The Blue Velvet Tavern is a well kept place, naturally on the high end for Underbridge. Pressed against the stone back of the district it's exterior is like much in Underbridge unimpressive and seemingly in poor repair. But those who know anything of the shadow know not to trust their eyes. Like many things in the eternal gloom of Underbridge it is very much more then it seems. Still the meals and drink are fairly priced and among the best in the district by virtue of being fresh, unspoiled, and untainted in anyway. A rare thing in the shadow were fungus and mold thrive with the gloom and spray of the sea.
Those that enter under the dark blue fabric that serves as her sign, find a spacious room of polished wood with matching tables and chairs. Simple but clean and taken care of. A burly human bartender at the bar and a whip thin gray skinned elf ever seated at the end of it, those in the know claim him to be the owner of the Blue Velvet. Yet few if any ever approach the elf much less ask. The bar maids ever attentive are made up of a mixture of races and ethnicities. Each alluring in her own way but never to be confused for anything more then a hostess and server. Less the bartender Mutt as he was known involve himself in correcting such assumptions.
|
The door of the tavern opens and a somewhat familiar face enters.
The grey skinned woman makes her way to her familar seat. Her shadows seem to swirl around her almost as if alive on thier own.
She wears dark hued clothing made of leather offering both protection from weapons as well as blending with the shadows that surrond her. in on hand is what appears to be a polished wooden cane or perhaps a scabbard for a blade.
motioning for the server she address her in the language of shadows requesting a meal.
those familiar with the world of the Underbridge soon realize this woman is one of the few to escape the grasp of "White Eyes" and the creepers.
While all of Magnimar's Sczarni gangs are notorious to a certain extent, few deserve that notoriety more than the Creepers. Even among the Sczarni, the members of this desperate and vile gang are regarded with distaste and disgust, for few are the depths to which the Creepers won't sink in order to turn a profit. Originally based in an abandoned tenement building that leans dangerously against the Seacleft for support, the Creepers have recently relocated to the Irespan piling known as the Gull, reinforcing the suspicion many already feel toward the Irespan. The chambers within the Gull have served the Creepers well as a place stage their latest escapade—a combination orphanage and workhouse staffed by homeless urchins unfortunate enough to be captured by one of the Creepers' so-called "gutter nappers."
Led by a sallow and vile-smelling man named Haugen, the Creepers augment their income from day-to-day petty crimes with laundry, repair work, cleaning,and other services provided by their ever-changing stable of oppressed and hopeless children. The Creepers keep these underage slaves "loyal" as a result of a campaign of terror spread by Haugen and his thugs—the children are convinced that only the Creepers protect them from the clutches of the so-called "white eyes" who live in the sewers.
In fact, the Creepers maintain periodic alliances with these "white eyes" (actually several small groups of derros that dwell in the tunnels below Underbridge). In return for access to strange toxins and other illegal substances they sell on the black market, the Creepers see to it that "bad children" are sent below every few months in payment.
This woman is one that was sent below as payment, and escaped...
Not an hour after the shadowed lady enters the tavern, a very tall, strongly built man with lightly tanned skin enters slowly, almost cautiously, casually examining the simple room after re-reading a note held in his hand.
He wears clothing of dark greens and black, studded leather armor, with a heavy mace hanging from his belt. What seems to set this man apart the most, besides his physical size, is a cream colored mask with light engraving, that covers the entire left side of his face. The only thing shown through this mask is an area for his eye and a part for his nostril.
The man seems to finish his analysis of the room, shrugging slightly to himself and apparently decides it better to sit by himself in a darker, yet still decently lit area of the room. He opens a book, one that seems to have wear and begins to read. Not long after, he pulls out a vial with some sort of solution, the top quarter held between his index and middle finger, and begins to slowly slide the vial around in a circular motion upon the table as he reads. He seems to be waiting for something or for someone.
|
A few minutes later another man enters wearing slightly-frayed nobles clothing of a cut that went out of style almost a hundred years ago. which is strangely seems to make sense from the scuffed brown leather jerkin he wears. At one of his hips hangs a silver sickle, tucked into both boots are wooden stakes. A dinged yet serviceable rapier hangs from his other hip. He carries a quiver and strung composite bow in his hand.
Still keeping his cowl over his head he man looks around the room trying to pick up some details of those gathered before him. As he walks to the bar he carries himself with a grace to make an elf jealous. He has never been prey and it shows.
Varisian"Who summons Marfedelom?"
Shortlt after the tall man one of slightly shorter stature enters. His long coat is spotless and straight and the scarf around his nech is of clear Varisian make, though somewhat tame when it comes to coloration. He wears his greying hair short, though he seems too young for the color. Upon his nose he wears simple glasses, a gift from a friend who usually makes them only for more affluent people.
"Good day Mutt, could you pour me the usual?" He syas to the bartender as he takes a seat at the bar at a more than just polite distance away from the grey elf. His voice still bears a Varisian accent, though not as thick as it once was.
Once he got a nod from the bartender he pulls out a small copper orb which turns over in his fingers. It is made from many close fitting pieces of metal fitted together like a puzzle. There is only one small opening in it, just big enough to fit a key in. He toys with it, rolling it between his hand while looking if there are any dents or protrusion from the orb that would adjust it's course.
|
|
As you fiddle with your orb you catch a reflection in its surface, of a lady sitting across the tavern.
A casual glance indicates she is in fact there but there is something about her.
Could the stories be true? Only Once did one of the child slaves of the Creeper escape the fate of the White eyes of the sewers. This woman seems to fit the descriptions you have heard. Still one of the Creepers here?
She watches you possibly with recognition or perhaps another reason. one thing is evident. many a rogue goes to shadows to remain hidden, but with her, the shadows come to her.
Mutt eyes the strange man who calls himself Marfedelom after his little outburst. His rolled up sleeves show no small amount of muscle as he serves Xaviandrin a mug of ale. His expert touch keeps the foam above the rim yet without a drop spilled. After that he walks out from behind the bar, his impressive frame taller then it was behind the bar. Those who were regulars learned two things long ago. The Blue Velvet Tavern has no bouncers for a reason. As well as the area behind the bar was a good deal lower then the ground floor so Mutt would not have to look down on everyone.
His eyes narrow as he speaks.
"Not having none of that. Take it outside. Only thing in here is food and drink, no meetings of your sort."
His eyes glide to every last weapon on the man before him. Noting them with building annoyance.
|
I tit my head at that freakishly tall man that was behind the bar.
"Perhaps matters have changed in these lands since my hunt has lead me this way last. But I was under the impression when someone given a location and requested to come. That one should should do so. When I was a youth it was considered bad form to not allow someone to eat or drink with their companions.
Looking Mutt over, noting in the way he carries himself that the man is not the pushover like he first thought.
"As this one has not yet met the companion he was to dine with at your fine establishment. I assumed it would be best to announce myself in the hopes that one of your patrons was the one that wished to meet me, and spoke so highly of your food and drinks that we choose to meet here. If you would prefer, I can walk out the door an unhappy man and never have the chance to dine upon your bountiful feast, or you could step back behind your bar and allow me the privilege of meeting the one that sent for Marfedelom and enjoying my time within this establishment. The other option, is we dance and you or perhaps I will be stand before Pharasma in Judgment of our lives. I am at peace, are you, Friend?"
Marfedelom keeps his unstrung bow and quiver lowered in left hand, but adjusts his stance so it is less aggressive and more defensive in appearance. Of course only one that has seen real battle would understand, most would think he just spread his feet a little wider and stood up taller. Marfedelom glances down at his assorted blades; The rapier and sickle are still peace-tied from when he went to the temple earlier. The stakes in his boots are lose, but one never knows when a vampire will show up that needs to be staked.
Bastion looks up from his book, overhearing Mutt saying, "no meetings of your sort," and thinks briefly on leaving. It seems the bar owner and their muscle wouldn't know anything of the note that Bastion had received. Of course, all that was written on it was this tavern's name and nothing else. After mulling it over Bastion shrugs slightly to himself and goes back to reading. No harm in waiting to see if someone else shows up, after all, maybe some useful information would come from observing more interesting patrons such as the ones that had already entered.
Xavi gives Mutt a nod and a smile as he passes him his drink. Seemed the man was distracted by something though as in his case the usual actually meant a cup of tea. Then again, it had been very long since he had ale and if the woman in the corner, the one that tried to make eye contact with him, was what she seemed to be he'd very much need it.
He moves around Mutt and the drama queen to join the woman at the table, taking a gulp of his ale before speaking, lowering his voice to a whisper, "You know none of the city's sczarni enjoy seeing a creeper on their grounds, do you? If they catch you some would even cross the line and kill you, especially the thugs in Rag's End. Be careful." She looked like a creeper but didn't look like a thug. It didn't matter to the gangs though, the first would get her in all sorts of trouble, the other Sczarni hated the creepers. To them they were less than people, they were monsters. A true Sczarni didn't make "real" victims, they'd just take their money.
|
|
The woman looks to her new "companion" If I happen to see a....creeper, I'll be sure to keep my distance then She reponds to him.
her shadow seems to creep around the feet of Xaviandrin. for but an instant he can almost feel the shadow's chill about him.
She is playing the innocent, that much is plain to see, but it is also apparent she seeks something else
Mutt's look changes from one of minor annoyance to one of being insulted and growing anger.
"Ah you trying to work me with fancy words. Only foreigners and fools walk into any tavern, much less one in Underbridge. Then speak like you did. Calling for trouble it is."
He cracks his knuckles with a series of loud pops.
"Then you move like your ready for a fight. Your words don't match your body. So what ya going to do. Leave, eat your pride, or eat my fist."
You notice something off about Mutt just now. Something more about him you can't seem to place. Then again no one has seen Mutt fight, at least not anyone alive or who remained in Underbridge.
You notice something off about Mutt just now. With your unique knowledge it comes to you. When he cracked his knuckles the number and sound was different then it should have been. It spoke of denser muscle and bone then a human should have or be capable of naturally.
"Don't play innocent with me, it's insulting." His voice was calm and measured but he purposefully kept it low. "I'm not threatening you, it was a warning. I feel no love for any of the city's gangs but I surely want no turf wars on my doorstep." His own shop wasn't in Underbridge, luckily, but the bazaar of sails was just around the corner.
"What is it that you want from me? First I'm being studied while I'm at the bar and now your shadow is grasping at my feet. What is it?" A creeper checking him out, that could not be good. Unless it was a coincidence, but even then. The whole situation seemed to irk him.
|
|
A confused look crosses his face as he lowers his cowl. He appears almost as a halfelf, though slightly pale in color.
Disguise check to have put on a middle aged halfelfs appearance before coming here
Looking the bartender in the eyes. "Here is the deal, Mutt. I was hired to met someone here for but I given no description of whom I was to meet. I was told to meet here, as this scroll says, and did as I was requested. If you want to read it, maybe you can render assistance to me. I did not come here looking for a fight, my blades are still peace-tied from when I was in Pharasma's Temple this morning, my bow is unstrung, I am standing in what Is clearly a defensive position. What the hells is the problem? Do you treat all newcomers to your place this way? You clearly are looking for a fight, I do not want to spill either of our bloods on the tavern. I just want a dambed glass of wine and whatever the hells your special is. But Maester Mutt if what you would prefer is that we fight then so be it.
Marfedelom extends the scroll in his hand towards mutt, beyond that delaying his reaction incase he is attacked.
Marfedelom,
I am in need of your services, please arrive at a little after noon to enjoy the bountiful foods and wounderious drinks served by Master Mutt while we talk over this proposition I have for you. As I have no idea your appearance and know nothing about you save your hunt those that refuse to stay dead I request you announce yourself when you enter.
Elvis enters the tavern and heads towards the bar. The haggard half-elf has a bald shaved head and is wearing a monk's outfit.
Not noticing anything special except for a bartender picking a fight with one of his guests, he seats himself directly next to the foreigner and says:
"Hello Mutt. How is business today? Lots of new guests here it seems."
His attention fixed on the bartender, he barely pays any attention to the middle aged Half-Elf next to him, who seems to get agitated as well.
He makes a placating gesture towards the older man while waiting for Mutt to reply.
A large half-orc, not so much tall as very broad and muscled, wide enough to cause difficulty entering some doors facing forward, stands from his seat and approaches the brewing conflict at the bar. Ritual scars and tattoos cover his face and hands, and likely more of him that can't presently be seen. In addition, his thick furs and armor suggest a heritage in the Northlands. However, despite his imposing figure, a simple white robe adorned with silver spirals and sets of triple golden circles serves as his cloak, and his smile is almost warming.
As he approaches Mutt and Marfedelom, he opens his arms wide in a gesture of peace. "Come, brothers, let us not spill each others' blood on these floors, but rather wash away our offenses with a pint of ale. Or two!" At that, he pulls a few coins from his robes and holds them up, smiling at Mutt.
A peaceful Orc? Most curious people here tonight, indeed.
"Well spoken, my friend! Have you heard that, Mutt? Isn't that a fabulous idea?"
Elvis turns to the Half-Orc, and introduces himself: "Hello, my name is Elvis. I don't think we've met before. What brings you to this part of town?"
"I am Marckus, servant of Korada, god of peace. Father Zayd, priest of Korada, has sent me here on a small errand of personal interest. I'm simply passing the time for now, spreading the message of peace to those around me." Marckus says, gesturing to the entire room. "What of your business then?"
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Marckus, servant of Korada. I have to admit - I've never heard of your god before - but spreading peace is always a good thing. I'm a simple monk who is looking for wisdom and enlightenment." Sensing that this answer might not satisfy Marckus' curiosity, he adds "You can never know where you will find enlightenment. Maybe even over a simple dinner in a tavern."
Mutt is about to speak when not the new arrivals but rather the gray elf catches his attention. With a knock on the bar and a gesture of two fingers he speaks, his voice low and soft giving off the sense of a snake.
"Mutt my Island Dream if you would."
The burly bartender moves back behind his bar to prepare the order, not even sparing a glance as he sets about his task. The gray elf's eyes lazily drift to the troublemaker.
"You'll get no service for your disrespect. This is how it will be. Cause anymore trouble and you will die by Mutt's hands. This too is the way of it. Get out or stay, makes no difference. Such have you made it."
It's clear the elf speaks truth, that his words could be wrong does not even cross his mind.
Mutt mumbles but his words are clearly heard in reply to the other order of ale.
"After I'm done with the dream. In a bit or two."
He takes out a number of fruits to make the drink ordered by the elf.
Elvis nods his thanks to the Elf. Then, feeling a bit uneasy staring in the man's direction without saying anything, he asks:
"Is it good? The island dream, I mean."
Seeing things getting interesting, Bastion closes his book with a light thump and proceeds to continue doing circular motions, apparently mixing his vial still. Now however, it seems to be giving him something to do, more so than just simply stirring his chemicals.
At least one person had admitted to being sent to this tavern by someone, so Bastion is satisfied with his choice in staying.
Bastion then hears the elf speak an attempts to see if he means to back it up.
Seeing that he does, he gives a courteous nod to the grey elf and decides to enter the socializing fray. After putting his book away, yet still holding onto the vial, Bastion retrieves the note he had when he entered and stands, a noticeable creak coming from the chair in relief from it's recent burden. Finding the shadowed lady to be especially interesting, Bastion walks over to her table and makes a polite motion towards a nearby chair as if to ask, "May I sit with you and your friend?"
He also gives a polite smile to Xeviandrin after the motion to the shadowed lady.
Elvis nods in response to Bastion and asks: "What do you have in that vial? Doesn't Mutt mind you mixing your own drinks in his tavern?"
The elf merely gives a slow smile, again invoking the sense of a snake. His answer as slow as his smile.
"Try it and find out, what is life without mystery. But as with all things it has a price. This one being a gold piece."
"Very true."
Elvis puts a gold coin on the counter.
"Mutt: when you are done with that one, will you make one for me as well?"
"What's the biggest side of meat you sell here?" Marckus asks, looking past Mutt to see if there are any kegs or bottles that catch his eye.
Bastion looks over to the bar at Elvis and says with a grin, "Not so much a drink, as a life experiment."
He then turns back to the mysterious shadowed lady to see if she's decided it was alright for him to sit at her table or not.
|
|
Very confused I stand there a few moments absorbing the change in atmosphere. Bowing towards the gray elf, I lower my eyes from his, acknowledging him as most likely the one that sent that strange summons. Running my fingers through my hair I approach him.
"This hunter apologies, he honestly intends no offense. I am not good with people. I tried to defuse it as best I knew how, but that mutt was having none of it. I could sense that his bark was bad, but as I had done nothing wrong the only way I could "back down" would have been to leave and fail to meet you as your first test was."
"I had no clue that a barkeep would want to kill me for walking into his bar and announcing my name to speed up the hour long process of you watching us interact with each other or not and all of us you summoned wondering who sent for us, and why? Your second test, was seeing if I would back down when I was in the not in the wrong at all for again simply stating my name, and asking who sent for me?
Your third test was seeing which of us is willing to come speak with you or perhaps if I was going to run crying from this place like a lad in his first battle?" Let us be direct. You need our help with something, well at least mine that I know for sure. Lets have your proposition ser.
Sense Motive 1
The gray elf's left eyebrow slowly rises at Marfedelom.
"Boy I have no idea what you are talking about. Not interested in your business or reasons, I only care for my peace."
Mutt finishes making the gray elf's drink. A row of fruit slices top it, one being plucked and devoured by the elf. No longer interested in speaking with his drink before him.
Mutt starts on the next Island Dream after he scoops up the coin. He spares a look at the half orc, almost as if with approval. But is back to work on the drink in a flash.
"We got a great bit o reefclaw, running a special so it goes before it spoils. Only really good fresh like ya know. Comes with a side of garlic butter, lemon slices, bread, and boiled spuds."
"Sounds frilly, but I can probably work around that. How much for two and a flagon of stout?" Marckus asks with a smile.
A small female gnome peaks through the curtains now that the shouting has died down some and looks about. Entering finally, she stands for a moment in front of the blue curtains hoping their color dramatically compliments her red hair and intricate hairstyle covered in beads and feathers. Making her way to a well lit table the gnome pulls out a small violin to tune while signalling a near by bar maid.
|
|
Marfedelom smiles at the expected response. Reaching into a pouch hanging from his neck, under his armor, he pulls out a small handful of gold coins Counting the people in the room and takes note of who is ignoring his conversation with the grey elf and who is paying attention. He is also noting the people that are paying attention but not seeming to be.
Placing a gold coin into a stack for every person presen, including myself onto the bar. "Good Mutt, Allow me to get the next round for everyone."
I turn towards the grey elf I try to hand him a Platium piece without anyone else seeing as I offer my hand to him and simply say."Thank you."
|
|
1d20
"Don't play innocent with me, it's insulting." His voice was calm and measured but he purposefully kept it low. "I'm not threatening you, it was a warning. I feel no love for any of the city's gangs but I surely want no turf wars on my doorstep." His own shop wasn't in Underbridge, luckily, but the bazaar of sails was just around the corner.
"What is it that you want from me? First I'm being studied while I'm at the bar and now your shadow is grasping at my feet. What is it?" A creeper checking him out, that could not be good. Unless it was a coincidence, but even then. The whole situation seemed to irk him.
Does it bother you that a lady finds you...shall we say, interesting. You have talents that interest me. and I may be in need of a partner.
glancing to the floor her shadow withdraws to where it belongs. sometime it has a mind of its own she says of her shadow with a mischievous grin.
She folds her hand in front of her, the first thing that catches your eye, is the ring she wears. Bearing the symbol of one of the noble houses in the Alabaster district.
Her walking stick bears the same symbol.
Taking the silence as a no, Bastion walks over to the bar sitting just beside the monk, thinking it best to let the shadowed lady and the primp looking man do business without being overheard. After a very long moment Bastion looks between the grey elf and Mutt to ask, "Is it often you get such... diverse, personalities in your fine establishment sirs?"
That shadowy lady is royalty? Most interesting.
"Enjoy your reefclaw, Marckus."
Elvis takes his cocktail and intercepts Marfedelom on his way to Tynan's table and says:
"Sometimes things aren't what they seem to be on the surface. The mysterious Elf at the bar seems to be the obvious choice for the mysterious stranger that summoned you here. But maybe a bit too obvious. It could be anyone of us. Even her." He points at the Gnome with the violin that just arrived. "Stay calm and be patient. Whoever sent you this letter will probably remember its content, so no need to shove it into the face of those who don't ask for it."
While thus striking up a conversation, Elvis follows Marfedelom to Tynan's table.
"If you mean romantically interested I must disappoint you, I'm off the market." He shifts uncomfortably as he says it. It felt strange to say things like that. "Beyond that, well, I'm a lock smith, but you could have come to my shop if you needed those services. What is it that you're after then?" The ring on her finger seemed to be some noble's symbol, but as she was a creeper she might as well have killed the original owner for it.
He points at the Gnome with the violin that just arrived.
Noticing the point from her table, Teagan picks up her violin and brings it to her shoulder. Sitting on the table, she begins playing a soothing tune.
Elvis appears mesmerized by the gnome playing her violin for a moment. Then he smiles sadly and shakes his head, as if he had been lost in thought but had now dismissed whatever had occupied his mind.
"Quite talented, don't you think? Come, lets listen to her more closely." he whispers to the Marfeldom who is standing next to him.
Elvis walks over to the gnome's table and listens attentively. Once she finished her piece he say: "Your music is beautiful." After a moment he adds "I am sure it would be just as beautiful if you didn't try to put a spell on my."
Bastion overhears Elvis say something about the gnome trying to put a spell on him and turns the conversation, noticing that the grey elf and mutt are obviously too busy to answer his silly question.
Bastion doesn't stand after turning, he merely sits watching the half-elf and the gnome to see what transpires, this time slowly swinging the vial like a pendulum trapped in slowed motion. Perhaps he could get some entertainment out of the night, if he couldn't get answers.
Teagan stops playing and preforms a small bow.
"Oh pay no mind to my games, just looking for a bit of fun. I'll have to make my departure now, the time has gotten away from me."
She turns with a wave and skips out the bar.
Bastion sighs as he watches the violinist leave, it seems this night he was to have not only no answers, but no entertainment as well. He then turns around, facing the bar once more, takes out his book and begins to read to fill the time.
"Aha! Get yourselves together, it's time for an adventure!"