A Prologue: The Lances Head

Game Master Evil Space Mantis

The journey south out of Tinghir proved long and tiring, the loss of comrades adding weight to your shoulders as the promise of great reward added lightness to your steps. You managed to make the border crossing without incident, but still had to travel more than two weeks to the capital at Sen Bieló in order to collect your pay.

You've now settled in at The Lances Head, a quiet bar frequented by old soldiers, weary but well-paid. You've settled in to a large booth off beside the bar in the relatively modest pub. You've all got drinks on the table in front of you, plenty of coins in your pockets, and no real pressing business to attend to.

I'd recommend you all start off with a brief physical description of your character and perhaps a bit of banter. Once everyone is in the thread we can get started in earnest (assuming you don't take off in some direction on your own :P )

"... I mean come on... I sound like I should be a flaming house cat, not a hardened merc. Snow is not too much of a stretch but Snowy?! Damn Sergeant... Hope the old coot is rotting in hell!"

He sat, face down on the table before him, thick snow white braids fanning out around his head, one hand gripping his tankard of ale. He sighed in agitation, before glaring up at his brother.

"And YOU, you think it is funny! Do I LOOK like a house cat to you?" With an oft broken nose and a face scarred and weathered from years in the field, he looked like anything but. "Huh? Damn kids... No respect these days!" he grumbled softly, before downing a swig of his ale and sighing.

'Damn good to have the kid around though... Atleast this way if we go out, we go out together!' he took another swig of ale before standing and stretching lethargically.

"Well I need another drink. Anyone want anything? Mead? Ale? Rum? The buxom bar wench? No? Just me? Okay then. . ." With a grin he turned on his heels, and strode towards the bar.

'Damn it is good to be back in civilisation again...'

Sorry for the spelling mistakes, if there are any. Writing on my phone, on the bus, is hard!

The small dark haired man in the corner, who resembles a grinning walnut, puts down his spirit glass that he has been alternately sipping from.

Are you stirr compraining about that? Rearry? The rest of us are more than happy with our names, why can't you be Snowy-chan? I can even pronounce mine now! Risten!

The ensuing, altogether embarrassing episode seems to most of the other patrons as if the man is trying to flick a pubic hair from the back of his throat.

See? Naired it! Now, Snowy-chan, I won't hear you say such things about our...eh, what was the gaijin's name again?

The little man stares into the bottom of his spirit bottle, looks around for anyone that seems likely to enjoy some mild sexual molestation, then shrugs and follows Varik.

The tall, blond haired elf remains somewhat aloof as he sips his ale. He watches those around him with one eye ever-fixed on the lawyer who followed him through war and back.

"To be fair, Snowy, the name quite suits your cool and calm demeanor" he quipped with a sarcasm that surprised himself.

'Why DID that lawyer have to follow me here?' He remembers the letter in his pocket and desires to burn it, be rid of it once and for all.

"I for one like my new name at least"

The elf turns quiet again, and returns to his ale. Watching those around him, one eye ever-fixed at one particular seat.

'I'll lose him somehow.'

From my raised perch on the top of the plush leather seating I listen to the banter of my fellow adventurers, my...friends as I have now come to regard them. Securing my long black hair behind my ear I contemplate the colourful beaded bracelets that occasioned my nickname, bright against my mahogany skin, twirling them gently.

"I'm not sure what to make of mine," I muse, "It is a little silly but I enjoy its simplicity."

Having still not grown accustomed to the alcoholic drinks enjoyed by the others I sip a lightly scented star anise and wildberry tea. As the samurai stands to go with Varik I jokingly count myself lucky to be sitting on the opposite side of the booth...

Varik laughed softly, shaking his head and clapping the short oriental man on the shoulder. "Likely you are one strange man!"

When Points begins to speak, Varik arches an eyebrow cooly. 'That Elf has problems... He needs to get himself a wench or something...' Nodding politely to Points, he turned to leave, before being caught up short.

Miss Imse spoke with a soft calm voice and Varik found himself smiling. Such a strange diverse group they were, each of the striving towards diffrent goals, but all in the same boat. It was... Heart warming!

Shaking his head softly, he bowed once to the table, before turning and heading towards the bar.

Malek finishes downing his ale, and slams the tankard against the table.

"Calm demeanor? On this lad?", Malek laughs while wiping his beard clean. "Oo'd find a calmer demeanor in a bag o' screeching cats, chasing anything that comes near 'im or 'is brudder".

Thinking of his own name, Malek suddenly goes red. "Scribbles. Pah! Runes be no scribbles on walls. 'Tis a fine art, one 'e be unappreciative of".

'May his soul find rest'. Malek raises his empty tankard. "More ale!"

Roleplaying charisma 7. Aww yeah!

Ahh, Snowy-chan, I'm not so strange, I just have a different outrook on rife. I wirr exprain it to you if you care to risten!

He turns to the dwarf.

I wirr gradry exprain it to you to you too scribbres-san, provided you buy your own drink, I serve the king as his protector, not as your bar monkey. We can talk about your runes aswerr...

He grins widely.