Whitzz/544K-RP-Datasets huggingface dataset:
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

The swift air blew through the almost stagnant air of the small cove at the edge of the water. Arrick couldn't help but dart his eyes to and fro over the scant surroundings. Rocks were everywhere, and off in the distance he could see the remnants of former ships of all kinds. A foreboding sight for a pirate. Yet against his sudden unease he was here for a job, and he took solace in the fact that he was going to get paid. He released a hard sigh and looked at the other edge of the cove. The feeling of dread only heightened as his...'Benefactor' refused to show up. Arrick released another deep sigh and let a booted foot rest against one of the large jagged rocks before the short and choppy waves of the water outside the small hovel that was their chosen meeting place. The human man ran a quick hand up to his forehead and then let it run through his long black hair. The thin strands along the sides of his face rustling through his fingers before collapsing back against his face. He looked on with bright green eyes and continued to look around the cove. The foreboding feeling only growing as he crossed his arms and continued to wait. He shivered at the sudden increase in chill...Strange at least for the usually bright and cheerful look of the Orlesain water that lay just inches away from his current position. He looked to his few cohorts. There were three of them. Two other humans and an elf. He had never worked with them before. Usually a bad sign on a job of this caliber, and yet being a slightly famous smuggler can attract the bad attention that makes the job a tough one to succeed in. His fingers on his left hand curled across the tight leather sleeve of his right arm, while his right fingers curled around the open and bare flesh of his left arm. Releasing another chilled breath and then with one final look up he noticed the series of figures that made their way inside. A small smile entered onto his face and watched as what he could only assume to be a Bishop and two soldiers walked into the cove. Arrick cleared his throat and let the sound reverberate through his gaunt face. He let the words come to him as they always did With little thought and a quick wit. It is about time you showed up...I'm usually the one who is late to these parties... He said with a slight laugh to his voice.
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

Still your tongue boy, I've no time for idle chat, the bishop squawked. He was a lithe man, tall and slender his features were virtually effeminate save for the stark black stubble that limned his chain and jawline. Have you procured it? The mask? His eyes, serpentine and mischievous, prudently swept over the pirate's lackluster entourage. Unlike they, who appeared dressed for the occassion, he had still adorned his ceremonial robe. Secretly he feared the garb would tear on the crags, but such a sacrifice would be worth the possession of such an ancient relic. I've sought after this piece for many years ... it will make a fine addition to my collection. As promised, I have your pay two hundred sovereigns, not a copper less. He reached into his sash and hastily unfastened the satchel. The coins chimed lyrically within their leathery confines, singing a song of riches and scandal. Merely words of caution, however ... you are certain you were not followed? I am cognizant that these reaches are virtually inaccessible but there has been a particularly ... bothersome individual who has also sought after this piece. Nonetheless. I would see you aptly rewarded for you trials. The bishop, an Antivan remnant by the name of Santos Velasco, had a shady aura to him. Though he approached professionalism with the utmost respect, his hasty and somewhat paranoid mannerisms would prove to be his downfall lest he composed himself. A fearsome looking templar stood proudly next to his employer, virtually dwarfing him in size. He was a colossus with broad shoulders and scars riddling his once handsome face, all aspects to a story since forgotten. Let us not delay this transaction any longer. The artifact, if you will.
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

Oh...Touchy... Arrick stated completely under his breath, and in hushed tones. Although there were times that his tongue could get him into trouble he was not fool enough to stand on insulting a bishop of the chantry, especially a bishop with one of the strongest looking templars that he had ever seen. He thrust his foot forward and gazed into the bishop's eyes. Something about this man had always made Arrick's skin crawl, the little times that he had been privileged to interact with the man that is. Arrick darted his eyes over to his fellows, the three of them utterly ready to receive their fair share and only focused upon the satchel lay at his side. The elf however was too transfixed by the giant templar that stood at the Bishop's side. Arrick shook his head a little and returned his attention to the man only known to him as Bishop Velasco. He nodded. Yes yes...It is right here. He said as he knelt down to the ground and pulled the small bag from the ground and riffled inside it to pull the artifact out to show him. I believe that this is the item that you seek... He said with a smile. He heard the glorious sounds of coin hit the floor and he reveled internally at it. Arrick released a slight sigh and lowered his shoulders as his employer talked of the possibility of him being followed. Arrick would always be happy to admit that he wasn't the best known, nor was he the greatest smuggler in the history of the profession. However, he always hated it when someone he took money from questioned his talents. Yes yes...We weren't followed. I made sure of that myself...The ship drew anchor farther away from the cave...We left a few of the other men there as a distraction should someone get...Curious. He said with another small chuckle to his voice and placed the mask back into the bag and sealed it. He walked quickly towards the satchel and then rested the bag into the ground close to the Bishop as per the agreement. He took the satchel and walked backwards slowly. A wider smile growing on his face. A pleasure doing business with you.
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

Arrick rolled his eyes at the comment of Velasco. He could do without the blessing of some dead woman. Sure she had some significance for some, but he was certainly not on e of those believers that sat in the back of the nearest chapel and prayed to some unseen god to try and bring light to an already dark world. As Arrick turned on the balls of his feet to meet eye to eye with his now former employer he took a quick glance at the mans hands. A sudden burst of energy reverberated from the bishops fingertips and before Arrick could react he felt himself fall to the floor on his knees, the cold and dank stone ground now his prison as he felt his body heave as if exhaustion had crept its ugly head. He couldn't move, couldn't think, and he could barely breathe. All feeling was heavy he wondered what was going on. His current pervasive emotion was sure and utter terror, as he watched what he thought was a simple Bishop of the chantry began to chant as if he was some kind of mage. The fear began to grip tighter at his body as he felt a twinge of the hex begin to seep into his skin and then as if awoken from a deep trance he watched as the mage Bishop was flung off his current perch by some force of magic. He felt the lethargy begin to fade and with legs of stone he began to rise from the confines of the stone floor. The horror was still plagueing his heart and mind, but the necessity of life was too tempting to fight against. He pulled his sword from the sheath on his back and the knife from the sheath at his side. And stood ready. As soon as he heard the voice Arrick darted a glance towards the woman who had willingly, and yet probably by accident saved his life. He had to admit that the creature in question was rather stunning. But now was not the time for such things. He tried to move his feet but found them impossible and within moments fell back to the floor. Horror once again gripped his face as he watched the rise of the pride demon. Darting a quick glance to notice his former workers now dead in the wake of the beast. He grimaced and fell completely onto the floor, unable to do anything under the weight of the hex.
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

What brazen soul dare summon me to this pitiable place? The demon's voice boomed with great depth and a gaunt duel-chord bass that shook even the stone. Effortlessly, he plucked one of Velasco's men forth and eyed him peculiarly before giving the man a quick, teasing squeeze. Was it you? Or your master? The man, aging and clearly at a loss of words tripped and hobbled over his tongue. In response the pride demon grunted and crushed the man effortlessly under his behemoth strength. Bone, sinew, muscle, organ, all fleshy substances that were ground to dust and slush by one simple gesture. With a simple gesture, the demon cast the archer's body towards the sea where it spawned an eerie pool of blood and gore. Displeased, he grunted a second time and transfixed his gaze upon the mage - the Messiah as Velasco had titled her, a mercantile nomad who now loyally served the Qun. A mage ... in such a place. Befitting. You are a proud, majestic animal, one I have not seen in many years. Tell me ... what is it you wish to achieve? She was silent on response, stealthily unsheathing her stave as he spoke. He anxiously awaited a response but instead, nothing her silence enraged him, but as a demon from the Fade, he knew he had to take this chance to possess a mage with a grain of salt. Silence? Is that how you greet opportunity? You would let is pass? His gravely baritone held empty promise to the mage. Instead, she rapidly snapped her fingers together, friction enough to spawn a fearsome looking orb of fire within the concave of her palm. I see you will not bend under my will. So be it. Before the pride demon advanced, she flexed her wrist which flicked with unprecedented agility. The orb, growing in mass, jutted into the demon's chest. He groaned, brushed off the ashes with his gargantuan hand and hurled a boulder in her direction. She thwarted the attack by making use of a magic-erected barrier which waned following his second onslaught. The battle that raged on between the two was fierce and lasted for virtually twenty minutes. The demon hurled boulders from a distance, ocassional swatting at the woman with flattened fists as she responded with a volley of fire and ice. Eventually the demon fell to its knees, head bowed, one last time promising the mage riches and positions of power if she spared him. She heard none of his lies. With the sythe-end of her stave she positioned it at the nape of the demon's neck and drew it with such agility that the scaly, tempered flesh cut clean. After two tugs the sytche withdrew from the demon's dead flesh. She sheathed it, approaching the pirate who still appeared dazed by Velasco's spell. Her dark hair had been purposely positioned over one shoulder it was an ethnic mane long and thick, riddled with the occasional rebelling curl. What was it you gave to him? she questioned flatly, though seriously, Was it a mask?
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

Arrick groaned. He felt the weight of the spell engulf him almost entirely. All thought but the feeling of a strange combination of pain and the need for sleep took was wiped clean from his mind. An eradication of everything that was before. He barely saw the fight between the woman and the demon. His weapons now lay at the ground next to his utterly limp body. The feeling of his chest pressed hard against the cold stone. He watched whatever he could. A single eye being the only source that he could call upon to keep his check on the carnage. The demon was strong it seemed. No doubt one of the few manifestations of pride that he had heard of now and again. He had to admit that even in this state of lethargy he was deeply impressed with this Rivanian woman. Both powerful, and beautiful. A combination that would probably prove to be both deadly to the demon as well as to himself at some point in the future. Although he saw the intensity of the carnage unfold he looked on with no small amount of surprise as the mage woman came out the victor in this battle. A feat that few had ever told of. He had heard various stories now and again of people slaying demons, or manifestations. But one of Pride? He was going to have to tread as lightly as he could in this woman's presence. A task made all the more difficult that he could barely speak, let alone move. He watched as much as he could as he noticed the woman's form stride over to him. He couldn't see much now but knew her presence was close. Muffled groaning sounds flew out of his mouth and throat first. He was trying to form sentences, even just words but was having difficulty in doing so. When he finally mustered up enough power is when he tilted his head up. ...It...Was...A...Mask. He said softy and then felt his head smack back against the ground.
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

The mage was evidently displeased with her interrogation despite emerging victor in a battle pitted against a pride demon. She pressed her full lips in a hard line, idly smacked by a wave that crashed nearby. The gentle spritz caused her hair - once wild and unruly - to stick flatly to her pert cheekbones. The pirate's exasperated utterance was, needless to say, was one answer to many she harbored. She crouched down and cupped his chin with her tattooed fingers, forcing him to meet her demanding gaze. Where did you get it from? She appeared impervious to his condition and merely continued to interrogate him while he laid limp. Her hasty mannerism merited moans and groans in response, not thoughtfully construct answers as she desired. After careful deliberation she managed to drag his corpse into the nearby alcove, resting him on his back and away from the reach of the waves. It was likely that a storm was brewing she hadn't seen the tide so restless in quite some time. It was near impossible to gauge the time of night clouds swarmed overhead, heavy and laden with rain. They cast an eerie, smoky glow over the strand, obscuring any ray of light that dared dwell there. She eased herself against the curvature of a nearby rock and winced as her rear hit the sandy floor with a noticeable smack. Fighting the pride demon had not only exhausted her stamina, but her mana as well. That was the second time she'd come dangerously close to expending her energies - if it was successful, she would have been skewered on the demon's jagged horns and sported like an article of jewelery. Much to her chagrin, time passed slowly. The waves grew louder and further up the strand, drawing with it bodies and weapons as they withdrew back to the ocean. She sorted through thoughts, particularly how the Arigena's demands had been growing increasingly cumbersome. To track down the Archbishop was one thing, but to allow him to flee with the mask in tow ... her mission would have failed and Arigena, as the mercantile third of the qunari triumvirate, would likely absolve the mage of her title as pacifier and ambassador then cast her to the templars who anxiously awaited the day she relinquished any diplomatic immunity.
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

Arrick heard her words and although he felt her hand upon his face, just barely able to bring his eyes into contact with hers he could say and do nothing. It was like his body was as tough and as cold as the stone beneath them. A thought that made him cringe a little on the inside. His thoughts swirled for all the good that they could do. His thoughts were noting if there was no body to facilitate them. For the first time in a very long time he felt helpless, fearful. Not of the woman who was now standing over him, but of what this woman had in store for him. Obviously she knew much more about the mask than he did. He only knew it by name and what it looked like. Nothing had prepared him for any of this to happen and something in the back of his mind told him that that was key enough that something like this would happen. He felt her drag his body against the stone. He wanted to scream out in pain as he felt his stomach and legs, and arms be pulled with the force of the woman's strength through the hard and rocky ground beneath them. However, the spell was still in enough effect that he couldn't even scream in the small agony that he was experiencing. He groaned a little as he felt his body press against what he could only hope was sand. A soft and yet rough enough substance to keep him somewhat content that hard and jagged stone wasn't pressing into him. He continued to groan until he became powerful to thank her lightly.
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

His pathetic display of gratitude was enough to have her believe he had energy he stirred, she pounced, like a ready and able panther about to crush her prey's windpipe with her paw. She approached with prudence and grace, lifting his stiff corpse from the sands so that he sat pressed against a nearby stone wall. Her fingers flexed and for a second time took a hold of his jawline. For an instant she examined him, purposely jerking his head left and right as subtle sprouts of frost and ice crept from her fingertips and assaulted his flesh. This would slow his breathing - as she had intended - and supplement the important of the questions she was preparing to ask. Where did you attain this mask? she questioned flatly, from whom? Or was it in a ruin? How did you come in contact with the Archbishop? Steady streams of frost slithered up his mandible, eventually licking his ears and trekked into his nostrils. The patience she once held dear was lost in a fit of anger. She shook the pirate violently, teeth gritted, and cried Answer!
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

He felt his body move against his own volition. Though he knew that his body would not move even if he gave it a command. He was using whatever will he had to sprout his gratitude. However it seemed that this mage was rather impatient, and uncaring at his particular situation. He felt his back slam against the stone wall and then her hand press deep into his face, her fingers and more importantly nails, dug deep into his jaw. He would wince at the pain but the numbness was still twinging at his features with an unnatural grasp. He had felt the sting of magic before, but never like this...This was a whole new experience and that was nagging at his mind a little. He felt the freezing chill rise through the fingers on his face, and although he felt the cold rush through him and although he was feeling it he couldn't act on it. He felt the cold tighten against his lungs. His slow breaths were slowed even further and he felt his eyes widen a little as he felt somewhat incapable of taking in breath. He tried lifting his hands up, tried to pry her fingers from him to end the growing chill that was now making him gasp for as much air as he could through the air. He released a cough with all the fear and incapability he could display. He felt his breath singe and burn with the grasping chill. It... It... Was... He couldn't speak the lethargy a burden on him as much as the cold, though he had to say that it felt like two numbing sensations joining together to stifle him even further than before. A ruin... Ruin... Off...The coast... He paused mid statement and gasped for as much air as he could. You'll...Need...To...Help me...Before you get...More... He said as the cold began to effect him harder and his breathing dropped to a crawling hum and his eyes began to shut.
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

As an emissary dispatched by Arigena, Asalah - meaning to pacify in qunari tongue - was charged with being efficient and vigilant with her commission. This meant defying her body's desires and exploring the precipices of agony, exhaustion and hunger. She would not eat nor rest until her mission was complete. Following fulfillment of Arigena's wishes, she was able to indulge. Now was one of those instances that she had to fight the urge to lose her mind and hone in on the task at hand. You are beyond 'help', she sputtered flatly. Her fingers flexed and made an uneasy popping noise, suddenly sprouting warm tendrils of light and color. Rather then torture him as she'd originally planned, Asalah did as he inquired and healed him. Her touch was gentle when it lacked the desire to harm. While she hadn't dabbled in life-touching spells, she could only hope that it was enough to bring him to his wits. I don't think you quite understand the degree of treason you've committed. She was much less commanding this time around, however, equally as adamant about answers. Speak, unless you desire I report you to the Orlesian chevaliers for illegal smuggling.
Thread: A Chant of Deciet

At first Arrick thought it was over. Her words gripped at his ears like daggers and he thought that his life was going to flash in front of his face in an over dramatic fashion. To his self pleasure it didn't and he felt the stunning and freezing chill subside within him and return to the normal stinging air that wafted around them. He coughed hard as he felt air start to fill into his lungs once more. The difficulty of breathing loosened as he felt her death grip move to a softer touch. He saw a brightness emanate from her finger tips and the almost healing warmth began to ease the dull numbness in his limbs. The lethargy was subsiding, and the numbness in his hands began to fade first. The feeling began to pulse through his body and through whatever means she was employing he felt like somewhat of his old self again. Well...Mostly his old self. He adverted his gaze from her staring and commanding eyes and looked at his hand. Moving the fingers back and forth in a dexterous manner caused him to smile a little. He had barely heard her words. However, he figured he knew what she was saying. Or at least implying. He lifted his legs up a little but still felt her grip on his face. He looked back at her and stared directly into her eyes for a moment. Leaving a long pause that seemed to linger in the air. Lady...Please, I am a smuggler...I am not doing my job is some form of treason isn't committed. And how would that look for my reputation? He chuckled as she mentioned the chevaliers, Oh. That is funny. I might not be a great or grand smuggler. But I can safely state that I am already wanted by them. But none the less...I will speak as soon as you remove your hand from my face. As beautiful as it is I rather not let you draw blood. Thank you. He said and waited for her to comply. He wondered if she would, but regardless he knew he wasn't getting away from this without saying something. The mask was in a ruin off the coast of Orlais. I took me three months to track down as much info about this thing as I could. From there I proceeded to sail down the shoreline towards the sea. When we came upon the the shoreline we set out in search. The ruin was just that...A heap of rubble that seemed to be dug into the cliff side mountain. The archbishop was the one who contacted me...He needed a known, and yet not well known smuggler to find out whatever information that I could and then be brave or stupid enough to follow through and find the damn thing.