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The Sea of Rage earns her name this evening. Between the spray from the sea and the downpour of frigid rain, one would have a difficult time staying dry. Water cascades down the edges of the roads, sweeping away debris, guilt, and regret.
The ramshackle buildings of Port Krez stand next to each other, sometimes the foundation of its neighbor the only thing keeping a structure erect, seem themselves to cling together for an illusion of warmth. Crowded and overbearing, yet a network of alleyways has managed to worm through gaps in the city’s construction. Occasionally to the East, glimpses of the Sea can be seen through interruptions in the wall-to-wall buildings, and in the fading sunlight, grey mists ebb and flow on the horizon. Even passersby have heard tales of the Gray Tide, a dangerous and elusive phenomenon.
Architecture here is as varied at its people. Many doors were made wide and large to accommodate the ogres and orc-kind seen trudging through the streets, but many more buildings show the squat and sturdy defendable designs of the Dwarves of Mror, and too can descendants of these architects be seen going about their business in the City.
Dwarven magewrights tend to the few intact continual flame lanterns as the light fades. Though the streets are lined with many, most are shattered, or have fallen into some form of vandalism or disarray. Pulling their cloaks tighter and their wide brimmed hats lower, natives begin to make their way indoors or out of sight, as the water continues to fall in sheets.
As you pass the alleys, you can see several spots where fresh blood from the darkness mingles with the water flowing down the streets. One by one lights inside businesses and homes extinguish, adding a sense of urgency to the chill solitude of the night. A few people can be seen congregating towards an alley. Bottlenecked, the alley is cramped, but mostly clean of refuse. A solitary door betwixt two smoky windows lies at the end. Many of the figures make their way inside, a few linger in the alley chatting or smoking. A simple symbol etched into the door resembles the symbol for the Sovereign Host, two words written in Common and Dwarven are scribed beneath the symbol- Dolurrh’s Doorstep.
Micha pulls her soaking cloak closer around her body, mostly from habit than from anything else as it seems to only make her wetter and colder. She hesitates upon seeing the crowded alley, weighing her choices in her mind. Damn it all, it's not getting any drier out here.
"Heel," She tells Poppy and makes her way to the door, pausing to take in the symbol. "Dolurrh's Doorstep," She reads softly to herself before opening the door and entering the building. She pauses in the doorway briefly to take in the room and those inside.
A older, nondescript man chuckles at the sight of the urchin and the dwarf.
Heh. Urchins are the same everywhere. Except that hand...Hmm it's gettin dark out now. Best be off to a inn or tavern for the night. If I play my cards right I can sleep and eat for free. I should change first though...this form makes me feel too much like the sailor I took it from.
The man slips into a dark alley, a sly smile on his mouth.
Her hair lengthens, her skin darkens and smooths. Her clothes fill out, turning a loose tunic, to a tight fitting one. She replaces some jewelry and adjusts her clothes.
Out from the alley steps a dark haired young elf woman where the old man just entered a moment ago, shaking out her hair and replacing her hood on her head.
The elf continues down the alley, spying the faded sign and the sight of a halfing walking in. As she follows the woman in she thinks to herself Dolurrh's Doorstep, eh? Have I heard anything about that before?
As the frigid rain blows against the the clustered, crowded buildings of the dingy port town, a dark figure learns against the fog covered window. The Man stands quietly, smoking a poorly rolled cigarette, with careful attention paid to ignore anyone wandering through the alley. The cigarette will occasionally spit embers and die out in the harsh wind, only to be re-lit by a simple arcane gesture.
The Man himself certainly fits in a place like this, unkempt short brown hair plastered tightly to his head from the rain, the stubble on his face pulled tight by a constant grimace that compliments, or instigated, his broken nose. His eyes are dark and seem lost in thought, and though there isn't quite enough light to tell, his complexion looks to be a sickly white. Despite his heavy clothing, an old dull red scarf, a large oiled dark-brown overcoat, and short black gloves, he shivers occasionally though perhaps not from the cold.
Well here I am. Yipee. Traveled half the freaking world away for a rumor. No way am I desperate, no sir. It's so gods damned cold. I'm always cold though so no change there, why should I be surprised. Of course now is where I break out my brilliant plan to strike it rich... Oh wait, did I neglect to plan that particular course of action? Trebaz Sinara, who in Khyber knows what that is. What are you doing here Alistair... ...Are you running? From what, an excuse? A reason to try? Stayed so busy the last few years, I haven't really had time to think... but that trip was long. It was tough... not to just... take what I wanted... Just a tweak, just a sprinkle of grave dust... here in Eberron's butt crack it'd be simple.
The Man will jump with a start as his cigarette burns to the butt, and when it burns his lip he'll drop it into the vast folds of his scarf. After a moment of hopping around and a string of ancient draconic profanities, he'll manage to pull it out. Holding the burning ember in his fingers for a moment, he'll stare into the glowing fire despite the pain. After a moment he'll drop them to the ground, and with a too-hard stomp extinguish the last of the fire. Letting out a loud, harsh laugh to no one but himself, he'll shake his head, wave his hand, and another fresh cigarette will float from a hidden pocket in his scarf. After another wave and a light touch the cigarette will alight and the soaked, shivering Man will take a long drag, still chuckling lightly.
Haha, what was that? Why does rain always get me so sentimental, it's like a horribly written play. Buckle up Alistair, quit acting like a whiny little girl. You've got the brains, the 'charm', and the magic. You'll get your gold and be living it up in the Esoteric Order of Aureon soon enough. Yessiree, soon everything will turn around for the better and you'll live happily ever after, cause that's totally analogous to how your life has gone so far. Oh yeah, the place with the symbol for the Host is definitely a good sign for you Al. I'll bet this place is where the Host goes when they have to take a dump...
Straightening himself up, the Man will flick his half-finished cigarette into the rain pooling in the street. He'll stand there for a moment, his dark eyes blazing as he watches the ember slowly drown in the ever rising water. When it finally goes out, he'll shiver slightly again, open the door, and walk in.
Avicia awoke and moved out the of the Boiler's den as soon as the voices had left her awake. She made her way around the town and then she saw the place called "Dolurrh’s Doorstep", the way Avicia saw it she might as well have a stiff drink...
She walked into the place and looked around to see if any drink was to be had...
Ah an airship to Sharn that would be nice! Dhratatak thinks to himself. Then again he hears that harsh voice in his head, he had heard it in his dreams all night and now it is back again
Return to Rukhaan Draal you must!
The hungry goblin shakes his head and flexes his swordhand as he takes in his surroundings and qunches water from the mop of wet hair atop his head. People congregating is always a good sign that there might be something for free and the symbol of the Sovereign Host is also a good indicator of this. Anyways for now a roof over his head will be very welcome so Dharatatak makes his way towards his door considering whether picking a purse or two on his way in would be wise but deciding against it for now.
Chierak waits for a moment at the alley's entrance, pulling the tattered cloak he got from the dwarves earlier around his soaked body. Hm, that doesn't look so bad... probably some gambling or fighting going on in there. As long as there aren't any Cloudreavers around to bump into, I should be fine. Flayed Mockery, I am beginning to really hate the Principalities...
The smell of pipe tobacco and other, stronger substances urges him to stop at the group gathering in front of the door. He steps up to a group of three men, huddled together to keep their smokes going, and offers a few coppers. "Anyone here got a smoke to spare? Mine got ruined by the weather..."
If the men are willing, he will engage a bit in conversation, telling abut his past jobs (except the latest) and trying to find out if this location is something special.
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Chierak~ An old dwarf offers you a thickly rolled cigar, eagerly taking whatever coins you pass to him, as they slip into the folds of his drenched cloak. "The Doorstep? Na too bad if ye need a place to dry off or rub some elbows. Keep yer eyes sharp an' your blade at the ready. Smiley don' take kindly to trouble."
***
Inside Dolurrh's Doorstep is much different than the dreary scene beyond the threshold. The warm air is hazy with tobacco and lantern smoke, and smells of spirits and the coppery tang of blood. An entire melting pot of races, humans for once seem to be the minority. Several orcs and orc-kind drink and banter and game with dwarfs, goblin-kind, and even a few ogres. The patrons seemed dressed for life at sea, and though many are smiling, scars and missing limbs tell stories of just such hard lives they have lived. Behind the bar, a large orc keenly watches as the congregation files through the door. Though crowded, several tables are still left open, and seats are a plenty.
The bartender waits for the majority of the throng to make their way inside, and once the door closes he speaks up. Though his words are softly spoken, they carry a weight to them and within a few moment the ruckus has quieted down. His bass voice sounds like honey poured over gravel, and every phrase he utters in the Common tongue seems well chosen.
"Welcome all, to Dolurrh's Doorstep. Folks call me Mr. Smiley. This is my tavern, and there are two ways out of it. One is the door you just came through. The other..." He pauses for routine effect, "Is the door we all must pass through. You start trouble in my place, and you had better have it finished before I reach you. I got a few rules here, and I expect them to be followed. Leave your woes at the Doorstep. You come in here, it better be to get dry, spend coin, and enjoy yourself. I don't give an ogre's smelly ass about your vendettas, or any binds you got yourself, your family, or your friend into or out of in the War." He looks around the room, taking note of a few faces. "Any of you lot with Siberys blood in your veins and gifted with magic, listen up. No detections in the Common room. If you're bringing pets, keep em in check or I'll add em to the stew. I don't care if you're the Traveler herself, whatever face you walked into my place with, is the face you keep in this room while you draw breath. I've rooms below for rent. The more you're willing to pay, the dryer you stay. Upstairs is my office and home. Any of you motherless sods thinks about placing one of your muddy boots up them steps, then everybody else is gonna enjoy your carcass on the menu. If I'm not down here, my daughter Isolde or my pal and manager Marley are in charge," He gestures to a young half-orc barmaid making her rounds about the room, and to an aging dwarf that seems to be permanently attached to his stool at the bar. "I don't think I need to tell any of you rats not to lay a hand on my daughter, but that's your own peril. She's got a worse temper than her Da, that's for sure. As for Marley here, just leave the old boy in operating condition and for Khyber's sake make sure he's got his pants on when he comes back upstairs. Last time I thought I had a passed out dwarf sitting on his head til I realized that white rug was the beard of his arse." Mr. Smiley chuckles, a sound like stones tumbling over each other. "You're welcome here as long as your payments are good. Coins and gems from any nation are fine, anything else you scum offer depends on its worth. Thank you."
With a wave of his hand, regular patrons start back up their frivolity.
Micha- In addition to the odd assortment of patrons, you see an attractive half-orc sitting by herself, looking towards the door.
Illyri- You see the half-orc, as well as a pair sitting at a large table , as if expecting guests. A male robed kobold is chatting with a small hooded figure. The hooded figure's attention seems to be on all the newcomers.
Now this is my kind of place.
How much for the driest room and your finest drink?
Illyri cockily leans on the bar and scans the room for potential marks, the drunker the better. (take 20 on perception, 26)
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Mr. Smiley looks down at you, "Driest room open runs three galifars a night. Finest drink is a point of view. Folks round here favor korluaat, or Hero's Blood. I've got it at a galifar a glass, fifteen for a bottle."
Scanning the room, there are a few patrons soused to the gills. The most inebriated person at the Doorstep seems to be the manager. You spy a halfling who has challenged a ogress to a drinking competition. Surprisingly, though they both drink from steins of her size, the giantess seems three sheets to the wind while the halfling woman's cheeks are barely flushed. "Rhialle over there is a regular." The orc mutters to you. "That ogre doesn't realize it yet, and woe to Rhialle if she does, but she's 'marked. She's three pints in, but isn't going to feel any of the ill effects that her competition is."
Hah that will be interesting later. Ok then, what about your wettest hole and your cheapest rotgut?
Alistair moves to the side of the doorway to get out of the way while the owner gives his speech. Only half listening, Alistair will mumble a few words and in half display, half habit he'll wave his hands and the water will begin to flow from his soaked clothing and hang suspended in a globe in the air, leaving the wizard looking dry and freshly laundered.
Khyber's bones is this guy still talking? I get having to cow the locals but take a breath...
Alistair will stick his index finger into the hanging water, and after a moment it will turn brackish and sickly looking, then finally evaporate. He'll wander over to an empty table far away from the noisy and threatening Half-Orc and try to flag down the barmaid.
Looking about he'll spot Dhratatak making his way in. Curious about the unusual Goblin he'll call out to him from the table he procured.
"Haven't seen many of your kind since I left Sharn. What brings you this way pal?"
His voice is surprisingly deep, but seems earnest enough. Alistair will signal the barmaid and lay enough copper for two drinks on the table by way of invitation. Whether or not the Goblin joins him though, he'll shiver slightly and pull a small well worn book from inside his coat and thumb through it's pages for a moment.
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- Boss Toss~ Two participants stand ten paces apart, and take a step back after each toss of a greased double-headed axe. The player who drops the axe or bleeds first is the loser.
- Three Dragon Ante~ This card game plays much like poker, in sets of three rounds called gambits, and is common throughout all of Khorvaire.
- The Long Embrace~ Two participants cup their hands together around a live scorpion. The first to remove their hand loses. If the remaining opponent is still holding the scorpion after the other pulls away, they double their winnings.
- Chicken~ Popular with the patrons of differing sizes, this game is played with two players on each side, a Mount, and a (typically smaller) Rider. Only bludgeon (or improvised) weapons are permitted as the Mounts charge at each other and the Riders attempt to unseat their opposition.
- Daggers/Knivesies
Chuckling, "A glass of watered ale is two crowns, akavit is a little better at three crowns a glass. Two crowns to sleep in the Pen, a large room with a few bedrolls laid over hay, though you sleep there on your own chances."
***
A friendly dwarven barmaid comes to your table and takes your coin. A few moments later she returns, and with a flourish of gestures, rime coats the tops of the two mugs she lays before you.
Micha removes her hood and shakes loose her wavy locks of long mahogany hair. Spotting the half-orc woman watching the door, she inclines her head in greeting and heads towards the bar. Pausing mid-step as she hears Mr. Smiley's plans for misbehaving animals, she gives Poppy the command to heel again, just in case.
Scrambling up onto a bar-stool, Micha pulls her wet cloak off revealing the deep-cut neckline of her shirt, and as such the Mark of Healing on her chest. She immediately adjusts the shirt's laces to cover the mark. I let that be seen in here and I'll be up all night tending to every drunk with a headache. Poppy makes herself comfortable between the stools legs and begins preening herself.
She takes in the half-elven woman with the black and white hair leaning against the bar. Interesting hair... pretty.
Once she has Mr. Smiley's attention she requests, "Wine, please. Fine wine if you have it. I would also like a room, preferably something more private, one with a fire if possible. Also, a warm meal would be nice if you have anything available. Perhaps a hunk of meat for Poppy as well?"
Prepare your driest room. I'll be back later with the gold.
She saunters over to play Three Dragon ante, calling out to anyone who wants to play her, her other deck of marked cards in her hand.
Anyone for a friendly game of cards? You there, handsome, you seem like you could give me a challenge. She addresses a drunken man sitting with a group finishing their game.
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Mr. Smiley nods at Illyri.
The large tusked orc bartender then looks down at the halfling. "Iltrayan is half a galifar a glass, or you can have the common vintage for two sovereigns. Common room with a wood stove is two galifars, but the firewood is extra. I've a few plates of Karrnathi sausages and potatoes, a plate for five sovereigns. Your Poppy can have some of the scraps for three."
***
Illyri- The bearded Cyran turns towards you, beer foam dribbling through his red hair. With a cocked eye he grins. "Well helloo there, lil lady. I hope you arre ready to loose... lose a few coins. Don't yoou worry, though. I'll make shure you aren't put out." He laughs at his own wit and slides over to your table. A pair of dwarf twin brothers join you, pausing in their arguing to accept your offer of a game.
Illyri sits down and starts shuffling and dealing the cards. She keeps track of each card put out, careful to disguise her checking card backs as counting the cards each player has. She also purposefully makes a few mistakes, to make her seem less skilled than she is.
She laughs at his joke.
Don't you worry about me, handsome. So, boys, what are your names?
She sizes up the players as they sit down and prepare to play, watching their behavior as they pick up cards and think about their opening bets
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The grinning human warms up easily as you play. "Name's Jett. Yours darrlin'?" He clearly seems more interested in you, and lacks the sobriety to truly focus on the game.
The dwarves seem more attentive, though they bicker often. "Korrigan and Killian, missus." One brother says as he attempts a bow. "What brings a lass like you to this trough of a port?"
The lads seem quite enamored by your personality and conversation, and think little as their coin frits away.
"Iltrayan, please. I'll take a plate of the Karrnathi sausages and potatoes, as well as the scraps for Poppy. The room as well, please, with fire wood." Micha takes out her purse but waits for him to say how much the wood will be before counting out the amount she owes, with an extra sovereign as a tip.
Nice to meet all of you handsome lads. My names Loren. I'm just passing through here on my way home. Stopped by in this nice place for a bed for the night and some company. How bout you fine lads?
Avicia walks towards the bar and speaks, do you have any Thranian wines?
Micha's head turns reflexively at the word "Thranian" but when her eyes land on the woman she is taken aback by her sickly appearance. Poor thing, she looks to be near death. Far beyond my skills, I fear. She reaches up and adjusts her shirt again, making sure her mark is covered.
Dhratatak moves through the common room and looks at the man whom addressed him then takes a seat happy that he could avoid the hulking hobgoblin warrior he'd had enough of those for the time.
Ah you are from Sharn as well? then the soaked Goblin goes on Well if I told you... you likely wouldn't believe me. I know I wouldn't. the Goblin adds with an easy smile as he drapes off the muddled cloak and leans back on the oversized chair. It seems this one is fairly tall as far as Goblins are concerned yet as spindly as you have ever seen. He is dressed in what likely once passed for rather fancy garments and underneath the soaked black shirt you catch the glint of a silvery metal.
Let's just say sea faring is nothing for my kind. Now I'm looking to get back to Breland, Wroat to be precise, but a week or more out in the open seas seems to have been too much for my travel papers and letters of credit. Is there an Embasy somewhere in this god forsaken hellhole?
Alistair will mumble to himself, reading over his small book while the Goblin gets situated.
"Two left tweaks, thumbs raised higher than forefingers, breath steady and sharp."
He'll wave his hands over the mug, still muttering and then take a sip.
"At least I can pretend its a Brelish Ale, almost got the flavor just right."
He'll take another sip, put away the book and answer,
"Yeah, I'm from Sharn, had a little shop down in Broken Arch. Did some jobs for you guys in the slums from time ta time. What're you doing in Wroat, don't tell me you're a butler. I think you're outta luck buddy, I can recommend a ship outta here but she doesn't sail on good intentions."
Alistair will take a big swig and give the tall Goblin a wry smile.
"Looks like we're in the same boat pal, as much as I hate boats. We both need some gold. Names Alistair, Al if you're feelin' friendly."
Dharatatak the Goblin replies talking care to pronounce each syllable carefully so the human can understand.
Nice to meet you Alistair! I've never understood you longshanks need to shorten ones name. the Goblin then smiles a wry smile.
A buttler...of sorts I guess. Dharatatak goes on with a chuckle as he counts the coins he was able to pickpocket on his way in and figures it will be enough to pay for a warm meal.
Two men from Sharn lost in the Principalities with no money to their name...what are the odds. So how can you make money? You are a magic man too?
Alistair will give the Goblin genuine smile, something that seems alien and out of place on the human's face.
Kinda like this guy, something about him... Maybe he just reminds me of home...
"Too? Don't tell me you're also a Wizard! I mean, I get getting lost in the Principalities, don't know how anyone gets outta this Khyber blessed place. But that almost seems like too much of a coincidence."
Alistair's face will darken as he studied the Goblin for a moment, but then shakes his head as if shaking out a crazy idea and says,
"I came up here like an idiot chasing treasure, like some kinda desperate fool. I've heard too many stories for it to be a total sham though, I figured I could get myself a piece of that action and I figure my magic'll gimme an advantage. Haven't heard any rumors of Trebaz Sinara by any chance?"
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Illyri- Three rolls is sufficient for the entire game. So far you are sweeping them away.
Jett grins, "Now compunny I can help you with. As fer me, just a sailor waiting on his next shhip." He plays the game with experience, but certainly not skill.
The twins have a more dour outlook. Killian speaks up, his baritone voice a match of his brother's. "Just finished our terms stationed at Dreadhold a few weeks ago. Just passing through the Isles taking some time before we head back to the Holds. A pleasure to meet you, Loren." He eyes you over a bit more than his brother has, but continues to play, speaking when spoken to and arguing idly with his brother in between.
***
At the bar- "Three galifars, two sovereigns, and wood is a crown a bundle." Mr. Smiley waves over his daughter and tells her the order. She disappears through a door behind the bar.
Momentarily distracted, Mr. Smiley replies to the newcomer. "Wives? No ma'am. My late missus was from the Principa..." Turning his head to address Avicia he pauses. "My apologies. You said wines. I've half a bottle of Thranian Berry Brandy left. Galifar a glass or ten for the rest of it."
***
Alistair's table- As you trade stories from the homeland, you both get the feeling that somebody is paying you close attention.
Illyri plays two games with them, the second going much better for her than the first. She talks and flirts with them to keep them off their game.
That's right Illyri, lull them into a false sense of security, then blow them away...
Nice playing with you boys, but I believe in quitting while I am ahead.
When she is done, she goes back to the bar to get a room and a meal.
Although he's got the familiar feeling, Alistair can't quite make out who's listening in. He'll keep chatting though, no sense letting Dharatatak get spooked, he's enjoying the talk.
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Jett grins, "I can alwayss earn moore coin, but a niight with sucsh a lovely lasss, now that's a rare treeat. You have sommewhere to stay tonnight?"
The dwarves nod at your statement, and then immediately start fighting about how they could have handled the situation better to get more coin.
Jett certainly seems to have lost the most coin, but it doesn't slow him down.
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Take 10 on Bluff, 22
Oh I do. My husband and I have a room here. He should be here soon... Oh, there he is now.
She points and waves at Chierak.
She turns back to the bar.
Well that could have been awkward. Smiles, I'll have that room and that glass of Hero's Blood now. And send another one to that hobgoblin over there. Tell him 'Thank you'.
She puts all six galifars from her winnings on the bar, then proceeds to put the cards from her sleeve back into her bag, not exactly trying to hide it.
The large tusked orc bartender then looks down at the halfling. "Iltrayan is half a galifar a glass, or you can have the common vintage for two sovereigns. Common room with a wood stove is two galifars, but the firewood is extra. I've a few plates of Karrnathi sausages and potatoes, a plate for five sovereigns. Your Poppy can have some of the scraps for three."
At the bar- "Three galifars, two sovereigns, and wood is a crown a bundle." Mr. Smiley waves over his daughter and tells her the order. She disappears through a door behind the bar.
Recalling that the original price quoted was a sovereign higher than what he said later and not wishing to shortchange the orc simply because he was busy, nor wishing to embarrass him by pointing out his mistake she counts out three galifars, four sovereigns, and a crown. She hands the money over to him with a pleasant smile, "Thank you, sir."
As she waits for her food to be brought to her, Micha turns slightly on her stool to take in the room once more. Out of curiosity, her eyes seek out the pretty half-orc woman she saw when she first entered the room.
Avicia hands over the ten galifars and motions for the bottle...
Perception
As a Sharn Goblin you learn to be perceptive but clearly something about this place is keeping Dharatatak distracted.
Chierak waits near the door for a while, listening to the sounds of the crowd. Then he makes his way to the bar. "Evening, Mr. Smiley. Gimme a bowl of hearty stew and a mug of sweet-sour Darguun beer if you have, so I might get back some warmth in this soaked body of mine." He grooms his facial hair with a swift gesture, then turns half around to take a look at the people around.
When he sees a goblin sitting at one of the tables, his eyes become bright with interest. "Any other dar around this evening?" he asks Mr. Smiley. "I see that little fellow over there, but I'd be surprised if he came alone. Would be good to chat in the tongue of my kind again... even if it's probably just curses and threats."
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At the bar- Mr. Smiley takes the coins, and turns to Cheirak. "Aye there's a few goblins flitting about through folk's feet but I can rarely keep track of 'em. The little one over there came in by himself. Then there's Madame Moxg," The orc gestures through the crowd to a large figure. As the patrons move, you can see that the creature is not, in-fact, a one-armed carpet beast, but a female bugbear covered in matted dreadlocks and laced with scars. With her remaining arm, she bests challenger after challenger in arm wrestling. "She's not much for conversation though." He pauses as his dwarven barmaid catches his attention and whispers in his ear. Standing back up. "Sir it seems you are quite popular tonight." He slides over three glasses of spirits. "There's your beer, a glass of Hero's Blood from an admirer, and a shot of Zil brandy." He pours three more glasses of brandy and passes them out to the ladies. "I've been asked to see that the halfling, elf and maid also are toasted." He doles out a glass to Avicia, Micha, and Illyri, he also slides the Berry Brandy bottle to Avicia. "Busy drinkers tonight. The brandy is compliments from the pair over in the back." Another flourish and he points to a table where a robed kobold sits smiling next to a small hooded figure.
***
Alistair and Dharatatak- As the goblin turns around, he sees a long table where two patrons sit by themselves. The kobold's attention seems to be at the bar, but his companion, a small hooded figure, has its gaze seemingly fixed on you and Alistair. As you look back, the half-orc barmistress sets two glasses on your table. "Da says I'm to give you gents this Zil brandy, a gift from the scaly ones down the way."
Alistair will look a bit surprised when the Orc sets down the brandy, but after taking a good look at the shady folks who sent it, his scowl will return full force.
"Of all the weird... Looks like we'll have to pick this up later Dharatatak..."
Alistair will slam back what's left of his ale, stand up forcefully, spilling some of the brandy, and swagger over to the Kobold's table. On the way he'll shout loudly in their direction, his voice dripping with sarcastic pleasure,
"Well shucks guys, that sure was sweet of you! You know what they say about brandy though, you should never drink it alone!"
Alistair will slam himself down at the Kobold's table with enough force to ensure the rest of his brandy spills from the glass. He'll laugh loudly, and then quietly growl out,
" Now what do you two want, I'm in no mood for games tonight."
Well I never say no to a free drink, but something tells me this drink won't be free. Those two have been staring at us since we walked in, and experience tells me that drinks sent by mysterious and hooded strangers sitting in the shadiest corner of an already shady tavern means they want something done. C'mon, ladies, let's go see what they want.
Illyri downs the shot quickly, then strides over to the pair, her glass of Hero's Blood in hand. She sits down next to the human and asks
What he said. What's the job?
She seems highly amused by this turn of events.
Dharatatak gets up and follows in the shadow of the human. If these were assasin from Darguun they likely wouldn't have such good taste in Liquor.
Micha raises an eyebrow at the glass of brandy that now sits before her. She partially turns to look over her shoulder at the table Mr. Smiley indicates. She nods to Illyri and then asks Mr. Smiley, "Sir, would you please have our dinner delivered to me over there instead? Thank you kindly." She hops down off the bar stool and calls to Poppy, wine in one hand brandy in the other and makes her way to the table where the others are gathering.
Watching the half-elf and the others gather around the table, Alistair will clearly grow more agitated. Almost immediately after Illyri speaks up, Alistair will say,
"Whoa wait a minute, job? What job!? What do I look like, a Necromancer for sale....."
Alistair will blink several times in rapid succession, and after a significant pause say,
"....So what's the job?"
Peering from underneath his hood, the Kobold appears slightly taken aback by the drunken behavior of the human necromancer in paricular. When the others also saunter over to his table, he studies them all fervently before turning to the lizardfolk at his side.
Turning his attention to the strangers now seated at the table, the Kobold draws down his hood and in Common, says "Are pleasantries not a common custom in this region? Can an unfamiliar face not buy a round of drinks out of mere courtesy?"
Envisioned, eh? Now this is quite the turn
They are and they can, but I have too much experience with this sort of thing. After the first few mysterious strangers, it gets old.
Hello, I'm Illyri.
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Drawing back her hood, you can finally see that the figure is very small female dark-scaled lizardfolk. A black and green snake coils around her neck. She speaks, low and well placed words. She closes her eyes as she recites something in the tongue of wyrms.
Opening her eyes, they fall on each of you.
"If you wish to do away with cordiality, then so be it." His snout curls up at the corners revealing a sharp-toothed grin. "I am Zorna, agent of the Prophecy and captain of the Dragon's Dream. This is Sarazra, my companion and trusted confidant."
"As it happens, I do not have a job for you. An old friend of mine does, however, and one of my goals now coincides with his. I would like to introduce you to Aubreck, who was once a financial contributor to my expeditions. Several years past, his vessel The Emperor of The Waves was lost to the Gray Tide, and with it, much of his fortune and reputation. Four days ago, the ship was sighted once more in the mists. I wish to escort him here so he may discuss his intentions, should you be willing to hear them. However, I wanted to speak to you first, in hopes that you may consider retrieving an item of personal value from the Emperor's cargo. Take any time you need to mull it over. Cheers!" Zorna kicks back a shot of brandy and slightly grimaces, muttering
Micha sits down and adjusts her shirt once more, "My apologies, I did not wish to be so rude. My name is Micha, and this is Poppy." She says indicating the wolverine that has once again tucked herself beneath Micha's seat. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Zorna, Sarazra," she inclines her head and offers her small hand to both of them. She takes a small sip of the brandy that was sent to her before continuing.
"Forgive me for being so bold, but why would your dear friend and yourself entrust such a task of personal value to a group of random strangers in a tavern?"