The Legend of End
 

Deep in the mountains of Karaz Karas, an ancient legend is becoming a reality. Passed down by the ancient monks of Terra Dur, a quickly fading group, the Legend of End is known to the region, but few elsewhere know of it. Some say, the Legend foretells of the Day of Judgement. Others say it is the rise of a Dark God. Still more say that the Legend harkens a tremedous event of divine proportions, one that would result in the rise of Grana, Lord of the Underworld. The prophets of old had only left a few vague clues as to what the End was, or when it would arrive. Only one was clear, and that was a crimson moon on the night of Summer's Eve.

The purpose of the monks was gradually losing itself to time, despair, and a lack of faith. It was harder to find recruits, harder to maintain the ways of old. A few monks left the monastery to find people of intellect, strength, and courage, to fulfill or stop the prophecy. One of these monks is in a bar, near the base of Mt. Misoln...

The various bar patrons marvel at the patience of anyone who listens to him. The bruises on his face, from being beaten away, scare some folks away. His wide raving eyes, intense tone of voice, and his jittering drive more away from him. In a last desperate act, he shouts out that he will take a handful of inquisitive souls to the monastery, to read the ancient scrolls, and to see the first sign of the End. His blue eyes grow moist as he looks around. His world is falling apart, the only life he ever knew coming to a painfully slow end. The way he lived soon to be lost to time, a mere pinprick in history, a footnote in the books. The End about to come, perhaps for the worst...

Please...I beg of you, anyone, someone...

'Prophets' were not uncommon in this day and age, there was always some insane person shouting about some sort of armageddon that was on the horizon or something wherever you went, and he, the one called Ravioli, usually ignored those personalities.

However, he couldn't help but pay attention to the vague ramblings of this particular 'prophet'. Call it Fate or Destiny or whatever, but regardless of the reason he found himself drawn to this man.

Feeling a little stupid after a while, he turned to leave; he was no different from the others afterall, and Ravioli had better things to do than listen to someone's preposterous tellings. That was when he heard about the scrolls.

Spinning around and almost knocking someone to the ground, he turned to the fellow he had just written off as another maniac. "I'm interested. Count me in."

"Another guy rambling about the end of the world. He probly has nothing to back it up with." said a young and cynical man by the name of Tolda. He decided to tay and enjoy his drink when he heard the man mention scrolls"They never meentions scrolls.....this guy might be saying the truth and if not I can expose him for a fraud." After one guy joined Tolda said "I would like to see these scrolls count me in."

good intentions...
 

"Damn this, why am I such a nice guy..." Grumbled the newly 18 years old Aidan as he walked towards the monk, careful to avoid a falling drunk, crashing plate, and to catch the half-empty mug ["shaddap, you crazy hack!"] thrown at the intense, robed man. It was a strangely long walk, his thoughts drifted from one end of the bar to another, settling at last on the girl who he was now quite sure had been watching him from the corner for the past 5 minutes. Have I met..?
A hard yet gentle hand stopped his thoughts and movement. "So you will come, too, and see?" The monk spoke quickly.
"Yeah, can I help at all?"

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Can I have 2 characters?
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Devon took the last of her mead through her cowl and, confident the boy with the shocked-white hair had noticed her watching as he moved to meet the monk, tightened the grip on the oak shilleleagh in her right hand and stood out of the corner where she had sought a bit of refuge, taking a slight bit of pleasure from watching the monk's ravings, but slightly pained by pity, and slightly moreso by a foreboding sense of unease. That little prick with the bow had better remember me... Her thoughts read as she offered her aid to the monk and studied the look of vague recollection on Aidan's face as her slate grey eyes stopped on it for the first time in several years.

The clasped his hands together, smiling slightly.

Thank you! Thank you all so much! We'll leave as soon as you're all ready. The monastery is just a ways up the mountain, little more than couple hours journey.

He pulled his cloak tightly about him, and walked outside. The monk returned a few moments later.

We'd best leave soon. It looks like a storm is coming in, and it'd be horrible to fight through one this time of year. Oh, I'm Taruk by the way.

He smiled at them warmly. It seemed that a little hope went a long way with this man.

Aye, and well met, Taruk of the Terra Dur. I am Aidan of the clan MacBoon, I hail...
...from the midland province of Caledonia, yadda yadda, bowmen of legend, blah blah blah. And does he care a shyte about sayin hello to someone he hasn't seen nary a wink of for 7 years?
Devon stands there with her hood still on, fuming, tapping the shileleagh on a nearby table.

To tell the truth, he didn't really care who the others were or what there agendas were. However, this sort of situation was to be handled delicately, as the monk, Taruk, was the key to his goal-the scrolls. Rudeness would probably ruin any chances to see them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said with a bow. "My name is Ravioli."

Straightening up, he looked towards the outside. "The place we're heading is up on the mountain, right? I'll meet you there. I've got things to do, but I'll arrive shortly."

With that he left bar, to prepare his things.

Perhaps if she would take her hood down and not be so damn mysterious she would recieve a greeting!
Well ye don't have to yell
You're crazy
That's why you love me
...*ahem* please forgive my friend, Taruk, she's slightly strange, but a loyal companion of mine through many a trial.
Sorry, I just get a wee bit emotional at times. I too seek the wisdom of the scrolls as a student of the arcane, I am Devon, of the O'Flaghertie magi. Hoping she had not offended the obviously well intentioned monk, but not truly believing he would take umbrage.

"Nice to meet you Taruk but I'm ready to go now" Tolda bowed slightly to the monk *he seems a nice chap and deserves and hand* Looking around to see who else was coming he nodded his head*please please may this not be compltly nuts group*

Well, if everyone is ready now, I guess we can begin.

He warmly shook everyone's hand, bowing slightly to Devon. Then, he tightened his cloak once more and walked out of the bar. He stood outside, watching his breathe form clouds in the air.