Dot.
The last thing you remember is fiery pain and then everything grew dark...
Westcrown isn't a place many visit these days and it's obvious why. The sky has a constant sickly ocher haze - a color not unlike diseased flesh - broken up only by thin wisps of rainless clouds. What plantlife continues to grow is stilted, brown, and reeks of sulfur.
The bones of the city are no better off. The buildings are ruined, crumbling, and covered with moldy peeling paint. The streets are pockmarked and bloodstained and it all too easy to find a skeleton or parts of a skeleton on any given block.
There was a time when Westcrown was known as the City of Twilight - a place teetering on the edge of ruin. Those days a long gone now. All Westcrown can be known for now is darkness.
***
You find yourselves in Westcrown's Dead Sector (now appropriately named) under a large overhang that functions as a bar. Barrels have been lined up at the edge of the overhang to create the impression that the establishment is indoors and block the worst of a wind that stinks of carrion. A sign hangs on the innermost wall with the image of a half-starved dog and the words The Hungry Hound.
The proprietor is an elderly halfling man that comes around with mugs of ale on a serving platter - nothing else. He wordlessly approaches each table, waits for a copper, and then slides the container to the interested party.
Tristan Striggio, while not unattractive, was by no means a natural beauty. His pale skin is dusted with poorly shaven stubble and long, greasy tresses frame his ratlike features. He wears dirty, worm brown leather breeches, as well as a vest and coat of the same soiled material over a natural-spun chemise that looks as if it hasn't been washed in weeks. Everything about his appearance is grimy, from his aged messenger bag to the tarnished silver amulet about his neck.
A Photograph of Tristan's Appearance
Bishop makes his way through Westcrown into the Dead Sector. He was supposed to find information on the old Pathfinder Lodge known as Delvehaven. But the city was like a ghost town. This part of Westcrown was the last place he had looked. He sees the broken down sign of The Hungry Hound and if he knew anything that was seedy bars were the best place to get information. Bishop was born with rather averagely rugged good looks, his five'o clock shadow that seems immune to any blade. He has short dark roughly cut hair to complement his Taldan complexion. He wears a dirty leather duster that while opened, reveals glimpses of an odd weapon. It is a metal angular object with a leather grip. His hand is always hovering near it, like he's ready to use it.
The old place hasn't gotten better with the years. Thank goodness we managed to get out of here when we did. You'd think my parents would thank me, even though I certainly didn't mean to get us evicted.
Aleixica smiles briefly at the memory, a happier moment than Westcrown has seen in many a year. An attractive redhead, though her nose -- clearly broken at least once in the past -- detracts a bit from that, wears a snug breastplate, a morningstar hanging at her hip to deter any would-be trouble.
What in the world ever possessed me to come back here? I can't really want to get into Thamos' good graces that badly. How was I supposed to know the Pathfinders wanted that scroll?
She nods to the halfling as she passes him a copper, raising the mug to the memory of happier times.
A rather cute halfling female sits perched on the edge of a bar stool, waiting for the waiter to make it over to her with the platter of ale. Her emerald eyes glance this way and that as she takes in the scene around her and she brushes away a strand of dark red hair that has blown across her face. She is dressed in well-worn travelling leathers and a chain shirt that has been rubbed with some substance to darken the metal and make it less reflective.
Bishop looks around as he pays for a mug. He takes a drink while examining the other occupants. His eyes immediately fall upon Alexica and Ember. "Oh, this day has just gotten better. A couple of hot pistols in this dump? Boy howdy! I think I'll try my luck with the halfling first." He gets up from his chair and walks over to the bard. "So what's a little cutie-pie like yerself doin' in a place like this?"
Tristan, poor a piss, declines the offer of ale as it comes around. He doesn't even have a copper to his name. His thumb absentmindedly plays with his tarnished gold ring on his finger, his stomach groaning in angry protest. The witch takes a quick inventory of his possessions, wondering what he could sell and for how long it would last him. Business had been slow and while he didn't want to relinquish any of the items he had acquired when his marks came down with sudden cases of fatal misfortune, times were tough...
Sensing Tristan's hesitation, the halfling studies the greasy young man for a moment.
He clears his throat, points at the silver buttons on the wrists of Tristan's coat, and then places one of the full mugs on the table.
"If you aren't drinkin', get lost. Loiterers bring trouble", he says as he leans in for a hoarse whisper.
Tristan sighs, ripping out one of the pegs from his worn clothing. He drops the button into one of the empty mugs, grabbing two fresh ones for himself and begins drinking them down greedily. It's not food, but it'll have to do for now...
Wiping a bit of the foamy head from the corner of his small mouth, Tristan's large, rat-like eyes survey the room for anything out of the ordinary.
On this rare occasion, Ember is actually able to look the human in the eyes as he approaches while she is still perched atop the tall barstool. She gives him a quick lookover from head to toe as she replies with a shrug.
"Having a drink, or at least what passes for a drink in this town. What about yourself?"
"Same here, little lady. This is the only place in town with any people or booze in it. Name's Bishop, what's yers?" He takes a seat right next to her.
Everyone notices the characters as they've been described in addition to the halfling serving drinks.
There's also a pair of greasy Varisians whispering between themselves at a table and a dwarven woman morosely staring into her mug.
"Ember, nice to meet you Bishop. You new to town as well? Most locals don't seem to be very friendly."
"Ember, eh? A smokin' name for a smokin' woman. Yea, I guess you can say I'm on assignment here. They all seem to be afraid of something. And for the record, I'm always friendly darlin'." Bishop takes another sip from his drink and orders two more for the pair of them. The ale wasn't great, but it was better than nothing.
"Well, not always, that's why I'm stuck here, ain't it?"
Ember grins. "Well, it's more of a name I earned for setting a few things on fire."
She finishes off her current ale in a big gulp before the new one can arrive. "Yeah, everyone hereabouts seem beaten down. No one seems to have any spirit left at all. A bit different from the last time I was here."
"The name's well earned cuz you're heatin' up the room right now." Bishop raises his eyebrows suggestively. "It is right depressing in here, ain't it? When was the last time you were here?"
Bringing her mug with her, Aleixica will move over to the dwarf.
"Surely it's not that bad. We can always get you a refill," she says with a smile, gesturing for the barkeep.
The dwarven woman looks up from her mug at the stunning human approaching her, around the room, and then points at herself.
"Are you talkin' to me?" she asks in worried disbelief.
"Sure. Aleixica Tas'Vere. I've not been back to Westcrown for some time. It's ... different than what I remember."
Fear suddenly spreads across her face and she shifts back in her seat.
"Please, I don't want any trouble. Just leave me alone."
Ember just grins and shakes her head at Bishop's attempts at flirting. "Been at least 10 years now I think."
"I'm never looking for trouble either, though I suppose it does seem to find me. Just looking for someone to share a drink with."
The dwarf's expression shifts from one of fear to simple sadness and with a sigh she nods.
"Well it would be nice to drink with company for once. Aleixica you said? You must be new to Westcrown, you're too bright to have been here for long."
A human male in a black leather outfit sits at the end of the bar. The length of his jet black hair falling infront of his face makes it hard to make out his features, much less where his is looking specifically. The little that shows of his face through his hair is pale looking and chiseled. Dark rings circle his eyes. He sits motionless with his head tilted slightly forward taking in the newcomers. Next to him, a jet black wolf the size of a small horse lies on the ground. It has intelligent looking eyes. It's gaze is fixed on the Gunslinger.
The sounds of heavy footsteps can be heart outside the ramshackle establishment, a sound that seems to alarm the elderly halfling.
He puts down the half-full platter of mugs and rushes outside. He can heard talking in a hushed tone to someone.
It may be one of the Council of Thieves scum. He looks down at the wolf. Watch my back. Lucius gets up with his mug and slowly walks over to the side of the bar where he can get a better view of the conversation through the barrel perimeter.
"Yeah, I grew up in the city, but we left before the fall. It's been a while since I've been back. It's ... changed."
She pauses as she's about to quaff a drink.
"It sounds like a few more people might be joining us..." she says warily, speaking loud enough that others nearby can hear her.
"It sounds like a few more people might be joining us..." she says warily, speaking loud enough that others nearby can hear her.
"Oh? Friends of yours?" she asks with rising hope.
"It's been so long since I've seen fresh faces."
"Maybe they'll be friends, but I'm not expecting anyone... Sometimes Desna smiles on me, though. Well, she did at least once. Mostly she causes me problems, to be honest."
Nope...just as bad. A crooked Hellknight. Self righteous scum.
He walks back to his seat and leans on the bar. He gives the look of possible trouble to Grimm. He then adjusts his backpack keeping his bow within arms reach.
Lucius had had one too many dealings with the Hellknights over his vigalante justice. To date, they had never been able to pin anything on him, but his name and description had been passed around.
Ember begins looking about for all escape routes nearby.
"Tell me Bishop, are you any good in a fight?"
Ember casually points to certain areas around the room, attempting to make it seem as if she is just gesturing alot with her hands while talking.
"Those areas there look like they used to be exits. Likely a strong fellow could bust their way through there in the event that some unfriendly guardsmen types try to cause trouble in here.'
Ember begins looking about for all escape routes nearby.
"Tell me Bishop, are you any good in a fight?"
Bishop starts chuckling as he can't hide his grin. "Heh. Sayin' yes would be an understatement, darlin'." He starts cracking his knuckles. "Exits? I could make a few. Just tell me when."
Tristan hears pieces of the exchange and his stomach growls once more, only this time out of concern.
Hmm, I don't much like the sound of whomever that halfling is talking to. Perhaps it's time to make myself scarce...
The witch takes a mental inventory of the spells he's readied for the day, evaluating which would be best to create a distraction or cover up a quick escape.
A cry of pain pierces the relative quiet and the foreign voice speaks again, and this time he can be clearly heard.
"I will see for myself."
The heavy footsteps sound closer as they span the remaining distance into the bar.
"This doesn't sound good," Aleixica mutters.
"Better safe than sorry; Lady Luck, protect me from what you usually throw at me," she prays, calling on Desna's power before anyone enters the room.
She looks around to see how others are reacting to the possible intrusion of violence on the drinking ... establishment.
"Perhaps soon, because that doesn't sound good out there and I have no desire to end up in a cell somewhere."
Ember takes a mental inventory of her weapons and rests a hand on the pommel of her short sword.
"I've been in a few, they're overrated. What do we do in the meantime?"
"Uhm, I guess act casual and try not to look like there is any reason to be arrested? Pretend we're on a date or something? Do people even still go on dates around here? Seems like all the life has been sucked outa this place."
"Around here? I reckon not likely. So how much pretending did you think of doin'?" Bishop smiles lewdly before taking another drink.
Hearing the other pair talking about finding a way out should it be necessary, Aleixica casually moves a little closer to them.
Always good to have an escape route. Nothing wrong with helping one's luck along a bit.
"Just remember, we are in a public place, so no getting carried away with the pretending. If you manage to find all the knives I've got, then I'd say you were being too handsy."
"I don't believe in being too handsy, but I'll try to resist. Though would you mind if I found some other things?" Bishop smiles before leaning in for a "pretend" kiss.
You can already feel his hot breath as his lips touch yours. His five-o-clock shadow scratching a tiny bit and his hand touches yours. Despite being a rough neck, he is being quite gentle and is quite obviously trying to restrain himself.