger than me. See in the dark. See -through- the dark. Does he have any skill with the arcane also or perhaps some infernal patron? It comes natural to demon kind and his drow side, he'll have all kinds of elven traits mixed in with his demonic. He's in his armour and I'm dressed casual, this is going to be a mess.'

But a fight does not come, for Trebor Minnt has a specific purpose in that temple it seems and grows tired of Tredow's self depreciating sarcasm as he tries to buy time.

"Don't let us stop you!"

"Like the pair of you could, even if you tried real hard."

Time to run as the opening is there and run they do, sliding and scrabbling down the mountain, tumbling over one another as they shout and argue at the top of their lungs the whole of Barovia would likely be able to hear coming down Ghakis. They don't stop running even when safe and Tredow didn't stop running even when he got that far. He was caught with his pants down and he did not like that feeling indeed. Once more like in his story, a mouse at the foot of a giant and this time there was no dragon.
 












((Seemed appropriate for Tredow and Inari's mad run off the mountain!))
[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=BIW8Ioi-Kew[/youtube]
« Last Edit: August 05, 2012, 03:00:39 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #70 on: August 07, 2012, 09:21:27 AM »
Assault

He was sceptical at the fluidity of such a large party achieving anything but achieve it they did. Fighting deep into the bowels of the temple they swept like a breath expelled from the land, tearing both man and demon from their path. The profane place was littered with human suffering and misery, testament to the wickedness of their tormentors and though they took grievous number of injuries they find themselves in the inner sanctum. Where Malthor holds court.

They battle him for hours, sword, spell, blind faith. As the greater ruin streaks towards him, Tredow hunches up and expels all the air out of his lungs to avoid the pressure differential from imploding him but he finds himself cart-wheeling through the air to land at the demon lord's feet. In an instant a soothing washes over him like a cool balm and he stumbles back to his feet, quickly withdrawing out of Malthor's path as the others try in vain with failing wards to take this giant down. Leaning on his knees, Tredow gets his breath back, only to witness the woman that pulled him from death take the full brunt of the baleful magicks their foe throws like mere trifles.

A hasty retreat, loss of initiative, the risk of bogging down and losing all momentum until a visitor pays Malthor a visit. He speaks like a man talking genially to an old friend, this Gentleman Caller that weaves his tangled web. Goad enough to retreat further now as the dead are gathered but Malthor is not quite done with them yet. He wishes for one last dance that almost claims their lives until the man who calls himself the prophet of war strikes the final blow. A bittersweet victory.

They talk and no plan of action is decided on, Tredow reminds them they have dead to tend to but it falls largely on deaf ears more concerned about the trinkets left behind. The Black Hound has more shiny bones than he could ever really need, this was never about money to him but the will to act. So act he does, taking the young woman who sacrificed herself so he could return to his Heart that night, he leaves the temple alone. The sprint through the demons this time was not to save himself, but to save another. Tredow had a life debt to pay and he meant to make good on it...the answers could wait.




















[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=jQE6ybPx734[/youtube]

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #71 on: August 08, 2012, 01:16:49 PM »
A brief reflection

The thing about these people is, they don't realise you don't stop being an RVT Captain just because you officially resigned. You still play "the game" as people call it and be it criminal or gaurd we all get high off the action. Multiple masks for each side, seamless and unreadable. You can always count on the fact people are largely superficial and take most things at face value without chasing them up. There's facets here that go unanswered. Motivation is always the key one. The who, what, when, where and why's of the situation. Everyone's clamouring about the end of the world which has supposedly come close to it at least three times since I've been here. I have severe doubts about the overall effect of such a plan but this is keeping me busy at least while the more day to day work comes in. Merely curious more than anything nor do I particularly care about some moralistic crusade for everything that is good and holy. Seen too many of those leave dead civilians in their wake. Self-righteous piety and me go as well together as a kick up a bear's arse. To say I trust the majority of these people is like saying I'm the life and soul of a ball but there are two in particular I would daresay turn on the others for more clues to this puzzle being pieced.

One is avarice incarnate as I expect from all Wayfarers. Greedy and selfish and demanding of others when it suits them yet yielding little in return. She'd probably make an excellent poker player but fold whenever it meant taking a great loss. Every Wayfarer I've encountered has this strange obsession with taking everything not nailed down in the most inappropriate of moments. I still give a sardonic laugh when I recall the huddled shield wall trying to fend off those undead lancers while Lin ran about looting everything. This one will only assist when it's mutual and it certainly did rile her when I poked about access to the monastery. The mages I train, their mentality and attitude towards magic, she is the counter to that. Woefully dependent on its use and almost permanently under its effects, no part of it is taboo to her.

The other is a bad joke, a tasteless comment at a funeral. To call him by the name of the real one would be like calling a golem of me 'Tredow'. A copy, a facsimile of a man with that self same emotionless, loveless, passionless attitude about him. He'll never know the proper zeal and camaraderie between people that keeps them fighting for one another nor will he risk letting that pristine air of indifference slip. A man who prides himself on knowing all the angles but never seems to react with actions, relying on the efforts of others in his stead. I saw how he never lifted a finger in Avernus to fight off the creatures nor use the "gifts" of Ezra to keep the others on their feet, it was even Serafim who healed his wounds, and so I suspect that when push comes to shove he never will. In my world, the unseen world, the man is a liability and burden in the field. Both due to the origins of his creation and the nature of his faith.

The rest are like me, dragged into it by the turbulence of events but despite the encounters with the demon lord, I and others, are not so deeply involved. My only continued involvement is due to what I witnessed the first time around and hearing Serafim's tale. Ironically, the most mistrusted by the others, her involvement in all this is the only one that is largely selfless. Naive, yes, but still noble in some strange way. It's easy to pick apart someone's decisions in hindsight but when you are forced into a corner with no way out and told "choose" then you have to live and die by that decision. I won't be life long bosom friends with the girl but I still remember the feeling we all once shared when under the influence of our shadow selves. That's a wound that never quite healed over properly, a sense of loss when I think on it too hard but know full well the end result would have been irreversible.

There are however more earthly affairs to be dealing with. The gundarakites are still interested in me, perhaps only because word hasn't got back to them I'm no longer officially in the RVT. Their info was slightly out of date but I'd be monumentally stupid to assume I'm not still being monitored when in the village. They're throwing a net and drawing it and sooner or later it'll catch up to Mihas. The one who sat opposite me that night referred to the Dagger, Strahd's agent who was so gracious to abduct me from my office for a chat in her carriage. I'm under no illusions that my part in this affair is done and dusted but it makes me curious who her counterpart the Gundar hinted to is.

I've still a rape to investigate, my first official case I suppose, so my days will be busy. Busy was what I wanted, lost the office weight, taught, lean, sharp once more. I can run the distances without losing breath and keep up with Heart in the wilds. Slipping the rank off my shoulders has certainly improved my physique and temperament once more. The mind was always sharp.

As a final conundrum I'll let you ponder this. There are three kinds of people in the mercenary trade of which I count myself very seasoned in now. Opportunists who fight for power and personal gain, renegades and idealists who fight for a cause and professionals who read the tide of war and see the life as a trade like a farmer does tilling the earth. I'll let you guess which of those three I am, sometimes the answers and logic behind them are both enlightening and amusing at the same time.

Only Laila and Alexias got both answer and logic right.
« Last Edit: August 08, 2012, 02:15:45 PM by Badelaire »

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #72 on: August 08, 2012, 11:18:55 PM »
Shame

I had only stepped inside the tent for a few brief moments, to check my pack and move on. She had seen me enter and flitted about, asking a few harmless questions. I largely ignored her with singular responses and made my excuses to leave. When I checked over my shoulder as was habit I could not help but to stop in my tracks. She wore this smile, sad in its away, resigned almost. Like she had come across this treatment before and accepted it. She pulled some toys out of her backpack to occupy herself in what was not likely the first instance of enforced loneliness. It was in that time watching her with that defeated expression that I never felt so ashamed of myself in my entire life.

How many people had I done that to? Lost and lonely here and reaching out, that I simply looked down at and discarded as inconsequential? How often did I keep telling others with a lofty expression that title and rank meant nothing? Only to judge by war record alone and my own self importance? her name was Forolayne and she gave me her bread and wine. In return I gave her a raven's feather of great value to me and a lucky charm to help her on her travels. She was ecstatic and I was glad to see that mirth on her tiny face. We spoke on a good many things for a while. I have never seen such determination and innocence here, it's heartening.

When I told heart of how I felt, how it made me feel, she looked at me as if she was just seeing me for the first time again so very long ago. I don't ever want to feel like that again, that burning in my cheeks at knowing I had been so very wrong, the apologies I must make. Perhaps I am wrong about people. Perhaps I should start trusting just a little. You get what you put in after all, right? Things are so different now, my priorities, my drive. Laila thinks it's a touch of winter sickness lingering but I'm 26 winters old.

I know a pregnant woman when I see it.






[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NkeXxojFqo&feature=player_detailpage[/youtube]

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #73 on: August 10, 2012, 12:01:22 AM »
"Certainly there is no hunting like the hunting of man and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else thereafter. You will meet them doing various things with resolve, but their interest rarely holds because after the other thing ordinary life is as flat as the taste of wine when the taste buds have been burned off your tongue."
                                                                            
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        


- Ernest Hemingway
                                                                            

Badelaire

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Re: Picaroon: Tredow Folquin
« Reply #74 on: August 17, 2012, 09:00:46 AM »
All in a day's work


AVOID THE LOCALS





PUT MY SISTER TO REST





CRUSH THE REBELLION
       




CONTEND WITH DEMONKIND





SAVE THE WORLD
   




TAKE WELL DESERVED, HOPEFULLY PAID VACATION.