"Well, a fight is always fair when I win, of course," the Varisian smiled, amber eyes glinting with amusement. Though he had a definite habit of challenging the strongest opponents on the field to one-on-one duels, he rarely ever had a complete disadvantage unless he was one against too many.
"Ahh, acquisitions," Zelthier shuffled the cards again with a chuckle at Andrazi, eyeing the newcomers with a grin, "Good to see we have skilled members of the family on such tasks."
Azkadellia raises a hand to wave away Xan's offer of a drink. "No thanks. I prefer to keep a clear head."
"Acquisitions? Liberations? As I said, pirates and thugs... and other types of thieves, apparently. I don't mind doing errands for this 'family' in exchange for favors that help me gain magical power, but I won't whore out my abilities," she pauses thoughtfully and grins, "...or anything else, for a few trinkets and coins. Material wealth doesn't concern me."
Rolling his eyes, Zelthier simply shook his head at the sorceress, though his ever-present grin never faltered in the least. "Well, someone has to do the job, and you will learn," he chuckled darkly, "You will learn. When the family asks you to do something, you do it; and the more you prove yourself to be a valuable asset, the more favorable jobs you get."
"Well, I guess I'd be lying if I said that material wealth doesn't appeal to me. I'm no dragon who likes to roll around naked on piles of gold coins..." :She winks at the men at the table: "...though I do like pretty things. But, really, it's what wealth brings. Freedom, mostly. Freedom to do what I want. I have my own ship now...I can go where I want, do what I want, for the most part."
:She takes a sip of her rum.:
"And, yeah, Uncle Guaril sometimes asks me to pick something up for him while I'm out. I do have certain limits...certain things that I'll only do if I choose to do them. And with whom I choose, as well."
"I have yet to see Brother Guaril request such things from one of the family," the swordsman stated truthfully with a slight shrug, "Considering the nature of our business, I would be surprised if he did. Acquiring, transporting, and delivering various items? Of course. Persuading enemies and allies to various ends? I have dealt in this a lot as well, though how you choose to influence your mark is up to your discretion."
"I was born poor, so I know the importance of money, but I have enough power now to never have to starve on the streets again, or do anything I don't want to do just to survive. A nice dress or two doesn't hurt, but money is usually the farthest thing from my mind."
"As I said, I'm a sorceress. Power is both my goal and the means towards that goal. But besides arcane power, the power that comes from the exchange of favors within well connected organizations like the Sczarni family and Pathfinder Society can also help in that regard."
"I don't know yet what type of favors that man Guaril will ask of me, but I'm sure I'll be able to accommodate them. I started with the Sczarnis as a messenger on the streets of Riddleport at 12 years old, working my way up in the organization, so I've seen it all before."
Zelthier nodded a bit as he listened to the others, "As you say, Andrazi, he is a smart man. I doubt he would ask of us favors he did not feel we could deliver within the scope of our talents. Well," he shrugged, "At least, not intentionally."
|Cap'n "Black" Ramsey|
"Damned eye blow'n fierce'r th'n usual this time o'year...damned Absalom pilots takin' their sweet time dock'n th'ships..."
The man's booming voice, even as he mutters, heralds his arrival before he actually steps foot inside. His sun-kissed bald head poking into view first, the jolly-looking bearded man strides boldly inside, looking around with a broad grin - his golden tooth flashing briefly. He's dressed like he took the last ship to Absalom from the Shackles, right down to the edge of the "Jolly Roger" tattoo peeking out from the open part of his billowy white shirt.
"Blessin's of th'Lady be upon ye all!" His arms sweep out to encompass everyone visible, before moving up to stroke his thick beard thoughtfully.
"Now, here I was down th'other end o'the pier, makin' for me first shore-leave in weeks, but then me ears suddenly think they makes out the distinct sound of that preternaturally attractive word...Rum...comin' from this here direction. And so I come, as if called, I do."
"Black" Ramsey's th'name, and wherever the lasses, rum, and wealth are, there be my games for certain. How be ye keepin' this fine day?"
:Xan looks up at the new entrant, and grins.:
"Fair winds and the Queen's blessings to you, too, 'Black' Ramsey. Good to see another sailor here. Captain Xan Stormblade, of the Stingray. I hear you, the local pilots have us over a barrel here...with all those wrecks in the harbor, you need them, but they're slower than a drunken dwarf. Aye, there's still quite a bit of rum, so pull up a chair."
:She slides the bottle over to him.:
|Cap'n "Black" Ramsey|
Ramsey grins at the greeting (or was it the rum?) and grabs the nearest sturdy chair or box or other piece of floatsam to sit on nearby, bringing two fingers of his right hand to his bald pate as he faces Xan.
"Cap'n, a pleasure. Glad t'find good salt blood in this den'o'cuthroats!"
He grabs the rum and lifts it in a semi-toast to her before lifting it to his lips...but then pauses at the likely looks his statement may have drawn.
"Good gentles, where I come from, that be high praise. Makes me feel right at home, it does!" Another toothy grin flashes for a brief instant before that bottle is upturned and a generous pull taken from its neck, before it's firmly *thunked* down again, followed by his sleeve wiping the bottle lip.
"Ah, Cap'n, that be a taste for sore buds! Thankee kindly! So, The Stingray, fast ship I wager? How are ye fixed f'r crew? Last filthy barge I crewed wan't even worth th'grog!"
He slides the bottle back, a little bit lighter than it was before.
Smirking at the newly arrived, rather boisterous, sailor, Zelthier tipped his hat in greeting. Though he wasn't much of a seafarer himself, the tiefling had been to Riddleport his fair share of times in his youth as his troupe had traveled from city to city in Varisia, so he did know his way around a boat... Sort of... (Ok, so he knew which end was the bow and which end was aft, port side and starboard, what sails were and a basic idea of how they worked and... that was about it. Oh, and that anchors were bloody heavy.)
"Well met, Brother," he moved his feet from where they'd been propped up on one of the empty chairs to allow the man a seat if he so desired. Of course, Ramsey's analysis of the sort of folks gathered in the small safehouse wasn't exactly incorrect, the statement getting a chuckle out of the well-dressed duelist.
Meritaelin has been sitting at another table, and has been brooding rather sullenly. He seems to be preoccupied, but, has obviously been listening to the conversation and watching the card games.
Meritaelin wears functional leather breeches and a plain cotton tunic, obviously stiff and salty from sea-spray. At his side, is looped a carriage whip, and a small hatchet. His long curly hair is matted from being somewhat unwashed. In contrast with his rather plain look and his disconsolate demeanor, he carries a rather well-made, and well-maintained flute rather casually in his left hand.
He is obviously something of a gypsy, if one were to look at stereotypes. ((Here's a look at my illustration of him.))
Meritaelin quietly approaches those discussing the need of drinks, and pulls a tarnished flask from beneath his tunic. He tips it back fleetingly, for a single drink.
In a somewhat inebriated and thickly Varisian-accented tone, he says, "Well, if anyone has need of a dram of brandy, I'm glad to offer. ... I'm Meritaelin Vindreşkaya. Though I may not be as talented as some of you, and clearly not as exotic", looking at the tiefling, "I'm always looking for a place on a barge, or a few coins to earn ashore. There's little enough trust for some of us, but, amongst our kumpania there is enough. "
He sways a bit, mumbling to himself, whilst standing with his flask held out invitingly, with a sly grin on his face that would imply (to those who may be attentive enough to pick up on such details) that he may be neither as sullen, nor as drunk, as he seems.
|Cap'n "Black" Ramsey|
:Xan smiles: "Fast, indeed. She's a Varisian brig, built for speed. Always looking for good crew, especially those who know how to handle themselves in a fight, since we seem to find ourselves in them more often than not."
He grins, one hand almost absentmindedly scratching the line where the open edge of his shirt and his tattoo meet.
"Good shape, Varisian brigs, good design - cut t'water like a shark an'glide through! So, th'question be, Cap'n, if ye might be willin' ta give a fellow Pathfind'r ye just met a look-see on deck next time ye leave port? Won't lie, I plan t'abscond or 'acquire' me own ship someday, but until I build up me 'cred' more I'd never find me a crew, so I needs t'make a good name for me'self servin' w'good Cap'ns n'ships, under t'Black Lady's eye."
Even though the bottle of rum is on the table between them, he picks it up and holds it out, offering it to her, waiting for her reaction.
ooc - I've been without decent RP for what feels like months - even in this little bit on the forum here I feel better :) Don't suppose anyone here plays in any online games, or would be interested in trying to maybe start an online game based around a ship crew or somesuch?
:Xan accepts the bottle from "Black" Ramsey, pours some into her glass, and hands it back. She picks up the glass, considering, and flashes him a smile.:
"The Stingray's moored in the eastern docks. Meet me there tomorrow, at, say, three bells after sunrise. I'll have you talk to my first mate. Oh, and our 'family' can help you find your way to your own ship, too."
((Just for a little imagery, here's Xan's table tent, made by a talented friend of mine.))
((OOC: I've been playing online OP stuff for over a decade now, going all the way back to Living City. The groups I play with typically use MapTools. Might be interested.))
|Cap'n "Black" Ramsey|
Ramsey grins at Xan's words, especially the latter parts, lifting his hand again with two fingers touching his bushy eyebrow. "Aye Cap'n. May th'Lady bless ye for it!"
When opportunity presents, he gets another handle on the rum and gives himself a generous pull from it, but quiets down a bit to let others share in the conversation, quietly muttering to himself, "bah, n'er had t'gift f'r tongues anyways."
He does make a point to nod and grin at Meritaelin, both for his words, and his contribution to the rapidly diminishing supply of alcohol at that particular table...
I've played text-based online d&d/etc games on IRC (internet relay chat) before, but not much else online - there are two new systems coming out via kickstarter: TabletopForge and Roll20.net - both claim to have new tech using google+ style hangouts to run games on...but I'm good to try anything, really, if there are people enough to play.
|Steven Huffstutler Venture-Lieutenant, Washington—Pullman aka Coraith|
:What must be the shortest Half-Orc you've ever seen walks into the room bedecked in some bastardization of a nobles and pirates outfit. He sits, his back to a wall, and pulls a bottle of hooch from a pack. Uncorks it with his teeth and pours a generous helping for himself into a cup also pulled from the bag. Then spits the cork upon the ground.:
"Where's Guaril? I checked his store at the docks as I rolled in and its empty."
|Penn "Ballbreaker" Hovens|
*A street urchin of a halfling enters, his clothes a simple white shirt and green pants. His tussled brown hair and scarred face say that he's no stranger to a scrap, but you've never seen him around the Society*
"Eh, always gotta make the new guy run for the booze, am I right? Consider this my initiation fee."
*He plops a large jug of gin on the table*
"Some big half-orc guy was gettin all pissy that I was allegedy takin his booze. Let's just say now he knows how I got the nickname, and that now I've got a place we can get drinks on the house."
Despite the eye-catching colors and style of his garb, the finely-dressed duelist sat in relative silence, simply observing his "kin" with a smirk. Even as he sat in the midst of all these rag tag, dishonorable at best, pathfinders, he'd abstained from the drinking they all seemed to be engaging in. He liked his drink as much as the next scoundrel, but wisdom had taught him never to let his mental faculties slip in the midst of others of his ilk.
Glancing over as Penn entered their little den of debauchery, Zelthier chuckled. "Ooh," he gave a mock wince as he crossed his legs, though he couldn't quite hide his amusement, "I suppose that's what you get for throwing around false accusations... Well met, Brother."
Xan smiles. "I consider that fee paid in full."
She pours herself a bit of the gin, and takes a sip.
"Not bad at all. A nice pinch you've made. Now, I must excuse myself...I've business to attend to back in Varisia, and I need to make sure that the Stingray's crew is sober enough to sail. Good evening to you all, and may your coin purses grow heavy with gold."
She stands, puts on her tricorn hat, and curtsies to the group, before striding out.
Tipping his hat to the woman, Zelthier flashed her one last grin. "Safe travels, Sister, and perhaps we will meet at the crossroads. May your trip be a profitable one."
Sleight of Hand:1d20 + 17 ⇒ (10) + 17 = 27
Before she left, the tricky hellspawn made good use of his prehensile tail to slip a note into Xan's coinpurse under the table, a request from a family member for when she makes landfall in Varisia.
|Penn "Ballbreaker" Hovens|
|Latharel the Lost|
Latharel enters and moves straight to the bar.
"Guaril should have send you a note. My prized elven bow that I gave to you when I had fallen on hard times. My understanding is that Guaril paid you for it - so please hand it back to me."
The bar man reaches up to the wall where a well crafted composite longbow of clear elven origin leans.
Latharel takes the bow and carefully straddles it before inspecting it to ensure it hasn't taken any damage in the last two years that has taken him to pay off his debt and that had lead to him joining up with the Pathfinder society after his wife's death that non of the magic healing he had purchased for her was able to stop.
"The next round is on me."
He places a few gold coins on the bar. Surely Guaril wouldn't pay for this as well - but it felt good to have gained enough prestige with Guaril and the Szarni that they had aranged for him to get the bow back.
|Latharel the Lost|
"Yes - A fine bow indeed. It is my only connection back to my heritage. I'm now much more used to live among humans - but I'm still not used to the way they make bows.
Just in time - seems I'm on my way to Kortos and hope I will get the opportunity to test it out and see if I'm still able to use it properly."
|Marvolio the Magnificent 945|
The doors fling open dramatically.
Oh ho! It appears that Marvolio, Administer of the Arcane Arts has stumbled upon a game already in progress! But which game is it? Cards? Drinking? Power? Secrets? All of the above? Excellent! Please reserve me a seat, for kings and nobles be damned, each of the above are the greatest games that exist, and the only ones truly worth playing!
Doffing his hat, he grandiosely bows to each of the ladies before taking a chair. Placing a dark bottle on the table, he rubs his hands together in anticipation.
So deal me in! Are we betting money, destinies, or perhaps... souls?
The tiefling sat quietly, watching, observing, keeping an eye on every last person in the little hole-in-the-wall dive the Sczarni had claimed as their meeting place with interest. It really took all sorts, didn't it? A fancy fop of an elf, a tight-lipped bowman, a grandiose arcanist (that certainly seemed to be rather full of himself), yet another sneaky little halfling and... A... Fox? Thing?
Ah, yes, a Kitsune...
The quick-fingered duelist had heard of the creatures during his travels in Tian Xia; shape-changing fox-people with a penchant for trickery, using their sly wiles to get the best of those they targeted with their pranks.
"I wouldn't recommend trying to lighten any purses in here," Zelthier grinned and spoke loud enough to make sure the fox heard him, though he kept his eyes on the cards he continued to shuffle as he watched the crowd, "You may find yourself missing fingers, or more, if you do..."
A plainly dressed elf bearing a curve blade looks over the table. e seems oddly shimmering as if a spell or two were in effect on his person. He wears no armor yet moves as a warrior. Good people there is no reason to ply our trades on each other while so many other marks come here to fair Varisia. The gods grant us easy acess to wealth, fame, and fortune.
Surely, there is mutton enough for all of us.
*The foppish elf speaks*
"I agree, I would suggest that Uncle may be a little up set if people start losing fingers or pocket contents in here"
*Shuffles a harrow deck* Who is up for a game? Absolom rules, copper bets only, we are playing for pride not riches*
(ooc: if any one wants to find some rules for a game please let us know)
"Oh and.... this round is on me" *Flicks the bartenters some gold"
A hand thinly clad in a dark silk glove raises a crystal tumbler to the lips of a lean man with multihued green scarves riffling the collar of a grey robe. He sits alone presently, but another glass rests on the table. His boots tell of long roads, his stiff left arm perhaps recovering from a wound, and his dark eyes beneath black strands of shoulder length hair tell nothing unless you wish to be very forward with him. He raises the glass to his lips as noted, but his arm does not move, only the gloved hand.
"Hmmpf,", he sniffs his drink, "Subtle." He then downs the whole glass.
He considers the company about him and waits patiently. Will he come today? Who knows...Fortune is in the cards.