You have all found yourselves, at the Grand Lodge in the City at the Center of the World, as you have all been summoned, or requested to come on behalf of Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin. There are many different people here of all different races and nationalities, but you all have a feeling that you all received the same handwritten letter from the Venture-Captain, asking for your immediate presence here. One line in particular must have caught your attention. "The Decemvirate has requested you personally for this task." You know that an island appearing in the middle of the sea can't be good, but for the Decemvirate to call upon anyone from outside of the Pathfinder Society is odd and worrisome.
You are all currently in a medium sized amphitheater, waiting to be called on by Ambrus. For now all you can do is wait in anticipation.
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The Nightcrawler comes as summoned, unhappy to be in the cursed sun. Yet knowing that if he was asked to come personally it must be important. The nightcrawler had performed many missions for the decemvirate in the past always quietly and efficiently.
He looks around and skulks off in search of a shady place.
Agnir looks around the room curiously, making a note of everyone in the room.
Interesting collection of people. Though if the Society has called THIS many people...this must be a lot worse than I thought.
Marcum looks down at the letter, blue eyes measuring the stroke of the penmanship and the darkened blots along the sweeping 'd' in Decemvirate. "Why not call upon such an esteemed and mysterious congress?"
"Are you going?"
"And pass up an opportunity to see the will of the 10 dispensed in person?" Marcum glances over the rims of his glasses at his father. "I have my own theories about their identities, and their rumored immortality is not among them." A grin slips up the right corner of his mouth as he turns back to the letter. "Invitation..." He corrects himself.
He doesn't see the concern drift across his father's face. A heartbeat later and Ralius Aldridge buries his hands in the pockets of his coat and sighs. "I'll see to your bag. I think it's still choked with sand from that place."
"Not to worry, father, if I'm selected I'll have more opportunity to practice my Osiriani."
"Marcum Aldridge, at your service." He dips his chin in greeting and smiles, close cropped brown hair unmoved by the breeze outside the gates. The invitation is passed as Marcum recalls the name of the half-elf in front of him. "How is Llilia these days, Marah."
The woman closes the invitation and hands it back to Marcum. Her subtle blink betrays the surprise at the Investigator's memory. "She eats too much for a mastiff, she'll be no good to me if she keeps it up."
"Canines who are friends too often receive too much pampering." He smiles at her and tucks away the invitation. "I seem to remember a young mastiff running off a pack of devil rats three years ago. She deserves a little extra meat now and then."
Marah chuckles and waves him through. "When are you going to join us, Aldridge?"
"I'm afraid of losing my library privileges if I do, my dear. Pathfinders are notorious for their mistreatment of books." He returns her laugh and moves on. But he also notes the smell of jasmine oil in Marah's hair. Marcum resolves to buy her a jar from an apothecary he knows. Small gifts go far in keeping information flowing.
His dark blue three-quarter coat is held closed over his cream colored shirt, basket hilt rapier at his left hip peace-tied considering the hosts. His boots thump in time to his cane as he enters. Despite his finer cloth, Marcum wants nothing more than to delve into the mystery that's emerged off the coast of of Osirion. His previous visit to Katapesh had been under a dark cloud. The Investigator's hand brushes a scar hidden beneath the sleeve of his coat. Perhaps this time would be different.
Hmmm, an amphitheater. Interesting choice. Attention is forward and not on each other... He finds a seat to the left of stage center and waits.
When someone sits near him he gives a friendly grin by way of greeting.
The man strode into the room with purpose, his half-orc heritage clear by both the tusk jutting from the left side of his mouth, and the greenish tent to his skin. Taking a seat in the front, He leaned his staff against one knee, in a posture that was more reflexive than intentional.
Sir Wolfric Paxton finishes reading the note a third time. Personally? I had only just decided to seek the Society...how do they already know of me?
Sighing, Rick pushes himself from his chair and walks to the bar. "Thank you for breakfast ma'am. I'll need my gear now please, time to be checking out."
He lays two solid gold coins on the bar. Your hospitality and care were far more than deserved. Thank you."
Pushing his way into the current of Absalom's street traffic feels much the same as letting a strong river bear you away. Rick is growing used to it though and finds his way to the amphitheatre with only one unintended detour.
Many have come. He thinks. Then he concentrates, wondering if any present bear the tain of evil in their hearts.
Satisfied that none present foster darkness in their souls, Rick takes a seat to wait on the infamous Venture Captain.
The desert winds blow across the small encampment several men taking shelter from the blowing sand by the side of a tent, holding their spears trying to maintain their guard.
A lone horseman approaches the main tent wrapped in cloth to protect his skin from the desert sands and the sun’s heat. Alistair, he calls as he enters the tent.
There is another man in the tent, sitting on his bedroll going over several maps; he rises upon hearing his name called. Kalim, old friend, what brings you here?
I bring news from Jalden, you are requested at the lodge in Sothis Kalim responds handing Alistair the message.
As Alistair reads the notice Kalim continues to question him. Is it Zuri? he asks
No Alistair replies we both know Zuri vanished in that gate along with that infernal cube. But these shifting sands… Alistair responds not finishing his sentence glancing out the open tent flap.
Alistair turns to Kalim Kalim take charge of the men, Hell most of em’ are your own tribesmen anyway Alistair puts on his leather coat and tucks his pistols in their holsters at his side, slings his ammo bandolier over his shoulder.
Packing the rest of his belongings in his satchel, Alistair pauses as he grabs the amulet in his hand; looking at it, lost in a memory for a moment.
She is gone fiend, you must let her go. Kalim says to him as if his words could have any comfort. Alistair puts the amulet about his neck and starts to head out of the tent. I need your horse! he says as he leaves the tent.
Within a few short seconds Alistair returns and grabs his scimitar forgot this. he says; checking the blade and slamming the sword back into its sheath pinching his finger on the hilt.
Don’t wait up Alistair says as he rides north toward Sothis.
After a full day ride through the desert, pushing his horse to the limits, Cooper arrives in Sothis. Quickly locating a bath house he goes to clean himself up before meeting Jalden Krenshar. Alistair had not had a decent bath in almost three days, having been in the field without much in the way of water.
As he rest in the heated water, a cloth covering his face, he is awakened by a familiar female voice,
well now, Captain Alistair Cooper, nice to know you decided to take the time to bathe before our meeting. Venture Captain Jalden said in a sarcastic yet playful tone.
Removing the cloth from his face, Cooper glance toward the sound of the voice. Well at least, I already am half way to where I hope to be with you before the sun rises.[b] he retorts.
[b]not even in your dreams. [b] she responds as she pulls up a stool at the pool’s edge beside Cooper.
Alistair simply smiles in return. [b]So, you tracked me down to here, though I would love to think you simply missed my lovely smile, I think there is more to it than that.
Jalden nods, perceptive as ever Captain. [b] She pulls out a sealed scroll case. [b]I received this from the lodge in Absalom, along with instructions to provide what agents I can spare to meet with Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin. You interested?
Cooper takes a look at the scroll. you sure this isn’t another plot to get rid of me for good?
The though had crossed my mind, but no, I want you to look into this. Send word back to me what this is all about. And who knows, there may be a little bit of profit in it for you as well. Jalden says.
Cooper thinks for a bit. alright, I’ll go, on one condition.
what is that? she asks.
a farewell kiss. Cooper demands.
Like I said before, not even in your dreams. and with that Jalden gets up and goes to leave the bath house.
One day Jalden, you’ll come around
Jalden simply replies with a rather un-lady-like gesture, and leaves.
Alistair finishes his bath and gathers all of his gear setting sail for Absalom.
Cooper finds his way to the Grand lodge. And makes his way to where he is supposed to meet Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin.
Entering the room is an average built human, tanned skin obviously of Osirion descent. He carries a large sachel and is dressed in what appears to be a plain white shirt, brown trousers and sturdy leather boots. There is a pistol tucked in a shoulder holster on each side. And a bandoleer slug over his shoulder. A scimitar hangs in a scabbard at his hip, its pommel adorned with a single jade stone shaped as a scarab beetle.
He is carrying a leather coat, which appears to bear markings of a military field coat. But it is well worn, and probably missing some buttons. The epaulets indicate a rank of captain.
Alistair scans the room for a possible familiar face, or better yet, a pretty face.
Wolfric finds a seat beside a man with a nice walking stick and a silvered rapier at his hip.
HE sits without a word, as comfortable as possible knowing this man at least is not a servant of evil.
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When someone sits near him he gives a friendly grin by way of greeting. He studies him with a gentle eye and draws a few shallow conclusions based on appearance and attire and bearing.
"Quite the gathering, wouldn't you say?" He speaks up and extends a hand, an exuberance in his demeanor to discover if his conclusions are true. "Marcum Aldridge, may the Lady's red sands run their fated course uninterrupted."
Rick turns his eyes on the man and shakes his hand. "So let it be. I am Sir Wolfric Paxton. Do you revere the Lady then?"
As the doors of the amphitheater open once again, a middle-aged woman in the dress uniform of the First Guard of Absalom steps in. She is of clear Orisioni origins with dark bronze skin and braided curly black hair. She wear the blue, silver and gold overcoat over brown-gray trousers and soft soled boots and seems just armed with a short gladius on one hip and two quivers on the other. She is far from pretty with a face and hands marked by the elements and and amazing number of scars but carries an air of someone who is used to being obeyed to.
As she enters the room, she looks to the closest attendant, clicks her heels and salutes.
”Fifth Sword Khety of the First Guard, reporting as commanded.”, she says in a clear voice that carries over the background noise. ”Here are my credentials”.
She hands over the letter she received from the Pathfinder Society and waits for the attendant to give it back. Then, turning on her heels, the half-runs down the amphitheater and removing her backpack, slumps down into a seat right next to the military looking Alaister Cooper.
”Morning. Fifth Sword Khety,", she says as an introduction. " I see it’s the same everywhere. Just came back from a three weeks patrol to have the Captain telling me to rush out here. And now we wait… I had just time to clean up and change but not to eat.” she grumbles as she opens her pack to take out a loaf of bread cut in half and stuffed with half a chicken, some roots and hard cheese. Now with a big smile, she dumps her food on a cloth, digs out a knife and stats to undress the chicken. ”Luckily for me, I always have food brought to my room when I come back. Do you want some,” she offers, ”I may have liberated a nice bottle as well.”
Marcum leans back in the chair, letting the man's vocal inflections wash over him. The facial features, the manner in which he wears his clothing...the accent... Despite his apprehension over some of the others in the room, when offered a greeting he shakes hands readily...not a city fellow then... His speech pattern, Ustalav? Hint of the western regions...
Marcum blinks the moment of introspection away and responds. "Respect would be a better description my good man. Respect for the Lady of Graves and respect for those who serve and revere her." He rests his hands atop the handle of his cane. He keeps his voice low.
"I had the pleasure of visiting Godsmouth Cathedral in Kaer Maga once." He holds up a finger of caution. "Long after that nasty affair in the crypts below, mind you. An astounding structure, bringing a beauty to the surrounding cemetery." Marcum searches the copper-plated ceilings high above the amphitheater for the right words. "Looking upon those stones, the care and craftsmanship, the dedication. Quite a marvel." He shakes his head as though a regret passed his eye. "A shame more people don't acknowledge Her full qualities, the Lady's other aspects besides that of the final rest. If I'd not been graced with better understanding by an acolyte at the time, I'd have missed the Cathedral's majesty."
He exhales and taps his thumbs against the cane. "I have to say, Sir Wolfric, you bring to mind a man I met three years ago while looking into something for a friend." He pauses for a moment as a woman enters and seats herself. Memories swirl about his mind as he studies her face and her movement. He files It away for future reference and continues. "Cesca I believe the town's name is. An odd place in Ustalav for its temple to Erastil. But upon my errand I went, to confer with a group of knights called the Shieldarms. Apparently one of their number visited a Harrower...with sad consequences."
Marcum thumps his cane once upon the carpeted floor. "Your timbre, good sir. I wondered why it reminded me of that time. How long have you been apart from your homeland?"
Wolfric's smile is more wince than grin and his tone grows a step colder. "6 years." He replies sharply "And I'll not being going back there if I can avoid it."
He continues a bit more softly. "Ustalav is a sad place and full of dark things. I wonder that anyone can find beauty there."
He forces a smile. "But enough of my melancholy. I am sure a well spoken, intelligent man like yourself has a speculation or two as to why we are here?"
Cooper had just entered the room and had found a seat And as if on que to his thoughts a lovely lady enters and takes a seat beside him.
He looks to the lady and with a suave smile, Cooper, Alistair Cooper. Thanks, but i think I'll pass on the food, however, That bottle you 'may" have liberated, perhaps, we could share that, possibly in a more, shall we say, private environment. he says with a wink
Cooper had just entered the room and had found a seat And as if on que to his thoughts a lovely lady enters and takes a seat beside him.
He looks to the lady and with a suave smile, Cooper, Alistair Cooper. Thanks, but i think I'll pass on the food, however, That bottle you 'may" have liberated, perhaps, we could share that, possibly in a more, shall we say, private environment. he says with a wink
Stopping with her knife-full of chicken halfway to her mouth, Kheti takes the time to look him up and down: "Not while I'm in service, son."
"And tell me you're not one of those plants mother and father try to send my way at least twice a year.", she adds, taking out a nice bottle of Chelaxian wine. "From my personal reserve. I didn't plan for a party so if you don't have your mug, you'll have to drink straight from the bottle."
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Marcum considers the other man's reaction to Ustalav and elects to let it lay. It doesn't take a dark home to spawn evil. When Absalom tolerates something as foul as the Norgorbers, we are but polished lacquer over rotting wood. His thoughts go briefly to the death of his mother.
But Sir Wolfric's question earns a mischievous grin. "You seek to bait my prideful nature, Mr. Paxton..." Marcum chuckles but his eyes are already sweeping the room. "...I accept your challenge."
His gaze settles first upon the man and woman, the former wearing firearms and the latter a Guardswoman by the look of her. I've seen her haven't I? Perhaps on one of those drinking ventures in officer country...but her personality, an upbringing perhaps? His mind shifts away from the conjecture and focuses on what he sees. Shared heritage...Osirioni clearly. The man's gear shows signs of weathering, perhaps sand abrasion? He thinks on his recent assignment in Katapesh, the condition of his own baggage...
He shifts away from the two and a spies the half-orc seated at the front. The garb, posture... the staff and its positioning...the coloration and patterning of his clothing...
Marcum finally leans back and replies to Wolfric. "I should say we've been gathered for our individual skills and experiences. Those two," He juts his chin towards the man and woman. "Osirion heritage in skin and eye color, if I don't miss my guess the man's gear - if not the man - have seen the desert sands of late. The woman is an officer in the city guard, but heritage may be of greater import..." Marcum taps a finger along the side of his cane, like keeping rhythm to a song as he thinks.
"To the front, a patient man in his silence, but eager in his seating." Marcum nods subtly towards the half-orc. "A priest perhaps, or a master of the arcane..." His mind considers clothing again and adds quietly, "...or both. A duality then..."
"Then there is you, good sir knight. A weapon of the Mother of Souls who is most revered in Osirion," he glances about the room and the assortment seated there. His blue eyes pause at a shadowed shape in the corner but move on when he can't make it out. Instead he begins tally. "Two with blood ties to Osirion, a priest who may be standing between two worlds if I don't miss my guess, then you. Osirion is fraught with those beings slipping the natural repose of death. Your unique calling would make you an invaluable asset to the mission."
"For my part, I love a good puzzle. Give me a quandary, I shall endeavour for a solution." He chuckles softly. "Islands emerging from the sea, now that sounds like a riddle." He relaxes further into his chair. "We'll be going to this Island of Mysterious Origin. We'll delve it's secrets and return all the wiser..." He sighs and slips a hand into his coat's inner pocket to retrieve his flask of whiskey. "...or not at all."
He unscrews the top and takes a sip. "Andoran whiskey, one of my vices. Let it not be said distillation isn't important, but the grains are the key in my mind." He offers some to Wolfric. "Tell me your thoughts, brave warrior. A man in your profession is smarter than I to have survived for so long."
"Ehm...Max Gain?"
"That's descriptive." Agnir says simply, noting the Ogre's muscles.
Stopping with her knife-full of chicken halfway to her mouth, Kheti takes the time to look him up and down: "Not while I'm in service, son.""And tell me you're not one of those plants mother and father try to send my way at least twice a year.", she adds, taking out a nice bottle of Chelaxian wine. "From my personal reserve. I didn't plan for a party so if you don't have your mug, you'll have to drink straight from the bottle."
Cooper gives a slight smile, not the response he is accustomed to, A rain check on the date then, I'll hold you to it. he responds.
opening his pack and producing a pair of mugs. I come preppared, for many occasions. he holds them to be filled with the offered wine.
concerning your parents, I assure you I am no Plant. Cooper gives the lovely lady a wink and a smile.
He unscrews the top and takes a sip. "Andoran whiskey, one of my vices. Let it not be said distillation isn't important, but the grains are the key in my mind." He offers some to Wolfric. "Tell me your thoughts, brave warrior. A man in your profession is smarter than I to have survived for so long."
"It is desensitization more than bravery or brains, I assure you. And please, call me Rick." Taking the offered whiskey, Rick tags a moderate swig and coughs softly. After a moment, "That is quite nice."
The paladin fixes Marcum with a penetrating stare. "You see much. This mission must require an eye for detail to bring one such as you into our company." Rick indicates the rapier at Marcum's side. "Is that as sharp as your eye?"
The half-orc continues to observe the gathered people, noting the formation of fledging groups as certain types of people gravitate more towards each other. He says nothing unless engaged, but continues to tap gently with his staff.
Humble and to the point. I'll need to curtail my verbal flourishes with this one...
"Where neither diplomacy or wits fall short, I've relied on her to deliver me from trouble." Marcum pats the basket-hilt with a nostalgic turn to his voice. "This was a gift from my parents when I came of age. My grandfather had been to Brevoy on research and marveled at the dueling blade masters throughout the land. Him being originally from Varisia and in favor of lighter steel, he had a rapier and dagger commissioned for his son, my father."
"It's been in the family ever since." He takes another sip of the whiskey and replaces the flask into his coat pocket. "Is it your intention to join the Pathfinder Society formally?"
Rick nods. "That was my thought, yes, but I have been in town a fortnight now and was unable to bring myself to the Lodge until I received this summons. I'll admit it unnerved me since I can see no reason the Society should take note of me, let alone know where I am."
He offers a rare smile. "Then again, you seem to know more about that should be possible, too. Maybe I am just too transparaent."
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Yes, I'll get the backstory up. I had it planned out though as to why he was here. His family was slaughtered and he was adopted as a baby. They basically realized that hey if they took him in as a baby they can hopefully train him and use him as a war hero. The people who raised him knew he would get a lot of unwanted attention, so they traveled with their adopted son and with a few body guards whenever they went out, explaining to people that he is harmless and is training to be a good fighter. He is normally escorted by someone when he goes to a new town, but once he start his adventuring they tell him he is on his own and that he should trust his allies to speak up for him. That is gist of my backstory, I want to write a really well one before getting it up in full. That being said...
Max walks into the bar, but he is escorted by a body guard. He will be adventuring with you today, unfortunately we will not be with him during the adventuring. We have asked to escort him. And this body guard is wearing a holy symbol of Milani to show his good nature and that he means well. The guard then turns to Max and says These people will be your new allies, that being said, get to know them, make sure they know you and earn their trust and as well, you should trust them.
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"Not transparent in the least. Observation is my niche, so to speak. As for the Society, it's safe to assume they had eyes on you the moment you arrived, my good man. A pair of watchful louts in a tavern by the docks is worth their unscrupulous weight in gold if they deliver good information. The Society's network is vast and efficient." Marcum gives the cane in his hands a twist. "I've done work for them in the past. A fair lot, but they can be...uhm, persistent?"
"I'm curious...for me, working with them would be mutually beneficial in my line of work..." Marcum taps a forefinger to his chin and arcs his gaze between the seat in front of him and then back to Rick. "...but a man of your stringent calling, I'm surprised that you'd seek them out intentionally."
Marcum inspects the individuals in his direct and peripheral vision. "It's not to say that the Society is devoid of those souls dedicated to a heavenly ideal, but look about you..." He let's the emphasis on the word hand in the air like the crushed velvet curtains on the stage. "Chances are you already have..." He nods casually around the audience. "...I count no fewer than three persons of a larcenous nature, a bounty hunter with aggressive retrieval methods, seven who are in service to a less than reputable employer in Copperwood, and that half-elf I'm sure was exiled from the city on two occasions."
Marcum looks back to Rick. "I ask out of curiosity, not dissuade you from your course. Is there something or someone you seek in joining their ranks?"
Rick shrugs. "It's a bit morbid to share with a stranger. Perhaps another pull of that fine whiskey?"
Rick swallows and sighs. "The Society, in general, helps good to thrive in this world. That coupled with the life expectancy of someone of my skill set makes the Pathfinders ideally suited to my purposes." The man shrugs apologetically and smiles. "I'll understand if you want to find a more cheerful conversationalist."
Shae had decided to stay in town for a while. He couldn't think of a reason to leave, what with the island popping up off the coast. What could be more exciting than that? He had spent his days sleeping in a real bed for a change and having warm meals with all of the different ales he could find. Every so often he would hear some news about the island, but mostly how another group had disappeared completely.
He chuckled to himself the morning he saw the letter under his door. Ha, they're looking for another group to try their hand at the island. Well, I guess that's why I haven't left yet. I wanted a chance.
Shae decided it would be a good day for a bath, as he hadn't bothered taking one recently. Who knows, it might be my last. He then got dressed and headed over to the lodge to see who had come to volunteer and who would be picked for the next group.
Cooper gives a slight smile, not the response he is accustomed to, A rain check on the date then, I'll hold you to it. he responds.
opening his pack and producing a pair of mugs. I come preppared, for many occasions. he holds them to be filled with the offered wine.
concerning your parents, I assure you I am no Plant. Cooper gives the lovely lady a wink and a smile.
"You can hold anything you want as long as it's not me.", she replies as she pours the wine.
Then settling down to look around, she notes the diversity of the assembly. "I guess we're all here for this island business. And I know why they would call me here, cause I'm a bloody good scout and undead killer. But what about you?", she says as her look is halfway between professional and flirty.
"So I your so keen in getting into my pants, tell me more about you. How comes you hold a captain commission in the Osirioni militia and if you really do so why are you thousands of miles away from your post?"
Cooper sits back enjoying the wine. thank you for the drink. about me? Well there isn't much to tell, I was born here in Absalom. Became a student of history. started by conducting field studies in Sothis, eventually leading an expedition to Ahn’Sehlota, a lost pyramid of the Four Pharaohs of Ascension. Cooper enjoyed another sip of the wine.
I became a Captain more out of process of elimination, I am more of what you would call, part time. I actually command a small group of volunteer militia, mercenaries would be a more accurate term. I am here as a favor to Venture Captain Jalden in Sothis.
Cooper sits back enjoying the wine. thank you for the drink. about me? Well there isn't much to tell, I was born here in Absalom. Became a student of history. started by conducting field studies in Sothis, eventually leading an expedition to Ahn’Sehlota, a lost pyramid of the Four Pharaohs of Ascension. Cooper enjoyed another sip of the wine.
I became a Captain more out of process of elimination, I am more of what you would call, part time. I actually command a small group of volunteer militia, mercenaries would be a more accurate term. I am here as a favor to Venture Captain Jalden in Sothis.
"So you're a Pathfinder and you've trained in Sothis? Did you go to the Necropolis of the Faithful? That's where I spent most of my childhood, playing hide and seek with the followers of the Lady. I could have become one of them, you know, had the Lady not thought my destiny was elsewhere." she replies, absentmindedly tracing a spiral in the air with her finger.
well thanks, and you are one of the few to not judge me just because I am an Ogre. and he high fives him if he accepts his high five."Ehm...Max Gain?"
"That's descriptive." Agnir says simply, noting the Ogre's muscles.
Agnir high fives him back...and immediately regrets it.
Owwww... he winces.
He puts on his stoic face a moment later.
"I've seen stranger things than a friendly Ogre. I'm just wondering how you came to be here."
"So you're a Pathfinder and you've trained in Sothis? Did you go to the Necropolis of the Faithful? That's where I spent most of my childhood, playing hide and seek with the followers of the Lady. I could have become one of them, you know, had the Lady not thought my destiny was elsewhere." she replies, absentmindedly tracing a spiral in the air with her finger.
Cooper ponders for a bit. re living memories, some good, others painful. eventually he answers her, I have visited there, probably more than I care to. Some good friends reside there now, and someone.... He trails off not continuing, his hand goes to his chest for only a brief moment.
Yes, I have been there. he ends the topic. a painful memory he does not wish to re-live.
"Oh, I've touched a sore spot. There's a bleeding heart somewhere under the seducer."
"Let's drink to friends departed too soon, then", replies Kheti, sensing Alaistair unease.
After a bit of silence, she hesitantly adds "Let's have a look around and see who-else we could work with?"
Lady Kheti spots a short haired man with a handsome face worn and worried beyond his years. He wears a black tunic trimmed in silver like a Priest of the Lady, but over it he wears a blackened steel breastplate with Pharasma's holy symbol emblazoned in silver philigree.
Surely this man is unique, if not singular, among the Lady's faithful for Pharasma has clerics aplenty, but few enough Paladins.
Hmmm.. a death wish then? Coupled with the desire to do good in the world and an origin from Ustalav... A tragic hero straight from the songs of the White Grotto? Very interesting...
Marcum accepts his flask back and smiles. "Don't sell yourself short, my good man. You've given me quite the interesting conversation. I'm looking forward to working with you on this endeavour." He notes the change in demeanor of the two Osirioni in his periphery. "It would seem we might draw the interest of those two. Good, perhaps they can add further dimension to the pattern we've formed thus far..."
Marcum holds aloft his cane and gestures warmly to the two Osirioni . "Come, share a seat and a discussion, if you will." He points to two open chairs. "Marcum Aldridge at your service." Not to sound presumptuous, he awaits Wolfric to introduce himself.
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well thanks, and you are one of the few to not judge me just because I am an Ogre. and he high fives him if he accepts his high five."Ehm...Max Gain?"
"That's descriptive." Agnir says simply, noting the Ogre's muscles.
Agnir high fives him back...and immediately regrets it.
Owwww... he winces.
He puts on his stoic face a moment later.
"I've seen stranger things than a friendly Ogre. I'm just wondering how you came to be here."
Let me buy you a beer and I'll tell you all about it.
he orders drinks from the bartenderwell, you see that guard, he escorted me here so I wouldn't get attacked on my way here. He explains to people that I am a friendly Ogre and that I make a great fighter. I have friends of the family that help escort me to new towns whenever I'm not with an adventuring party group so that I don't get attacked on sight for being an Ogre. Lets just say, people here said they wanted someone who can fight, someone very useful, my bodyguard got the message, but they weren't expecting me, as this was a surprise to them.
and then their drinks arrive. you see a 32 oz glass beer cup for the Ogre so that his hands can grip the cup without crushing it, though the bartender isn't going to give away free beer like that, so it is only halfway full, not to mention the Ogre only gave him money for 2 drinks and not 3, while Agnir has a normal sized glass beer cup.
"And I am Wolfric Paxton, Knight of the Lady of Graves." Rick says with a coutrly bow of the head.
Reaching the two seated men, she tucks the wine bottle under one arm and gives a quick salute.
"Fifth sword Kheti.", she replies as she puts down her mug and bottle. Turning back, she grabs the cloth with her food and take a mouthful of bread.
"You, I know,”, she waves her hand at the investigator. "You're the one that knows too much for his own good and likes to poke his nose where it doesn't belong. But as you come back with good answers, you're okay in my books. But you, Sir Paxton, are a puzzle to me. I can count on a single hand the number of Knights of our Lady that I've heard of. But one comes out on my own turf and I don't know about you?"
"I doubt many would know me. I have only just arrived from Ustalav by way of the midlands. I have never been to Absalom before, let alone Osirion, though I would love to visit the Necropolis of the Faithful one day."
"I am happy to see one of my own faith here. It is heartening."
Marcum smiles and places three fingers briefly to his forehead in respectful greeting. "And I'm heartened you remember me, Fifth Sword. Are you here at the behest of the Guard? Or our esteemed hosts?"
[dice=sense motive]1d20+5
"Oh, I've touched a sore spot. There's a bleeding heart somewhere under the seducer."
"Let's drink to friends departed too soon, then", replies Kheti, sensing Alaistair unease.
After a bit of silence, she hesitantly adds "Let's have a look around and see who-else we could work with?"
Cooper raises his mug to salute fallen comrades, Torsk, rest well friend. and takes a big gulp of the wine, Rana. he says much quieter, and sips the wine. setting the mug on the table.
He comes back from his memories, agreed. referring to meeting others
Seeing the lady soldier fall right in with duty and honor and such. Cooper simply lets her make the aquaintences. religious orders was not his strong point. but there is one thing he recognizes, one that hunts undead.
moving beside Kheti to address Rick. a Knight of the Lady of the graves, I sure could have used one of you lot back at Ahn’Sehlota, some of my closest friends now call that place thier grave.
A long, heavy sigh rolls down the alley. A man trudges behind the sigh, seeming almost as if he is chasing the sound out of a sense of duty. His face bears deep lines, though whether from laughter or hardship is difficult to say. A heavy, serious look rests on his face, and one could easily imagine that he feels himself to bear a great weight. Yellow eyes glint out from under his lined brow, the shadowy gray of his skin providing a rather strong contrast to the bright yellow shine. A heavy, hooded cloak conceals most of his features from view, but it fails to conceal the twisted limp which plagues every other step.
Shaking his head once, as if to clear it, he emerges out of the alley, into the sunshine, with yet another heavy sigh. "This bloody sun. Keeps coming back, every day. Whoever came up with that idea should be cut down with a scimitar." He snorts a little laugh at his own stupid joke, then pauses for a moment to compose his face. The transformation is remarkable - from a dour, worn, heavy expression to a light, jolly, laughing visage. The dramatic shift in tone is lost on those who pass by, and he lamely makes his way through the crowd toward the imposing gates ahead.
After presenting his invitation to the guard at the door, he stumps through the long hall, into the auditorium. "Hah. I must not be the only fool to have responded to these summons," he says to no one in particular. He stumps his way over to the nearest bench, sprawls comfortably on it, and begins to more closely study those around.