This smoke-filled lounge serves as a coming and going of pathfinders off-duty. This is a safe place, a place to discuss finding, talk about politics, world views, brag about latest accomplishments.
An ancient, rather heavy looking halfling sits on a big chair in a corner overlooking the room. He has a deep voice, for a halfling at least, and a round face embedded with a pipe. It is as if he alone is responsible for half the smoke in the room.
You he bellows, though who he is looking at is anyone's guess, perhaps even the old halfling's own, you there, I haven't seen you before. You a pathfinder? I was one too, you know, back in the days. You know, this scar i got... he says, and then breaks into a coughing fit.
As he recovers, he says, still somewhat addressing the air in general more than anyone in particular but enough about me, tell me about your exploits. I always like to hear a good story.
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"Fizzbeard Dragonfiend!" the gnome exclaims in introduction. "Devotee of Smiad! I love the sport, the sport of hunting-especially dragons! I became a Pathfinder simply for the sport of it. The history and discovery is nice and all but what I crave is adventure. Glory! " The gnome becomes very excited and draws his greatsword, holding it straight above his head pointing towards the sky. It fails even to touch the ceiling. He resheathes it and runs a hand through his bright orange hair. "At your service."
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Rikas lounges in a chair, fiddling a knife in his fingers. It is only one of the many daggers on his person. He grins, bearing his teeth. "All glory does is get one targeted. Rikas Horgold. Though I would prefer you keep that name to yourself. Those who need me know where to find me, those who don't... well..." He lets the statement hang as he tests the edge of his dagger.
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The tiny halfling hidden in the corner speaks up. "I'm a bit of a fan of the hunt myself, I must say. Not so much animals, but just the thrill of the challenge. Breaking into somewhere I shouldn't be, finding a long lost tome, influencing higher ups in the world...that's what I'm about. And the sweet rewards of course. A girl's got to look her best, doesn't she. Well, when I'm not on a mission, I mean."
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Rikas mutters something about a "... cautious little slip..." but nods cordially to the halfling.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Shel pours herself another drink and moves closer to the collected duo. "Do you two know each other? I don't think I've had a mission with either of you yet. I did just get back from the neatest mission. I was actually invited to that fancy Blakros wedding. You've probably heard about it. We were able to get all gussied up, and met all kinds of famous citizens. Of course, shadow demons attacked everyone, which was a. Bit of a downer, but in the end we drove it off."
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A rather large tiger strolled into the lounge with, oddly enough, a gnome strapped into the military-grade saddle on his back. The green-haired woman glanced at the others with wary, bi-colored eyes as she muttered something to the beast she rode. The cat, on the other hand, had the look of an overly-excited kitten on his face.
Upon closer inspection, it became painfully obvious that there were no reigns or any means of her controlling the tiger. She just kept a hand placed just before his shoulder, using the other to hold a rather large, top-heavy staff.
Dotting for an easier find on my campaigns tab :)
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A rough and tumble dwarf makes his way into the establishment. His cold weather gear looks like it has seen better days; it is accompanied by a number of mismatched furs and leathers. He carries a primitive spear in one hand and a sack is slung over his shoulder.
He barks, "Where's a dwarf s'pose to get a drink 'round here?"
As he draws closer you see that twigs and leaves in his beard accessorize his mismatched furs and leathers. He smells of the wilderness and probably hasn't seen a civilized bath in some time.
Looking around the smoky lounge he notes several well dressed and armored folk. Hmmm, wonder what kind a place I stumbl'd in ta dis time? he thinks to himself.
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Greeting friends, I am Zymir al Qa'im, Sage of the Sands, Chronicler of the Cave of Aroden, Explorer of the Fallen Fortress, and Humble Pathfinder.
Zymir is a tall lanky Kelish man with a warm friendly smile but sharp piercing eyes. He caries himself with a very regal bearing even though he leans heavily on his staff as he walks.
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Hm. I suppose this will do for now.
A young man enters the room and tests the furnishings before settling in, appearing somewhat uncomfortable.
You may address me as Arakeen, formerly of the House Usul and the sands of Thuvia. While I bide my time, I hope this place might provide some... amusement.
His tone is noncommittal and distant and his manners appear slow and tired. Sun-weathered skin with jet black hair, Arakeen is young but obviously weary with a heavy burden. His eyes, though - brilliant turquoise orbs! - flicker against a tempest contained within.
Lurking
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The man who enters has a bit of a haunted look to his eyes. He moves with an easy grace, and his face shows signs of frequent smiling and laughing. You get the feeling that ordinarily he'd try to make some sort of wisecrack.
"Well met, friends. Just got back from the River Kingdoms. Ended up exploring the catacombs under Thornkeep a bit... Now I'm ready for something a bit less intense."
Watching and Ready
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Visual Reference for Azura, credit to artist!
A woman with the confident air of a performer swept through the door. You've seen her before, surely. A strange sort of songbird, she was hard to miss. She was an something of an assault on the senses, albeit a pleasant one. Her hair and dress always a palette of pastels, as if she wished to carry springtime with her always. She had long, diaphanous locks of bright blue that swam around her slender form as if stirred by a breeze unique to her, even indoors where no draft existed. Her hair was plaited with ribbons and beads of many colors as well as tiny silver bells that tinkled softly as she moved. Her gait flowed with the grace of a dancer, the hem of her Varisian dancing skirts fluttering showily in her wake.
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A cheerful fellow with sharp facial features accented by his dark black hair and matching goatee walks with a longspear hanging over his shoulder next to a medium sized owlbear. The owlbear was outfitted with a net of chainmail over its body along with a rarely used military saddle and some heavy saddlebags hanging down the sides. The tall weakly human wore a shiny breastplate that rested on his body effortlessly and allowed him to be nimble, barely outrunning his best friend, "Hurry up Boots, you fatty. I told you that you shouldn't have eaten those gnolls at that slaver's hideout!"
Boots the Owlbear trotted along after his friend and parent, having been raised by him since egg times. He has only recently experienced adventuring for the Society, ever since his parent started learning how to train him for battle. Barely encumbered by the saddlebags full of equipment and the library of books that hung off of them, the armor was the only thing hindering him from reaching his full speed and keeping up with him.
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A half-elven warrior wanders in with painfully obvious wariness and makes for a seat at a corner table, with his back to a wall. As he sits, he adjusts a hand-and-a-half blade riding over his shoulder with trained care, and gives a nod to the halfling filling the room with smoke as well as the attractive aasimar who entered before him.
"Hey. 'graic Shieldarm, sword and board, sampler of ales."
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An old lady with a humpback, bent from old age, scuffles in. She is clad in armor from top-to-toe, but doesn't seem to be able to properly carry the weight. She uses a tower shield as a walking frame, taking small steps before plunging into a creaking chair with a heavy sigh. She glances around the room before giving the halfling in the corner an aloof smile, revealing wickedly pointed black teeth. From her backpack peeks a dodo's head, nervously twitching. She says with a creaky yet lively voice:
"Well hello there young 'uns! Say, would anyone give this old lady a cup of tea for her weary old bones? I've been walking around with my protective gear for far too long and now my body aches all over!
As she takes the cup of tea offered to her, she contently nips it and pats the dodo on his head.
"Now, now, Frodo, don't worry. These are good people. No ghouls here, I tell ya! I'm Naggy, nice to meet you all. I used to be a crusader but now i'm in retirement, only doing the off mission for the Society to keep my bones young. Some call me "The Hag", but pay no mind to them, as they are merely afraid of what I'm capable of. Normally i'm just a midwife in the area around Nerosyan... should any of you want to visit, ill have tea and cookies ready."
After a while, seemingly content with her tea, she dozes off into a loud snore.
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A thin, wispy man.... Was it a man? Some aren't quite sure..... Quite pale, with what looked like undulating tattoos that moved about his skin, walked inside the lounge. Clothing flashing greens, oranges, purples and blues, almost like a flaunting peacock, it appears that this, person, liked to wear flashy clothes. A slight breeze was always about Auriea, muffling the sounds of his footsteps to almost nil. Finding an unoccupied futon, Auriea sits down and rests his head on the back rest.
"So tired of that foul creature following me.... I should have never let him leave to Kaer Maga and meet Miss Feathers." sighed the young looking man. Leaning up, Auriea looks towards Kludde, "I'm sorry to impose, but would you mind if I rested here for a bit before I head off once again? I would greatly appreciate it." Scanning the room a bit, the Sylph smiles and accepts a cup of tea. "By the way, my name is Auriea, and while I may work for the society, my trade is to provide entertainment by dancing." Tapping his hat once, the bard's clothes seem to change into darker shades of blue with star motifs, while the hat itself became a butterfly hairpin.
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The Door bursts open with a blinding light, a man walks in, at fist it sounds like he has spurs but the u see his jacket, and realize it isn't a jacket, it's wings,metal wings, folded over the man's chest, he has a rifle on his shoulder, a pair of revolvers on his belt, and a rapier at his hip. As he puffs on the cigar on his m out he examine the room, finds a table, sets his hat down, and leans his rifle against the table, he looks around the room briefly and sits, and only when he sits do, and the halo dims do u realize that this guy literally had a halo. The man looks around, and proclaims I am Gideon, and the devilwill surely tremble at a collection of hero's such as this then he grins grabs a drink and chugged it laughing
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A strikingly beautiful half-elf with auburn hair and piercing emerald eyes uncomfortably enters the room... By the looks of her belongings, and the huge hawk resting on her wrist, it is plain that she is more comfortable in the woods than with people. Bacchus the hawk's head darts hither and yon, his eyes covering the the crowd like the pouring rain, looking for any threat to his companion. The huntress pulls her cloak tighter around her, covers her face and takes a seat by the fire. Her back towards the wall and a clear path to the door, she notices a high window as an alternate escape route to her left.
"Miss," the half-elf meagerly utters to the server, "may I have a half pint of summer mead and some grilled leaks and fish, please?"
She then sits back and waits to see what develops...
