Crimson Knights of the Black Blade (Inactive)

Game Master BloodWolven

The messages were securely placed with the mithral daggers. Now next was to wait. Thinking to himself, 'Now next is to wait by my lonesome as alcohol would need be low.' His words and thoughts did not collect like most but he was good at his job.

He walked up to one of the wenches and whispered naughty nothings into her ear.

diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
With the flash of coin in his hand the look didn't change much and he moved over to the next one.

diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21
This vixen gave him a smile and took the offered coins. She grabs his hand and he followed leaving his dagger in the bar. His mithral dagger had a crimson ribbon attached to its end.

Baahir enters the establishment with his silver mask and white scarf wrapped around his neck, he had learned the burns on his face made people more uncomfortable than a mask. He scans the crowd for anyone of interest.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13

Without spotting anything of interest, he takes a seat at the bar ordering a drink and taking off his mask.

"Shot of something spicy, please....do you know who that belongs to?" he asks as he spots a dagger that is of similar make to his own, moving down to a seat next to it.

Well, right place but where is my contact...

The bartender is a round merry man, he is rather short and moves stools around to serve. His unshaven face and long brown hair seems to get in his eyes show a lack of hygiene. He collects a bottle that has a scorpion, possibly just a glamor Will DC 12, in it and pours filling a third of the glass tumbler. Then pours the rest of the cup with a dark liquid, as you know it as coffee'. In common (Taldan) he says with a high pitched voice, "That will be a silver. Oh Ethos, he is upstairs being entertained. He should be down soon, you are welcome to the private room he has reserved or stay here."

Sounds of passionate ladies of the night sound through the walls of the alleyway as Lilianne listens beneath their windows. A hand slaps the window in a sweaty fashion which causes the half-elf to chuckle and shake her head. Some people had all the fun. Slowly she will shift toward the doorway of the in and open it. She had walked around the outside of the inn first to see if anything suspicious was going on with the place, but now there is nothing left but to go in.

A hobbled old human crone moves into the bar with a sack of twigs strapped onto her back. Her muddy clothes are just clean enough to sit at the bar. About her feet are footwraps and the same about her sore hands. Her appearance is someone who could be in their forties or fifties, but with the arched back of someone in their seventies. Upon her side is a large walking stick that she holds in one free hand. In the other, she holds a single silver coin that seems to be shaking.

"Oh...," she sighs as she sits as if in pain, "...what do you have that can help calm these old bones?"

Baahir places the silver down with a nod.

Will: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7

He quietly takes a sip of the mixture before answering.

"I think I will wait for him here. I prefer to do my resting with the company of a bartender myself, my name is Baahir."

Looking over his shoulder at the newcomer he smiles and moves to help her sit down, if she allows. Realizing his mask is not on and not wanting to scare the elder lady he looks away until he can pull up his scarf covering some of the burns.

"Plus now I have company. Pleasure to meet you ma'am."

Like most old crones, she doesn't like to be touched. With a harumph, she will avoid his touch with distrust, almost threatening to whack him with her walking stick. The fact his mask isn't on could very well be the reason as it is as though she's almost scared of him and he can tell. Her shuffle up to the bar alone will not be hindered.

As he introduces himself, she considers the odd look of the man again.

"What happened to your face?" she asks, completely ignoring his introduction in typical blunt, sassy granny style.

He snatches the coin with Dexterity that does not fit his stature. He says your name several times, "Baahir, what interesting name. One to remember."

The bartender looks at his stock and offers, "Well I have some milk of mandrake root which can take your edge off, or whiskey."

"A fire burned down my house, many years ago. Survived it somehow but was left with this reminder and a few more." he says backing away to his seat, letting her take a seat.

"Well, what can I call you two...other than bartender and ma'am?" he asks no longer worrying about coverin his face.

"Milk of Mandrake, please," she replies in her frail voice and sets the coin on the bar for the man to take from there.

"Hmm...Well, you seem to have made it out alright" she responds. As he asks their name, she sighs. "Son, I'm just here to rest my bones after a hard day of walking on the beach collecting wood. I'm not so interested in telling you my name and life story."
Bluff: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (5) + 13 = 18
She can see his mask lowered once more and as if a moment of conscience hits her, she speaks up again.

"I'm sorry, I'm just a grump. Pay me no mind. You can call me, Hazelia..."

She can see Ethos' blade on the counter.

"That's a pretty thing. Is it yours?"

After all, it's not every day a person of low income sees a mithril blade. Part of her wonders if the bartender is in on things? Perhaps her question will instigate a response in him.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

"I am Roland, Roland Goldenbeer."

He takes her coin and sets about getting the drink ready for her. Takimg several milky substances to make it, stirring them together and dropping a vanilla bean on top. It doesn't break the water tension of the drink.

Andrei's introduction was on the Discussion Tab.
Following the invitation's instructions, the varsian smiled tom find the destination was a bar. "Âh. Mulţumeşc, Câyden! The cleric muttered to himself in Varisian.

Hero. Pah. What a word is that anyways. So many people have called me that in the past. So many stories one can hear in taverns about heros. The word hero is being used almost inflationary these days. Aramyros thought when reading the papyrus letter a second time and wondering, how the ominous box suddenly was hidden in his saddlebads. He should have had a word with the innkeeper, but then he remembered how much he was paying. He was sitting on his bunk in a tiny room of an inn. He couldn't afford more at the moment, but he didn't need more, too. As long as the stable boy kept Felice fed, of course.

"My accomplishments are known" he said out loud in a sarcastic voice. Hm. What did I accomplish that this order would know of? It's not like the world is all good now just because I killed some hell-spawn. My actions were merely a drop in the bucket.

He played with the shiny dagger for a few moments, while thinking about the offer. It was tempting, if only, because he was broke and bored and wanted to leave this maze of foul smells and corruption that was Absalom. He needed to get back on his feet. But this time, he needed to do more. Maybe teaming up could achieve more?, he eventually convinced himself.

The meeting date has finally arrived and Aramyros knew the tavern addressed on the letter. It was actually in the same district as the dump he was living in. Because he got to know the streets and alleys since he arrived four weeks ago, he was able to arrive neither too late nor too early.

When he entered the tavern, he was wearing an unassuming old cloak over his ornated armor. He wouldn't want to arouse any beggars or cut-throats today. His appearance was conspicuous enough as it was. He took of his helmet as he entered. Everyone but the most drunk patrons would eventually notice his brazen shining skin that he couldn't hide under his helmet now. As he watched the crowd, he eventually spotted the shiny dagger displayed on the counter. Instinctively he touched his own mithral gift that he hid under his cloak. While nearing the bar he checked the menu and sat down. He ordered the cheapest drink they offered.

Roland would quickly fill a ceramic cup and offer it to Aramyros, "Water as requested, at least it is cold. One copper please."

Roland nods as the Varasian enters his establishment and quickly replies happily in the language to his kin.

"Hazelia and Rolden. A pleasure and apologies for prying, that isn't mine but it belongs to a man named Ethos." he responds while thinking of his own similar blade. He turns with a smile as the Varisian man enters and gestures to an open seat near himself.

"You have a popular establishment, Rolden!" he says eyeing the man with interest.

Perhaps I am not the only one who was invited here tonight but surely not that elderly woman.

He puts down another silver for a refill of his drink, spinning it to get another glimpse at Rolden's agility.

The older woman, in a tired manner, takes the drink as she nods to the bartender in thanks. With the cautious sniff of one not used to drinking, she will inhale the fumes. Seemingly, the drink has sufficient alcohol content as the old woman sips it slowly. Her shaky hands wobbling as she does.

At the Varisian's entrance, her eyes seem to go wide even without looking at him. Just from hearing his voice, she seems to react. For a moment, she quickly focuses on her drink. She considers her next move. "how is this salvageable? Will he despise me? You really stuck your foot into it this time Lili, with him here, at least you know you have someone you can trust...if he doesn't kill you on sight..."

Aramyros enters and she hopes his shining skin can seem to distract as she downs some more of her drink in a gulp and slides off the barstool.

With a bit of a wince, she smiles at the barkeep and wags her finger at him. Maybe it's to say thanks for a powerful drink? Maybe it's to say she knows his secret? Maybe she's just a crazy old crone? Whatever it is, it's not clear. With a cheery finger wave, however, she will wave goodbye to the kind Baahir like a kind granny would. She will tighten the sticks on her back and head out the door into the night.

He could barely hear the veiled man, but he did say something about a man named Ethos and this being his dagger. "I'm no man of secrecy." Aramyros says towards Baahir's direction. While that old woman slipps away, he takes out his mithral dagger and slams it into the counter table similar to what Ethos had done.

Prologue is below, still need to adjust my sheet and add some gear. Will post intro to the group in about 10-12 hours, have run out of creative steam for the moment and need sleep.

"Hazelia and Rolden. A pleasure and apologies for prying, that isn't mine but it belongs to a man named Ethos." he responds while thinking of his own similar blade. He turns with a smile as the Varisian man enters and gestures to an open seat near himself.

"You have a popular establishment, Rolden!" he says eyeing the man with interest.

Perhaps I am not the only one who was invited here tonight but surely not that elderly woman.

He puts down another silver for a refill of his drink, spinning it to get another glimpse at Rolden's agility.

"No! Roland! Ro-land. Yes, yes it is very popular."

Quick as before his arm is out, the silver is covered, and both are gone. Then he gets down from his stool and refills your glass before returning.

Roland waves to the old woman as she begins to depart and he makes a noticeable wink.

Out the door she charges, in her hobbled way. It shuts quietly behind her enough though, as if she turned to catch it before it closed.

The outside air does little to relieve her of the strain on her heart. "He looks even better! Cayden, do you toy with me?" she chuckles half deliriously as she bites her knuckle; the youthful act not quite in line with the old granny form.

Her eyes adjust, and in the distance, some people are walking up the street. She will move off into deeper shadows and end her veiled effect unseen.

When the passersby move off, she will return to the outside of the bar and will lean up against the wall near the doorway of the entrance, contemplating to enter again and what she will say.

For any who approach, it appears she is by herself with her index finger horizontally pressed to her lips--deep in thought. Her thumb holds her chin tightly. A large sword can be seen at her hip. The beautiful dark greys and blacks of her sheath match with the sickly green nodachi held within. She wears a black outfit snug to her body and her elven ears and creamy skin are in direct contrast. She is easily noticeable in the torchlight outside.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21

"Roland! My apologies and it definitely is tonight, at least." he says with a knowing smile.

As Aramyros plunges his blade into the bar Baahir recoils slightly, mostly about damaging the establishment.

"We all have similar blades and have been called to meet Ethos, I take it? I would have been delighted if the old lady had drawn one as well, even if she was a bit of a grump." Baahir says pulling his out and placing it down on the bar top, gently.

As Aramyros plunges his blade into the bar Baahir recoils slightly, mostly about damaging the establishment.

"We all have similar blades and have been called to meet Ethos, I take it? I would have been delighted if the old lady had drawn one as well, even if she was a bit of a grump." Baahir says pulling his out and placing it down on the bar top, gently.

Rolănd săîd we h've ăcceșș țo țhe prîvâțe ruum per Ețhoș dîrecțîon", the varisian explained. "Ăy șuggeșțed we retîre țhere. O! Where âre my mănnerş! Î em Ăndrei Fîdecupe, clerîc oof Câyden Câlîeân, God of Heroeș, âmong oțher țhîngș!"

Roland pours an ale with plenty of foam. He then gets a basket and puts both of them on the bar for the wench to take, he quietly says, "Five coppers."

A door slams open upstairs and laughter follows. A strange looking man comes down whispering and then laughing with a wench. Once they get to the bottom of the stairs he slaps her butt. She jumps a bit and turns to him, she smiles and raises her hand to his face in fondness.

He appears mostly human as a skin tight black suit shows his nearly perfectly smooth body. He is extremely physically fit, with his tightly packed muscles on his lean frame of six feet. The suit seems to cover his entire body except for his head. Sharp protrusions, like rock or crystal, extend about two inches from his elbows, knees, heels, and his shoulders. His white skin looks almost transparent as if it has not seen the light of day ever. No hair can be seen on his head but a ruffle of crystals seem to imitate a form of hair. There are other crystals that stick out from his head and shoulders.

He looks around and makes a large smile, showing off sharp white teeth. Energetically he quickly says, "Oh good many of my prospects have come! Excellent! Oh dear Jezebelle would you please go out and invite Lilly in too. Okay, grab your drink if you have one and follow me!" He follows Jezebelle sniffing her hair until she gets to the end of the bar, where she saunters to the door and he grabs his mithril dagger with a flick of his wrist. He does a front flip and secures the dagger in its sheath on his ankle. "Come on don't be shy! Oh I am Ethos and your host." With that he twirls and somersaults over to the door which he opens and enters.

A tall lean elf man dressed in a resplendent mithril chain shirt enters the establishment. His keen eyes scan the room, trying to gauge the situation. An ornately crafted scimitar hangs at his hip, the black metal seem to shimmer and ripple as if actually some sort of liquid rather than metal. Nazetoz walks over to the bar, flipping the dagger around in his hand.

"I'm looking for one Ethos Blade. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find him? I was told he would be here." He says in common then looks away from the bartender to study the other people in the room.

Reading over her instructions again, she scratched absently at her burn-scarred jaw as she considered the implications. ”But Absalom is an island!” She said, speaking her thoughts aloud as she often did. Traveling to an island meant crossing water… on a boat. Blaze had never seen a body of water larger than a lake, and she had most certainly never considered climbing onto one of those wooden contraptions that humans used to float on the water. Water was death to fire!

But she must be steadfast if she were to learn the meaning of the letter. Heading south until the air took on a salty tang, she entered the port city of Laekastel. It was easily the largest city she had ever seen and was teeming with a greater number of dwarves than any other place she had been. She took passage on a boat, but it was all she could do to make it to her small cabin and hunker down without bolting. She spent most of the trip cloistered, practicing her art to keep herself calm. The sight of all that water made her feel very small and very cold.

Absalom was almost as much of a shock to her system as the Inner Sea. Had she thought Laekastel was large? Then the city of Absalom was massive by comparison!! She kept the hood up of her traveling cloak, as she gawked like the country rube she was at most every new and strange sight. Soon her heartbeat was thundering in her ears and she felt desperate to be inside somewhere, anywhere. Shut away from the buildings and monuments reaching up to touch the sky and the press of humanity crowding in from every side.

It was a great relief to finally reach her destination. She was so eager to shut a sturdy door between herself and the hubbub of the metropolis, that she almost failed to notice the woman standing nearby with a thoughtful expression on her lovely face. Blaze blinked and gasped in shock and recognition.
”Callie? Is it you?” She stammered out in her simple common. ”They… they say… I come back to look for you, but they say… not know you.”

She unhooked the tip of her tail from her belt and reached with it to pull the mithral dagger from it’s sheath and thrust it out from beneath her cloak and held it out between them, still holding the door open with her hands. ”Have you done this?” she asked with a confused look on her face.

Blaze looks basically like this although more covered and with a cloak on and hood up. The left side of her face and upper torso badly scarred by burns.

Roland pours an ale with plenty of foam. He then gets a basket and puts both of them on the bar for the wench to take, he quietly says, "Five coppers."

The varisian looks down at the sad sampling of bar food and drink, and rankles his nose a little. Andrei gives 6 copper to the wench, 1 copper for tip.

He appears mostly human as a skin tight black suit shows his nearly perfectly smooth body. He is extremely physically fit, with his tightly packed muscles on his lean frame of six feet. The suit seems to cover his entire body except for his head. Sharp protrusions, like rock or crystal, extend about two inches from his elbows, knees, heels, and his shoulders. His white skin looks almost transparent as if it has not seen the light of day ever. No hair can be seen on his head but a ruffle of crystals seem to imitate a form of hair. There are other crystals that stick out from his head and shoulders.

He looks around and makes a large smile, showing off sharp white teeth. Energetically he quickly says, "Oh good many of my prospects have come! Excellent! Oh dear Jezebelle would you please go out and invite Lilly in too. Okay, grab your drink if you have one and follow me!" He follows Jezebelle sniffing her hair until she gets to the end of the bar, where she saunters to the door and he grabs his mithril dagger with a flick of his wrist. He does a front flip and secures the dagger in its sheath on his ankle. "Come on don't be shy! Oh I am Ethos and your host." With that he twirls and somersaults over to the door which he opens and enters.

The caydenites gives everyone else in the bar sideways glances, as if to say You believe this sh|t? Andrei recovers his mithral dagger and begins to walk his meager food offering into the twirling man's room.

"I'm looking for one Ethos Blade. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find him? I was told he would be here." He says in common then looks away from the bartender to study the other people in the room.

"Follow uş ăn dă şpîked ţwîrlîng măn", a colorfully-dress varisian said, holding a mug of ale and a basket of crackers.

A tall, elven man passes her on his way inside but while her eyes catch him, both are more focused on other matters.

As you follow Ethos into the room you see he was prepared. The table within had five seats on either side and one at the head of the table, where he is sitting with steepled fingers before him.

Behind each cushioned seat a few feet behind was a pedestal with several items upon it. Also before each chair on the table was a place setting with silverware, plate, a clear glass and a silver goblet. On the plate you see a crimson piece of papyrus that has your name on it. Upon the pedestal was a folded cloth of some sort, a weapon, and armor, unless you didnt want them.

On the center of the table held five platters of fruit, sliced meat, cubed cheese, warm glazed rolls, shelled boiled eggs and a collection of cut vegetables. Also there was several wine bottles with corks beside them, crystal pitchers with amber liquid of different shades, and metal pitchers with water collecting on the outside of them holding clear water and milk.

The wench Jezebelle steps outside to find the two talking, she nods towards the inn before entering again.

"Nice to meet you as well...Andrei, is it? I am trying to follow along but I am terrible with names. Mine is Baahir Saber of the Dawnflower church."

Baahir nods and follows the group into the room.

"I keep getting surprised since taking this mission. Glad to put a face to the author of this letter but you...well, I didn't know what to expect. Are we waiting for others? I see 10 chairs, but we are a few short so far." he asks, taking his seat and items.

Appraise: 1d20 ⇒ 14

Appraise: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3
The table and all it's finery look impressive to Andrei.

"Nice to meet you as well...Andrei, is it? I am trying to follow along but I am terrible with names. Mine is Baahir Saber of the Dawnflower church."

Knowledge (religion): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26

"I keep getting surprised since taking this mission. Glad to put a face to the author of this letter but you...well, I didn't know what to expect. Are we waiting for others?" he asks taking a seat and placing his dagger in front of him.

"Âye hâve tâkîn no mîşşîon" Andrei speaks defiantly. "Âye em here țo heăr whăț țhîs spîkey mân hâș țo șăy, țhough. Âye hăve măde no promîşeş!!"

Aramyros enters the room silently following the others. He checks out the armor and weapon behind his seat thoroughly so. As difficult as his metal skin is to read, you get the feeling he is quite satisfoed with the workmaship.
"I agree with the weird talking man. No promises yet."

"I agree with the weird talking man. No promises yet."

Andrei's defiance is now mingled with annoyance.

Simply responding to your questions, "Others we wait for, yes. For sure seven. Dead is one. Broken is another. Lost is one. Sorry am I, patience you must have, please. Mission you accept then you may have said items behind. Oath to Order you make after successful mission. Eat please." After responding he waves his hand before him indicating the bounty before you. He takes his fork and stabs a few things putting them on his plate and filling his goblet with some wine. He takes a few bites watching the others join. Listening for more questions.

"Well, ăye dîd empțy dă conțențș of my șțomăch ăfțăr deșembărking. Ăye ţînk țhăt's dă correcț țerm: deșembărking?" Andrei quickly drinks his half-ale, just to make room for the rest of the food and drink. The caydenite stabbed several slices of meat and cubed cheeses, before stopping and saying a prayer over the wine in varisian.

She removed her cloak as Jezebelle led them to a finely arrayed table. Entering a room full of men, or males, anyway, made her feel self conscious and she held her head so that her hair concealed the worst of her burns. Though the artistic patterns of branded flesh were clearly visible on her legs, arms and tail. She busied herself with finding her name among the place settings and ran a caressing hand over a brightly polished spiked mithral shield that sat behind her spot.

Taking her seat, she took up a goblet of wine and took a deep gulp of it before she asked.
"So what is mission?"

"Good all is here. Three missions I have. Each... oh... wait." Then he brings a cat sized dragon onto the table beside him and nods to it.

The dragon then says, "My master would like me to explain the mission more clearly than he is able in common. I am a psudeo dragon and my name is Draken Shar Black. There are three missions. They are basically the same in three different locations. Get dropped off in said location, make an outpost to survive a few months, and make strikes at evil forces in the areas:
Forest - Hunting down the 'ghosts' of the Weird Woods.
Desert (orison) - Hunting witches and hags.
Forested Hills - Hunting a pesky tribe of goblins.
I would suggest the goblins first. These are the first three missions, I have been tasked with."

"That went better than I had hoped. Now, for the bigger challenge."

She will follow in Blaze and the wench. She would wink to the bartender and produce her mithril dagger before moving toward the back room. Blaze moves in so valiantly, but the brave one, who infiltrated gangs, criminal organizations, and much more pauses at the doorway. She takes in a deep breath and slowly plunges into the room. Her eyes are locked on Andrei, and she cautiously moves toward a seat.

"Good evening Draken Black and who I'm presuming is Captain Ethos? It seems I'm the last to arrive," she announces as she moves. Her voice is soft like honey and warm butter, just the right mix of sensual and feminine. Her words are well-paced, like someone who is used to speaking to people quite often and her Taldan is fluent and crisp, "Some of you I know, and some of you I don't. Can we do introductions first?"

As she approaches Andrei's chair, she will lean down and whisper something to him in Varisian.

He would remember the smell of her hair, like lavender and the fresh smell of some kind of mysterious natural herb. While he has aged a little, she has hardly aged in the years that have passed.

She will move over to her own chair and will consider what is in front of it. They are things she has wanted for a while. This man is obviously well connected and rich to reach her, or he is a god in disguise. She considers the possibility it's Cayden and she waits for permission to sit.

Nazetoz walks into the chamber with fluid grace. He's clean shaven as most elves, but with long flowing dark brown hair held back behind his sharply pointed ears. His skin is darkly tanned which is weird for one of Northern ancestry, but he otherwise looks perfectly healthy and youthful. He's quick to introduce himself with a smile. "I'm Nazetoz Da'Zhar, Magus of the North and wielder of the holy blade Blackfire, blessed by Sarenrae herself and imbued with holy purpose. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, especially you Baahir Saber for we share a common goddess, but also the rest of you, because I'm sure we will all be of great aid to each other."

He bows curtly to the others before finding his place to sit. "My purpose here is twofold. This world is a twisted place, with many beings out to cause suffering and pain and yet more poor souls led into the darkness and tempted over to do evil. I hope to be able to redeem and lead back to the light those who can be helped. But for those who don't repent or are inherently evil I will strike them down with every power I possess, both blade and magic. I hope that part aligns with what the rest of you are here for." He looks around the room while talking, gauging the reactions of the others to figure out if they're aligned with him or not.

"For the second part, as I said I'm a Magus, I strive to hone my skills at every turn, both with the blade and magic. I hope to discover more ways to improve that, both learning from each other, but also from our enemies and others we encounter."

"As for the tasks set before us, the one with the witches strikes me as the most interesting. They surely have magic we can learn from. I passed by Irisen on the way south and I see what their rule has done there and it's not good. However it might be wise to handle an easier task first, so we get to know each other better as a team. The suggestion of with the goblins first is fine by me. "

Aramyros stays very quiet while enjoing the meal. He's not used to playing with others and he is very hungry. His ornate clothing make him look a noble or at least some kind of clerigy, but he was neither and anyone trying to identify the symbols and patterns would eventually give up. His clothes were a gift from a small village he protected for a while and they just stichted together, what they thought would look nice.

"It must be a really huge goblin pest if you assemble such a capable crowd," he answers the dragon in a brief moment his mouth wasn't filled with meat.

"I am Baahir Saber, I serve the Healing Flame in more...proactive ways. Pleasure to meet you. I admit I have not traveled far but it is good to hear the church is strong in the world." he quickly says to all of the newcomers before diving in to which mission he prefers.

As he listens to the various missions before them, at the mention of witches, his eyes amber eyes light up. The burns on his chest become irritated and begin to glow, as he clenches his fists.

"Our reputations precede us according to our letters. Putting witches are their ilk to the purifying flames is a specialty of mine, especially hags before they can subject others to the Calling. If you have knowledge of a coven in my homelands, it seems of utmost importance. I could have already moved on them instead of traveling here! At least warn my organization..." he says standing up from his chair, outraged by the thoughts of what havoc they could wreak.

Blaze moves in so valiantly, but the brave one, who infiltrated gangs, criminal organizations, and much more pauses at the doorway. Lilianne takes in a deep breath and slowly plunges into the room. Her eyes are locked on Andrei, and she cautiously moves toward a seat.

"Good evening Draken Black and who I'm presuming is Captain Ethos? It seems I'm the last to arrive," she announces as she moves. Her voice is soft like honey and warm butter, just the right mix of sensual and feminine. Her words are well-paced, like someone who is used to speaking to people quite often and her Taldan is fluent and crisp, "Some of you I know, and some of you I don't. Can we do introductions first?"

As she approaches Andrei's chair, she will lean down and whisper something to him in Varisian.

He would remember the smell of her hair, like lavender and the fresh smell of some kind of mysterious natural herb. While he has aged a little, she has hardly aged in the years that have passed.

She will move over to her own chair and will consider what is in front of it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Andrei notices two ladies walking in. One looked burned but beautiful, and the other...

Callie. The woman who has haunted Andrei's heart for so many years, was walking into the room behind the burned beauty. With the same grace, the same beauty. Like nothing changed.

The half-elven woman of his heart was walking over to his side of the table. MOVE! The varisian raged internally, attempting to compel his body to move. To Think. SAY SOMETHING! MOVE! PROFESS YOUR LOVE, YOU IDIOT! YOU MORON! DO SOMETHING!! The cleric was transfixed to his chair. Callie then walked behind him, and whispered words with the same elven lilt that he thought he may never hear again. The most Andrei could muster was to let his left hand drop, and touch her calf as he walked back toward her assigned seat.

With his heart pounding so hard in his chest, Andrei thought it would break free and fly to Callie's side. The caydenite could do nothing but watch her from the other side of the table. And as far as he knew, at the moment, that's all he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

At first glance, Everything at the table seems normal.
Five platters of fruit, sliced meat, cubed cheese, warm glazed rolls, shelled boiled eggs and a collection of cut vegetables. Also there was several wine bottles with corks beside them, crystal pitchers with amber liquid of different shades, and metal pitchers with water collecting on the outside of them holding clear water and milk.

Everything seemed as it is with some of the participants partaking of the offered refreshments. The occupants becomes aware of another at the table. His plate showing evidence of having eaten and has the remnants of a meal. A couple of emptied wine bottles are stacked neatly in a row beside that plate and it's clear that the same number is missing from the original pile.

The man looks up, still chewing a forkful of sliced meat. Fat with an obvious receding hairline, eyes lacking much intelligence and middle aged, he looks the least threatening in a room full of capable adventurers and appears to be the most incompetent too. You noticed too that the crimson piece of papyrus is used as an impromptu sleeve jacket showing part of the name.

THORN

In the common speech used (Taldane), he gestures about the room.
"Don't mind me. We met or have met or will soon meet and we'll be companions or already are. Got a little hungry as we got to get ready for the mission or have we not decided yet? Can't tell if this is the first or third one." he shrugs and pops fresh vegetables in his mouth, chewing.

"Name's Thorn Slivertip. Plaything of the fates and usually Shyka though she does send me to interesting places." he stops and ponders while.

"Mostly interesting places. That sand place isn't exciting or fun at all. Too much Sand." he amends wetting his throat with yet another goblet of wine.

The fork unerringly skewers another piece of meat and pauses at his jaw.
"You folks do understand me right? At least I'm sure you did.....or will." the meat disappears into his mouth.

The rage of Baahir is noticed and she nods to his request. He is clearly a passionate Serenrae follower. As for her, there are no holy symbols upon the half-elf woman before them, no signs of allegiances. She is simply dressed in an outfit that is meticulously cleaned and cared for. Her eyes close for a moment of inward thought or to say a prayer in a brief moment. It is unclear. When she reopens her magnetic eyes, they are set upon Andrei. Quickly they are diverted to the strange man who was not there a moment before. Thorn is in the room, and she is not one to miss details.
Perception: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (16) + 14 = 30 Rolling for Thorn, but not only him, the room and Ethos as well.
"Magic? Surely...I did not miss him, yet his plate. Maybe Andrei caused you to completely ignore this man? Oh Erecura, Selieste...why do Andrei's eyes stare into my soul? How I've missed seeing your face." Her lips will play over themselves as she is shaken by Andrei's gaze, if only temporarily. Her heart will beat faster and to distract herself, her steely purple gaze will set on the newcomer. If nothing else will distract her, his blandness will.

"I'm sure enough of us have an understanding, Thorn Slivertip, or as you said, we soon will."

The response is a playful one, and off of it, she rolls into her own introduction.

"I am Callie Wren to some, and to some, Hazelia, to some..." with that she'll glance to Ethos in a more perturbed way, "...they know me as Lilianne Nightshade."

Her eyes will trace back to Andrei, "I deserve no titles and I am no-one. You may all call me Lilianne, or Lily. I'm a tool of greater powers than I, but I do root out evil wherever I go and bring into the light..."

"I support the decision to handle the goblins, though I would not underestimate them."

That is all she has to say. Her confession unnerves her greatly and Andrei's stare tears her down far more than hers ever could someone else. He can visibly see she is sorrowful in her deception to him in light of her confession. If given permission to sit, to distract herself, she will take a seat, cross her legs, and eat some bread.

"I am Callie Wren to some, and to some, Hazelia, to some..." with that she'll glance to Ethos in a more perturbed way, "...they know me as Lilianne Nightshade."

Her eyes will trace back to Andrei, "I deserve no titles and I am no-one. You may all call me Lilianne, or Lily. I'm a tool of greater powers than I, but I do root out evil wherever I go and bring into the light..."

"I support the decision to handle the goblins, though I would not underestimate them."

That is all she has to say. Her confession unnerves her greatly and Andrei's stare tears her down far more than hers ever could someone else. He can visibly see she is sorrowful in her deception to him in light of her confession. If given permission to sit, to distract herself, she will take a seat, cross her legs, and eat some bread.

His longing gaze was hurting her. Andrei slowly lowered his gaze and forced himself to eat something that was on his plate.

Blaze sat picking at her food, tasting things cautiously as there were many things she had never seen, much less eaten before. She seemed very interested in the little dragon. "You call him master," she said, speaking softly to Draken. "means you are... slave?" After her own imprisonment, she was unlikely to trust a being who enslaved others to their will.

She listened to the other's speeches, following them the best she could in her limited Taldane. At the mention of Irrisen, she shudders slightly, rubbing her arms with her hands as if she felt it's unnatural chill even here.

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (10) + 9 = 19

She jumped as if pinched when she realized someone had very suddenly joined them at the table with no sign of entry. When no one else reacted badly to his appearance, she lifted her goblet and drained the rest of the wine in one gulp. Then refilled it and drained it again.

She stood when it seemed it was her own turn to speak, and cleared her throat. Her voice was low and rasping, her vocal cords having been seared long ago when she was so badly burned.
"My name is Blaze Oriel. I come from Irrisen, he speaks truth." She said, pointing out Nazetoz. "Witchery is blight on the land. Even nature spirits is twisted by evil there. I must face it, someday." She opened her hand and a flame like a hovering torch appeared just above her palm. A look of contentment and adoration paints Blaze's features as she gazes into the flame. "We face it, together."
"Many threat to face. Try too much and..." she suddenly clapped her other hand over the one with the torch, snuffing it out instantly. "Our flames go out." A look of grief flickers over her features as the flame goes out.

"First, we must gather power." She said and reached out with her hands, seemingly in a pleading, imploring gesture, her tail standing out from her body with the tip quirked upward. Then her hands seemed to grasp something unseen and you see her muscles tense beneath her pale, scar-marked and branded skin. She pulls the unseen in toward herself, her tail flexing as if pulling something as well. There is a flash of light in a wide ring surrounding her and then a sudden rush of heat that surges toward her like a swirl of glittering sparks that flow into her body. The flames of the candles and braziers reach toward her and then seem diminished afterward and even the warmth of your breath seems stolen away before you completely exhale it. Her eyes flash and then seem lit from within by flames, with no discernible iris or pupil anymore. When she opens her hand, the flame torch above her palm now burns bigger and hotter than before. "Lest we be burned."

"We must feed our flames. Even fire must start wit kindling. Goblins is small, they feed our flames well." She nodded and then took her seat again, going again for the wine.

There you have it, Kineticism as philosophy. ^_^
Blaze's to do list: Fly freak flag ✔

He nods and gives you permission once you stay standing as others have taken their seat. Well a while ago.

With a stern word he responds to Baahir, "Stop your foolishness, we are the knights who scare the boogie men. We don't know where they are now. We will know where they will be in 8 months. That is the time to strike before they get too close."

He shakes his head, "No, I am his friend and familiar. A bond of respect and acceptance." He says to Blaze and shows her a smile.

"Thorn, this is your first time here. You are not in the Order yet. Sorry, time flows differently for him, hopefully to our benefit." The dragon says quickly.

He stretches, just like a cat, then begins walking around the table but doest knock anything over.

"Andrei, do you need a moment?" Stated with wonder and cocking his head to the side while looking at him.

"Excellent it looks like we are going to the forested hills and hunting a pesky tribe of goblins. Does anyone need to get any supplies? Do you think you are ready to make an outpost or at least a camp?"

Between the surprise chiding of the small dragon, Hazelia no longer being an old crone, and the spectacle of fire put on by blaze...Baahir starts to calm down from his zealous fever.

"Yes...there will always be witches and hags to hunt, a blight, but goblins should be a task we can make short work of and will give us time to become a cohesive unit." Baahir says fists still clenched but relenting to the others in the group as he realizes how odd they all are.

Still, he spends much of the meeting staring at Blaze not sure what to make of her, the powers seem supernatural but so are his, in a way. His own warmth still inside as the rest of the room's heat moved towards her.