The Scarred Lands (IC)

[Torger]

Dawn, Landsday of Enkilot, AV 150

The sounds of a pattering rain can be heard, as a loud crash, followed by cursing in four different languages drifts up to you from the common room below. You are staying in the Flabby Tabby Inn, on the docks of Weyside, in the Province of Darakeane. The inn rates were a little dear, given the strain this venture has already put on your respective purses, but the rooms were clean and rat-free, the beds were stuffed with down, and the innkeeper supplied each of you with a door with an external lock. Plus, the fair included a traditional Keltic breakfast in the morning. All in all, not a bad deal.

The matronly chief cook, whom you had gathered is the Publican's wife, can be heard scolding the wait staff -- a pair of Halflings and one of her children, for "bulls-arsin' around in the kitchen when the people will be don fer breakfast in a bit, and Sacred Heart of Madriel herself... Look at the mes ye've made in here! You wait until your father comes back, Edwin, my son... You're going to get some knock..." The ranting fades off toward the other end of the building, where the kitchens are, but you're all pretty firmly awake, now, and though the wind can be heard outside, your warms are reasonably warm, given the season.

[Azerian Kelimon]

((The introduction handed down by Torger. If you like to play knowing only what your character knows, don't read it. Bah, we all know you're going to read, but I spoilered it anyway.))

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Tiresias

Having set to wander, you make your way down from your Master's retreat in the foothills near the Spires of Gurak, heading west and slightly south, following the roll of the land. So this was the Darakean peninsula... The inhabitants seem to be mostly human, although there are two distinct groups evidenced. In semi-permanent villages, you encounter somewhat savage-looking people, with blue-painted tattoos and a somewhat suspicious nature, but they seemed friendly enough.

As you make your way through the forest you learned is called the Warring Wood, you stumble across one of the War colleges, and are invited to stay for the evening. Here, class upon class of young warriors train, and you are invited to spar with several of them, noting your combat prowess. You feel, upon entering the ring, that your abilities are suppressed, making this a place of pure martial value, and while you fair well, the diversity of your studies is ultimate your downfall in the final round of the tournament.

You sleep that night in the dormitory, a contended sleep of a day well spent, and a night in a good bed with a good fire. As you sleep, you have a Dream. your Weapon Master comes and bids you to realize your full potential. He points his finger toward the water, and you see an island that seems to be floating several hundred feet above the water. When you look back, the Weapons Master has become your father, bidding you to follow the dreams, follow your destiny. The final image of the vision is a four-armed scale, with all eight pans out of balance.

You awake with a purpose in mind, now. You make your way through Darakeane, intent to book passage to the Drifting Isle, which lies off the coast near Weyside. You've heard, in your travels, that Erias himself resides there, and it is the source of all dreams.

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On the subject of investigating for some way to reach the Island.

You asked around, and it's actually a well-known Island in the area. There's stories all around about it, and there's a trade ferry that takes goods and pilgrims to and from the isle a couple of times a month. it lives from Weyside

Ahh, a new day dawns. No use wasting it in bed anymore. Better resume training, seeing I'll be stuck here for a while.

As he rises from his sleep, Tiresias starts to pick up his gear. Donning his armor, he picks up his sword, does a few practice lunges and stabs, and heads for his room's door.

As he exits the room, the hustle and bustle of a crowded tavern hits him. The Flabby Tabby has been good on accomodations, the food has been solid. But it doesn't matter to Tiresias, as he scans the room, looking for chatty looking individuals.

[fendrin]

Heinrich

At the first hint of noise, Heinrich silently but swiftly rolls out of bed, grasping the handaxe he had hidden under his pillow. Looking around and seeing that there were no actual intruders, he stands up and stretches, mumbling to himself in his native tongue.
"Right, still a bit jumpy. Too many nights hiding from murderous thugs. Well, never hurts to be cautious."

Quickly getting dressed and loading up his sparse but significant gear, he heads down to the common room.

[Minchandre]

Dael woke gently to the sound of rain on the roof - an unfamiliar sound, but one with which he is becoming better acquainted every day. Luxuriating in the bed for a moment - soft and warm beds have proven remarkably scarce on the road - Dael was driven to full awareness by the croaking of his gods-damned talkative familiar, "Time to get up, sleepyhead! The day is wasting, and you know what the Masters would say if they found you laying about all day..."

I should never have gotten a talking familiar he thought to himself as he hauled himself out of bed, A cat would have been much nicer. Or even a flense drake, maybe? I've heard they're useful...but no, I needed one that could relay messages if needed. Never mind that no one can understand the language I chose to teach it. Never mind that it has the mind of a dull three year old! No, I needed one that could talk.

The internal grumbling was just habit, though, and when he had pulled on loose trousers and shirt of undyed linen, he gave Sapheral a loving stroke and gestured for the raven to take his customary place on the left shoulder. Dressed now, he took a few moments to pull his hair into a loose braid, and washed his face and hands in the basin. Dael then pulled on his boots and descended to the common room.

In the common, Dael was rewarded for his familiar's efforts by being one of the first in the room. Thankfully, this afforded him an excellent spot at an unoccupied table by the fire. He sat there, for a minute, watching the brilliant patterns as they shifted, never still even for an instant. Before long, however, he was interrupted from his reverie by a male voice - the publican's son - asking, with a broad smile, "An' what can I get you fer breakfas', lass?"

Dael grinned outwardly even as he groaned inside, thankful that Sapheral hadn't understood the comment (that damned crow had a poor enough sense of humor anyway), and replied, in a surprisingly deep voice that was at odds with his somewhat feminine features, "I'll have whatever the cook feels is best, if that's alright. Just, ah, no meat, please." He thought a moment before adding, "Oh, and tea."

The boy instantly turned off the charm before scuttling away towards the kitchen, no doubt as embarrassed at mistake Dael for a girl as Dale himself had been the first time he'd encountered the problem.

This early, and with a mostly empty common, it didn't take long for the food to be brought out - by one of the halflings, Dael noted - and within seconds the young necromancer was eating with gusto, pausing only to feed choice tidbits to his complaining bird.

[daggaz]

Merrindel de Angouleme

Merrindel is already up, studying arduously in his spellbook, when the noise of the others waking disturbs his concentration. With a slight, distasteful hurriedness, he finishes the last mental reconition of the spell he was working on.

Just a cantrip, it doesn't have to be perfect, Merrindel.

Packing his few belongings tidly together, he leaves the room, one of many he is certain he will never see again.

[WakkaWakka]

(OOC: I'll put the intro here too - we should all be able to distinguish IC and OOC knowledge, after all.)

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Sean,

That first night was hard for you. You had left home with little more than the clothes on your back. Gale had left you in quite a predicament.

You run and hide in the surrounding woodlands until the other villagers finally grow tired of beating the bushes for you, and finally, with a litany of oaths, head for home.

Thinking you're in the clear, you start to emerge from the disused Badger den, and catch a final snippit of conversation -- "Let Virduk's cronies have him."

With a start of fear, you take in your surroundings, and realize that they left you be because you ran off the reserve and into Crown Lands. There was even a notice posted on the tree you were hiding under. You lacked your papers, bribery money, proper equipment, or even a blanket. You were definitely not equipped to handle patrols.

Just as you had resigned yourself into despair, a flicker of hope shone out of the darkness. Creeping closer, you note a band of merchants with outbound cargo camped for the night. On silent feet, you steal into the camp, and hide out in a crate of halfling-made porcelain bowls, prepared to catch a few hours of sleep and disappear before the crate was opened.

As you sleep, you dream of Gale. She backons you to come meet her, but you can't seem to reach her. Again and again you try, but you can't seem to manage to catch up with her. Finally, she calls to you, "Come and meet me, Sean... I'll find you at the place where the elements meet the ether... Follow your dreams" The final vision Sean had before waking was the image of an island, and superimposed over it was a four-armed, eight-panned merchant's scale, decidedly out of balance.

The dream was decidedly cryptic, but you did catch a glimpse of something you saw in a geography book, once, a map of the Drifting Isle, off the coast of Darakeane. Perhaps there are answers there.

Sean Farland
Slowly Sean wakes up - he had pushed himself hard, those last days, and could still feel every single step in his short legs.
The halflings here have been really of help, offering him a big discount for a room down below, near their quarters - it should have been for hired help, but the tavern isn't active enough to need that.
After a needed refreshing, he comes up into the common room, looks around... and sits at one of the smaller tables - there's more activity than he'd have expected.
It will take a bit to have a free moment with the cook - she should know if any ship is sailing to the Drifting Isle, and if they will accept a stow-away.

[Darius]

Graeme MacKelan

Waking from the his sleep Graeme says, "Me thanks, Maker. I shall do ye proud as well, methinks." Graeme readjusts his chainshirt that he wears to bed and affixes his brooch of his plaid. The tartan of clan MacKelan is an ancient one, and it has different color combinations depending on the situation. Graeme wears the hunter's plaid, since its darker colors will help him blend in if needed. He puts his spell compontent pouch and sporran and sling about his waist. He slides his knife into its place on his calf.

Picking up his pack he looks inside for Haggis, his familiar. "Ah, thar ye be, Haggis. I thought ye'd be 'iding in thar. Come out ye no good biscuit thief, lest ye want tae be crushed by me keg o' dwarven dark." His rough hands gently stroke the fur of the weasel. A twinkle is detected in the dark scowling visage of the dwarf as he looks fondly down at his travel companion. Safely outside, Graeme fits his keg into his backpack and lifts it onto his shoulders. The weasel deftly climbs up the dwarf who squirms a bit as the creature does so until it sneaks into the pack under a flap.

His shield is painted with the symbols and runes of his family. Its crest of an two-handed axe crossed with a bastard sword is legendary. The runes dictate the virtues of his clan. He is proud to heft the shield in his hand. He is truly home when he picks up his hand-and-a-half. The pommel fits in his hand and feels to be a part of him. Graeme smiles and feels at home like this even though the highlands are far away.

The rumbling in his stomach tells the dwarf that he must eat.

ooc: I am not sure if I am at the inn or not, below is an account if he is:

So he stomps down the stairs to common room. The patter of rain makes the expression of the dwarf match the weather. "Oi, lass, 'ungry customers be waitin'. A mug o' ale, stovied tatties, and bannocks if'n it pleases ye, lass."

The mountain dwarf sets his pack down next to his seat at a table and rests the tip of his very large sword on the ground and begins spinning it slowly like a top as looks at the other patrons. He does so directly and his eyes narrow as he considers some (read: Dark Elf and Charundi Dwarf) but seem friendly to no one.

[Azerian Kelimon]

Ack, I almost forgot about him. Wake up, Etrius, we need to focus, Tiresias says as he strides through the inn to one of the tables father away from the entrance, so as to keep an eye on it.

Hey, Boss, are we fighting already? Some dragon stormed the camp? Yippie! The psycristal "says", telepathically communicating with him as "he" wakes up. "He" is always a little TOO keen on jumping into the fire, but "his" sunny personality was always nice to have around when things look dim.

Alas, no, Etrius. We AREN'T camping but in an inn, and there are no dragons nearby. We need to focus. Are you ready for it, or do you need to warm up with a few hydras? Tiresias says, as he waves his sword to call for someone to bring him some breakfast.

Hydras? Let's have a go at them, boss, let's do i-

I was joking, Etrius. There aren't any hydras around, I was teasing you.

Ignoring the protests of the crystal, Tiresias starts to focus, concentrating his powers and building a fraction of them so as to prepare for anything, readying them to be unleashed in a burst of psionic power. Then, when he is finished, he concentrates on the crystal, which at once stops complaining and assumes a serious attitude. He repeats the process, but tranfers the bit of his powers to the crystal. Then, as he prepares to confirm the success, he remembers something. Grow up the legs and attach yourself to the armor, Etrius. I can always use your sights there.

Right on, boss! As the psicrystal grows up tiny silvery legs, it opens the pouch at his belt and scurries upwards to his chest. There, it implants itself, now looking like some kind of shining silver badge. With that out of the way, Tiresias checks on the focii's success.

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Rolling concentration for establishing a psionic focus:

(1d20+10)[14]
(1d20+10)[27]

[Toliudar]

Gislana

The dwarf opened her eyes, and stared at the ceiling a moment, trying to place where she was.

Ah. Of course. Thank you, Nemorga, for givink me another day in which to do your work, and the work of my people.

Rising, Gislana stumped onto the floor, where she went through her morning exercises, each motion attuned to a prayer and philosophical saying. Finished, she takes some of the decadent hygiene water from the basin, splashing it over herself. I do this to value the work of my colleagues who have made this bed and brought up this jug.

Her prayers complete, Gislana carefully puts on each piece of her thick splint mail over her deep red tunic, secretly enjoying the sense of support it gave. With a further prayer, she puts the Circular Blade of the People on its thong at her hip. Glancing around the room, she decided not to leave anything here when she went down - never knew when news of a ship might come! Gislana takes up her pack, crossbow and spear, and clanks down the stairs.

At least one other dwarf! Thank goodness. Even if it was that MacKelan reactionary. Gislana stumped down the stairs and set her spear up against the wall near Graeme. As he completes his order, she holds up a hand to get the server's attention.

Make that two, darlink. Thank you SO much.

Without waiting to be invited, Gislana sits opposite Graeme, silently contemplating the rain.

[Torger]

7:30AM,, Landsday of Enkilot, AV 150

The place slowly begins to fill up as patrons awakened by the clatter drift in, as well as the occasional local off the street. There is a bustle as the two halflings, the lad, and an adolescent girl run about filling orders, punctuated by the squalling voice of the Matron from the back room. Daffyd! Ivor! Careful with that porridge! Bloody halflings... Rosín, these eggs are going to the fellow in the funny hat. Yes, I'm sure it's a fellow. Ian, here come your father. Go help him with that cart! Depositing his tray, the lad leaves via the front door, where he can be seen unloading produce with the Publican. The serving girl deposits eggs, toast, and tea in front of Dael before bustling back into the kitchen, startled by the smelly Dwarf's demands for things unknown.

One of the Halflings approaches Tiresias, depositing a tray of eggs, sausage, porridge, and a weak ale.Hey, no weapons in the common room. He points at the sign above the bar, indicating a no drawn weapons policy.

Once again, the door opens, and seemingly floating on the hard-blowing wind, a willowy girl with red hair and vibrant clothes enters, taking a seat with the tall, slim man with the drawn cowl in the corner, studying a very well-bound book.

[daggaz]

(you read my mind about sitting alone, sorry meant to post it earlier but im not feeling too well here today)
Merrindel de Angouleme

Merrindel looks up from his book as the cold wind blows in thru the open door, and what could be mistaken for a nearly imperceivable smile breaks the solice of his otherwise dour and solemn contenance.

The din of the breakfast crowd was annoying, but at least he could focus enough to read through it. Ignoring the others was easy. It was the cold that got to him. It caught him hiding in his cloak, seeped into his thinning bones, it crawled into bed with him at night, as he lay meditating on his problems at hand. He shivered, and pulled the cloak tighter with one hand as he slid the book to one side, clearing some space for his guest.

I would almost cast a spell, but to keep that cold at bay. I trust you slept better than myself, he says quietly to her, a wry look on his face betraying the self-irony of his last statement. If you are hungry, please, order something. I still have some coin left. Personally, I couldn't eat with such a.. cacophony in the room.

He looks about the room in obvious distaste; the motley crew of ragtag travelers, all jammering for a bite to eat and talking at the same time. He could recognize at least three languages buzzing in the air, more if he cared to actually focus on such things. But as always, he had much more pressing things on his mind.

[Azerian Kelimon]

Sorry for waving the thing around. Just wanted to get someone to notice I'm here. By the way, could you get me some a glass of water? And before you ask, Tiresias mutters rapidly, I'm not asking for alcohol because I want to keep a clear head.

Looking at the new arrivals, Tiresias decides to make sure he focuses this time, and absentmindedly watches the pair reading the book as, without error, the psionic energy accumulates.

Heh. That girl looks like Elly, but it's a pity she never reads much. I'd give a lot to see her picking up a book. Don't you agree, Etrius?

Not really, boss. I'd like it if she picked up a sword and started slaying some beasts, though!

Never change, buddy, never change, he chuckles, as he starts devouring the eggs.


Edit: That bit about focusing meant taking 10. Since I have a +10 bonus on my concentration check, I auto succeed.

[Torger]

Irina

Merci, Monseur. I will when the server returns. I was talking to the dock workers, and it seems there is a departure scheduled for the Drifting Isle this afternoon, weather permitting.

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She addresses her companion in High Elven, if anyone cares to listen, and speaks the language, but the words "Drifting Isle" are in Common, as is regular for place names. DC 10 Listen Check to pick it up. It's passive, so everyone roll it

The Halfling server returns, depositing an earthenware vessel of water in front of Tiresias before bustling off again. The girl, Rosín, returns and deposits to trays of the breakfast special in front of the Dwarves, complete with tankards of morning ale, and is about to scurry off hen the red-haired girl with the slightly elfin features stops her with a hand on her arm.

I will have the breakfast special, please.Her Common is flawless, with only the slightest hint of an accent, and she seems to steady the girl a little after her encounter with the Dwarves.

[Toliudar]

Gislana

Gislana scanned the room, wincing each time the bombastic pig of a cook ordered the poor oppressed halflings around. If only they understood that the chains they wore could be shrugged off with the lightest of efforts. Perhaps if I found a comely mouthpiece to speak FOR me. Hmm.

She glanced up at the tattooed dwarf opposite her.

Well, not this one, clearly. Ah well.

Her smile is a bit forced.

So! What business brinks you to Weyside on such a beautiful day. At least, a beautiful day to be underground.

[daggaz]

Merrindel de Angouleme

This afternoon? That is perfect news. The sooner we leave, the better.

He pauses, his attention momentarily caught by the rather loud Charundi woman as she harrangues the mountain dwarf across her table. He half rolls his eyes towards them and away again, exhaling abruptly.

Yes, the sooner the better. And the cost of passage?

[Minchandre]

Dael

After quickly finishing his breakfast - quite passable, if a little bland - Dael sat back and sipped at his tea as he watched the room fill up. He watched as the halfling descended, and as the dwarves entered into their little congress. He considered joining them, and was on his way to, when she walked in. She was beautiful, which would have been enough to merit a second look on its own, but she reminded him of home - Hollowfaust had no shortage of slimly built redheads with an interest in books (Dael himself was living proof of that), but the rest of the world had proven tragically deficient in this key field.

Bravado battled with shyness for a minute as Dael decided whether or not to presume to introduce himself, and shyness was winning.

That was, shyness had been winning, until he heard her speak: "...and it seems there is a departure scheduled for the Drifting Isle this afternoon, weather permitting." To be nervous about talking to girls was one thing; to be nervous to meet your goal was another! With a whispered, "Wish me luck, eh?" to Sapheral, he got up and moved to where the girl and man were talking.

"Excuse me miss, sir," he began in High Elven, "But if I might impose on you for a moment? I, too, was hoping if I might be able to find passage the Drifting Isle in the near future, and I couldn't help but overhear you. Many apologies for imposing, but to miss such an opportunity would be foolish." After a moment, he seems to realize something.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, thrusting out his hand, "And I am Dael Ruther, Journeyman Nec-ahem. Wizard."

[Torger]

Irina

The girl looks up, startled by the man who approached from behind, and the belt of dangling chimes she wore tinkled as she jumped in her seat. With a quick glance at Merrindel, she decided to handle this first contact. Her skin had the alabaster cast of the High Elven, and closer inspection showed slight points to her ears, but her dress and her manner ere certainly not of the High Elves. Good morning, Monseur. Myself and my companion were bound for the Island, on a pilgrimage, of sorts. There is a transport scheduled to leave from Pier 17 this afternoon. As I was saying, the cost of crossing is fairly modest, as I gathered they made their money in bulk, and on the cargo shipments. You are also bound for the Solemnaic Vale? She spoke in High Elven, but squtched to Common as the serving girl approached.

Thank you, my dear... She takes the tray from the poor girl, who hurried back to help her mother. Having delivered her information, Irina turns to begin to eat, having neither introduced herself, nor invited Dael to sit. It as not a cold shoulder, just a guarded one.

[Minchandre]

Dael seemed a bit put out by lack of returned hospitality, but not to a great degree - many necromancers were notorious peeves, and those apprentices who hadn't learned to deal with rudeness had washed out. So, he put on his best smile, and plowed on ahead, "I am, in fact," he replied in High Elven. "As for money, I have a modest sum, and I'm certain I could provide payment in service if my gold does not suffice. Do you think the transport would mind terribly one more hanger-on?"

EDIT: Consistent tense.

[Darius]

Graeme MacKelan

The dwarf merely sneers at Gislana. He does his best to smile at the serving girl with a. "Me thanks, lass." He puts his head down and eats, but stops chewing when Irina speaks of the island. Looking over in her direction, it is obvious to all that the taciturn dwarf's interest is piqued by this.

When Gislana tries to make conversation, Graeme says, "'Tis bad enough tha' I be needin' tae drink their poor excuse fur what they call ale in these parts - water 'as more kick. I 'ave little tae say tae ye, lest ye wish tae spoil me breakfast." Graeme slips some of his food into the backpack as he speaks. He looks about and sees Dael conversing with Irina.

Finishing his breakfast quickly, Graeme downs the ale in a few long pulls and wipes the foam from his beard. Leaving his pack where it lay with a dire look at Gislana to signify, 'one touch and you'd best have troll blood in you to regenerate the bloody stump that you would get for touching my things,' Graeme heads over to Dael and the elven maiden.

Casually holding his sword in the crook of his large arm he announces, "Beggin' yer pardon miss, but is this 'ere fellah botherin' ye?"

[daggaz]

Merrindel de Angouleme

Merrindel turns his glance on the young human, a patronizing look reserved only for the youngest and dimmest, and he says in clear common, I am sure that is a matter of discussion between you, and the ships captain, wouldn't you agree? I can assure you, the Lady here knows nothing of it, nor can she make the arrangements for you. Now if you do not mind, we would like to eat in peace.

Turning to the newly arrived dwarf, his eyes narrow some at the sword being cradled in his face, and he has only this to say. We are more than capable of handling our own business, master dwarf, and I do believe we were all asked to put our toys away. Now if you do not mind..

[fendrin]

Heinrich

I wonder what's going on over there. Still, with that dwarf involved I'm not going to get too curious, unless someone gets violent.
Heinrich waves down the nearest server.
"Roast meat, some cheese, and" he pauses.
I don't have much money left, but I I have to have something to drink.
He continues.
"a bottle of your least expensive wine, watered. If it could be wrapped to go, I would be extremely grateful."

Why am I even going to this island? I doubt that was really Nathalos or my mother. Still, it was compelling.

[Toliudar]

Gislana

As the boorish lout of a dwarf left the table just as Gislana was only partway into savouring this Food of the People, she shrugged.

Some are so blinded by their servitude, that they are unable to recognize kindness. If my own folk are unable to see it, it should be no surprise that these benighted barbarians are ignorant as well.

As she finishes off her meal, she too watches the interplay, and especially the murmurings in elven going on. Huh. Business transactions, I suppose. If my supply of these coins shrinks much further, I suppose I shall be reduced to offering the last rites of Nemorga to dying beggars in the street. How apalling!

Rising, Gislana rises and nods to whichever of her fellow guests chooses to make eye contact with her. Taking up her spear, she slips out and to the docks.

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Torger, feel free to freeze me before this if you have something planned for in the common room. Otherwise, she'll head down to the docks and start enquiring at ships for passage to the Drifting Isle.

[WakkaWakka]

edit: that should have gone into the ooc - sorry, I've just waken in real life too.

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Have I understood how the board roller works? Maybe!
Listen check! [roll0]

Sean Farland
From his corner Sean hears the elven words, and frezees.
The musical sound reminds him of Gale's laughter, and there's more to that.
Drifting Isle.
He has to get there too, and with haste - the halfling family is helpful, but it's sickening to impose on them. They are too much like his old clan.
That, and in a couple of weeks they'll try to get he and Rosin married - even too hospitable, toward other halflings.

Smiling, he jumps up and beelines toward the elven maid:
Lady, I couldn't but hear too - I'm looking for a ship, too. Just my luck, to find y'all here!
Toward the vale where the world touches the sky - and his eyes glaze slightly, thinking of her - That's were you are going too, aren't you?

[Azerian Kelimon]

Hmm. Did you hear that, old pal?, Tiresias says as he wipes the last of his breakfast.

Yippee! We're leaving this place today! I can't wait to go to that island and kick some ass, boss! Etrius happily exclaimed.

Well, not right now. What I need is that you detache and go eavesdrop on that group of people there, while I go around asking some questions about that group. It isn't exactly normal to see such an odd bunch of travelers heading for the same place. Can you do that? He says as he calls one of the halflings.

Right on, boss! Etrius responds as he detaches from Tiresias' chest and scurries along the bottom of the wall towards the group.

Can I ask you a few questions? He says, as the halfling approaches.

See that group of guests? What can you tell me about them? He says, as he slips a few coins into the halfling's hand.

[Darius]

Turning to the newly arrived dwarf, his eyes narrow some at the sword being cradled in his face, and he has only this to say. We are more than capable of handling our own business, master dwarf, and I do believe we were all asked to put our toys away. Now if you do not mind..

Graeme MacKelan

Without taking his eyes off of the lady, Graeme says smiling a broken toothed smile, "'Scuse me, dearie." The smile is gone in an instant and replaced with a grimace as he looks upon Merrindel, "I dinnae recall 'dressin' ye, fancy pants. The lass kin speak fur 'erself. Ye best butt out b'fore I wants tae play wit' me toy wit' ye."

Graeme then looks back at the lady of the table and says, "Pardon me manners, lass, but I be waitin' all patient like fur the answer tae me question, and yer pet 'ere is makin' me lose me patience."

[Torger]

8:00AM, Landsday of Enkilot, AV 150

The Halfling male, who was clearing a table, stopped abruptly hen he hears a jingle of coins from Tiresias. [MY lord...? He approached the table, and with a glance over his shoulder, busied himself clearing dishes, his voice at a low whisper.

Ah, that crowd, odd bunch, eh? The prissy albino elf and the girl rolled in day before yesterday, right at dark. He spends most of his time in his room, or with books, and she's been about in the marketplace. Nice girl. Good tipper. I've never seen an elf with white skin before. It's definitely different. The Dwarf with the sword and the blackskinned one that gives everyone the jibblies have been here a couple of days longer. She keeps trying to unionize the workers, or something. They both spend a lot of time out and about... The androgynous guy's been here for a few days, too. Came up from the south, he said. Some kinda wizard, or somethin' Unnatural stuff. Burns your flesh off... The black-skinned elf arrived with a caravan at the beginning of the week. He must be from deep in the Ganjus to have skin that dark, eh? Doesn't seem like a druid to me, though... More like a spring that's wound too tight. That's pretty much everyone staying here of note, MY Lord...

He finishes clearing the dishes from the table, and is about to leave, deftly pocketing the coin, when an enormously corpulent cat waddles over to him and miaows rather pitiably. Perhaps this is the inn's namesake... Hwyrdd's hairy footpads... Ivor! The cat's awake, and it's doing that thing again... He rushes off with the dishes, followed by the waddling, yowling cat.

Irina

Well... This has taken a turn for the worse... Irina no sat, back against the wall, surrounded by promised violence and hostility. Sighing deeply, she decides to try and diffuse this. Speaking in the common tongue, she begins, Gentlemen, if I might... Monseur Ruther, was it? I am unaware of the capacity nor the availability of seating on the boat. The shipmaster will not arrive for a couple of hours yet. The boat is docked at pier 17. She switches to Mountain Dwarven in the middle of her speech. Monseur Dwarf, while your intentions were noble, we find ourselves unneeding of your not insubstantial protective powers at this time. Thank you for the offer.

Having addressed everyone in their own tongue, as best as she could figure, She smiles pleasantly and expects them to depart.

[Azerian Kelimon]

Thanks, m'friend. That's been rather useful..., Tiresias mutters, as he focuses on what he hears through his crystal.

Watch it, Etrius. There's trouble boiling here, we might get into a barfight.

Woohoo! Dibs on hitting someone with a chair! Tiresias sighed.

Be serious, Etrius. We need to ensure no one is harmed, especially by us. Having dangerous people following our steps wouldn't be fun. What can we do to stop them from having a go at each other....Ah. Etrius, climb high enough so that no one can reach you and start drawing some attention.

Pooh! You owe me one, boss! I wanted to smash someone with a chair! While he complained, Etrius was obedient. He rapidly climbed up the wall, steadied himself, and took a jump to the young girl's hair..and missed. Then, after making his triumphant entrance, he jumped off to the wall and started climbing, mkaing sure he wasn't in reach of the guests.

*Sigh* That wasn't what I intended, Etrius, but thanks anyway.

It's no problem, boss! But promise we'll get a go at some harpies soon!

I promise, Etrius, I promise.

[Minchandre]

Dael forces another smile and addresses the woman in Elven again, "I thank you for that information, at least, Miss. And," he adds, turning to the man, "I apologize if I have offended you in some way. I meant no imposition."

Lastly, he turns to the incredibly rude dwarf, and addresses him in his own tongue, with a touch of a grin, "And I am not certain what it was I did to offend you, Servant of Corean, but consider this: if I had been bothering the lady and the gentleman with my polite question, then it is doubly certain that you were bothering them with you bluff and bluster. Serve the Crusader as you may, not all things call for a crusade."

At that, the young necromancer turned from the table and returned to his room. A lifetime's training in orderly habits meant that his things were already packed, and so he simply threw on his cloak, hat, and scarf, fastened his belt, and toss on his pack. As he returned to the common to leave, the difference was striking: before, he had been a slight youth with unusual hair and a ready smile; now, he struck an imposing figure with with dark, wide shouldered cloak, broad black hat pulled over his features, gray scarf covering his face, and familiar perched on his shoulder, cackling to itself in Draconic. Anyone who had ever seen a Hollowfaust necromancer would be able to recognize his appearance, but few enough had that he fell to habit rather than caution.

Thus bundled up against the cold and rain, he strode confidently through the room, and through the door, to seek pier 17.

[Darius]

Irina

Well... This has taken a turn for the worse... Irina no sat, back against the wall, surrounded by promised violence and hostility. Sighing deeply, she decides to try and diffuse this. Speaking in the common tongue, she begins, Gentlemen, if I might... Monseur Ruther, was it? I am unaware of the capacity nor the availability of seating on the boat. The shipmaster will not arrive for a couple of hours yet. The boat is docked at pier 17. She switches to Mountain Dwarven in the middle of her speech. Monseur Dwarf, while your intentions were noble, we find ourselves unneeding of your not insubstantial protective powers at this time. Thank you for the offer.

Having addressed everyone in their own tongue, as best as she could figure, She smiles pleasantly and expects them to depart.

Graeme MacKelan

The dwarf cannot help but overhear the conversation addressed to Moneur Ruther and makes a mental note, Pier 17 - tha' must be th' place where the boat tae th' Driftin' Isle be. The warrior-priest is visibly surprised when he is addressed in his own tongue. He relaxes a bit, but still has a closed posture.

He then smiles and bows his head out of respect of the fair maiden's diplomatic response and says in mountain dwarf, "Then I shall make me leave, kind lass. You have honored this child of Goran by speaking in his native tongue. I only wish I could repeat the gesture in kind. May the road rise to meet ye."

ooc: Edit due to ninja strike:

Dael forces another smile and addresses the woman in Elven again, [color=blue]

Lastly, he turns to the incredibly rude dwarf, and addresses him in his own tongue, with a touch of a grin, "And I am not certain what it was I did to offend you, Servant of Corean, but consider this: if I had been bothering the lady and the gentleman with my polite question, then it is doubly certain that you were bothering them with you bluff and bluster. Serve the Crusader as you may, not all things call for a crusade."

At that, the young necromancer turned from the table and returned to his room.

Graeme is impressed with the use of his native language a second time, but his wisdom dictates that this man is most likely some swindler who learned the dwarven tongue only to better a deal to get the better deal in trading with his kin. He says to the Ruther in common, "Ye dinnae offend me 't'all, lad - 'til jest now, th' is. If'n ye talks tae 'v'ryone in some secret tongue, ye best 'spect some misunderstandin'. Thar be no bluffin' or blust'rin' 'bout it wit me way o' servin' th' Shinin' Lord, but mark me words - ye best watch 'ow ye wags yer tongue b'fore someone who be not as tolerant feeds it tae ye wit' a side o' broken teeth." He then stares at the two males with dagger eyes for a moment then smiles and bows his head again at Irina and turns.


Seeing the Charundi still eating with grace and finery at the table, he returns and says to her, "I'll be makin' me leave. Dinnae get all misty-eyed on me at our partin' ways, but Goran's will guides me tae do what nay a dwarf 'ould ever do sober - tha' be take a floatin' coffin tae some misbegotten place in th' middle o' yon sea. I nearly lost me 'fast just thinkin' 'bout it." Graeme easily lifts his pack and puts it on as he speaks. He straps on his shield and carries his bastard sword casually. He begins to head for the door and down to Pier 17 (unless other things are in store for him).

[WakkaWakka]

Sean Farland

That elf lady... poor lass - she was scared shut!
Pier 17, in a couple of hours, she said.
I'll be there - maybe she'll know if I've read my dream right... and I can't leave a lady with all those dwarves, can I?

Taken leave of the inn-keepers as the morning buisness allows, he takes his pack and goes to study the boat, in the off-chance he needs to smuggle himself in unnoticed - not a very bright idea, but his purse is getting empty... maybe the captain will ask for an affordable price, maybe not.
Hey, it looks like a popular idea - the tavern is empting!

And so he goes, to sit on the pier and lose himself in the immensity of the ocean, with the sky above... to study the boat, I mean!