In Brevoy and a bit in the past as most know it. The year is 4699. The Royalty have all vanished and being vassals of that reign you might want to move quickly. The alarm has been set and the council of the families is converging. All of the nobles are able to attend that are within a days ride giving time for that travel to let things settle down before anything rash is decided.
Each of you have connections with the royal family. Some closer than others but that is what brings you together at this dark dingy inn in the slums. Away from the prying eyes of the nobles and generals you come together for mutual assurances of survival.
A rather exposing goliath greets each of you, as his strong body is completely exposed except for a 2 foot length of cloth that covers only the essentials of his privates. Metal beads and string connect the two pieces of cloth exposing even more thigh than could be imaginable.
Travel into the northern country is eased by the addition of his newest companion, Lucid, a very smart hippogriff with strong ties to The First World, flying on wings of colorful butterfly wings, a 'gift' of sorts from his goddess and 'Baba', Desna, Queen of The North Star and Lady of Dreams.
On the back of this magnificent beast sits the varisian cleric, Davian Dreanmspun. His colorful traditional varisian clothes whip around in the high breezes Lucid flies. Davian's long curly brown hair and luscious mustache dance high above Brevoy. A scarved-covered helm keeps the desnan's hair from becoming too windswept. On both hips, Davian keeps his two prized starknives, religious tools and weapons.
Looking down, Davian's appearance in the skies have not gone unnoticed. Townspeople point in awe at the hippogriff rider and his beautiful steed. Davian finds a open place to land on a nearby momentarily deserted intersection. As he gingerly disembarks his steed, several city guard run up to greet the newcomers.
"Oi, what's all this about?"
"My âpologîşeș, şîr," Davian said in a strong varisian-accented taldane. "My frîend ănd Î dîd noţ meân țo mâke â scene. Perhâpş we şhould hăve lânded ouţşîde țhe cîţy lîmîţş. Âgâîn, we âpologîșe."
Taken aback by the situation still, the city guard retorts, "W-Well, you can't have your beast inside the city limits. He's causing too much of a scene. Public health and whatnot."
"You âre âbşoluţely rîghţ, şîr", the varisian agreed. Turning to the colorful hippogriff, Davian said, "Lucîd, hunţ. Buţ noț în țhe cîțy. Țhen cîrcle untîl we need ţo leâve. Țhânk you, frîend." The desnan gives the hippogriff a quick hug and slap on the hind quarters and Lucid takes off into the skies. As the city guard watch the winged creature fly off with a strong updraft, Davian slips down the road and quickly enters the seedy bar.
Davian is met just inside the door by a nearly naked goliath.
"Um, hello. Î belîeve Î âm expecţed. My nâme îş Dâvîân Dreâmşpun. Î ăm țo meeț up wîth oțherș here."
The silent hulking man directs the varisian to small private room with a large table, lit with several candles. The desnan sits at the table, drumming his fingers until other show or a barmaid offers to take his order.
The goliath embraces the Varisian with mirth and then replies with a chuckle on his breath, "Yes Davian, do you not remember Aukan? I know the time in the zigarut was troubling but it is good to see you again! Come you are the first to come, sit, sit..."
There is several wine bottles, a water barrel in the far corner, a small keg with a dwarven stout marker on it, a few pints of whiskey obviously labeled, and a bunch of mismatched cups.
The large and unbelievably-stealthy goliath almost crushes the varisian in a welcoming hug.
"Ârg..YEŞ! Âukân! Î remember you! Good țo şee you. Now şeţ me down before Î looşe țhe feelîng în my feeţ!"
The giant warrior sets Davian down and both sit and get reacquainted.
Clarabibulus Flingflopsparkfizz approaches the dingy inn, her mind buzzing. Whatever happened to Lady Carona Orlovsky? Her messenger said she’d have some clue as to one of great-grandpapa Umbilicus’ Lost Journals...but now she’s gone...and to where? Bother, bother, and more bother!
At 3’ tall and 34 lbs, Clara is slight even for a gnome. Her hair, eyes, and skin color tend to change weekly--likely based on what the latests barks, fruits, rare minerals, reagents, and other ingredients she’s been experimenting with. Today, her skin is a milky-green. Her eyes are the color of maple syrup, and her hair is a deep cobalt blue. Unlike her coloration, the thing that never seems to change is her stained, sticky apron and the various vials at her belt are a constant and give away her proclivity for alchemy.
Above her head is what first appears to be a tiny, flying earth elemental with a dusty rose heart...but what more knowledgeable observers will recognize as an Ioun Wyrd.
At her heel is a white hound the size of a wolf, with glowing yellow eyes and a saddle on its back.
”Well if it isn’t Aukan the Gi-freakin-normous! How’s your shoulder doing? Better than the bulette it ran into, I hope!
"Now which fizzy pop did you especially like? Wait a sec, don’t tell me! Oh right, green-apple-sassifrass-drake’s-blood-treant-sap-surprise! Gimme a set, I know I’ve got one here for you.”
Looking past Aukan’s massive thigh she sees a Varisian fellow she doesn’t recognize just reaching for a bottle. ”Ho! Before you reach for that Galtan Red--admittedly a pretty good wine--you should know that the fizzy drinks have arrived!”
The varisian looked to where the female voice was coming from, then noticed the gnome. "Ăn Âctuâl Fîzzy Drînkş. Î hăve noț hăd one în yeârş. Î do noţ șuppoșe you hăve âny Blue Behîr Râşpberry, do you?"
Grinning ear to ear, Clara says, "Oh my, a man of fine tastes indeed. Mind you, most Blue Behir Raspberry soda uses powdered Shock-Beetle shell instead of true Behir ichor. This though--"she rustles about, selecting one of the over-one-hundred bottles jangling from her belt and bandoliers"--this uses only ichor from a true juvenile Behir.
"Enjoy!"
A short, slight woman not even five feet tall with skin colored like white marble with dark gray streaks in it walks into the inn. Her wild, unrestrained hair has the same coloration and her eyes glitter like emeralds. Fitting loosely around her body are vibrant green, brown, and yellow clothes woven with patterns of dinosaurs among jungle plants and vibrant flowers. On her back is a well worn backpack; she has no obvious arms or armor.
When she sees the giant, she smiles broadly at Aukan and hugs him, "It has been too long since I've seen you, Aukan. I'm afraid I don't make it into the city as much anymore. There are so many things threatening the wild and you know me, if there is a wrong to be righted, I'll be there to rip its throat out."
As she enters the inn further, an allosaurus the size of a large man enters behind her. It stops to affectionately rub it's head up against Aurok and wait for a scratch on the head. Then it walks over to a corner, it's large talons making loud scratching sounds on the dinghy wooden floor. It circles like a dog and curls up head to tail, occasionally raising its head to look around the room.
Sharda takes off her backpack and sets it on the floor by the dinosaur then wanders behind the bar and starts to root around. Eventually she finds a notched and worn wooden bowl and a hardened leather mug then goes to the water barrel to fill them both. She stands at the barrel filling and draining her mug multiple times as if she was desperately thirsty from running a long way.
Crossing over to the dinosaur, she places the wooden bowl by it. It raises its head looks at it and rests it head back down. Looking nonplussed at the dinosaur she chides, "Show off." A couple of low short hisses almost like it was chuckling come from the curled up dinosaur.
The diminutive woman hops onto a chair at the table, while she's seated her feet don't quite touch the ground. When she's not talking or drinking from her mug, she is motionless like an exquisite statue, only her glittering faceted green eyes move to follow who's speaking. Her movements, when they occur, are sharp and economical ending in another motionless pose. When she's still, her expression is an enigmatic, slightly bemused smile.
"Does anyone have any idea what happened?" asks the stone-like woman, "Was it some nobles who are vying for the throne that eliminated the royal house?"
"Enjoy!"
Davian takes the offered bottle. "Oh! Îţ îș şţîll cold!" The varisian male then pops the top and drinks about the bottle in a few gulps. "My! Ţhîş reâlly tâkeş me bâck.."
As the marble lady enters the inn and reunites with Aukan, the desnan cleric puts down his bottle, meeting the eyes of the newcomer and bowing slightly.
Unseen, a black mass of shadowy smoke, almost thin as darkness itself, silently waits for the other guests to enter the tavern. It has waited for some hours now, long enough to have studied the situation carefully.
Time to show up, I guess.
A half-elven woman, five feet tall, suddenly materializes outside the tavern, almost frightening a man on the other side of the road.
The woman has a pale skin, more than any other member of her race could have, black long loosen hair and a slim and slender body.
She wears a black shirt under a rather light armor, tight leather trousers and boots. A long spear, of elven craft, is tightly bound to her back.
She seems to little care of the man running away from her. While she moves towards the door, a small cheetah joins her coming out from behind the tavern corner.
As she enters the tavern, she is relieved of actually seeing Aukan, and not some assassin. She thought others would have been present, but as she looked them, she couldn't recognize any of them.
She steps forward, making a sign to her companion to stay near the door.
"Well Aukan, long time no see. Still not the best times to go out for a beer, huh? At least you chose the right place.
She looks at the adventurers seated at the tables. Strange people, uncommon races, magic equipment, he always chooses the best.
"I suppose these gentlemen are your friends. I wouldn't like to be stabbed in the back, or destroy a tavern."
Davian looks on at all of the goliath's comrades amazed. I never knew Aukan could be so popular. Especially with the ladies, the varisian blinks. Well..Aukan is mostly naked..so that might have something to do with it.
The desnan cleric stands again to greet the newcomer with a slight bow.
The kitchen door quietly clicks shut as Niche closes the door behind him. He'd come in silently, over the rooves as was typical for him when moving in the city. Too many people were prone to panic if he just tried walking down the streets, and gates were always more prone to baring his path, or even attacking him, than they were to allow him in; even if he offered to pay double the gate tax.
Far easier to just hop the walls and make his way silently through the city. Why they had to pick a meeting spot in the middle of a bustling metropolis was beyond him; they knew he preferred to be outside city walls. Not because he minded people, mind you, but because people always seemed to mind him, and the headaches caused by all the excitable little people scurrying about were rarely worth it.
Nevertheless, this was the spot requested, and so here he was. Old friends were said to be involved, and the immortal ogre had few enough of those that he could choose to ignore a request from the ones he did have.
Looking around the common room, he saw a few others summoned had already arrived. They were all clearly adventurers; that type always stand out. Aylan was there, and Davian, the thick tongued Varisian evangelical. The others were all new to him.
Hmm, looks like they invited a few of the extra-tiny types. Hope I dont step on anyone...
He'd made his way across the rooftops, using the dark to conceal his passage. Once he'd found the place, he'd dropped down into the alley, and come in through the kitchen entrance in the back.
Used to moving quietly, he wasn't sure if anyone had noticed him yet. So he decided to introduce himself.
How's my favorite runt holding up? You're looking young and strong; it is good to see!"
He moves to embrace the goliath, picking him up of his feet as he sweeps up the shorter man in a bear hug. Setting him back down after a moment, he rubs the top of the short man's head.
The newcomer is huge! Anybody that thought of Aukan as a giant gets something of a shock as he get swept up in an enthusiastic embrace by a man head and shoulders taller than him. This new visitor is easily 10 ft tall, and his head brushes the rafters, displacing dust from above with every near miss of the ceiling beams.
Besides his size, placing exactly what he is is no easy feat either. He looks... human. Except for the ten feet tall part. He is dressed in what appear to be monk's garb, an off white wrap around top and loose trousers bound at the waist with a thick cloth belt. While simple in cut, the fabric appears to be a strong silk weave, woven double strength, for durability, as opposed to those that choose silk for decoration. Beyond that, he caries nothing, though there is a small punch on his belt (small to him - on a human it would make a decent backpack).
His features are... perfect, for lack of a better word. Those visionaries that sculpt giants from marble, embodying them with every ideal and wish of what should go into a man, might well have used this specimen as their model. His skin is a sun-kissed intermediate shade, and his eyes clear and deep. His smile shows a mouth full of perfect teeth. His head is shaved and unadorned, except for an enchanted headband worn around his brow. The gap in his silk top reveals dips almost to the waist, revealing layers upon layers of perfect muscle. Were it not for his size, you would think him the Prince, or Shining Knight every maid casts to the role in their minds eye as they listen to the bard's epic stories.
"And Davian! Good to see you old friend. Is Rosa here as well? No matter, come here!"
With that, he grasps hold of the varisian cleric with an arm longer than the holy-man is tall, and yanks him into a group hug, once again including the goliath.
Setting both down again, he eyes the refreshments, and instantly settles them on the dwarven stout. Scooping up a pitcher from a shelf he grabs the whole barrel of dark beer and brings it back to the table, setting it down in front of him. He silently scoots the chair from the head end of the table, giving him room to sit cross legged before it. Seated on the floor, he is still taller than most of the people in the room.
As he begins to fill his pitcher with beer, holding it like a flagon, he says, "It is good to be among friends. I am the ogre, Niche."
With the entrance of the familiar return of 'Golarion's Most Handsome Ogre', Davian gives a quick laugh of recognition. The desnan's laugh turns into a chuckle as Aukan gets a taste of his own medicine as Niche picks up and hugs the goliath.
"And Davian! Good to see you old friend. Is Rosa here as well? No matter, come here!"
With that, he grasps hold of the varisian cleric with an arm longer than the holy-man is tall, and yanks him into a group hug, once again including the goliath.
The varisian mirth quickly turn to concern as the ogre rushes over to the cleric and sweeps him up in a crushing hug for the second time in as many minutes.
"Âhhgh. Îț îș good..țo șee you ţoo, Nîche!" The cleric gasps. "Wîțh your âppeârânce, Î would hăve țhoughț Roşâ would be wîţh you!"After being set down, Davian return to his seat at the table, catching his breath.
Clara looks up from her conversation with the Varisian as a smokey halfelf, a handsome ogre, and a rocky woman appear. Looking the massive Adonis up and down, Clara says "Ahhhhh, I was wondering if you'd be Niche. Good to meet ya!
"And who are you two?" She nods to Stony and Smokey, and then opens a bottle of fizzy drink, swooshes it around in her mouth, and then spits it back into the bottle.
"I'm Clarabibulus Flingflopsparkfizz, great-great-granddaughter of the inimitable-and-infamous-and-indefatigable-and-inflammable Umbilicus Flingflopsparkfizz, who cavorted with Nivi Rhombodazzle and invented the recipe for the Ultimate Fizzy Drink, which you've surely heard was zesty, uplifting, and very very fizzy. (Sadly, there's an ongoing debate about whether the Ultimate Fizzy Drink was best enjoyed as a beverage or thrown at one's foes--or perhaps both?--but I expect that my research will answer that before too long).
"I'd come to Brevoy to speak with Lady Carona Orlovsky, who sent a note suggesting she might have a clue as to one of great-grandpapa Umbilicus’ Lost Journals...but it seems she's disappeared, along with all the other nobles of Brevoy, which is interesting but also quite inconvenient.
"At any rate, why don't you pull up a chair, and grab yourself a fizzy drink." She points to the many vials and jars hanging off her belt and bandoliers. "Or, you know, go for a more boring-er drink, like they serve here." Clara seems to shudder involuntarily at the thought of it.
"I'm afraid I havent seen her since the ziggurat; since before the ziggurat really, since we all managed to get separated in there. Dont know what happened to you guys, but I'm glad to see you made it out. Seems like the whole place was just kinda overhyped though. I didnt find a single decent challenge in there. What we did encounter, Aukan and Matt managed to kill before I even got a chance to swing at it. Aukan was tearing around with that sword I won for him in that challenge beforehand - with that warlord, ah, Ptelemizreon. You still have that blade, Aukan? Is Matt going to be joining us, or that little gecko fellow, Sly?"
Niche takes a swig of the dwarven stout and winces.
"Dwarves do a lot of things well, but I have no idea why their beer is so popular. Bitter enough to curl your nose hairs. A good beer should have subtlety, with dozens of different flavours complementing each other and working together, like a fine meal. Burned barley, too much hops, and an earthy taste like ... mushrooms? This has all the subtlety of a warhammer to the groin, which would probably be an appropriate punishment for whoever brewed this. Hopefully they can get to him before he has children, and teaches them to perpetuate this abomination."
The massive man eyes the colourful little gnome as she introduces herself and lists of her diatribe at blinding speed, his eyebrows arching a little.
"Fizzy drinks? Like ale? It's not too sweet is it? The last time I tried a gnome concoction I couldnt peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth for a week. I dont suppose you have a potion that would turn this abuse of the brewer's craft into something palatable, would you?"
Clara grins confidently. "Intoxicants and sweetners are just two of the many things that can go into a fizzy drink.
"In my family's soda shoppe in Oppara, glue-your-tongue-to-the-roof is a premium soda, but I can brew a range of sweetnesses. For instance, this one is mostly sarsaparilla-birchbark with the barest hint of moonflower nectar. Nothing too sweet or too floral. Or, if you can handle a bit of heat, this one's a strong ale brewed with fire-salamander-choleric, and it'll singe the hairs on your chest, but I think the bite is delicious."
At least one of them seems normal, but even the big one speaks a better Common than him. Can't be helped, I guess.
Katherine relaxes her muscles after seeing such friendship and warmth around her. She didn't know what to expect from this invitation, but now that she's here, she starts feeling in the right place.
"I'm Katherine Dreamborne,", better leave out granddaughter of Baba Yaga for now, "one of the assassins House Rogarvia liked to use in some of their internal problems with House Surtova. Well, this before they disappeared, leaving me in a unpleasant situation."
She suppresses her hybrid shadow form, returning to a more normal appearance, and sits at the table near the small gnome. She decided to give it a try.
"Fizzy drinks, huh? Might be worth trying out. I'll give it a chance", she says, already sure that that drink would have proven extraordinary, judging from the gnome passion and pride in presenting it.
The varisian male stands back up and bows slightly.
"Ţo țhoșe Î hăve noț meț, my nâme îş Dâvîân Dreâmşpun, ă humble clerîc of Ţhe Lâdy of ţhe Şphereş, Deşnâ, gămbler ănd occășîonăl ădvențurer, ăț your șervîce. Forgîve my șpeech; tâldâne îș noț my fîrşţ lângâuge."
As she hands Katherine a glass, Clara's eyes go wide and she scratches her head.
"Davian Dreamspun and Katherine Dreamborne. Any relation? Are there any other beautiful dreamers we're expecting today?"
Davian looks at the dark half-elf inquisitively.
"Nu șțîu. Eșţî unul dînțre oâmenîî dîn drum, copîl?"
The small marble woman looks back and forth between all of the boisterous talkers looking for a moment to insert a few words edgewise, "As to who I am, I am Sharda. I mainly wander the wilds looking for things that are not right and then righting them. Upon hearing of the royalty all disappearing, I began to wonder what happened to..."
She pauses a moment as if trying to assemble her thoughts, "Nevermind, I think we will find out soon enough what happened to them. Hopefully, only a few of them have been brutally harmed." The cold, crystalline tone to her voice gives the impression that there are a few she would be happy to see severely inconvenienced.
After seeing the fizzy drinks being passed around, she looks in one when its near and shakes her head, "No thank you, I will stick with water. And I definitely would prefer my tongue not stick to the roof of my mouth."
Katherine gladly takes the glass of the gnome's drink, quickly smells it, and takes a small sip. She seems to like the strong taste of the drink.
"A fine beverage, thank you. I'm not a beer one, especially when half taverns don't serve good ones and the other half look down on a woman drinking beer."
She doesn't understand the cleric's tongue, and she feels to the need to explain.
"I'm afraid I can't understand your language. But I do have a connection with the Dream. I have died once, and I was reborn thanks to it. Since then I kept distance from that world, as there are as many dreams as there are nightmares. This darkness I bring along is a gift I... borrowed from that world."
The half-elf woman takes a long sip, as if trying to forget some terrifying memories. "Strong enough to rise a dead!"
She gives her attention to the Oread. Nice to meet you too, Sharda. I've never met a member of your race, what brings you here? As for the nobles, I'm sure it must have been some well thought conspiracy. Very well thought, or I would have known it."
"I'm afraid I can't understand your language. But I do have a connection with the Dream. I have died once, and I was reborn thanks to it. Since then I kept distance from that world, as there are as many dreams as there are nightmares. This darkness I bring along is a gift I... borrowed from that world."
Davian nods, trying to understand the woman's circumstances. "Â ţâle for anoțher ţîme, Î șuppoșe."
Davian nods, trying to understand the woman's circumstances. "Â ţâle for anoțher ţîme, Î șuppoșe."
"Maybe if we don't die to some nobles' hand, together with some nice beer or fizzy things." Katherine answers with a cheerful smile.
The ogre grins at the little mixologist and says, "That spicy ale sounds interesting; would you mind fixing me one of those?"
While he waits, he continues to make small talk with the others. He turns to the shadowy girl, "Assassin, hmm? Knives in the dark, poison, that sort of thing? His tone is matter of fact, and contains no hint of judgement. "Efficient if you want someone dead I suppose, but not very sporting. Plus it would tend to bypass the central question regarding which of two opponents is tougher, and I think it would be a shame to see that question go unanswered each time such a plan were carried out. Ya, I dont think I could do that kind of work; I'm just too curious. Knowing somebody died by my hand but never knowing if I was tough enough to defeat them in an honest fight would needle at me. I'd go crazy in short order, or snap and challenge someone straight on when the assignment said it was to look like natural causes. I suppose that's why we all hold to different roles though. I suppose it might also be hard for me to slip into a dinner party unnoticed as well."
He pantomimes fixing a bowtie and holds his hand out as if holding a tray. "Would your lordship care for a drink? What, who am I? I was just hired on the staff. What, you dont remember hiring a 10 ft tall valet?" He slams a palm down on the table, generating a thunderous bang and rattling all the dishes. He then throws his head back in a booming laugh.
A moment later, a few tears in his eyes and his grin large on his face, he calms his laughter and says, "Ya, and that would be about it for my career in espionage!"
The little woman turns and stares at the ogre with her glittering eyes and remarks, “What a ten foot tall giant calls a fair fight is not necessarily fair for others. You were born by nature with certain advantages, other, smaller people would not call what you do a fair fight either.”
”She has an ability you don’t so you label it unfair. You have an ability she doesn’t so you label that fair.” she adds.
Continuing the stone woman says, ”Nature itself is unfair. Would you call the spider unfair to the fly because it can weave a web? Or the fly unfair to the spider because it can fly away?”
Cocking her head a bit as she talks, ”There is nothing more noble about using your unfair size advantage to kill a smaller opponent who is not as blessed as you than for her to knife someone in the back because they can’t see her. If you are good with your fists rather than a sword, do you call the swordsman unfair?”
”Its an eat or be eaten world out there and I far prefer to slaughter rather than be slaughtered.” she concludes.
"It's not my fault being the biggest and the strongest; I dont even exercise."
"Besides, I take all comers. I've faught undead, giant monsters, beasts, squadrons of men, wyvern, hill giants, frost giants, storm giants, and fire giants, and I dont complain just because there's more of them, or they happen to be bigger than me. As you said, nature's a b&*!#."
"And in fairness to myself, I never said what assassin's do isn't fair; just that is isn't the way I prefer to do things. I suppose you could consider what they do just as sporting as the hunt is to the boar. If they dont see or hear you stalking them, they lose."
He gets a bit of a distant look in his eye, like he is remembering something.
"Aw, I kinda miss meat. Spent a few hundred years in a place where nothing can die; makes meat hard to come by unless you dont mind your food raw, screaming and wriggling. That isn't as much fun as I make it sound; it gets old pretty quick. I tried meat when I first got back to this realm; tasted so good I thought I'd die. Of course, after a few centuries of nothing but rice and veggies, I thought my stomach really was going to kill me after. Felt like that beasty was fighting me for every inch it travelled through me. After three days o'that, I havent bothered to try it again since. Miss the taste though."
The stone woman reminds the giant, ”Ah, but you did say what she did was not sporting and that it didn’t prove who was tougher. I’d say whoever won is tougher, no matter how physically brutish they are.”
She throws in with a smile and an extra glitter in her eye, ”And don’t worry big guy, I’ll protect you.”
At the mention of raw food she chuckles and glances over at her curled up dino, ”I’ve been learning recently how delicious screaming, wriggling, and raw is. I would have left the city sooner if I’d known.”
"I'd still stand by what I said; in most cases, assassination is not particularly sporting. It can be, mind you, particularly if they know you're coming. My favorite is the one where they tell you they're coming. They say, 'I'm going to kill you,' and i say, 'I'll kill you first.' Then they come and try, and we find out who is right, and who is dead."
"I'd disagree with you on the point about 'tougher,' it it's mostly a matter of semantics. Better maybe, more skillful or more cunning perhaps, but not what I would call tougher. The sneak attack is a great way to get advantage over something you could not normally face, but when it comes to who would win when neither has a better chance to prepare than the other, that's how you find out who is tougher."
"As I said at the beginning; I hold nothing against someone that uses their skills to kill someone stronger or more protected than themselves - it can be very impressive when someone uses their skills to bring down a foe much more dangerous than others would label them. It's just doesnt interest me personally."
Davian contently watches the discourse between Sharda and Niche, drinking the remainder of the Blue Behir Raspberry Fizzy Drink, imagining watching the invisible songbirds of Shelyn circle their heads.
Shards comments, ”That’s always the comment of the large target, ‘when neither has a chance to prepare’. To me it sounds like, ‘when everything is skewed to my favor and I can use all of my advantages.’ You propose an unobtainable theoretical point because nothing is ever skewed entirely that way. There is never a situation where you are on a featureless plane with your target in reach and there is no way they can use anything else than brute force.”
She chuckles, ”If you wish to live in a fantasy world in which you go around saying, ‘I’m the toughest thing at something that can’t happen’ and that’s your only measure of who is best and what is honorable. If that keeps you warm at night, then more power to you. I hope, for your sake, that is not your measure of self-worth.”
Her voice continues more solemnly, ”I prefer to think that my strength and abilities make me a servant of those who need protection. The measure of my worth is how well I’ve achieved that. The measure of my worth is not that I believe I can beat my chest after winning an impossible scenario. That benefits no one. My measure is how well I’ve done defending the downtrodden, not how powerful a foe I could have defeated if everything went my way.”
She sighs a bit, ”But whatever keeps you warm at night. Keep doing that. If it helps serve the greater good and that belief is what keeps you effective, then whatever works is fine by me. Perhaps in a few more centuries you’ll start to see your strength is not an achievement, it was a gift to you by nature. You were born into a situation with advantages that others were not. We each do the best we can with what we’ve been given. We all try to survive. I just don’t believe in looking down on others for the means they’ve used to survive.”
”The spider weaves, the fly flies, the swordsman swords, the assassin stabs, and you punch things. I hope you can learn to appreciate yourself for your achievements rather than your gifts. I’m certain you have many achievements to be proud of.”
She becomes less solemn and laughs, ”I can fully appreciate your point about not being good at subterfuge. As you can tell I am as subtle as a rock. I have never been known for tact either if that wasn’t already painfully obvious. Please be certain I appreciate you have gone through a lot. I just bristle when someone appears to think they are superior to others who do not have their gifts. I’ve been on the receiving end of too many bullies who thought the same way and it’s a hard association to break in my head.”
She laughs even more, ”You can probably tell how well I fit in with nobility and royalty with my beliefs. Feeling morally superior to who I view as less enlightened is how I keep myself warm at night.”
The ogre grins.
"It appears the attack has been sprung upon me, and here I sit, taken unprepared, for the weapons of choice are words."
He tips his head forward as if in a bow of acknowledgement, but keeping his eyes locked with the druidess, as if before a bout.
"I'm afraid you missunderstand me. Or perhaps you do not care to, for as you have said, it is by scoring the moral victory you sleep at night. You assume I choose the direct assault because there is no field of battle on which the advantage could be more my own. This is a childish assumption, based on what you think you know of me, and in truth, representative of nothing."
"Think of where we are. In a city of men, humans by and large, though with many others besides. Say what you will of them, but of one thing you can be sure, they are no friend to my kind. Listen now; what do you hear?"
He pauses long enough to punctuate the quiet of the city at night
"Do you hear the alarm? The whistles of the night watch or the gongs of the tower guard? And yet here I sit, having crossed through all those streets, past sleeping shopkeepers, dozing goodwives, and past a drowsy watch, leaving each and all unawares because I felt it less a bother than explaining myself at the gates. Do you think it any harder to crush a man's skull in his sleep than it is upon the battlefield? No child, I choose to face my opponents eye to eye because I want to. Because even though I have forgotten more tricks than most will ever learn, there is no satisfaction in the kill if I take a man at anything less than his best. This choice I make not to limit them, but rather to limit me."
"One may make his attack when he has the high ground, with his lackeys at his back, when his foe stands bare, fresh from his bath with the the sun in his eye. He might think himself cunning for choosing the time and place for the conflict, but how fare he then when his opponent stands fully harnessed for battle, with steel on his breast and in his hand, food in his belly, his brethren at his shoulders, and his steed firmly under him. Does his cunning then not desert him, along with his courage? Of a man who would willfully choose the first, and one that would with intent seize upon the second, which would you call 'bully'?"
"Perhaps if you live a few more centuries, you will learn to observe first, and pass judgement second. You have a keen mind, child, perhaps you will one day inherit the wisdom to use it better."
"But then, as you say, these are just words. You spar well for a pup. Allow me to refill your goblet, and toast to a match well fought."
Sharda laughs, "I was indeed sparring with you for sport. And you misunderstand me, it is not by scoring the moral victory that I sleep at night. It is by scoring what I believe to be a moral victory, much as you believe that force of arms in a theoretical situation is morally superior, by which I sleep at night. Both of us have a false predicate upon which we've based something that comforts us, nothing more. All thinking creatures swaddle themselves with such illusions."
Winking, she continues, "Old man, you believe your long life has somehow imbued you with wisdom, whereas if you are blind to where your vision is limited, time cannot avail you. If you cannot smell, an infinite amount of time is useless for learning what a rose smells like. Whereas a newborn babe can easily know what you can never comprehend."
"As for which is the bully, well both of course old man. Perhaps I should merely take comfort that you speak only of men and brothers and all sorts of overly masculine bluffery. I have thankfully never been infected with the particular diseases which corrupt men and their out-sized egos. I can rest assured that you lost your sense of smell long ago to such a pernicious infection."
She raises her mug, "Cheers! Here's to many long days ahead filled with debate. And when my bones have long-since turned to dust, perhaps you will finally recover from your affliction and learn how marvelous a rose smells and what you have been missing your entire life."
Katherine is really surprised by how much of a reaction her words made in the people at the tavern: "My my, I never thought people would argue so much about what is the right way of kiling someone, but I feel Niche has a point. Surely murdering a man without giving him the chance to fight isn't the best thing in the world, but I don't actually care. I get my work paid and I'm fine with that."
She looks into Niche's eyes and continues: "But mind, I'm not only that. Most assassins tend to die or get captured when they find things don't go how they planned. And even the best one can't predict everything every time. Things go wrong sometimes. Well I'm perfectly fine in having a just fight, as I can stand my ground.
The difference is that you punch things, I'm good at throwing some sand in the eyes, kicking in the balls, or using my cheetah to distract, while hitting some vital spots with my spear. I fight in a way that hinders skills, and that stops people from attacking, I do this because I can't hope to win against creatures of your size."
"There were times where I've been also on the other side. I've worked as mercenary, escorting nobles or their valuables. Not a work for normal assassins, as there isn't much time to prepare yourself when you get ambushed. But knowing how an assassin works proves infinitely valuable when you have to deal with them."
Thoughtful, the dark woman continues: "Honor is valued in what a man does in his life, in how he keeps his word, no matter the cost. It can't be valued in how it fights death."
Niche's smile fades into something a bit more sad and forlorn, and perhaps a bit disappointed. He speaks more softly now, his tone indicating an afterthought to the main discussion; the denouement to a argument already won.
"If you cannot confront his arguments, instead confront the man. It appears this discussion is reaching it's natural end."
"As you have changed your address to assessing my character, allow me the conceit of doing the same. The philosophers generally agree that when the discussion turns from the point at hand to the one's discussing them, that the discussion is over, and the victor already decided; all that is left is to recognize it."
"You have accused me of a false assumption, but provided no indication an assumption is being made, nor that it is false. As for time, it was you that suggested more time might bring me wisdom, to see my strength as happenstance instead of achievement. Time can certainly bring the opportunity for learning, but nothing is guaranteed. You claim to see the truth of your own assumptions, but continue to project those same assumptions upon me. You forget that everything is relative, and there is always something stronger. An orc is stronger than a man, an ogre stronger than a orc, a hill giant stronger than an ogre, a War Bringer stronger still. You assume I view strength as an accomplishment despite it never being mentioned by me. If I get the chance to face a war bringer giant, it will not be strength that allows me to lay him low; it will be skill, it will be cunning, and it will be heart.
"When you look at me, you see a dumb brute who lords his strength only over those smaller than himself, because that is the easiest thing for you to see. Making that projection keeps you warm at night. Да ме запознаеш и ќе најдеш дека сум ништо друго освен што претпоставуваш."
"The passage of time brings opportunities for learning, but one must be open to learning from those experiences, or the lessons will pass you by. Hopefully you will see those lessons when they come. Thus far, your assumptions reveal a need for more experience. You lump others into categories designed to protect your sense of self, regardless of whether those categories fit. It seems this far you have been lucky enough that this categorization and assumption has not gotten you killed. I pray it does not during our time together. Death can be a formidable teacher, though it is one that only benefits those that survive you."
Relaxing after completing his speach, he turns to the half elf.
"Thank you my lady, for your perspectives. I can respect a pragmatist, always! To each there is there own special skills, and I do not begrudge anyone for using the skills they have. I do enjoy a good sport, and prefer my opponents ready and facing me, though I must admit such is not always practical. There will always be a time and place for a knife in the dark. I admire as well one who is able to turn her skills from hunting, and using her ken of the predator to protect the prey. It is also heartening to see one not afraid to commit to a stand up fight when one is thrust upon her. Many who's skills lie in stealth fear direct confrontation and turn like the bully, to wait until circumstance weighs the scales again in her favour. And I am not above a little sand in the eye myself, when needed. It is through cunning and not strength that the leopard brings down the buffalo."
He raises his glass to her, "Prost!"
As her tablemates discuss the finer points of who to kill and how--topics that interest her a good deal less than Fizzier Matters--Clara roots about in her haversack, mumbling, "...I'm sure I have a fire-salamander-choleric strong ale or two in here somewhere...is that...hmmmm....ah, yes!"
Seeing that Niche is thoroughly engrossed in his debate, she just slides the jar over to him and grins expectantly.
Then--amidst all the banter--one thing catches her ear.
"Aw, I kinda miss meat. Spent a few hundred years in a place where nothing can die; makes meat hard to come by unless you dont mind your food raw, screaming and wriggling. That isn't as much fun as I make it sound; it gets old pretty quick. I tried meat when I first got back to this realm; tasted so good I thought I'd die. Of course, after a few centuries of nothing but rice and veggies, I thought my stomach really was going to kill me after. Felt like that beasty was fighting me for every inch it travelled through me. After three days o'that, I havent bothered to try it again since. Miss the taste though."
Hmmmmm....could I make a fizzy soda that tastes like meat? Why, in theory it shouldn't be that hard...
...And the gnomish fizzician excitedly begins to scribble and cross out notes for a new beverage, until another comment makes a dent:
After seeing the fizzy drinks being passed around, she looks in one when its near and shakes her head, "No thank you, I will stick with water. And I definitely would prefer my tongue not stick to the roof of my mouth."
Clara drops her quill and looks at the stoney woman with a tear in her big eyes. The expression of tragic sorrow on Clara's face is akin to what one might expect if she'd heard someone say "I've sworn off all sunshine, flowers, puppydogs, friendship, and rainbows. I prefer to suffer alone, in gloom, and then perhaps to freeze to death in a ditch."
Clara shakes her head sadly...but then glances back to Niche for the moment he tastes the drink he's waiving about in his hand.
At long last, Rurik arrived. The dwarf, as usual for him, was barely clothed. He had a cross between pants and a loincloth, and had a plumed helm on his head. The only other thing that adorned his bodies were his Golden Tattoos, which looked like they were hammered into his skin. For those who knew of him, he had a reputation for being a mercenary, and for his brutal command of the flame.
Looking around, he raised an eyebrow. ”What’s this? Ye lot here ‘bout them missing ‘nobs too? Strange times indeed. When mercs thought to be dead-“ he waved at the famed survivors of the crypts ”-are here, but the nobs with me fooking gold are done vanished. Guess I’m late. Nay need to fill me in. Jus’ give me a strong drink an’ keep yer discussions. I’ll catch up.” The thought of him not being worthy to be among such illustrious company didn’t seem to have crossed his mind. Well...except the ogre. He gave Niche a wide berth. He heard the stories. No need to be in arm’s reach of that thing until he knew it to be friendly.
"Greețîngș, Mășțer Dwârf", the varisian man at the table said. "You hăve mîșșed noţhîng. We hâve âll been gețțîng bețțer âquâînţed.Țhe hârd lîquour îș în țhe corner, buț Î recommend țhe Fîzzy Drînkş, courțeșy of Mş. ..um..Flîngflop..şpârkfîzz", Davian said with some difficulty.
Katherine feels somewhat surprised from the ogre's answer, she wasn't expecting him to share her opinion.
"Prost. You are probably right in some way, we tend to judge people from what they seem, even if they can be different. I'm not just an assassin and you're not just a big guy punching and smashing things. Will need to get used to it, still."
The apathic glare in the dark half-elf woman vanishes as she sees the newcomer walk in the tavern. She loses the roughness that marked her until now, and replaces it with a radiance coming from her smile and gestures.
She stands up, and walks towards the dwarf, arms open: ", ahhh, I'm so happy to see you. Come, come, take a seat, we have beer and we have sodas, I'd suggest you to try this soda, but I know you would never refuse the beer."
"I still remember when we were in that abandoned castle, looking for the pendant of that grand-grand-something of that noble. I knew that was going to be a mess, but hey, never scavenge in an abandoned haunted castle, they say. But he was paying so much, ha, surely we couldn't refuse it."
”Kath...? Ha! How’re ye, sneak-thief? Shoulda known ye’d he here. If anyone was owed coin by the nobs it’d be ye.” The dwarf walked forward to give the assassin a bear-hug and gladly took an ale...after eyeing the bubbly beverage suspiciously.
He has been rather tight lipped about much, though happy to welcome each of you to the bar and table.
When the dwarf came in he snapped his finger and his demeanor changed rapidly into the fierce fighter most of you know him to be and also in that instance his dark full plate armor covered his body in an instant. The sword that Niche had given him, the god slayer, green runes blazed upon its blade in his hands ready to strike out.
Though just as quickly as turning it on, he snapped again. The armor and the 8 foot great sword was gone. Nodding to Kathrine he smiled at the dwarf.
He pointed at the bartender who quickly went into the kitchen. The seriousness did not leave his face and almost in a growl he says, "Yes this noble's business is not good for us. Most of us were integral parts of Chorral's family or at least close to it. The Surtova's look in good standing to take their stead but we need to make a decision here and now. Do you stay and possibly face an execution or go else where? If you want to stay that is fine and you may leave now, and if others join you perhaps you can join forces to solidify a new standing. If you want to go I have several options laid out for us."
"One momenț." Davian spoke up first. "Whâţ ăbouț ţhe drâgonş? Țhe Chorrâl fâmîly ușed țhem țo mâîntâîn power. Whâţ hâppened ţo ţhem?"
"They too are gone. Either by the misfortune of what happened to the family or by flight they are gone too." Aukan states with remorse.
”Huh. Now, I just wanted to be paid. But seems like Brevoy is leaderless, and it’s defenses are fooked. Any idea how this happened?” Rurik asked, running his fingers through his beard. There was more than one way to get paid, and it seemed like there were few left to stop them.
Rosa was standing in an office she had not been in before, located on the 1526 floor of administration block Helrlix 28-C, it had taken her time and some 11 forms plus a strip search to get here. The Floor was one of the ones on which the Prime Governmental and noble liaisons worked. At this high, where the fires of damnation where far below the fiendish bureaucracy got a little paranoid. One did not clime the slippery slop of hells corporate with out learning to trust no one or thing. So she was unarmed and unarmored. Her Hell Blade, the mark of her office as a Hound of Hell Safely locked away some floors below. Normally she would never allow that but the person whose office this was, was duke of the Hells, one did as requested and quickly. Her Hell Blade hand not been too happy about this. Seeing how part of its job was to keep a very close eye on what ever Rosa did. So as to report all miss deeds. But even it had to bow to a Duke. so in the lock up it went. As she stood there, she noted the size of the desk. She stood some 16' tall as did all Hounds of hell. So she had expected ta Duke to be as tall or taller. But this could not be the case and the desk was, well small for her. Rosas eyes spotted a number of files on the desk. The writing was small, the wrong way round and in infernal. But Rosa had little problem reading them.
"Interesting"
Was her one and only thought.
She looked around the room. Everything was human size but for the size of the space. Fine furnishings, Fine art on the walls. All very affluent, all ment to say. Here be wealth and power.
Then too one side a privet doo opened by unseen hands and the Duke walked in. In, it must be said, in a nude human body. She! sorry he! was reading from a files notes, Walking quickly brisk the Duke stopped just to one side of Rosa and looked up. She/He being some 5' Rosa stand 16'.
"I was told you hounds can go smaller, please do,"
The request was polite and simple. For the 1st time Rosa felt a nag of fear. In the hells there are few incites, orders are barked. This Duck was talking around in a simple body, and asking nicely. Rosa decided she would do just as the Duck wanted, she did not want to learn How this duck could do this and keep its postion. She shrank to half her size.
"Good thats better, take a seat"
There was now a seat behind Rosa, she sat. The Duck walked around the Desk and took its seat. Which by some unseen magic was just a bit higher than Rosas, meaning the duck was looking down at her o so slightly. .
"Now then I have just been reading the debriefing notes from your last mission. The ziggurat, it seems some feel you did well."
That last part was said in an impressed voice. Rosa was intently on her guard, A Duck of the Hellls dose not calling in an agent just to congratulate them. What was this ^&&^ up to.
"And some 400 years taken off you contract of indenture, how long do you have left now. If you don't mind me asking"
And there was the politeness again, more to the point it must be there in the report. What was it upto?
"998,045 years left"
"My my, I don't think I have meet anyone who has got it down, and by so much"
It was true, no mater good your work in the bureaucracy of the hells. There where so many petty rules and regulations to trip up a worker. That most could not help but be punished by more years added. Rose know them all and had long ago worked out ways around the most annoying ones. She also had an contacts in other departments who informed her of all the rules changes. That was the big one that court most out. She felt now she could be blunt, this little &^% was just playing mind games.
"Why am I here?"
The face changed in an instant.
"No please or thank you. Right into business I see. I was going to offer you a drink but, well...business"
The Duck leaned back and pleased it small human hand as a triangle just below its face. Chin resting on the tip of its fingers..
"I just wanted to say, I am so pleased you could do so much for the the team, IIt must have been a hard task. and your so perfect for that kind of thing, A head task on the prime and one that must be kept hush hush."
Arr now the act was explained, so who had ^&£^ up. She know someone had, because she was only ever called in to other departments when the excrement had hit the cooling device.. She new she had the nickname of the Poop scooper. She did not care, knowing how others had messed up gave her leverage where it mattered.
"I see your lordship, thank you, I like to be of service to the... team"
"I'm glad we understand each other."
The Duke took out a folder and placed it on its desk. Turned to face Rosa.
"I'm sorry I just remebered I have a shot meeting, would you mind staying to share that drink?"
Rosa looked at the file,
"Not at all your Dukeness I would be happy to wait."
The Duke smiled and nodded its human head once. Then got up and walked out the room. leaving Rosa with the file. Which she as once picked up and started to read.
It was a sorry tale, a straight up power play made by one of the Dukes Departments infiltration agents . Which had gone spectacularly wrong when it was discovered this had been played by agents other the other side. Doing what they do best and sowing Chaos and all round ^£&£ upness. A all but decimated royal family and all Hells place FBARED!. A down right mess. It was clear they needed someone who's good at un ^£^£** things, and all on the quiet or there would be a scandal in the halls of Hell. So here she was adding a Duke get this fixed and burred. One thing did spark her interests, Names she new well, showing up again. She had a sinking feeling fate was playing her again.
The door started to open, she closed the file and placed it back. She waited as the Duke once more took its seat behind the desk. It looked at the moved file.
"I'm sorry I don't have time now to offer you that drink. But to make up for it, how dose a 2 mouth vacation sound, would you like to take such a vacation?"
Rosa smiled back.
"I believe I would my Duke"
Rosa could see some relief seep into the form in front her here. Well hidden but there.
"Good, and any idea where you will start"
Rosa again smiled.
"I know a small inn in Brevoy, I may start at."
"Good, good, well I will not keep you"
And with that Rosa was dismissed.
It stared with a red dot on the floor. That expanded into a disk, the a circle in which was a small pentagram with infernal symbols. From this a large black blade tip come into the room. Black flame running along it. The blade winked out of being. The a head, shoulders, chest arms. Something large and female looking came up from the floor, the smell of sulphur and screaming sounds of the dammed full the space.
Rosa was arriving, arriving from a gate to the very Hells themselves. In her full glory, black and silver uniform. White long hair and Silver orb like eyes. She came up filling the space with her 16' 600lb form, The effect was tempered how ever when her head hit the ceiling of the Inn main room.
"You ^&$ you could have told me it was a small space"
The sound of infernal chucking came from the other side of the room, where the large black blade from before, now leaned on a wall.
Rosa Shrank in side to just 8' tall. Even at that size she was still hunched over to miss her head hitting the roof refters Now fully in the room, her feet on the floor the Hells gate under her shaken until it was gone. She looked around the room at the known and unknown faces.
"Well, don't stand there open mouths, whose getting the drinks in, because I'll have a brandy."
And with that she sat in one of the larger seats. Once sat she took out a small silver cigar case. Picking out one she expertly clipped off and lit it with one finger. Taking a long drag on it, letting the smoke come out with her breath filling the air around her.
"I just want you all to know I'm on holiday, so no working for me. You get on and get started and I'll just be watching over here, if you don't mind"
Then she winked at Niche, nodded at Aukanand and blow a kiss at Davian.
Rurik took a swig of his beer. ”So. Got us a room with an actual Demi-God.” He motioned at Niche. ”And a Lady of the...” knowing that he always got hell and the abyss mixed up he decided on ”...lower planes. I was under the impression that this was to get what was owed to us. But seems more and more likely something big is planned. So, what’s the score?”
She tilts her head at the lower planes comment waving her cigar, to indicate she takes no offence.
"The score is my fine fellow by the bar"
She mouths the word 'Brandy'
"Is that we have what is called a 'power vacuum' that is a local situation where the ruling powers have lost such power and now there are a number of factions trying to fill the power gap. You can think of cultures as chickens, cut off its head and the thing runs around the farm year with out aim or clear direction. Now two things can happen, our chicken can run around until it dies or gets eaten. OR it can grow a new head. Thing is right now we have a number of competing heads all growing to take over the body, all evenly matched. Which means even more running around until someone or thing comes and tips the balance for one head over the others."
The hand with the cigar moves to indicate the group.
"The Question is, which head to pick and how to act to get it to be 'THE' head of the body. Somewhere in whats left of this royal family there mush be a chinless wonder with half a brain to rule. IF one was to find them, and then 'fix' the competition so your boy or girl wins the price of running this ^&£* hole etc. Not that I know anything about this, I'm on holiday after all"
She takes a puff as she ends and slings an rafts of papers on the table in front of her.
"Opps, did I drop the profiles of the surviving members of the royal family that I just happen to have. I hope no one finds them and reads them"
Katherine just frees from the warm hug of the dwarf as she sees the newcomer arrive.
And that's the winner for the most scenic entrance.
She walks towards the table on which the papers were thrown, takes one at random, and says with a dark grin: "You see, if I had the power, I'd exterminate all of these Surtova nobles myself before they do the same to us. But since I do not, I'd leave out questions about raising puppets for manipulating powers. I'd really love to have one of those puppets, but we have more impending problems. That said, nice to meet you. I'm Katherine.
Rosa offers a hand,
"Rosa, Rosa Luminasss Hound of hell, nice to meet you Katherine. As for raising puppets, well that's not really my department. But it would be a handy thing to have here abouts I would wager"
She says with an evil grin.
Hounds of Hell, or the Hells are the police force of the hells, often deal with problem outside of just damming souls. Normally collecting run aways from the pits or mortals who have broken an infernal contract. 'Hell to pay' no less. They all carry a weapon of office, which is the only made weapon they use. Its said they are bound Devils in weapon form.