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The Underdark. A place of death, shadow, and betrayal. Yet, even here, alliances happen. They need to happen. One such alliance has taken root in Menzoberranzan. Three houses have joined together, with the attempt to join the top eight houses in the city. But will the alliance hold? Or will their enemies prevail.
The three houses have sent representatives to a meeting in the Stenchstreets. There are also some potential mercenaries there. A new strategy has emerged, and they want to be sure that all the houses are ready for the attack which is impending.
(Iíll be sending out personal PMís over the next day, running out of time. You can do basic greetings if you like.)
(OOC: Guess I'll start, then. Who are we conspiring to destroy, anyhow? I kinda joined up at the last minute, so if it's been mentioned, I don't know it.)
A lean elf by the name of Vassan strolled along, on his way to a secret rendevous. This was not unusual for Menzoberranzan - at any one time, a dark elf could assume that most of the drow he met on the streets were embroiled in assassination plots or conspiracies of one sort or another. He looked more like a common merchant than one who had clawed his way through Melee Magthere, the fighter's school; he wore neither armor nor piwafwi, and his only weapon was a single kama thrust through his belt.
He was only a male, and a commoner at that (and thus completely expendable), but he hoped to curry favor with his Matron by competently representing the House Kenafin, the 12th house of Menzoberranzan. Kenafin did not number many nobles among its ranks, and Vassan (as did many others) hoped to ride the usual chaos up the ranks.
__________________ People seemed to like this better, but only marginally so - the way one might prefer to be stabbed than shot. Optimally, one isn't stabbed or shot. Optimally, one eats some cake! But there are times when cake is not available, and instead we are destroyed. This is the deep poetry of the universe. -- Tycho Brahe
Inomonin walks to the meeting with a look of confidence, his eyes carefully scanning the crowd around him. His clean, neatly braided hair and his well kept armor showed an air of importance, while the scares that criss-crossed under the maze of tattoos on his armorless arm told of a drow who had seen some of the harshest conditions Underdark could offer.
Arriving at the meeting point, Inomonin turns his back to the wall and waits. His mistress's instructions were clear, to help Srune'Lett, the 11th house, rise to power. He was to be their eyes and ears in the meetings until his mistress could join the representatives herself.
A well-armored duergar marches towards the meeting place, glancing back from time to time to make sure that his charge (a female drow) isn't lagging too far behind. The speed with which Broshdan moves in the plate armor suggests that he is an experienced fighter, and the web of thick scars on his cheeks confirms that impression.
At the meeting place, Broshdan briefly looks over Inomonin and Vassan, then turns back to wait for the female drow following him. The 9th house hired him to guard Nazira and forge weapons, not to speak on their behalf, and he knows not to risk offending the representatives from other houses in such an important meeting.
Originally Posted by Thespianus
I fail to see how "No, that guy is too fat to be hurt by your fire" would make sense.