A pretty woman crosses the short space between the two groups. Her perfect white teeth flash in a friendly smile as she walks, and she raises a hand in greeting, the fingernails painted a dark red to match her lips. Her light blond hair hangs loose around her face and past her shoulders, blowing gently in the morning breeze. Her dark blue eyes peer from under blond eyebrows, inquisitive.
Across her shoulder is slung a bow of obvious quality, and a shield is strapped to her back over a travel pack. A small mace hangs at her side, slapping against her thigh as she walks. Her blouse is snowy white, obviously placed over armament of some sort. Her legs are covered by a white skirt, with white leggings underneath. She stops a few paces away, still smiling.
"Greetings, friends. A fine morning, is it not?"
A elderly, rather slender man, worn down by the passing of time and the trials of his lifetime follows closely behind the rather exotic appearing female, he has gray-green eyes, a small pointed beard on his chin, and threads of grey running throughout his dark hair.
His clothing consist of a simple robe. He is currenly pre-occupied with chatting rather boldly with a tall looking armored fellow on his right. He pauses abruptly as the female makes contact with the other group and a long, tooth filled friendly smile spreads over his mouth.
"Another morning person..."
"I suppose it is". Ransaq takes a drink of his coffee as he looks the woman over. Noticing her and her company well equipped, he asks, "So where's the party?"
The woman grins widely at the elf. "Why, in yonder Keep, of course. A victory party, that is." She looks over the elf's companions, smiling and nodding at each of them in turn.
A figure in red cloak, hood, and tunic approaches, head held high. Between the aforementioned clothing and the steel greaves, gauntlets, mask, not a single inch of skin is visible. There's not even a hint of a woman's silhouette under the tunic, the easily-recognized silhouette of a breastplate being the only curves noticeable. A woman's voice comes from behind the mask with a sharp accent. "Indeed, Fraulein Shalhoume. Fate foresees a party as vell. Between Herr Ravenport and myself, I imagine there vill be quite a great deal of victory."
She stops and folds her arms proudly. "I am Victoria Fate. It is both a name and a promise."
The elderly male turns towards the red-cloaked figure, letting out a rather hoarse chuckle as he addresses her with a rasping, nearly strained voice. "Without a doubt, Miss Fate. I might not be a prophet nor a foreteller but even I can divinate that a fun time will be had within the hour." Without further regard for his companions he turns towards the other circle of individuals, bending forward in a clumsy attempt at what might have been an imitation of a bow.
"While I cannot bolster my ego with grandiose title, I will still extend the courtesy of my name. Victor von Ravenport, at your service.
Victor runs a hand over his chin, letting out a terrible mixture between a dry, painful cough and a heavy, difficult breathing.
"One of you young chaps couldn't be kind enough to fetch some drinkables for me? I am not as young as I used to be and this outdoor life is drying me out."
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Rolling his eyes ever so slightly, the tall armored male followed his companions. Unlike the others, he offered no warm smiles, plesantries or good mannered talk, but instead gave a cold stare that ran over all of them until it stopped at the Half-Orc.
His thoughts only known to himself, it would be quite obvious that the warrior only thought of the Half-Orc as a challenge to be reckoned with. The others might prove bothersome but if the Half-Orc warrior, though a bit lightly armored for a proper warrior, was left to himself, the rest of the group might get in trouble.
Positioning himself behind the woman dressed in white and with the bow, he would stand, constatly running his eyes over the other group to see if any did something that would be perceived as a threat and he would be ready to cut an arm or a leg of with the greatsword on his back.
"Young chaps? I got crabs older than this guy..."
Ransaq reaches out and puts a hand on Victor's shoulder. Sorry sport, you'r gonna have to run your own chores".
The blond looks to the older man inquisitively as the elf retorts his request, it quite obvious she is amused and looking forward to his reaction.
At the half-orc's arrival she grins, and nods. "Yes! The jerky of friendship! Good Sarcon here is quite the chef, and his dried meats are second to none!" Her blue eyes twinkle in the dawn.
Garroth had stood silently by as the banter and introductions flew left and right, partially sizing everyone up, partially unable to get a word in. Finally catching an opening at the womans last words, or more likely forcing his voice into the conversation, he practically bellowed his reply. "Quite the chef you say?" He stuck his chest out, clearly trying to look grander than he was. "I know my way around a kitchen myself you know. Lets have it here." He stepped up to Sarcon, accepting a strip of jerky. "Friendship jerky eeh?" He said, glancing at the jerky. "One shudders to think what the "special sauce" is made with." His lips peeled back into a wide grin, revealing his prominent canines, before he proceeded to hold the jerky towards him in a toasting manner and then devour it messily. "Not bad." He spoke through grinding teeth, tilting his head and staring off into the sky with an appraising look on his face. "certainly better than most. Good balance of salt, thats where most go wrong."
Turning to the old man with a sudden look of realization, he emptied his cup of coffee onto the ground and quickly wiped it with the corner of his sleeve. Giving it a quick inspection, he poured a fresh cup full and held it towards the man. "How does coffee sit with you Mr. Ravenport? Heh, "Von Ravenport, seems as grand a title as any to me."
Cup still held forward, Garroths eyes wandered to the dour man in the group, answering his glare with a raised eyebrow and staring back. "Why is sourpuss there givin' me the stink eye?"
"You can always trust Sarcon when it comes to food. His surprising culinary arts continue to impress." The woman continues to grin, inspecting the 'other' half-orc.
She looks back to find Marcello eyeing the other group with bad manners. "Oh, Marcello here? He's just not an early riser. Lunch time agrees with him more. So what are you about this morning, friends?" She tilts her head inquisitively.
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Marcello continued with the "stink-eye" as the Half-Orc so blatantly called it. He wouldn't call it something like that though, if anything, he would call it the way warriors would appraise one-another, but then again, he grew up in the barracks, whipped in shape to become a Hellknight.
Apologies.
His tone didn't make the one word sentence sound any kind of plausible and the fact that he didn't switch his stare onto someone else. The Half-Orc would be his opponnent and that was simply the way it was for Marcello. There was no anger in his voice, nothing but his Chelixian accent and the nonchalant way he simply ignored that it was making the Half-Orc upset.
Victor seems rather merrily surprised as one of them actually does accommodate his wishes, clapping the elf's hand gently and proceeds to reach out towards the mug. Victor, with all the sincerity of a young child, gives the half-orc a very deep inclination of his head, only managing to stammer a faint "Thank you" before he runs his sleeve over the mug's side and takes a sip from the steaming liquid.
He straightens his back as if actually refreshed by it and notes: "Varisian beans, if I am not mistaken?"
"Experienced pallet Mr. Ravenport." Garroth said with a nod, a glint of excitement in his eyes as he did so. "I must say, it isnt often you run into people capable of distinguishin' one pork chop from another, or in this case, bean." He put on a sly look index finger quickly raised towards the sky. "But, can you guess what its mixed with?"
Giving Victor a moment to decide on a guess, Garroth excitedly replied the second the old man put forth his guess. "Nope, but good guess. Its actually beans grown in the Mwangi Expanse." He pulled a small sack from his backpack, jingling it a few times as he spoke. "Bit expensive, but you only need a few for each helpin'. Varisian is nice and strong, but a bit sharp. A few Mwangi really smooths the edges."
At Crystals question, he nodded. "Good question lass." He gestured at the nearby keep. "We were plannin' a little jaunt inside the keep. This city aint gettin' back on its feet proper till someone gets that sorted, and we figured we are up to the task." He smiled with an inquisitive look. "Somehow I get the feelin' we might be havin' a bit of competition though. Say, you wouldnt be those heroes everyone is makin' a fuss about? Somethin' about cultists or some such nastiness? Cant say the details have been all that plentiful about it though."
His cheery demeanor lessened a bit as he caught Marcellos stare again, his smile fading into a flat toothy scowl. "Seriously, if you arent gonna lighten up, look at somethin' else."
"Oh really? Why, we had the same thought!" She smiles expansively at the half-orc. "Why, dear Victor and I were just discussing yesterday how this City needed benevolent rule, someone to make sure things were sorted and good and everyone got a fair shake and such."
She continues smiling, her mouth closing in a more crafty grin. "Why yes, that would be us. Those cultists of the devil-god were up to no good, plotting the downfall of this fair City, but we took care of the problem. They will trouble no one else. From my personal experience, you don't want a worshiper of Asmodeus on your bad side, best to stamp out the problem immediately." Some wisps of flaxen hair blow into her face at that, her blue eyes peering out as though amused.
"Say, here's a thought! Why don't we go in together? While we each are a formidable band, it appears, together we would surely crush any obstacles within."
"...Those cultists of the devil-god were up to no good, plotting the downfall of this fair City..."
they were not, and you had no reason to believe they were.
After a while, a wooden-armor-clad black bear turns and nudges a startlingly beautiful--if wildly dressed--young lady, tearing her away from the floating butterfly which had been drawing the gaze of her emerald eyes. She turns her head sharply to the bear, causing her flowing copper hair to twist in a wave around her strange armor, "What?" she says indignantly, the bear just looks straight ahead at the group making conversation a few feet away, "Oh," she said, "Thanks," she blushed.
Skipping over to the group during the woman in white's last few comments, Patry waits for the woman to finish before introducing herself, "Hello everyone! I'm Patricie, Avatar of the Caverns, and this is Trilby and Milly." She indicated the bear and the pack pony behind them respectively. "What did I miss? Are we going in together? That'd be splendid!"
Somehow, the words the woman spoke of their past deeds sounded...off. Having heard them out of context, however, Patricie decides to put her suspicions on hold for now.
Victor's eyes darts towards the younger female as she draws closer to the small gathering of people, he carefully shields his mouth by guiding the cup up to his mouth and taking a heavy draw from the content, letting out a expressive "Ah, delightful coffee. The best I have had in a while, my compliments to you mister." His eyes continue to remain locked unto the young one, for a moment appearing nearly puzzled at her appearance, his tongue runs over his strained, cracked lips before he deigns to mutter.
"Why, mister. Your companion does have a striking resemblance to my own daughter.
"Huh, yeah, I bet." Garroth muttered in response to Victor, suddenly possessing all the social mannerisms of Marcello, staring intently at Crystal. He moved his gaze from Crystal to her companions and back again repeatedly, all the while twisting his jaw sideways and running his upper lip over one of his over-sized canines in a scratching motion.
Standing up straight, a look of readiness on his face, he threw his arms up. "Well, we best be goin' now gentlemen and ladies. Much as it would probably be a jolly good time all of us together in there, Im afraid we need to do this alone." He gestured at Patricie. "You see, our young companion here, she is a fresh addition to our team, and there is another new face who has yet to arrive." He put on an apologetic face and shrugged. "We need to see how they do, whether they are the right fit for our team." He gestured at them all. "And with heroes such as yourself, Im afraid they wont get to show their stuff."
He turned around to face his companions and started packing his breakfast gear, looking back at the other group. "And who knows, maybe whatever lurks in there calls for a smaller team, much easier to go undetected if we need to. Maybe some other time then?"
Also, since Garroth was just lying, heres a bluff
Was the enemy bluff before or after positive modifiers? I mean we had no reason to doubt what she was saying, although even if its before, I think Garroth would still beat it.
Sanza observed the newcomers quietly. Something about the pretty blonde woman seemed a little suspicious, but he couldn't put his finger on it. But his manners demanded he introduce himself so he bowed to the group. "Greetings, I am Sanza Quintana, a simple tailor. Look me up if you need a new cloak."
The priestess grins at Garroth's sudden change of demeanor. Certain her stretching of the truth had been caught, she pushes the stray strands of pale hair out of her face, her gaze going to Patricie. Her eyes harden a bit at the sight of that one, looking to Ransaq, then Garroth, then Patricie.
"It seems as though you misunderstand, sir. We have no intentions of playing second fiddle to your group. We offered to work together and share the glory, and you declined, even after Sarcon shared his jerky of friendship. Now step aside, or feel the wrath of this City's protectors." Grin still in place, her blood-red lips parted, her eyes again go to Patricie.
Something is amiss...
Victor raises his right hand, attempting to calm the rather heated argument down before it leads further, while giving Crystal a light clap on the shoulder, giving her an all too well knowing glare. "Gentlemen, ladies. There is only one civil manner to decide this whole issue. You see, while it would be simple to merely take Finder's Keep, such things cannot be done in a legal manner without the support of a faction, both within the city and outside. I have here the complete letter of rulership of his Grace. King Eodred of Korvosa."
Victor rummages around in his robe before drawing out a long piece of pergament and extending it out towards the half-orc.
The blond narrows her eyes at the older man, but assents to his taking over their side of the conversation, even taking a step back to signal her deferment. Her eyes roam to the newcomer, then back to the girl with otherworldly beauty. That smile creeps back onto her face as she looks at the other group, nearly laughing aloud at Sarcon's comments.
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Looking at the group Marcello is not entirely sure how to react. The other group clearly don't want to help them, then they will have to be left behind, easy as that. They will properly suffer casualties, the only one that seems well armored would be the Half-Orc... One of them didn't even have armor on!
A small surprised look at Sarcon shows just how new Marcello is to The City.
Duelling area...? Do you have that here?
His accent became even more apparent and he looked from Sarcon to the others, to see if Sarcon maybe was just spouting nonsense... It seemed unreal to think that a city would have a proper duelling area for anyone to enter, or that was at least how it sounded like.
The sleep fades from Ransaq's eyes in an instant as he addresses the woman. "It seems it's you who misunderstood. We are under no obligation to share glory, and it would be unwise to draw your weapon over such petty squabble".
He turns to Victor, looking over the document. "That's all good and well sir, but we are not here to take the keep, we are here to explore it. As my friend said, we need to evaluate our new additions. There is no quarrel here. We would not ask you to refrain from your good works, we simply must take our own way".
"Good work, my hairy backside." Garroth sneered, pointing at Crystal. Either they are all full of it, or this one has somehow slipped in their midst. Telling lies and fixin' to fight honest citizens for some "right" to the keep. Good honest people dont act like that!"
Ransaq raises his eyebrows as he turns to the side to go about his bussiness, as if to agree with Garroth, but also not care. "We should be on our way".
"Honest citizens!? More like looters, I say!" The woman speaks loudly, obviously wanting her voice to carry to the people around them. "Go then, foolish treasure hunters. We will be sure to follow behind to...rescue...you."
Her pretty, pale face is smiling, but gone are the smiling eyes. The dark blue orbs stare at the other party, each in turn, menacingly. Her gaze settles on Patricie, and a smug look comes to her, as if in on some private joke.
As the discussion starts to get a little heated a human male of perhaps 19 comes running up. A little under 6' in height and of slim build. His face is thin, but comely. Hazel eyes peering at the gathering. Light brown hair, worn a little long, covers his head.
The early morning sun glints off a metal breastplate, and a light wooden shield is strapped on over a backpack. A light crossbow swings from his side where it hangs from a clip on his belt. The hilt and sheath of a dagger hooked on the belt on the other side.
The man's clothing is of good quality, though plain in color. White gloves cover his hands, going half way up his forearms. Where the gloves end his skin is covered in ugly burn scars.
"Sorry I'm late. I feel so embarrassed that even Ransaq beat me here this morning. So what's going...on...here" his voice trails off as he notes the angry looks on the faces of Garroth and the human in armor.
Looking around more closely and spotting the woman with the pet bear he then adds with a cheeky grin, "Well I see the Party is here." he shakes his head and blinks his eyes as though to clear his thoughts, "Err, I mean Patry is here."
"Anyway, I'm Melaphi" he extends a hand to the older looking man.
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Ah a new face! As is customary i offer you a piece of the jerky of friendship! I have offered this token to your compatriots as well, however only my fellow Horc has partaken. The rest of your group is rather rude.
Sarcon explains this as he again pulls out the box of cured meat, offering some to Melaphi.
With yet another arrival, the cute blond woman (who looks tiny next to the two hulks of the party) makes no attempts to smile at the newcomer. Her gaze lingers on Patricie, though she shares her glare with Garroth and Ransaq on occasion. Melaphi and Sanza she ignores completely. She gives the older man half a step in front of her a long-suffering sigh as he shakes hands with the newcomer.
"The jerky of friendship?" Melaphi asks with a bemused expression. "I just had breakfast, hence my lateness, but you mind if I take a piece for the road?" he says cheerfully. If Garroth ate this for breakfast and liked it, I probably best save it for dinner, but speaking of more delicate tastes...
With an apologetic shrug he adds conspiratorially, "Ransaq's stomach is a bit delicate, being an elf and all. And Patry prefers hers raw I think, to share with the bear."
At last he gives a wink at Crystal, lips bursting in a grin, "If these guys", he makes a vague gesture to her other companions, "don't treat you right, just let me know and I'll take care of it."