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Post by Veritas on May 15, 2011 14:56:49 GMT -4
Welcome to the city of Westcrown, once the capital of Cheliax and the centre of the now Thrice-Damned Empire, but now a forgotten relic of times gone by, ignored mostly by the new leadership in House Thrune. Westcrown is dotted by remnants of old temples and spots of worship to the dead god Aroden, and perhaps here of all places in Cheliax that old worship hasn't died.
Instead, it has been forced to hide.
The Order of the Rack, Hellknights who perform quarterly "purity" burnings of books and histories no longer deemed correct or accurate, garrison both within and outside the city. The Lord Mayor is an ally of the diabolists in Egorian; and at night dark shadows stalk the streets, enforcing the curfew in a way cruel and sadistic.
For whatever reason, the current establishment of Westcrown likely doesn't agree with you, and that's understandable. Few people here are happy, save for those with a grip on power, and even the powerful know that they can be drawn down if they anger the wrong sorts.
At 4 PM, each of you was invited to Vizio's Tavern to meet with a woman named Janiven, who's known around town as a caravan guard and city guide. She seemed to know, when she invited you, that there's not something quite right with the way you see this city, and hinted that she'd tell you more at dinner.
4 PM is almost here, and you have arrived at the ramshackle tavern...
(Please describe your character in a bit more detail, physically, when they arrive)
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Post by hockeyisgood on May 15, 2011 16:40:30 GMT -4
Heldalel walks in with a swagger of an elf who got off a long carriage ride. As he walks in, he curls his toes into the carpet and begins to feel relaxed. "Son of a bitch he's right," Heldalel mutters to himself, as he pulls out a cigarette (but does not light it).
Heldalel looks like he has stolen military parade armor, probably from a human general in an infantry unit. It's in pretty good shape. He has a visible scar on his right arm, one that probably has a story behind it. He patiently awaits the rest of the party's arrival as he chats up the bartender.
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Post by joviality on May 15, 2011 16:48:39 GMT -4
A tall elven woman walks into the tavern, scanning the patrons for the familiar face of Janiven. She has a pale, coolly beautiful face framed by wild locks of long jet-black hair that are pulled back from her wide emerald eyes by a simple tiara. She is wearing modified scholar's robes; comfortable yet utilitarian. They lend her an air of knowledgeability and old wisdom. As she looks around, she keeps her head held high, and comports herself with great poise and posture. She looks graceful, yet strong.
At her belt are craftsman's tools: various measuring devices and writing utensils, and several scroll cases. Out of her satchel peek several sheets of parchment with intricate drawings and elaborate notations, along with what appears to be a spellbook. Around her neck she is wearing a pendant in the shape of a butterfly.
A small female fox trots along at her feet, with a glimmer of intelligence in its eyes. It looks up and regards the elf as she stops and scans the room, seemingly waiting for her next cue.
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Post by elgatocello on May 15, 2011 17:36:07 GMT -4
The morning and afternoon had come and gone uneventfully, and Flange was not happy with business. Ten people entered his shop and half of them merely browsed his wares and left. Three people had come in together looking for polearms and were rebuffed quickly by the half-elf.
"We don't carry that crap in here. I'm a weapons dealer. I don't sell those sissy glaives you keep prattling on about. If you're going to be a real man, you should try standing within arms reach of your opponent."
When the men sputtered in astonished anger, Flange tried to smooth the sale over a little.
"I'll tell you what. I've got a trap finding pole and a short sword I can sell you. We can just tie them together. It's a waste of both of them, but the customer is always right or some shit like that..."
The men left without further discussion.
Grumbling as he sorted through the post, he noticed a hastily scrawled note:
"As the clock strikes four times, arrive at Vizio's Tavern and inquire after Janiven."
"Why in the nine hells would I need to talk to Janiven? I just saw her forty five minutes ago. Can't make up her goddamned mind what she..." Flange's voice modulated to an incoherent grumble as he closed his shop and swept away the detritus from people stomping around the room.
As Flange flipped the sign in the window from "Open" to "Closed" he surveyed his store and sighed, and then proceeded to slam the door behind him.
----
It was 3:30 as Flange saw the shingle for Vizio's Tavern down the street and he greeted the regular patrons and one of the regular bartenders, Barnabus, in his usual, cheery manner.
"Barn, you still sell that watered down sheep piss in a cup you pass off as ale here?"
The bartender put down the glass he was cleaning. "Sorry, Flange, I know you like it at full strength and straight off the tap. You'll have to settle for what we've got."
Flange admired a man who took it as well as he dished it out and made sure you had room for seconds. He threw a few silver on the bar and took a long pull from the stein.
"You ever think of getting those scars taken care of?" The bartender inquired.
"What makes you think I want them taken care of, Barn?" Flange's blue eyes frosted over. "You think I'm ashamed of them? Hell, they're the reminder that I did something important...once."
"Why don't you just go back to mercenary work?"
"I'm too old for that crap."
"Bullshit, Flange. You're in better shape than you've ever been."
"I've got a business to run."
"Mercenary work paid you twenty times what you make in that dingleberry-covered crapshack...and that was twenty years ago."
Flange looked away in the guise of finishing his beer and changed the subject.
"Yeah, well...Listen, have you seen Janiven? That's what I'm here for, not all of this touchy-feely family fun hour crap."
Barnabus knew not to press him any further about this. "She reserved the back room. I don't know anything about it; but, by the looks of it Moira and Heldalel are looking for her too."
Flange nodded and called "See ya around, Barn." over his shoulder as he moved toward the elf Barnabus had pointed to.
"Hey Maps, I figured this wasn't your scene."
<tag Moira>
"And The Fuzz is here too? You both get a message from Janiven?"
<tag both>
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Post by hockeyisgood on May 15, 2011 19:58:46 GMT -4
"Hey you who just called me Fuzz. I'm not a cop, this uniform, I stole it from a dead cop. I just like the armor, because it fits well."
Heldalel lights the cigarette that he had unlit in his mouth, and states "I also got a letter. By the way, the name's Heldalel, what's yours?"
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Post by elgatocello on May 15, 2011 21:25:28 GMT -4
"Hey you who just called me Fuzz. I'm not a cop, this uniform, I stole it from a dead cop. I just like the armor, because it fits well."
Flange thought for a moment. I'm not sure what this guy is playing at, but I'll play along anyway.
Heldalel lights the cigarette that he had unlit in his mouth, and states "I also got a letter. By the way, the name's Heldalel, what's yours?"
"Name's Flange. I'm a smith by trade. Whereabouts are you from?"
<tag Heldalel>
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Post by hockeyisgood on May 15, 2011 21:40:58 GMT -4
Heldalel takes a puff, "I'm from Westcrown. Former guard, got canned not too long ago. I heard that someone was possibly going to organize to get these book burnings to stop. So Flange, what do you think about that letter?"
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Post by elgatocello on May 15, 2011 22:26:13 GMT -4
"I heard that someone was possibly going to organize to get these book burnings to stop. So Flange, what do you think about that letter?"
"I'm just annoyed that Janiven is being so cryptic. There wasn't anything to the letter besides a time and a place...so here I am."
Flange would never admit this aloud, but the very idea gave him a very warm feeling inside, like someone coming home after a war. The possibilities were incredibly tantalizing and he was going to follow them through.
"What about you, Moira?"
<tag Moira>
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Post by joviality on May 15, 2011 23:39:56 GMT -4
The elven woman has been leaning against the bar taking in the conversation and scanning the room, sipping on a glass of red wine from the bar. She looks particularly intent on her wine when Flange calls her "Maps," and makes no move to respond. After the two men have exchanged greetings, she clears her throat.
"So, Mister Flange, is it? Janiven has mentioned you to me before."
She smiles wryly.
"Yes, yes... I do believe I have seen you around my cartography studio before as well. Have a small case of wanderlust, do you? On any account, it is a pleasure to meet you formally. As you apparently already know, I am Moira. Moira Barrowdark, cartographer and conjurer."
She extends her hand to shake Flange's. As she does so, the fox curls its way between her legs, keeping an eye on Flange.
Moira then turns to Heldalel and looks him up and down, clearly wondering if she's met this elf before. The fox at her feet sniffs the air in Heldalel's direction.
"Ah, and Heldalel, I believe it was? Also a pleasure. You've lived in Westcrown all your life then, or are you originally from elsewhere? I only ask because there are so few elven families in Westcrown that I have yet to meet or hear of in some way."
<tag Heldalel>
"At any rate, it is always good to see a new elven face. I myself am from the Barrowood originally, but have lived here in Westcrown some twenty-odd years now."
Moira pauses a moment, looking from Heldalel to Flange and back. She then looks a bit stricken.
"Oh! I seem to have forgotten my manners. And this of course is Vuldonna."
Moira crouches down and picks up the fox between her feet. Vuldonna looks at Flange and Heldalel in turn, head cocked slightly to the side.
"As for this business with Janiven, I don't know any more than you do. I received the same note. Just a time and a place. I don't have much more to go on, either. Janiven uses my maps sometimes when she's out guarding caravans, but I don't know much more about what she could be up to."
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Post by Veritas on May 16, 2011 10:43:47 GMT -4
The aformentioned bartender, Barnabus, seems to be watching the three arrivals cautiously from where he stands behind the bar. His eyes wander from time to time over to the door, and then to the three people who had launched into conversation. The other patrons seem to start shifting out of the bar, as if the mood had subtly changed. Indeed, Barnabus moves out from behind the bar, moving to one of the grimy windows and flipping the sign there to show that the bar is now closed.
Although not actively kicking patrons out of the bar, the bartender does seem to quietly murmur to one or two as he passes, looking a little less relaxed. Not nervous, persay, but less calm. After returning to his station behind the bar, he looks over at Moira and Heldalel. "What about you two? Can I get you anything, or would you prefer to go straight into the back?"
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Post by joviality on May 16, 2011 11:08:44 GMT -4
"I wouldn't mind a top off on my wine, and perhaps a small bowl of water for Vuldonna here? That would suit us nicely."
Moira crouches back down and sets Vuldonna on the floor.
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Post by hockeyisgood on May 16, 2011 14:14:30 GMT -4
Heldalel looks at Moira and winks. Then turns back to the bartender and says, "I'd like to go to the back, but I'll take an ale as well."
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Post by joviality on May 16, 2011 14:26:09 GMT -4
After both Moira and Heldalel receive their drinks, Moira glances in the direction of the two men, and motions toward the back room.
"Well, shall we?"
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Post by Yimzin on May 16, 2011 16:05:53 GMT -4
As Darvan approaches the establishment he notices the "Closed" sign in the window and stops. Looking down both ways of the street for guards and other traffic he pulls his cloak about himself.
I suppose we'll being speaking in private, but no accounting for being subtle. Bar closed this early...
Shaking his head slightly he moves to the bar. Swinging the door wide and stepping in and lowering his hood Darvan looks about, taking note of the small crowd.
With his hood lowered his darker features are obvious. Thick tangled white hair cascades just past his shoulders and frames his face like a mane. Rough green scales cover his face and hands and reptilian like eyes dart about the room warily. Though perhaps the most disturbing feature of Darvan are his backwards clawed hands, the palms being where the back of his hands should be, clearly noticeable as he lowers his hood. He wears a tattered dark purple cloak over top dark, earthy toned, well worn traveling clothes.
Not seeing the woman that he is here to meet he approaches the bar and takes a seat quietly.
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Post by Veritas on May 16, 2011 17:34:41 GMT -4
When Darvan sits down to the bar, the bartender moves on over. The handful of patrons remaining in the bar gaze to the obvious interloper with a faint, hesitant embarrassment, before they all begin their preparations to leave.
Barnabus moves to Darvan, having filled up Moira's and Heldalel's drinks (and provided the water for Moira's familiar) only a few moments before the newcomer arrives. "Here to see Janiven?" he asks, avoiding Darvan's eyes. "I can get you a drink, if you prefer. And then...she's in the back."
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