This is a pregame roleplay session where I select players for the game. Since I am running two games, I will pair party members based on strong dynamics. Only ten will be accepted. No exceptions. I find games of six or more players difficult to run. Now for what I need from you:
You need to interview with the Caravan Master to join with the expedition. The Caravan Master is not Yalandere the elf. Yalandere is strictly funding the expedition and guiding it. He is not responsible for the recruitment of the manpower.
The Caravan Master’s name is ”Barune Bandelvis. He a human in his early forties. He is a gruff and all business sort of man who takes next to nonsense from people. He has been at interviews for the past four days and is quite tired of all these hopefuls wanting to join the caravan so expect him to be a bit crabby.
What he is looking for are hardworking adventurers or men of some trade they can contribute to the caravan. With such a dangerous expedition, he will not accept any man who cannot better the caravan's chances of survival. He will want skilled workers and no one will be able to bribe their way on. Money is useless that far out in the desert and the CM knows that too well. So include that in your interview.
Now: You need to right up the interview, you are permitted to RP Barune with your character as you see fit. Put this interview into a spoiler please. This interview will give me some ideas about your character and is the minimum requirement for recruitment.
You will then head to the Cold Moonshine Tavern. This shabby little tavern will house a male human bartender, a Halfling serving boy, and a female half-elf belly dancer which is the only decent thing to look at in this shabby run down tavern.
This is the last place in town left with any room to move and only you the players will be staying here. It’s dark and has only one waiter, a barkeep, and no cook or made. The belly dancer is pretty to look at but her skills are amateur at best. There is no music and the tables don’t appear to have been cleaned in ages. The barkeep is a jerk, the serving boy is clumsy and the dancing girl has no coordination and is incredibly socially awkward. Quite honestly you wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t the only place left in town to get a glass of water and rest out of the heat of the sun.
This is the place to socialize, get to know one another, get into character, and form bonds and groups. Aridia will require something of a cohesive team and I want to see which characters socialize well here.
Even if your character is anti-social, you can still RP a little and respond to others when they try to probe you for questions. Try and post something, this exercise tests your creativity as much as it does anything else. I’ll be honest, loner characters will have lower odds of getting into the game as I find the role incredibly boring. Be social so I can be entertained and motivated to run the game.
Now, that this is completed, follow the pattern 1st Interview in a spoiler 2nd: Head over to Cold Moonshine Tavern as RP with other players.
Any questions or out of character conversation must be kept as OOC blue as we are now playing a game of sorts.
Chosing: As this exercise pregresses, I will immediately start chosing players I want as this goes on. It will go for a minimum of two days starting from now so you have all day Sunday and Monday to do what you will. I will begin selecting players Monday night 48 hours from now and will end this Crucible when I have my two teams of five decided on.
I will wait extra days if I have not seen enough out of people to decide, I will post a prompt at that time. I will wait no more than five days tops. Then it will come down to coin tosses as to who I will choose. I do not believe it will come to this however as there are enough recruits in the recruitment and I am sure the ten I want will be revealed by Monday.
Now that all that nonsense is out of the way. Go forth, impress me, and have fun.
P.S. As I have said before, you do not have to use your aliases. Just act out your characters, which is all I need. Thank you.
Wouf ! replied james as he followed
William will walk in the bar followed by james.
he will find a nice table in a corner so that james can lie down without being in the middle of everyone else's legs.
looking at the table he started saying something but decided against it
Can i have a beer here please ?
Someone tried to pass him, but Draahzin stepped forward and said:
'Please kind sir, I waited here longer than you. Would you please let me go in first?'
'And why should I do that scaly thing?'
'Because if you do that what will prevent the one behind you to do so?'
The man looked behind him saw a thuggish figure and moaned a: 'Hmm go ahead.'
'Thank you, kind sir.'
Draahzin hastened his step and entered the tent. The shade there was refreshing and the luminosity more suited to his taste, he felt his eyes focusing. Barune Bandelvis was a caravan master of the typical sort: middle aged with percing eyes, prominent belly and smelling of sweat and spices; he was seated among cushions upon a rug covering the sand.
'So who are you?'
'Good day to you master Bandelvis. I am Draahzin the Blue …', said the kobold while siting.
'Yeah, yeah cut the crap. What can you do for me that none of the bigger guys outside can?'
'First as you said I am not big so I eat less', he said with what pass for a smile on his toothy mouth, 'then I can bring my own mount and am quite good with the beasts, be it horses, camels or dogs. Finally I know how to live in the desert.'
'Hmm, what else?'
'I can talk and barter; and fight if necessary.'
'Ok good, but everybody can do that.'
'Sure but not all of them are knights. Moreover I'm quite talented and suited to combat at night. Oh and I forgot to say that if people listen to me I can make them fight better.'
'Fight better?'
'Yes, I'm quite good at finding my foes' weaknesses, like where there is defaults in their armor or where their hide is thinner. So if I shout: "Aim there", and people actually aim there they will be more efficient.'
'I see… anything else?'
'You could say that I can help prevent people or things to come unnoticed in the camp. Or help protect your goods if that interest you.
Barune pressed his fingers on his brow, massaging his forehead and barked:
'Straight to the point kobold!'
'Traps. I can build traps, that's like a racial hobby.'
'You're a resourceful one.'
'I merely aim to be useful.'
'I believe you can be. Wait in town, I'll send for you if you are accepted, competition is tough however.'
'Then I'll take my leave. Have a good day.'
He walked out of the tent into the bright light of the day. [i]Damn merchants! Always waiting to suck you dry. But when they must pay you then they take their damn sweet time. Thirsty he started roaming the town searching for a drink …
Edit: edited last part.
Oops Forgot to mention, part of the interview doesn't result in hiring. They are only looking for five new recruits. They will hear the interview and spend some time going over the applicants. All the applicants are waiting in town to hear the results. When the parties are picked is when the names will be announced.
… finally after roaming the entire town his steps directed him to the Cold Moonshine Tavern, a deliciously dark establishment. Refreshing. Then he saw the dirtiness of the room. Ok. Remember: do not eat anything here, Draahzin.
He slalomed between tables, chairs and benches to reach the bar asking for a beer.
'Show me some coins before, bloody kobold!'
Rummaging through his purse, he flashed some copper and silver.
'Would that be enough?'
'Yeah. That'll do.'
Then he pocketed probably more than he would have for anyone, but who would says anything? He was a kobold, no one cared.
Taking his tankard he climbed a wobbling chair, took a sip. Taste like rat's piss. Well probably is seeing that shady place. Well is anyone there? Noticing the belly-dancer for the first time. Oh I bet she must be pretty by soft-skins' standards. But she dances like a bag of sticks. Finishing his overview of the room he noted a halfling wearing armor. A fellow mercenary then? A competitor? A future partner? Let's talk to him to see if he's worth his salt.
Taking his mug with him he approched the halfling:
'Mind if I sit here?', he said showing the opposite chair.
And these were the ones who would come into her desert, and attempt to breach its heart? She shook her head fractionally.
Simoom had been tied to a post, along with the beasts less suited to the desert-- the outlander's horses and mules and whatever else they had brought. Hooves sank into the sand, unlike a camel's broad feet.
They would learn. Or die in the learning. The desert was not a place for the soft.
There was the one, the caravan master. She strode up to him without hesitation.
"Alright," the human barked after looking her over quickly, head to toe. They were eye to eye with each other, as Raine was tall. "What's your story?"
"I am Raine. I offer something these others do not."
He looked unimpressed. Sweat ran down his forehead in a thin line. "And what's that, lass?"
"I am from this desert that you seek to pierce. I have lived there all my life. I know the sands, and unlike most of your applicants, I have brought a beast suited to traveling them."
His frown was dubious. "You live out there? In the damn desert?"
Raine nodded, only once. She had said that she was. If she had said it, it was so.
The desert-elves have little time for, or understanding, of deceit. Raine can't lie convincingly if her life depends on it.
The human looked to the long spear with its intricate metal head that rested in the crook of her arm. "And I suppose you know how to use that?"
"I am a skilled combatant, yes."
"And so humble, too!" the human snorted. She looked at him quizzically; he shifted his weight foot to foot for a few seconds, then shrugged at her lack of response.
"Anything else you bring to my troop, girl?"
"I have studied magic as the way of my people. While I do not, at present, possess the gift of creating my own magic, I am knowledgeable in its theory. You go to a place that has been sealed by unknown forces for centuries: you will need whatever insight I can bring."
"Hm," said the caravan master with a shrewd squint. "Well... be off with you. If you make the cut, we'll let you know."
She offered him a grave nod and turned on her heel, departing to see Simoom fed and watered.
She wrote it off as another oddity of humans and pushed open the tavern's door, her eyes flicking around the corners of the shabby room.
Her tribe traded with humans, and others, but she had never been in prolonged contact with their race. Foolhardy, her mother said, selfish, impulsive, greedy... the sort who thought it wise to rush into the heart of the Mother Desert because one elf appeared to them and spoke of wealth.
If he were truly an elf.
She didn't see the so-called Yalandere, though. The only people in the tavern were a sad half-breed (debasing herself for the pleasure of outlanders: Raine thoroughly ignored her), one of the little folk carrying greasy meat on trays, a sloppy old human at the bar, and two others who were not staff. Another little folk, and one who, while he shared the other's size, was marked as other by his scales.
Raine's lips pressed into a thin line. Kobold tribes occasionally skirmished with her people. She bore the little lizards no love.
She turned her back on them and moved to the bar. "Water."
He blinked at her, sleepy, staring up into her face. "Just water?"
"That is what I requested."
Much as the caravan master had, the bartender shifted his weight foot to foot beneath her frank gaze. "Alright. A silver piece, then."
She paused. Her ears were very sharp, but she knew a moment's doubt as to whether she had heard correctly. When he only held out a dirty hand, waiting, she drew back and stood up straighter.
"Water is not worth a silver piece."
His smile split his face. "Tell that to the man dying of thirst out in the sand. It's worth what it's paid for, innit? Worth gold, if you've not got any."
Raine mulled this over. Objectively, his words were correct. The price of a good, such as water, rose in inverse correlation to its abundance. Among her people, money was used only to trade with outsiders-- in the tribe, water was given if it was needed, as was everything else. But here, in the world of 'market', costs waned and waxed, like the moon. (Which was not cold.) Objectively, the human was stating an economic truth.
Subjectively, she felt a strong desire to ask him what his life was worth.
Instead, Raine unslung the canteen from her belt.
"You are correct. Water is worth much to those who have none. I, however, have water. I will drink my own. And keep my silver."
She turned on her heel and walked away, to the far corner, at a table somewhat close to the halfling and the kobold. She sat there, nursing the tepid water from her canteen, with her back to the wall and her other hand on her weapon's haft.
Before the halfling could give either his agreement or disagreement, Draahzin sat down on the chair across the table:
'So new in town? Searching some work?'
While he was waiting for the stranger to respond he heard some noise behind him. Looking back he saw a towering female elve, sinewy and strong looking. Turning back to face his fellow drinker he sensed some hostility in his back. She doesn't seem to like my kind. He heard her argue with the barman, then she sat down no far away, back to the wall and oozing of suspicion. She looks like a wolf in a foxes' den.
'Nobody will try to knife you here. Being robbed is the worst you should expect.'
Raine turned her head slowly at being addressed by the kobold, her brows arching. She gave the creature a long, frank look.
"I have just been the subject of attempted theft," she said after several seconds of this blunt scrutiny. "You are correct. I should expect to be robbed, in this town."
She shifted the guisarme to rest it across her knees, continuing to stare at the kobold.
New to this town indeed i am he replied to the kobold. As for work well i guess i'll know soon enough. But you seem also out of place in this town of longshanks. he ended with a grin
Reposting the tavern part.
When they entered there were more people than expected, contrary to the small amount of people at the sign-up.
There was murmer and chatting all around. People of all sorts were standing near the bar and sitting at the tables. Some didn't look very much prepared
Toby and Mia came at the bar.
Toby:
The bartender looked down over the counter;
Mia just looked at him. Just give me a zombie and ill show you cute.
After getting their drinks, they looked around for a seat. There happened to be a table with 2 seats still vacant, despite a woman already sitting there. A palish elf woman with Jetblack hair and dark blue eyes.
Mia:"If you start flirting....."
She walked with her mug towards the table. Seemingly the woman didn't notice Mia untill she put herself on the opposing seat.
Mia:"You wouldn't mind, would you? This was the only seat left."
Haroun bows his head as he waits outside the tent, clasping his silver holy symbol in one hand and chanting softly in Kelish. The words roll off his tongue, spoken thousands of times - prayers to Abadar for guidance. Prayers for a merchant's tongue to help him negotiate his terms.
"Next!" comes a gruff voice from within. Another man walks out, his face betraying nothing, but Haroun's keen eyes notice his fists clenching in faint rage. That clearly didn't go well, he thinks to himself, just before entering the tent himself.
He takes the chair, settling into it with a dignified air. He removes his keffiyeh, grateful for the shade, and opens his mouth to introduce himself.
"Name?" the other man cuts in. Haroun notices the weariness in his face, the slump of his shoulders - the signs of a man who's had a long day and wants it to be over.
"Haroun al-Hasib," he replies, his voice calm and level. "Son of Yusef ibn Ebrahim ibn Farouq-"
"That'll do," the other man grumbles, and Haroun falls silent. He continues running through his ancestry in his head, somewhat annoyed at being cut off. The other man writes Haroun's name on a piece of parchment, grumbling as he does so, before looking up at him with another weary sigh. "Well, I'm Barune Bandelvis, and I'm basically here to decide whether you're capable of joining this expedition. Why don't you give me three good reasons to let you sign up? And make it quick; there's plenty more rabble like you waiting out there." He lifts a flask, pouring the contents - a small drizzle of water - into a wooden cup, and making a noise of frustration at the dry state.
Haroun sees his first opportunity and smiles inside. "May I?" he asks, but doesn't wait for a response before taking the bottle. He chants softly in Kelish, waving a hand a few times over the lip, then smiles as he tips the bottle, filling the cup with clear, fresh water.
Barune gives the younger man a strange look as he sniffs the cup, then takes a small sip. Apparently deeming it satisfactory, he takes a deeper swig, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and setting the cup aside. "A gift from Abadar," Haroun says with a small smile, the black tattoos under his eyes crinkling slightly.
Barune doesn't smile, but he doesn't seem to object. "Alright, let's put that down as your first reason. Making water from nothing, useful skill out in the desert."
It's the main reason I thought I'd be useful, Haroun thinks, but says nothing as Barune continues. "But that's still only one reason. Creating water doesn't mean anything if the sun's roasting the flesh from your bones. What do you have to show you can survive?"
"I know how to hunt and track," Haroun says calmly. "Abadar has granted me many gifts - keen eyes to spot my enemies; the know-how to find food and shelter in the desert; the ability to fill vessels with fresh water; the magic of healing; strong legs and nimble feet to help me traverse rough terrain-"
"Alright, alright; you can survive on your own. We'll put that down as a second reason," Barune grumbles. Haroun notes the dismissive wave of his hand, and frowns. He grows weary of me. I fear my next chance will be my last. "But all that still doesn't mean anything if you're going to run away like a spoiled Kelish princess if we get ambushed."
Haroun slaps his hands, palms-down, on the table. He leans forward, something blazing in his dark eyes. "That won't happen," he says calmly. "I can avoid any ambush. I can move quickly enough, it's like I'm teleporting out of danger, but instead of running, I use it to position myself advantageously. The Judge has blessed me with keen eyes and steady hands, and I have earned my bow after many years. I know it like my own hands. If anything tries to harm me, I will declare my judgement against it, and I will kill it. If it flees, I will hunt it down. I will stop at nothing - nothing - to see it dead." His breathing is heavy now, but he is almost perfectly still. "Do you understand me, Mister Bandelvis? I do not tolerate my enemies. Nor do I tolerate enemies of my god, for as surely as his faithful are my friends, his enemies are mine as well."
He watches as Barune makes more notes on his parchment. He reads his every motion, but in his fervour, he can't read him as well as usual. "That's enough, al-Hasib," Barune says gruffly. He waves to the tent-flap. "You'll know in a couple of days."
Haroun stands, straightens his back, and dons his keffiyeh again. He bows once to Barune, then leaves, disappearing without another word.
The Cold Moonshine was hardly the type of establishment he'd prefer to frequent, but it was close, and it was out of the heat. Though he could survive in said heat, he of course preferred to be out of it, so he ties Nasir to the hitching post, making sure the drinking trough had cool water - even if he had to provide it himself.
He strides into the tavern, a dark, dusty place, immediately taking note of its inhabitants. He counts nine - the barkeep, a halfling server, a half-elf dancer (quite lovely to look at, though her skills weren't to be envied), a halfling and a large dog, a kobold (he raised his eyebrows slightly at that), a small girl and a man who looks like her father, and a strange woman at the bar, apparently being charged an unreasonable price for water. He sighs at that, shaking his head, approaching her as she sits.
"Beg pardon, my lady, but I agree that water should not priced so highly. Allow me." He produces a cup from his pack and waves his hand over it, filling it instantly with cool water, and setting it in front of her. "While I see you have your own, everybody deserves a cold drink in this dry heat. Wouldn't you agree?"
'Just enjoy the wonders of town, sure it costs a lot, sometimes it's outright robbery. Believe me I'm well versed in this matter. But money isn't mean to stay in a purse. So what are you in town for?' He said to the elve.
'Indeed but I too need a job, life isn't cheap when nobody trust you. So right now I'm waiting for an answer, like you I believe. Bandelvis' caravan,' he replied to the halfling trying to smile and waving his tail.
That would be true, after all you are a kobold and so very out of place in this setting. he takes a swing of his mug and so am i, but less than you he added.
Eventually, though after a much longer wait in daylight than anyone who knows the desert could find acceptable, Meriui is allowed inside for his interview. As he moves into the office space, he sees a very tired older man, in reasonably good shape but still quite water fat. This older man has a writing instrument in his right hand and is leaning over the paper on his table top, holding his forehead with his left hand and not even looking up to see who enters the room anymore. His voice sounds drained, as though this man has lost any desire or motivation for his task, and now performs it only because it must be done. "I am Barune Bandelvis. I will be the caravan master on this trip into the depths of the Sarengave. There are too many applicants for your chances of selection to be good at all. What is your name?"
"I am Meriui bin Mercia, a warrior of the Varn'ea tribe." He stands in a waiting posture, certain that this is going to take far less time than it should.
Still without looking up, and in a voice that speaks volumes as to his lack of care at this point, "Who are you? What will you bring to my caravan?"
Meriui frowns. "I said that I am a warrior of the Varn'ea. Have you not heard of us? We live IN the Sarengave. You seek to travel through our home. Your tales speak of how easily people die in our home while our tales speak to how our way of life was forged by surviving the tests Diaga puts before those who step foot into the Sarengave. I can teach those who pay attention how to survive Daiga's crucible."
This shook Barune out of his trance and got his attention, so that he finally actually looked at the young man standing before him. He certainly looks and sounds the part of a desert native.
Meriui began moving slowly, starting in the middle of one of the simpler combat kata as he continued. "As a warrior, I am trained to fight as the sand or the wind, moving around opponents and wearing away their strength, knowing that an immovable wall is only a temporary problem, because everything ends. Never underestimate your opponent, but give him every opportunity to underestimate you."
Barune shrugged at this quick display, continuing to refuse to acknowledge any candidate as being better, or worse, than the others. Yet.
Returning to a waiting posture, Meriui continues again, "As Varn'ea, I know to travel and hunt at night, when most of the creatures of the desert come awake. I know to seek shelter from the sun. I know to avoid the silt beds and to walk on the packed sand below the crest of a dune. I know to accept the tests of Daiga, and to protect what I have from his grasp."
A short moment of silence indicates that the candidate thinks he has answered the question.
Barune glances at his notes. "Meriui, wasn't it? Why would you want to join this caravan? The tribes of the Sarengave are not known to encourage visitors, yet that is what you seem to be doing."
Meriui nods. "A reasonable question. The Varn'ea understand that we can not stop your caravan from happening without spilling the water of a great many people, including some whom you would never take on this walk. We are confident that Daiga will take many things from your caravan. We wish to know the story, to add it to our history of our home. There is no better way to learn the story than to have one who lives it share it with the tribe."
The interviewer snorts. "Fine, don't tell me. We're done. Wait here in town for the selection notice. NEXT!"
Meriui moves through the buzzing hive of activity, looking for a place to wait. The first place that he finds with room for him to even sit is the Cold Moonshine Tavern, a dilapidated wreck about as far off the main road as you can get and still be inside the settlement. Entering the tavern, Meriui finds himself insulted at every turn. The place is unclean. The surfaces all display blatant evidence that liquids have been spilt and poured out on them. Obviously the place is run by someone with neither pride in what he has nor an understanding of the value of water. Looking about the room, Meriui spies an empty seat, finally, not truly caring that he knows nothing of those seated nearby.
As he seats himself, the young man nods to those already present. "I am Meriui bin Mircea."
A halfling stops next to Meriui. "What'll ya have?"
"Water, for now." and the halfling scurries off.
As he returns, he sloshes the contents of the mug out onto the floor, table tops, and even other patrons as he moves. He plops the mug on the table, sloshing more of the contents out. "That's a silver."
Meriui looks at the halfling, at the water on the table top, and at the water trail he left behind him as he came back to the table. He does nothing to indicate that he accepts the mug. "Really? I will pay you your silver when you bring me a mug of water instead of sharing that water with the room and dead for me. This is not a mug of water. This is a mug with some water left in it. I am not going to pay you for your leavings."
'Us kobolds are never recognized as people … I believe it's because we have scales and lay eggs. That's a little sad. You halflings are just kobold-sized humans. At least we share our height.' He answered before returning to his tankard.
Folks started to gather in this run down place: a man and his daughter, a Keleshite, a rude desertfolk. The latter started to verbally mistreat the waiter, a poor halfling boy.
'I beg your pardon stranger, but don't you see that the poor lad is young and clumsy? I bet he strated working yesterday. Nobody'll follow your ways here, that's a town for fat merchants, green boys and frivolous women. Not that I don't respect your ways, just that you should forget them for now.'
'Here boy, take this.' Throwing him a silver coin.
'My treat. You'll not refuse?' His gaze upon the man.
Haroun watches as the newcomer berates the halfling lad, sighing. True, that amount of water was hardly worth a silver piece - back in Katapesh, after all, you could get a full mug of cold water for a single copper. As the Kobold flips over a silver coin, a clear attempt to prevent anyone from making a scene, Haroun decides to intervene as well.
"Meriui, my good sir, it appears the heat has addled your brain. You say there is hardly any water left in your mug. However..." He picks up the mug, holding it to his face and peering into it. "It looks rather full to me." He sets it down with a shrug, revealing it to indeed be full, as of roughly two seconds prior. "No harm done, then."
We do share the size indeed but most people would think twice about a kobold by himself. The road are dangerous out there.
The desert man sighs. "I would not accept water debt to you, no. I am attempting to teach this person to be less wasteful. Young and clumsy are the things he must learn to overcome, not excuses for continuing his wasteful ways. The waste will not stop if you tell him to continue without correction."
As the other man fills the mug from the air itself, Meriui's eyebrows rise. "My brain is not addled. The trail of water he left behind him, the water spreading across the table in front of us, the water he splashed upon other people in the room, these things you have not changed. But I would not owe you water debt, either." He reaches into his belt and retrieves a silver coin folded into the cloth, handing it to Haroun, and then using his empty hand to cover the top of the mug.
He nodded to the Keleshite, thanking him for his intervention then returned his gaze upon the halfling. Muttering: 'Desertfolk, always so prickly.', then raising his voice again: 'They do, they do. I assure you that I'm not dangerous … if you don't provoke me.'
From his table This is not the desert yet so don't attempt to teach me your lesson right here right now. and before you ask i am drinking Ale not water. he added in agreement with the kobold
Meriui looks at the halfling sitting at the table and back at the one sloshing his way through serving the tables. "No, this is not the deep desert. If you make a habit of being insulted because of observations of the behavior of someone other than you, you won't live for long, though."
Mia had only had a little of her milk. It was a raunchy sort, undeterminable of what animal it had come from.
Ugh...awful. How can these people even give this to their customers?
Looking sideways up to Toby she hints him to move aside so she can walk back for something else. As she heads towards the bar she gets near a table a halfling is carrying mugs of liquid to. As she is almost next to the table the mug, appearantly containing water, splashes generously.
Mia quickly made a step back, avoiding the splashing. For a moment she looks at the halfling emotionlessly. In a calm tone she makes a short comment.
Mia:"Mind it, else you'll receive more of that comment from people."
She turns away, resuming her walk towards the bar.
"Next! Lilith... Hearteater?"
It was Lilith’s turn for the interview. From the tone of the interviewer’s voice, Lilith could tell that he was tired from interviewing people and was allowing his emotions overwhelm his natural judgment. What a damn shame, to be honest. Lilith never understood how so many sentient beings could be so prone to abandoning reason for feeling. She walked toward the interviewer’s room, her boots clacking against the stone floor. There weren’t many left waiting to be interviewed, so the sound was amplified by the relative silence of the waiting area. As she walked through the door, Lilith slowly slid down her hood to reveal her jet-black hair, now shining in the sunlight, with the tips of her pointed ears showing from beneath the curtain of darkness. Using her hands, she pulled the full length of her hair from beneath her cloak and let it fall around her head, now revealing her hair to be an impressive length; down to the small of her back. She sat before the interviewer, narrowly missing sitting on her hair, and looking up to the human man.
The caravan recruiter took a look at her and shot her a grin. “You definitely don’t seem the warrior type, shorty.”
While it was true, Lilith stood shorter than the average human female despite being an elf, she didn’t care for the comment. Peering up at him, she shot a look of hatred at him, but then lowered her initial anger. “You speak, and yet you do not know. It is a class of organism, a type of sentience, that becomes more ignorant as it grows and learns. It is a special breed that has festered its way into society and now has the lot held by its maw. I think you’ll find that I am the stray tooth that breaks the skin of such a practice.”
The caravan master, bewildered now, stares for a moment at the elven woman. “I… What’s that supposed to mean?” his tone now one of defensiveness than real inquiry, though it was still obvious that he had no idea what most of what Lilith had said meant.
Lilith looks expectantly at the man, clearly no more an intellectual than the common rabble. Honestly, it seems a poor judge of character to choose a person to recruit your men that is no more intelligent than at least you are. Unless, of course, this human was actually somewhere on a similar plane as the elf running this operation in those terms, in which case he is a pathetic excuse for an elf.
“While I’m not as great of a warrior as some to whom you have spoken, I have knowledge that is invaluable to your expedition. It would be irrational for you to go into such danger ignorant.”
The caravan master was less than enthusiastic with this response. “Yeah? What’s to stop us from taking some books with us? Won’t you feel high and mighty with your big brain being replaced by some books?” he finished out the last part of his sentence breaking into a laugh.
“Does your book allow you to speak eight languages and decipher many others in a moment? Perhaps you’d like to flip through a book while your caravan is being attacked by a desert worm to figure out what its weakness is. Further; is your book highly trained in the art of alchemy and can be used to create potions while traveling? If not, I expect to be notified when you are leaving so I can be ready.” Lilith’s voice began to rise a little before the end. She then stood and began making her way out of the interviewer’s room.
The caravan master was stunned. Most people coming in for these interviews were kiss-asses, but not this woman. She behaved as if she had an entitlement to be with this caravan. While it was arrogant and arguably foolish, it was different and called back his attention to her.
“Wait. Will you at least tell me why you want to go to Aridia so badly?”
Lilith paused for a second. “To know.” Then she continued out, putting the hood back over her head.
Lilith made her way to the Cold Moonshine Tavern. She knew most places to stay would be full, so she decided to go ahead and make her way there. She wasn't picky about her living conditions, she'd be gone soon enough anyway. She walked up to the bar with her hood still over her head.
"The water you would use to make ale. I want some of that water, please."
After shooting Lilith a confused look, the barkeep shrugs and complies. Not long after that, a tiny female makes her way over to Lilith and asks to have a seat next to her. Lilith peers at the halfling from beneath her black hood before nodding and receiving her water. Lilith wasn't that interested in interaction, but she was going to be leaving soon and any number of people could be coming with her or not. If she became acquainted and they did end up traveling together, then that could prove useful. If she became acquainted and they didn't end up traveling together, nothing gained and nothing lost.
"Next," a voice calls--presumably that of Barune Bandelvis, the caravan master. The man who stands in response to the voice isn't old, but neither is he a boy who yearns for manhood. He wears simple robes and a sash, light-colored fabric of light material, with a matching headscarf: the garb of the desert dwellers, the nomads. His face is tanned, with a short goatee and mustache under a thin nose and dark brown eyes. He makes his way to the door with grace, moving easily; the sword at his belt doesn't bother him, nor do the bow and quiver on his back, and the soft clink of armor is heard from beneath his outermost garments.
He moves into the room and bows his head deferentially to Bandelvis before taking a seat and folding his hands. "Well?" the caravan master asks. "Who are you and why should I let you on my caravan?"
The robed man clears his throat and pulls back his headscarf, revealing a head of wild black hair that, with nothing to keep it piled atop his scalp, falls about his shoulders. He brushes a strand back from his face and opens his mouth to speak.
"My name is Farid Sa'd-Ghalib," he begins, his voice soft but firm. "I come from the Azhara people who live in the deserts about the region. We are a nomadic people; we travel great distances as we make our living off of the land, using our wits to survive and thrive in a region most would presume inhospitable to life. I bring you the knowledge of the desert and the skills to survive its dangers.
"My father was the leader of our tribe, but I was his third son, and so I have made my way in life by my own abilities. I led my tribe's people in hunts and in warfare; I am a skilled rider, and practiced with a bow. I understand how to wear armor in such a way as to move easily in it, and can run quickly despite its weight. I am trained in employing archery from atop a galloping horse, and bring my own mare, Azara. I am also a knowledgeable falconer, with my companion Badr, who I have taught to seek for food, to scout for danger, to hinder enemies, and to warn of threats. These talents I bring you also.
"You may have heard of my name previously; I have spent much time in Voush since leaving my people with the blessing of my father and our shamans. I work mainly as a guide for those who wish to travel the desert, taking them where they need go, showing them what they seek, and defending them from danger. I charge only what I need to survive, and that is all I wish." Though fine tools, fine food, and such niceties are useful to survival. "Frugality, deference, and experience: these I bring you as well.
"And I bring you tenacity and curiosity. I bring you my own desire to see this fabled land of Aridia, to learn of wonders that few if any others have seen. I bring you bravery in the face of danger, endurance in the face of defeat, and a will to survive." The man draws his sword and lays it on the table. "I give you my sword." He draws his bow and lays it as well. "I give you my bow." He then bows his head and lays his hands palms-up on the table. "I give you my life. Would that you will have them."
Bandelvis clears his throat. "Yes, well, we'll certainly keep you in mind and consideration. We should be announcing our choices for the caravan before long."
Farid raises his head and nods. "I understand. I hope that you are able to select candidates who are capable and worthy of this journey." He re-equips himself with his weapons and, bowing once more, exits the room.
The walk to the bar seemed to have been for nothing. The bartender just ignored it, claiming the milk was "fresh". She took back her seat at the table and leaned towards Toby.
Mia:*whisper*:"The bartender is a cretin. I need something else that's non-alcoholic."
Toby gets up from his seat and heads towards the bar.
Mia looks back at the lady elf.
This woman looks more graceful than the rest of people here. I have seen a glimpse of her at the signing up.
Deciding she would eventually have to talk to somebody other than that Toby, she calmly spoke to Lilith.
Mia spoke to Lilith in elven tongue:
"Yoµ are thê êlvên laedy whµ þaffled thát mán át the signúp. I sáw á glimpse of yoµ there. Fµwer people in front of me gaeve a þetter vµw. Thát wás somewhát entertaening."
Lilith sipped from her water. The halfling had been there when she was having her interview conducted. That was interesting and must mean that the halfling also signed up to be a part of the expedition. No matter to Lilith really. Lilith responded in halfling; "La lidnytm ehi ywdir fuizit em oryhdnytyq. Dnyokn, uw U'l ryd lumdegir, Mia, ayo tumkoumit ayohmicw em e snuct, el U zhyrk?", her voice barely above a whisper. Lilith's memory was nearly flawless, she could recall the entire scene. She remembered finding Mia's methods amusing.
From without the Cold Moonshine, you hear the sounds of a horse's hooves, followed by soft speaking and a nicker.
Farid enters the tavern, a man of average height in the garb of the desert nomads, light robes and a headscarf. On his left shoulder is a leather pad; on his left hand and forearm is a leather falconry glove, and perched upon it is a large falcon which eyes the establishment. The man himself also has a bow and quiver on his back and a scimitar at his hip, and he walks up to the bar easily.
The bartender nods to him and Farid bows his head in return. "Some water, friend," he says, and the bartender pours some into a glass. Farid places a pair of silvers on the table and smiles, taking the drink in his right hand. "Come, Badr," he says, apparently speaking to the falcon. He sits at one of the available tables, not far from several clusters of other patrons--Hopefuls for the caravan, no doubt.
Farid sits and raises his hand, allowing the falcon to step from his arm to his shoulder. The man brushes back his headscarf, revealing a long tangle of wild black hair, and raises the glass to his lips, sipping the liquid. Not cool, but still wet.
Catching the tail end of the conversation regarding water being spilled, Farid leans over and speaks up in response to the short man's comment. "Why bicker and argue so, friends? It is best not to take insult when it is not directed, true, but it is also best not to speak in such a way as to insult." Farid looks back to Meriui. "You are of the desert people, are you not? From the deep desert, in the heat of the sun. We are of the same path, then, for I am also a nomad, of the Azhara tribe. Farid Sa'd-Ghalib, at your acquaintance." He bows his head slightly.
"Come, let us forget any perceived injustice. We have entertainment, no?" He gestures to the half-elf dancer with a smile on his face. "Know you any dances of the desert tribes, lady?"
Raine's head turns to watch the human approach. He is mostly desert-dressed, at least. She does not blink, until he sits down at her table, and that does earn a single blink from her.
Her head tilts to one side when he fills her mug. Magic, of course, but it god-given rather than the work of true study. To be respected-- faith is worthy of respect-- but not the same way as the magics of her people.
She slides the man's cup closer and lifts it to sniff at the liquid within. It seems to be... merely water. Colder than she usually has chance to drink it-- it is impossible to keep water cold in the deep desert, and even that which bubbles to the surface in springs is not as cold as this.
Because the human ideas of courtesy seem to demand it, Raine sips once from the cup, her eyes briefly sliding shut at the clean, pure taste of the water. No silt or sediment.
"You word it strangely. You say everyone deserves water. 'Deserves.' Do they?" she answers with her tawny brows raised.
Raine sits back to cross her arms. The kobold's question... she presses her lips into a flat line again. She owes no answers to lizardfolk. Still...
"Work." A one-word, terse answer.
She scans the room, watching the others enter as the interviews carry on outside. Another elf, this one very short for one of their kind. Not one of the tribe. Several more humans who are not completely ignorant of the desert, it seems, by their dress and fashion. She smiles very quickly to see the hawk.
One human is dressed for the desert indeed. He is whipcord lean, his skin thoroughly covered with robes. She watches his words over the spilled water and a second smile briefly haunts her mouth.
This one knows the sand. One of the tribes of humans who keeps to their part of Mother Desert, as she and her people keep to theirs, then.
She decides to study him for a while.
How smart of the halfling to disguise herself as a human child. It makes her a safer person. I should head over there and introduce myself. For the moment i should just let her be and not reveal that i have seen trough it.
"Next!"called the caravan master. Faruq walked confidently over to the man, moving with the easy grace of somebody skilled with a blade. The master was a grizzled looking older Taldan. He wore loose silks stained from heavy use and chewed on an unlit cigar. "Name?" he demanded brusquely.
"I am called Faruq al-Rashid." Faruq replied, a smile crossing his face. One of the many things he had learned since his devotion was that kindness often paid off more than the cold arrogance he had once shown.
"Alright, Faruq.He scribbled something down on a sheet of parchment in front of him, not returning the warrior's smile. "What assets could you bring to this expedition?"
"I was trained as a Keleshite knight. I am skilled with the sword, shield, bow, and the horse. I am also quite adept at surviving in the desert, Faruq offered, hopeful. The caravan master sat there, obviously unimpressed. "I can guarantee you that I am more skilled with a blade than any other "warriors" that you have previously interviewed." Sometimes arrogance could help too.
The caravan master threw his hands up. "Look, son. Every man with a sharp piece of steel swaggers in here and claims he's a better swordsman than the last. I'm not going to have each of you draw and prove it, though, so you'll have to do something more if you want to impress me."
Faruq's mind raced. What could he do or say to convince this man he was worthy? All he had ever been was a warrior. He was not glib enough to spin a tale, he could not conjure flame like a magician; if he could not draw his blade and prove himself, what did he have? This is another test of faith. If I want to ensure my passage, I know what I must say. Dawnflower preserve me, I hope this doesn't make things more complicated.
Faruq looked the caravan master in the eyes. "Fine. If I cannot prove my swordsmanship to you, let me prove my conviction. I am the only warrior here willing to make this journey for free." The man's eyes widened. Ah, yes. I have you now.
The caravan master licked his lips. "Free, you say? That does change things." He scribbled some more onto the parchment. "You're under consideration. Stay in town and we'll contact you."
Faruq bowed, smiling, and took his leave.
Toby comes back to the table, taking his seat. He hands Mia a mug of water. Seems he didn't have to spend a silver on it, he got off with just 6 copper and a black eye for causing a scene.
Mia looks at Lilith, not really at all surprised at her speaking halfling. Ironically, being raised by a human, her main and fluent tongue during her life was common. The other languages were slightly less fluent, but she learned them as she and her human "mother" had customers of various kin.
Speaking with her in elven would be most practical. With halflings and humans around, it'll also be slightly less likely somebody will succesfully eavesdrop on us.
"'T múst þe your imaeginaetion. þesides, thae shún shoµs." She holds up one of her shoes. See this paer? Thae áre á populár item ás of laete, quite prácticál toµ. Plús hálflings cán be bothersomely cheerful ánd i háve yet to meet one who spoke aenything other thán common ánd hálfling." Having said that she takes a sip from her mug of water. She continues though;
Mia:"Bút miss, whát raeson þrings yoµ to this cáráván?"
Mia looks with slight curious eyes at the halfling as he walks towards the table.
{Insert William's greetings here}
Toby hears the greetings casually adressed towards Mia, and having to act like a good parent with his child's welfare in mind, he takes on a defensive stance.
The tavern was getting crowded: elves, halflings and Keleshites everywhere. Fortunately no gnome here. Soft-skins all of them, but hard. The sands don't forgive weakness.
The elve was gruff, better not talk to her, people were often distraught talking to a kobold, his kind was believed treacherous and savage. The halfling was sympathic, he decided to talk more: 'Pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm Draazhin. For now mercenary for hire.'
Suddenly he heard someon talking: '… dances of the desert tribes, lady?' What? The fool is blind? If that girl know how to dance then I'm a priestess of Calistria! He had a loot at the man: not blind and accompanied by a large falcon, nearly as big as himself. He stared at the man searching for clues: was he trouble or awkwardly kind?
Faruq entered the Cold Moonshine tavern, his eyes taking a few seconds to adjust from the bright desert sun. He was a tall man, standing above six feet, and powerfully built. He wore the traditional garb of Qadiran nobility, a flowing silk tunic covering a loose shirt and baggy trousers, although it was a little threadbare from his long journey to get here. A satin skull cap topped a head of long, black hair; sideburns terminating in a well-groomed goatee. The skin beneath his dark, almond eyes were tattooed black, to better block the sun out of his vision. At his hip, he wore his exquisitely crafted scimitar, the lone nod to his status as a knight that he would allow himself on a hot day like this. His armor was best reserved when he at least expected a fight.
The place was dingy and dirty, a far cry from the opulent mansions he was so accustomed to growing up in Katheer. He moved slowly, taking the opportunity to observe the many patrons. An interesting cast of characters, to be sure. I had best tread carefully. It would do me no good to be knifed before the trip.
He walked up to the bar, about to order a cup of water, but thought better of it. "A cup of wine, friend." Water, especially from places such as this run down cantina, could be dangerous to drink. He could be reasonably sure that the wine was safe to drink though. Sliding a few coppers across the bar, he walked over to where he saw a pair of humans discussing something. He might as well try and mingle with his potential companions while he waited.
"Hail, friends. I trust that we are all applying for the same position?"
Tolus is one of the last in line to be interviewed. His trip from Kataphesh had been hard, and his start was late. It took him a while to learn how to make money after he was granted his Papers. You'd think being as rare as he was would bring coin by virtue of his scarcity, but that was apparently only true in the Slave Markets. He went hungry the first night, and stole dinner the second. The scrounging and survival techniques he learned while under the neglect of the Son were coming in handy. He eventually scrounged up enough odd jobs and day's work to buy a camel and outfit it for the journey. The supplies were easy enough to steal.
The call of Next! Jolts him out of his thoughts. He must impress. As the steps through the door, before he is seen by the Caravan Master, he puts some of his years as a slave to use: he disappears. Not being seen was an essential skill in the house of the Son, but he learned it first under his mentor Ashshram. It was rudimentary when he was little. Move only when noone is looking, keep your head bowed, and the like. He has since refined the skill into an effect mimicking invisibility.
He did this now, and his graceful tread let not a bit of sand lift from the rugs under his feet. He sits in the chair opposite the Master and touches his forearms, using magic to change his appearance to fit his role. He knew that, while still unseen, he had changed his clothing to that of a desert scout. Loose, sandy robes settled around him, a veil covered his face, and a head scarf hid his lack of hair.
It didn't take long for the Master to look up, expectant. There is annoyance there. It has been a long day. The Master begins to call for the next, but just as he is about to utter the word, Tolus is suddenly there, sitting in the chair with all the confidence in the world.
The Master looks confused for a moment. Tolus explains, I am Tolus, called the Serpent Servent, His eyes have caught the Master now. His serpentine, entrancing eyes complete with golden irises and vertical pupils. I have been here since you called. I am a scout and spy, and maybe a bit more. 40 years I spent under the tutelage and care of some of the greatest Masters of Kataphesh, but no longer. He removes the veil and head scarf. His scales shine various shades of patterned green even in the tent's lamps. He smiles to display elongated fangs. I am Vishkanya, the race of Serpent men. I have the training of the perfect house slave and the experience of a theif. If you want your laundry done, I'm your man. He emphasizes the word laundry to make the meaning clear, then pauses.
The Master is not unimpressed, but he has seen much talent today. Tolus knows he will be remembered, at least, if not chosen.
The Master asks, You said you were under the Guild Masters of Kataphesh's tutelage. What did you mean by that, exactly? He is suspicious. The Masters would send a spy to sabotage the mission if it posed a threat to their interests, naturally. Tolus had to assure the Caravan Master that he was not that spy. Honesty was best here.
I was a House Slave to the Great Masters. A trophy in a game of economic chess. I was once the most sought after living thing in Kataphesh, but no longer. I have earned my freedom after the death of my Master, and I wish to join you on this trek into the desert. I need to know who I am. I have been trained to be the perfect slave. Now I need to get to know the Serpent.
The Master taps his desk, thinking on this reply. He nods shortly and motions that Tolus is dismissed. Tolus rises, bowes with a perfect flourish, and disappears in place. He again disturbs not even the least grain of sand on his way out.
Tolus makes his way to the only tavern in town that has room left. Curses for arriving so late. He leads his camel to the door of the Cold Moonshine. There are more mounts here. The place is probably packed already. With a sigh, Tolus ties his camel, Esmeralda, up to a post outside and heads in.
He first notices the lack of cleanliness. This tavern's master should be ashamed. Still, there was potential. If given a score well trained slaves he could have this place in shape within the week. He quickly picks up on some of the conversation. There is some talk about spilled water, but nothing he is really interested in at this moment. He then notices the Quadrian noble. Best to maintain his neceties around that one. His sword marked him as a knight. Interesting.
I am probably quite the sight he muses. Tolus is of medium height and build, but his appearance is nothing short of Exotic. His skin in scaled in patterns from light green to the color of the deep forest, and his eyes are molten gold with obvious vertical slits. He is dressed in the sandy robes of a desert scout, and his steps make no discernable sound. He scans the room, spotting another odd fellow, a Kobold, and a Blue one at that.
Tolus glides across the room to where the Kobold and a halfling are talking. He motions to the chair in a silent request for the seat.
The signing up:
For convenience: Tobias "Toby" is the customer mentioned in Mia's bio, who under payment pretended he was her father, to take her along. He has traveled multiple times before, as such gathered some skills. Will ooc his lines.
Barune Bandelvis: His lines in ooc too.
Mia's lines in "B"
Mia met up with Tobias the arranged day for signing up with the caravan.
Toby:
Mia looked at him with an expressionless face. "Mister, we are not friends, do not adress me in such a familiar way. And of course, i would not be here if i had not been prepared. Instead of waiting, we should go sign up with the caravan master."
Toby:
As they walked in, Mia took in the surroundings and the other people who wanted to sign up. Only 2 dozen others. Elves, humans. Likely others lateron, such a trip would draw massive attention.
Aside from the expected male lot, when looking upwards, she noticed a few women who were standing next to her as well. There was more than one line, so as to fit more people inside.
Toby:
Mia:"You are disgusting, is that the 1st thing men think of when they see a woman?"
Toby:
Mia:"Keep talking like that and you'll be sorry."
Tobias got the message, Mia said it with a tone that meant he'd be in for a scene if he didn't shut up.
Toby:
The two in front of them were a man, and the one at the desk was a woman firm woman who looked like she could choke a horse barehanded. She was appearantly argueing on the entrance fee. The man was picking his nose and throwing what he dug up down on the floor.
Ugh..at this rate it will take forever.
Mia , being of such small posture, snuck around the man untill she was just behind the woman and groped her rear. Upon this the woman turned around seeing the man, angry she punched the guy down in one hit. The guards took the two aside, clearing the way for Mia and Toby.
As they stood before the office table of the Barune Bandelvis, the caravan master, he looked up after writing the previous application down.
Barune:
Toby:...Mia rolled her eyes upon the overly obvious sucking up undertone. Toby:
Barune:
Toby: Mia had a thought right there. If your cookingskills are as out of control as your libido, you'll be poisoning people rather than feeding them...
Toby:
Barune:
As he just finished his sentence, a pair of small hands and head partially popped up from his desk with curious eyes looking back at him.
Barune:
Toby:
Barune:
Mia:"Please sir, i don't want to be seperated from papa, i have only him as family. "I won't be any trouble, i promise."..she said with begging eyes.
Barune sighed...
Toby opened his purse and paid the man the fee for signing up. With a happy face, he looked with a smile down at Mia.
Toby:
Mia looked back up...Ugh...hopeless. "It is sad, you need help from a little girl like me to convince this man."
With the signing up stage behind them, they walked out through the other exit towards the Cold Moonshire.
As the dancer begins a botched version of what may be a desert dance, Badr gives a short screech. Farid turns to look at the falcon and notices the kobold eying him. Sensing the unspoken question, he shifts chairs and leans over toward the small reptilian. "I do not expect her to dance well, nor to know the dances of my people," he whispers, "but even a poor rendition of a tribal dance would be better than what she was performing. Besides, she is rather fair, if quiet and less than graceful, and there is no harm in complimenting her."
The man returns to his seat and again sips his water, looking at the other humans, as they are joined by another apparent desert-dweller, though this one from Qadira. "If you speak of the caravan, then indeed, I believe we are of one purpose. You look to have traveled quite a way by your garb, sir. Your name, if I may be so bold?"
What does this halfling take me for, a fool?
Lilith was, at first, offended. Then she considered the implications of the halfling's disguise and was, for all intensive purposes, impressed. She decided to approach it from a neutral standpoint. The halfling was smarter than most, Lilith would give her that. After a moment more of pause, Lilith responded in Elven once again.
"Rena llie n' amada amin, Amin hant i' tuup de. Sai kekuel."
Lilith took another sip of her water, but not before taking a second glance at the halfling. It would be wise to remember her face and voice. She then motions toward the man that had come in with the halfling with a nod of her head.
"Naa tanya llie 'atar'?"
Meriui just shakes his head as those who claim to know the ways of the desert form a chorus claiming there is no reason to teach others not to waste. "Your attitude tells me that we are not from similar tribes. Daiga destroys those who waste."
He moves his hand from the top of the mug and takes a good drink, before placing the mug back on the table and covering it with his hand again. He looks back to Haroun. "That is a very important ability that you have. Beware those who will use it as an excuse to not take caution. Do not allow them to enslave you to their desires."
He briefly watches the scantily clad half-elf attempting to dance before deciding that the bird is far more interesting, and chooses to watch it instead.
Seeing that no one is really paying him any attention (That's weird), he slides into the seat next to the Kobold and Halfling. He watches the dancer for about ten seconds before returning to a survey of the room. A few elves, humans, a pretty normal assortment. It looks like most people are deep in conversation, or at least engaged in exchanging comments.
His golden eyes keep a look out for anyone who looks alone. It's been a long, lonely journey, and he could use someone to talk with.
"Cities are a place for comfort and escurity. The Master of the First Vault would not want those who seek the shelter of city walls to die in such a barbaric way as from thirst. Where I am from, a mug of cold water is worth a single copper coin. To charge silver for such a commodity is an abuse of trade." He briefly touches his holy symbol to his lips as he finishes speaking.
Haroun takes the silver, pocketing it without even looking at it. "I simply do not wish to see a scene raised. Interfering with trade is a very serious crime where I come from, and in the eyes of my god. A mug of water is no trouble to prevent a disruption."
When the other man mentions Daiga, his eyes flash suddenly, and he shifts a hand slightly to brush against his holy symbol. He relaxes slightly when he senses no trace of evil on Meriui, but he remains wary. "You are a follower of Daiga? I have heard much and little about his faith. You are from the Sarengave itself, then?"
Tolus takes special note of the Abadarian. That one could cause me trouble.
Meriui nods. "Yes, the Varn'ea live within the Sarengave. Daiga takes what he will. He destroys and consumes. All within the Sarengave respect him, or he takes them when it amuses him to do so. Other gods do not seem to bother themselves with our lives, so we pay a great deal of attention to Daiga."
Raine listens intently to the speaking man, unblinking, attention wholly focused.
"Abadar, then," she says slowly. "I know no followers of your trade god. But.... does not supply influence price? Understand I find this innkeeper offensive, but his point holds. Wood is cheap in forests. Precious here. Water is cheap by rivers. Precious here. No?"
She catches a flash of bright color from the corner of her eye and turns to look at the serpent-person, eyes widening again. She has seen no such creature in her hundred years of life. The bright color is startling and vivid to one who is used to dun-colored robes. Tolus gets that full, blunt stare from the elf-woman.
Tolus locks eyes with his first admirer. He stands, having only been at his table for a few seconds, and strides across the tavern gracefully, without a sound. He approaches Raine and dips into a perfect, courtly elven bow. Tolus. Called the Serpent Servant of Kataphesh. May I? he motions to a chair at her table.