Blood on the Streets (Trials of Romaly part 1) IC

[Pink]

OOC Thread

It's an unfortunately miserable day in Alefgard as you hurry through the streets. A storm had blown in from the grey ocean, some say named that because of the storm clouds that seem to so often travel across it. Rain pours down like the heavens, rattling against tile and stone, and against you and your cloak, and you hope your not completely drenched. The sound of the rain competes with the occasional low rumble of thunder in the distance, however it doesn't appear as though it's a lightning storm, and the wind is comparatively mild, not even tearing off roofing.

Even in this bad weather you still have to compete with small crowds on the streets, the rare street merchant with canvases to keep them and their goods somewhat dry shout out their wares, hoping to find someone desperate enough to stop buy and purchase from them in the rain. Others are rushing home from working at their employment, oilskin coats protecting them from the wetness that seems to drip into every part of the city.

You make it to the Grey Barley Inn on Westside, an inn renamed to better represent it's clientèle of grain merchants and farm-owners. You take one envious look through the window of the warm light, drinks, waitresses and jovial nature of people having a good time, before you try to inconspiciously walk around into the alley. On the opposite side of the building you see a heavy wood door with a big iron lock embedded below its door-ring handle. it seems to match the key you were given, and, with a last shoulder glance to make sure nobody is around, open the look.

Inside is a reasonable sized room with a table and five chairs set in the middle, and a covered lantern already lit and hanging from a hook in the ceiling. The walls are lined with barrels, years and vintages stamped on the sides, as well as shelves that hold a number of bottles. The room extends froward about ten feet or so, and continues about twenty feet to your left. Faintly the merriment can be heard from the other part of the inn, but it's muffled, either the walls in this room being quite thick, or not being connected right against the common room. There is another door at the far left wall that looks like the brother to that which you just entered in, complete with heavy iron lock and sturdy wood construction.

The table is laid with a basket containing a number of small loaves of bread, still fairly fresh and a platter of cold meats, as well as two bottles, one seeming to hold red wine, the other white, two large pitchers of lager, and five thin stemmed cups made of tin as well as five steins. It seems the host has not arrived yet, and that there are several more guests than just yourself.

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Alright, and that's the start. Make your post on how you enter, introduce yourselves as new people enter, role-play, and when everyone's gathered I think Alphonse will make his appearance. Please include in your first post the measures you'd take to obey Alphonse's request of "make all preparations of stealth that you can in getting there and departing."

Also, please include your character's name in bold lettering at the top of each of your posts, as well as colour your speech text in a unique and easily readable colour. Any questions, PM me or ask in OOC thread.

[Havelock]

Elminedra claims purple

Would that have been the path I would follow if some things happened differently? Rea the shadowlady? Elminedra pondered as she went about checking the subtle clues, stray hairs lying over closet doors, thin stripes of dust deliberately not wiped, that she left around her apartment at strategic sites. Undisturbed as usual, but one can never be cautious enough, even if she has laid off her more risky activities, the locks turns out fine as well.

She finds a glass, the bottle of wine that currently is opened only has enough to fill it halfway, she has two more flasks, but some rationing will be needed before the elven merchant comes again with her favourites. Alphonse, how long has it been now? two years? three years? She had to teach him how to dance, that was fun, actually, something mostly absent in her world, smiles and laughter comes naturally, at appropriate times, when appreciation should be shown, fake appreciation. As fake as I am Sneaking in a meeting with Father Miller tomorrow wouldn't be possible, pity really, shadowing someone through the city is easy, she knew that, shadowing someone out of the city, all the way to the monastery, that would require an expert, an expensive expert, and she could easily leave as someone looking very much not like her...

Considering for a moment to sleep with the chain shirt on, it is lightweight and specially fitted, and does offer some protection, and she's been doing it for the last five years anyway. Not much protection against a knife to the throat, admittedly, but Father Miller did say that she needed to relax and enjoy, in his words: "What is the point of living if all you do is look over your shoulder for a knife that may come in your back? Can such a life be considered worth living? Would it be a better life than one where you found actual happiness, even if it had an abrupt end?" Silk does feel much better than metal, she felt a rare sensation as she studied herself in a nightdress of real silk, she hadn't really used it before, the mirror on the wall showed an attractive young woman in a somewhat revealing outfit. Perfect to get a man to take off all his protective items and to be lead to a bed, then one stab in his heart and he's done for her instincts told her, a part that had been growing in the back of her head more recently wondered why she always had to think like that. Even if all such things have been fake, fake like the dress that really was the chain shirt, the silk is real. She decides to take off her ribbon, too, transforming it back into the hat. It can stay in the bag with the chain shirt, tonight it will just be real silk, come what may.



Still raining is it? Good! Elminedra received her cloak from one of the servants, looking over him for any signs of deceit, simple reflex, she doesn't even think about it, just a servant, but the most likely role for an infiltrator to play, she knows that all too well. She checks the cloak, too. One of the coaches that serves the nobility and their courtiers stands outside, she shows the driver her signet ring, and he gallantly opens the door for her Serving the crown has it's benefits, free transport, and with this speed, any pursuers will get into trouble.

She sends the carriage on it's way, tipping the driver just enough to not be remembered as greedy or generous, entering the ballet, they know her, one of her "friends" are on the ensemble, she sometimes come here just to exercise her steps, she almost likes to Dance, Sir Varandi was a good teacher, and the elves, as with all things, enjoyed it. She could come and go as she pleased here, and nobody would lift an eyebrow, and that was what she needed now. Entering the guest wardrobe for females, nobody there as expected, it is a simple matter of willing her appearance to shift, and a figure that much more easily blends into the gray mass of ordinary citizens emerges from a side entrance. She stops at the window of one of the more exclusive tailors of the city, pretending to admire the quality of the dresses on display and envy the women that can afford such things, what she really does is to check for anyone looking her way, specifically for someone she has seen earlier, using the reflexion of the window as a mirror.

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Disguise: [roll0]
Spot: [roll1]
If allowed, Hide to blend into the crowd: [roll2]

Moving about at a pace that would be reasonable for a commoner, matching the pace of everyone else, Elminedra makes her way towards the inn, stopping in front of a jeweller to "admire the wares"

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Spot: [roll3]
Another spot for the next scene: [roll4]

Not feeling the temptation to even look through the windows, she is far too well trained to even consider such a thing, she hurries into the alley as someone that finally have reached her home and can't wait to get out of the rain. With her trained fingers, the door is opened quickly, and she slips in, hopefully before any pursuers would be able to catch up to see where she went, her eyes scanning the alley as she does so.

She takes her cloak off as she enters the room, hanging it up to dry, she wills the illusion of her former disguise to fade away, revealing the purple dress that she really wears.
Guests? Interesting, she looks with disdain on the tin cups, on the steins with disgust, though it would hardly be appropriate to pull out elven crystal out of her handbag. She sit down at the chair that she instinctively recognises as the one that would give her the best advantage if this happened to be a negotiation table, taking a brief moment to adjust her hair, listening intently for anyone approaching so that she may put the mirror back and pretend to just have arrived.

[Deathslayer7]

Bron

He reaches for the envelope carefully, he can't help but shake with fear on the inside, but on the outside he appears complete calmness. As it passes into his hand, he watches the assassin dissapear into the darkness, his eye only following for a moment before the blackness swallows him up. He enters the room and locks the door behind him.
He has trouble opening the letter, but he shakes just as much after reading it. He knew... he knew.... he thought inside his mind. What to do? I have to go. Now. With that, he picked up a small bag and placed it at his hip. He put two gold coins on the table and closed the door behind him. That would tell the innkeeper that he had never been here.
He exits the inn and looks at the sky. Cloudy. Not too bad, but if it began to rain, it wouldn't be nice. Better hurry then.
With that, he started off for the city. If he walked, he could make it by midday.

And he did. He hurried through the streets. It had started raining off him a while back, and he was soaked to the bone. He wore a straw hat, as well as beggars robes. As he passed by people, he asked for a coin or some food. Everyone seemed to ignore him. Slowly he made his way toward the inn, and soon enough he found it. He slipped into the alleyway, and watched the crowd justle about on its way. Quietly he opened the door and slipped in, closing it behind him.

It wasn't till then he noticed the lady already there. He tipped his straw hat to here and moved over to where the drinks were. Already pouring himself a cup. Then thinking better, he asks somewhat courteously, A drink for the lady?

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hat of disguise to disguise myself as a beggar.

[Havelock]

Elminedra

Having studied the labels of the wine bottles, she knew what she wanted. I would very much like to have some of the red, if you would be so kind Elven wine, three years old, good year. Alphonse preffered the white, so little wonder that at least one bottle had been left unopened while she was other places.

She gave the newcomer a youthful, friendy smile, while studying him, she looked as if she had hardly passed twenty summers, the young are underestimated, and it would take many years before Elminedra no longer would be able to turn that to her advantage.

[Deathslayer7]

Bron

Bron pours some of the red wine into a goblet, and hands it to her gently. As he does, you notice that his facial appearence has changed. He no longer wears his beggar robes either, but instead underneath are monk robes. He is still soaked to his skin though. It seems he shaved recently as there is no stubble growing. He also looks in his mid twenties. My name is Bron. he says handing her the cup. I can only assume that you know Tarkis as well.

[OverWilliam]

Khalmek
Posting in Dark Green.

Alefgard. A different world, it always seemed to be, than when he'd seen it last, and patently different than anywhere else he'd ever seen at all. And when had he seen it last...? Had it been a year already? The half-orc's introspection was cut short by a gust of wind tossing the hood of his oilskin cloak slapping against his face with a wet smack. The ranger chuckled to himself, a deep roiling chuckle... and one that, to those unfamiliar with it, could possibly sound like a grumble of frustration, or even like sobbing, if heard wrong. That was far from the half-orc's current mood, however, who broke into a short laugh at his predicament. He'd been wetter in his life, but short of being under water, he couldn't remember when. Under the cloak, and in his vest pocket, he fingered the key delivered to him by the shadowy figure that had appeared in his room hardly 24 hours before. Khalmek suppressed a shiver. But that was just the rain, probably.

Finally, the inn came into sight. He thought he remembered seeing the inn from the street before, and had possibly even been inside once in the distant past. All Taverns seemed to be basically the same, however-- not a bad thing, necessarily, but not many stood out from the pack. He had a feeling this one might.

Before quite reaching the Inn itself, the half-orc turned aside into the back alleys around and behind the building. At one or two points he made sure to double back on himself, moves designed to catch any would-be followers. There were none. Satisfied, and also eager to get out of the rain, wondrous in its own way though it was, the half-orc hurried on to the side entrance of the Grey Barley Inn, approaching it from behind. Producing the key, he was glad to find that it fit the heavy portal and permitted him inside.

Pausing once inside the door, the imposing figure peeled the oilskin cloak off with lingering mirth... though his expressions of amusement with himself could possibly be mistaken for aggravation at his bad luck with the weather. "Oh..." He mumbled as he noticed the other people in the room. About that time the others would be noticing the half-orc as well. His dress consisted mostly of leather and hide, huge boots, hide pants, the dress of a wilderness man. But certain touches of the half-orc's clothing and equipment spoke of a more complicated profession-- among other things, the fine-link shirt of armor worn beneath his thick leather vest... probably made of Mithril.

"Um... hi..." He muttered, walking into the room and pulling a chair back from the table. Before sitting, he pulled the huge Greatbow from his back and laid it on the table, then sank down (rather far...) into the seat. Little nervous.

[Havelock]

Elminedra

Bron

Bron pours some of the red wine into a goblet, and hands it to her gently. As he does, you notice that his facial appearence has changed. He no longer wears his beggar robes either, but instead underneath are monk robes. He is still soaked to his skin though. It seems he shaved recently as there is no stubble growing. He also looks in his mid twenties. My name is Bron. he says handing her the cup. I can only assume that you know Tarkis as well.

Elminedra gives a polite, almost formal, nod. Thank you There is no visible reaction to Bron's change of outfit

In her standard tone, speaking very much like a noble*, in fact as you would imagine that any noble would very much like to speak, her voice pleasant and melodious: Elminedra Delacourt, yes, I used to work for him some time ago, and then some more for the baron


*OOC: Equivalent of Queen's English, basically.

Her friendly, greeting smile betrays nothing of her thoughts as someone that certainly would make a good candidate for her exact opposite walks into the room, though Elminedra does not speak, though her posture somehow makes the response feel quite appropriate, if maybe somewhat unfamiliar to those that have spent most of their time outside the circles of diplomats, beurocrats and courtiers.

[Deathslayer7]

Bron looks at the orc as he walks in but listens to Elminedra all the same. Looking at her again he says, oh and are you a noble yourself? or have you just learned to speak like one? In imitation perhaps?

Then turning to the orc he smiles. What will it be buddy?

[Havelock]

My foster father, Sir Varandi Delacourt, I suppose you have not heard of him, serves as the ambassador of Romaly to the elves, I have taken up the same profession after him, it is simply how I am expected to speak

[Deathslayer7]

Bron shook his head. I have gotten out of politics a long long time ago. I have not caught up lately.

[Havelock]

Elminedra keeps her polite smile intact Oh, it is sort of boring for the uniniated, or so I understand. So it may perhaps not be all that interesting. What does interest me is what we are all here for, I am, how shall we say, unfamiliar with solving problems requiring that sort of tools her eyes pointing at the Greatbow.

[Deathslayer7]

Bron

A smile creeps onto Bron's face as he turns to the orc for his reply.

[OverWilliam]

Khalmek

"Oh, um... whatever's... good..." The half-orc shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Not that he would know what to ask for-- there were only select few drinks that could actually put the orc-blooded ranger under the table, and he doubted that any of those could be found here, so whatever he was given would be fine... but he did not know any of them by name, nor what was proper to ask for. Awkward.

When the others mentioned politics, though briefly, Khalmek did his best to pay attention. Being a Ranger he had some brushes with the political sides of things, even if he wasn't very good at puzzling out what they were supposed to mean. It largely had to do with making other people do what you wanted them to, he sort of suspected, which sounded like a rather dangerous skill in the wrong hands. Not that he possessed said skill in order to know for sure, but it seemed that way to his uneducation.

At the mention of the Greatbow, Khalmek sat up abruptly and cleared his throat. "Erm... yes, ah... Problems... that need certain... sorts of... um... fixing... happens, sometimes. I guess. And someone has to fix them when... they are the ones who can. Do fixing, I mean. Um." He shrunk a little in his chair. It was sort of odd, seeing a six and a half foot man looking like he felt six and a half inches tall.

[Deathslayer7]

Bron

Bron chuckled slightly at orcs answer. He filled the orc's cup with lager and passed it to him. There ain't many who know about politics here, and even less who care. Only the nobles here care about what goes on up top. Everyday peasents just try to get by. Myself included. Although I do like to keep an eye on things. he gives the orc a small smile. Well my name's Bron. I don't know about you, but cheers! He holds up his glass.

[Havelock]

Elminedra raises her cup and imbibes the toast in a dignified manner. She drinks slowly from the cup, not much of a sip, sampling the wine rather than drinking it.

We are toasting without a proper introduction? Elminedra turns her attention to the half-orc, then perhaps concluding that this particular individual is likely uncustomized to proper etiquette. I am Elminedra Delacourt, of whom do I have the pleasure to meet?

[OverWilliam]

Khalmek

Khalmek accepted the proffered lager, and snuck a quick gulp to calm his nerves. When the pretty female one asked him his name (at least... he was pretty sure that's what she was asking...?), he wished he'd been able to manage more than a gulp. "Erm, *Ahhem*" He cleared his throat with a rumbling cough. "Khalmek, Ranger of Alefgard... and Thellenar." He waited until he saw one of the others drink first, and then immediately seized the opportunity to drain half of his cup. He realized after the fact that this was probably not the 'expected' thing to do... oops. "So... Bron... and...? He tried, hoping that she knew what he was talking about...

[Havelock]

Elminedra

El-min-ed-ra She puts extra emphasis on each syllable, Khalmek is it? You must be the one that held Tristan's pass, correct?

[Deathslayer7]

The orc shouldn't feel too embarassed as Bron downs have his cup as well. He puts it down for a moment, listening to the conversation. Ai! That's him! Haven't you ever heard the stories? It's said that he could shoot an apple through the center from 300 meters away! It is also said that he once wrestled a frost giant in that pass nd toppled it.

[OverWilliam]

Khalmek

Khalmek was grateful for Elminedra's careful pronunciation, and he repeated it in his head a few times to make sure he got it right. El-min-ed-ra, El-min-ed-ra... Elminedra... ok, got it... He didn't seem to realize that he was being patronized, and instead was honestly grateful for being saved from an embarrassing slip-up later.

If it was possible, at the others' recognition of his name the green-hued half-orc turned positively Red. "Um... actually, I hadn't heard that... particular one before," He commented in response to Bron's exclamation. He fiddled nervously with his cup, then decided to drain the rest of the lager in it.

[Havelock]

Elminedra

Okay.... She thinks at seeing the drinking habits of the other guests,..so these are like dwarves? At least dwarves doesn't come to the table unwashed. No sense in revealing her disgust, however, that would be inappropriate.

Actually, I read the official report, I do not recall such vivid details, though the head of a charging orc must surely be harder to hit than an apple?

[Sir_Chivalry]

Nathanial Greyson

Nathanial claims true blue but I could change it to dark slate, my usual colour, if needed

No carriage carried Nathanial Greyson to his destination, for no carriage could. A horse walked by his side, laden with treasures and equipment, while the quite literally gigantic man walked along the street, pulling a soaked woolen cloak around himself and stumbling slightly on the cobblestone streets. Alphonse had asked of Nathanial in his letter to make all provisions of stealth and secrecy to come to the Grey Barley Inn's backroom, but the lumix had likely read the smudged words on the wet and crumpled letter wrong, and had wandered from tavern to tavern, and even to some drinking clubs, inns, dives, bars and speakeasys. He had predicted his own ineptitude prior to setting off, and had left himself the better part of the day, starting his romp across the cities watering holes at half-past mid-day.

The front door to the Grey Barley Inn swung open loudly, and Nathanial stooped low and entered, muttering a whispered but still all too loud "Sorry. Don't know my own strength." Making his way over to the bar, Nathanial arranged for his horse to be looked after, at a premium rate of triple the normal price so that the saddlebags would be kept locked away too (something Nathanial had been doing ALL day, at each place).

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Diplomacy check to get what I want, and hopefully earn a friend for my drinking(1d20+11)[29]+(whatever circumstance bonus triple pay gives me)

Sitting down at a table, Nathanial called over the barmaid and ordered his drinks, two pints of the house stout for now, and three bottles of pulsch brown ale (a halfling ale, nutty flavour) to put in his saddlebags for later. Whatever the meal of the night was (he really wasn't paying attention), Nathanial gobbled down two plates of it, a light meal in this case, due to his having eaten at ten other places today. A man of his proportions needed to eat, and Nathanial had not eaten for a few days on the road, after he tried to use his trail rations to catch bigger game. He washed all of it down with a glass of wine, and then spent the better part of an hour making passes at the barmaid and asking loudly if anyone would like to know how he got his scars, then collapsing for a short nap in his chair.

Nathanial got up from his table half an hour later, and staggered outside, telling the barkeep he was going to relieve himself in an outdoor privy, and pressing five gold into his hands to make him swear not to tell Nathanial's wife about it.

"I've always wanted to try it, but my wife claims it's unsanitary and crass."

Once outside, Nathanial staggered forward, lost his footing, fell into the alleyway next to the inn, and proceeded to stumble down the alleyway and around a corner until he came to a heavy wooden door. He looked left, no one was around, and to the right, only an alleycat, which he shooed away. Opening the door, Nathanial stooped again to walk in, but this time rose to his full height after entering, no longer slouching or stumbling. The people in front of him at the table seemed interesting enough . . . a beggar, a woman and a half-orc. Alphonse had made some strange friends, but Nathanial's old pupil was always a far wiser man than he, so Nathanial trusted these people for now. But there was something . . . familiar about them, the girl most of all, and not in a good way.

"Hello everyone. I hope you don't mind me sitting down, I'm so very tired from pretending to be drunk all day. Is that bread? I'll just be taking that. My wife makes some good bread at home. Pulsch brown ale anyone? I bought it myself, fine product. You know, I hope Alphonse appreciates all the money and work it took to get here. Not like someone like me can be stealthy . . . so might as well be drunk."

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Total gold spent: 27gp 1sp 6cp

[Havelock]

Elminedra

oh great!...just great Elminedra keeps up her facade, anything else would be inappropriate, but she really wanted to find a hole to hide in, assuming it would have cushions, not be smelly and not stain her clothes. Hopefully this won't get quite as bad as the time I had to hide in a latrine for two days She had spent the full next day bathing to get the smell out of her hair.

Interestingly enough, he did manage to get here in a somewhat intelligent fashion, but what use Alphonse had for her to accompany individuals, she pondered for a moment if Bron would fit the description, with a subtlety level that would rival that of the orcs. But the appropriate reaction was not to mention any of that, and remain quite politely reserved.

Sir Greyson, I presume?

[Pink]

Nathanial:

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Almost everywhere you go you're treating with great hospitality, except for that one priest's only bar you tried to go into, whether because of your own good spirits, the money you spread around, or people recognizing you as the hero you are. More than one barkeep eagerly begs you to make sure you return while you're in town for one last drink, on the house, and more than one bar maid gives him a wink and suggests they have a warm bed for him if Nathanial wanted to stay the night.

The owner of the Grey Barley Inn promises his life long silence to 'yer lordship' as you exit the bar.

The introductions are cut short, as the door opens yet again. Unlike the previous times this has happened, there is no figure in the gloom of evening rain. Instead the door seems to stay open for a while, and as you pay attention, it looks as if boot-prints appear in the small puddle that has gathered at the backdoor. The door closes and the sound of the lock turning can be heard, and you tense for a moment before suddenly, as if out of thin air, Alphonse Tarkis appears before you, seeming to having just pulled a ring off his finger.

As he pockets the ring, gold with some sort've red glow to it, you aren't able to catch a good look at it, he throws back the hood of his cloak to reveal wet, slightly curly, black hair and his handsome face, line by a carefully groomed black beard and with his piercing blue eyes.

He shakes the water off himself for a moment before taking off his cloak and lying it against a pile of barrels. Though dressed in fine clothes that keep with the highest standards of the nobles, it cannot be missed that a chain shirt has been worked into the outfit, a dress style historically observed by nobles of the borderlands and often adopted by young noble heirs of other houses as well. He also carries a longsword by his side, not just the ornamental rapier blade of many aristocrats, with the handle being quite simple of decoration to keep a good grip while the sheath carries the decoration. A dagger lies on the opposite side, and there's no doubt in your mind that he carries another weapon hidden on him somewhere or has some magic protecting him.

"My sincerest apoligies for my late entrance. I had hoped to be the first here, however it was more difficult to slip away without notice than I anticipated, and this damnable weather has not helped one bit." He says after a short quick bow before entering further within.

"I'm afraid I do not have much time to discuss things with you, I must attend a dinner organized by Lady Bracknell tonight and would like to make my brief disappearance from the noble's quarter as unnoticeable as possible."

Starting with Elminedra he greets each of you before taking the last remaining chair. "I am glad to see you are still as beautiful as every Elminedra. I hear you've lately found employment with Baron Frohman himself, very impressive." He says, taking her right hand and gently kissing the back of it, a court appropriate greeting for close friends of opposite gender.

He then looks to Nathanial and smiles a large hearty smile, "I'm glad to see you seem to have lost none of your strength Lord Greyson. I apoligize for not visiting your estate of late, I'm often here in Alefgard and rarely get to visit Tarkis. I hope you and your family are doing well though."

As he looks to Bron, this normally poised and always ready noble seems to be at a loss for a moment. He seems to begin to smile, before the joy drains away from his face, and for a moment it almost looks like he regrets the simpled clothed man's precense. At last he settles for, "Bron, I see you are healthy."

Alphonse's look improves though as he approaches the half-orc with an outstretched arm. "I must apoligize for my presumpteous in inviting you as we have not met before this, but I have heard well of your deeds, why, who hasn't heard the tale of Khalmek, Hero of Tristan's Fall, and I hope... I believe I can trust you in this matter. Allow me a proper introduction. I am Alphonse De Cret' La Tarkis, Guardian of Nindres Tower, Heir to the Baron of Tarkis, at your service." he says, using the formal introduction.

"I must declare my extreme satisfaction that all four of you choose to attend this meeting tonight." He says as he takes his own seat, pouring himself a glass of white wine and taking a brief sip before continuing. "Now we come to the matter of why I asked you here. Please, feel free to ask any questions and don't hold on ceremony of station here. Here we are equals."

"As I alluded to within my letter, there are troubles brewing within Alefgard. Things have never been great since the death of King Terrence, may he rest in the hall of Kings, however now scheming and plots have seem to come to the forefront. While some countries would use times of peace to strengthen themselves, it seems Romaly tries to tear itself apart. Of course it's not the Nobles that suffer from this, but the people that fall into the tears, and I cannot abide that. That's why I wanted to form this group, to help route out and attack these threats to this city, this country! I cannot neglect my duties as heir and representative of Tarkis, that's why I need you four. I ask you, would you help me in this?

[OverWilliam]

Khalmek

At Alphonse's introduction, Khalmek replied simply with a heartfelt (but practiced ad nauseum, and it showed somewhat) "Humbly at your service, Sir." He also clued in on the fact that everyone else in the room already knew Alphonse personally in some way... and that he had a reputation to live up to as well-- not an easy proposition, seeing that his reputation was quite larger than life to begin with. Khalmek took a steadying breath, and gripped his longbow for reassurance. He had never done any more than his duty. That was all he had to do here as well.

At Alphonse's initial explanation, Khalmek paid rapt attention to the noble son's words. Most of it seemed to go over his head, unfortunately, but he did seem to catch the sentiment of the Old King's death making things uncertain... and that the common people were feeling the hurt from that uncertainty. More positively, there was something that could be done about it. Khalmek gave a determined sort of look and nodded, though he did so mostly to himself-- actually, he forgot that the others would be able to see him doing so and might take meaning from it where none was actually intended... though they would probably get the right impression, and without the trouble of him having to attempt to convey it on purpose.

[Deathslayer7]

Bron

I'm glad to see you are well too Alphonse. Bron replies back, keeping things courteous. He too seems uncertain what to say to him, so he settles just for that.

[Havelock]

Elminedra

That's a nice trinket, I must get one of those someday Elminedra gives Alphonse a curtsey, with a flair and elegance that must have been honed by performing it hundreds of times. No matter how much Alphonse might wish for informality, her manners did not change an inch. Quite possibly they were far too well ingrained for that, or maybe she just wanted to maintain class. Her face betraying no emotion, just a courteous smile.

I serve his majesty m'Lord, it would be my duty to offer what aid I can provide. Though I must wonder what sort of threats that needs to be dealt with.

[OverWilliam]

Khalmek

Khalmek made a low rumbling sound; it might be a little confusing to interpret, but in this case it was intended as a thoughtful musing. "There have been... dis-turbance-es in the city," He said carefully, only halting over the big word a little. He didn't actually know what it meant... but it was the polite euphemism that everyone who knew better than he seemed to use when describing a mess that needs cleaning up. And Khalmek was usually the one to clean it up. "There are... quiet rumors in taverns and... things like that. People disappearing. I havn't heard much of what they were saying... but something is happening. And getting worse, I think." Khalmek then fell silent, as though concerned that he had spoken too much or when not called for. He was never very good at recognizing the difference between those.

While the others continued discussing, Khalmek dug the letter he'd been given out of one of his many pockets and laid it out flat on the table. Hadn't it mentioned some of the stuff that was going wrong...? He examined it very carefully... and looked like he was understanding it, even if he was doing so somewhat slowly. Most of it.

[Sir_Chivalry]

Nathanial Greyson

At the mention of her name, Nathanial looks at the young woman at the table.

"Elminedra? The Elminedra? You were but a willful youth the last time we spoke. What was it, four years ago? You've . . . become a lovely woman. I'm not quite the dancer now that I was then."

Nathanial turns to Alphonse, ripping off a piece of bread stuffing it in his mouth, swallowing after about three chews.

"Speaking of growing up Al, your splotches have cleared up I see. You look every bit the noble you are, if it's not too bold to say. Have you caught the eye of any lovely (or buxom) young ladies at court? We should spar sometime. Is this bread wheat based? I've only had buckwheat bread most of the last year. Need to cut back on costs when there's no adventure to be had. Can't really bring myself to tax the serfs too much, I was one of them once."

Finally, turning to the other two, Nathanial takes a long drink of Pulsch Brown Ale.

"You two. I can see why Al hired you two. Khalmek, nothing I've done can compare to your deeds at Tristan's Fall Gap. I've studied your stand for at least two hours a day since your commendation. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if our places had been reversed, if you had been standing between the king and an assassin, and I had be called upon to hold the Gap. It would have ended badly for me I can say that. And you . . . Bron was it? I owe my nickname to you. You might be anonymous to most, but how could I forget the man who gave me this?"

With that, Nathanial indicates the scar running along his jawline, from when a "guy got off a lucky swing with a broken bottle" in a bar fight.

"Anyone who can hit me hard enough to leave a mark deserves my respect."

[Havelock]

Elminedra

That Elminedra wanted her hole even more now was not visible on her face, sometimes, one simply has to endure. She decided to produce a smile, a little bit more warmth to it this time.

Why, thank you! Sir Greyson, a pity about your dancing though

[Pink]

Alphonse does well, not even blushing at the comments from his former teacher. "I'm afraid there will be time enough later to catch up on things, though I do want to catch up with all of you." then looking towards Khalmek for a moment, "And get to know you better."

"For now though, I'm afraid we must discuss business. I would ask that what is spoken of in here does not reach the ears of anyone outside this room. It may be just independent events or problems, however they could also be the marks of a larger plot, and I would not discount such a mastermind to not deal with unwanted investigation."

"I am pleased that you all seem agreeable to what I propose, so I will go into further detail of what I wish for you to investigate specifically. I am trying to piece together the puzzle of deceit, shadows, and knives over Alefgard, however some I still require more time and research before I would ask you to move on them. However there is one piece that frightens me, and keeps frightened the citizens of Alefgard."

"Over the past month, there have been a number of murders in East-side. Please, don't laugh. I am fully aware that murder is not a new trend in that part of the city, however usually it's disappearances, or crimes of passion and drink. Even the commonest thug realizes that if they can avoid a patrol, or have enough money to pay them to look the other way, they might toss the body over the cliff and never have a shred of evidence. However, bodies have been appearing in the streets, stumbled upon by patrols. Bodies may not be the best word though. Remains is more suitable." At this point the son of Tarkis seems to suppress a shudder and takes a deep drink of his wine. His face has become rather grim and serious in telling the tale, giving him the look of an older man.

"What's left is little more than shreds of meat and bones, blood soaked into dirt and stone. Almost half of them couldn't even be identified. At least, that's what the rumors say. None of this has reached council. Whether by bribery or simply denying the council the information, none of the patrols that pass through East-side are speaking of it. It's an outrage, such corruptness and insubordination. The generals on the coast could be taught a thing or two of the discipline and honour of the borderland armies. Ah, I'm getting off topic."

"The main problem, is things are getting worse. It started out as one murder, a few days in between, then another, and the intervals kept getting shorter until it was night after night, and then more than one murder a night. Or at least, that's supposedly how it goes. I've only been able to pick information up through the rumour vines. I might never have heard of it at all, had not the victims of a night a week and a day ago included a full four-man patrol of Royal guardsmen. Nobody knows what it is, some say a demon, others a wild animal. Some think it's a gang that gets off on the cruelty and savagery of it. That may be true, as growth in such a gang might explain the increase in attacks."

"I would like you all to work together, to investigate what is behind this, bring them to justice, and see if there's any further layer of evil deeds beyond the mindless massacres. I will give you the full backing of Tarkis in how you deal with this, you may use whatever means you need to bring protection back to the people of Romaly. Furthermore, bring what evidence you can back to me, so that I can bring it to the council and perhaps encourage them to pull their head's out of their scheming backsides and do the job we're assigned to do, keeping the country safe and prosperous." With that he downs the rest of his glass. "Any questions?"