Kingsblood, the massive capital city of Aract. Named for the violent overthrow of the last king of the nation, the city has only borne the moniker for the past 40 years. During those years, it has transformed from one man's personal palace and castle to a metropolis housing nearly half a million people of an incredible number of races and occupations. The transformation has taken place under the guidance of one man, the Lord Mayor Inaris. A man surrounded by more rumors than should rightly follow even a man in his powerful position.
While Inaris is not the reason for your visit to the city, his influence is quickly noticed. Each of the five of you receive a letter in a black envelope, sealed with white wax in the shape of an embossed letter "I". The letter is handed to you by a guard captain, who leaves with haste as soon as the letter reaches your hand. While sealed, the letter may be easily opened, and is individually written in florid script to the recipient.
I, the Lord Mayor Inaris, wish to congratulate you on finding your way to my fair city. More than that, I wish to speak with you about a grand opportunity to aide the city. The rewards of this visit will be quite substantial should you choose to accept the duty I bestow upon you. If this offer interests you, find your way to the Grand Offices at the center of the city tomorrow four bells after noon. As it is fully the largest building in Kingsblood, I do not think the endeavor shall tax you unduly.
It should be noted that I have sent a quite similar notice to five others of similarly notable talents that you may be interested to meet. If you were to wish for a place to meet with each other tonight, I would suggest the Guilded Stag. This letter should allow you to enter and eat your fill without the banality of exchanging coin.
Inaris
The thick dwarf in the red chapeau and cloak, received the "hand off" from the guardsman. After quickly scanning the document, he raised his head, noticing the guard was already gone. "Strange," he thought, dropping his eyes to the parchment one more time. After this second perusal, he folds it up neatly, and sticks it into one of the many folds of his billowing robes.
He then begins to walk about the city proper getting his bearings. With little effort he locates the establishment described therein, and enters the Gilded Stag establishment. He looked around to see if anyone else had a similar parchment in hand. Not seeing any at first glance, he looks for an empty table toward the back of the establishment, giving him a good vantage to see who else might respond to the Lord Mayor's request. Finding such a spot he sits down, hoping to catch the attention of the server working that evening.
"... the hell?" Dieter reads the missive twice then tucks the envelope into an inner vest pocket. So much for escaping the city, he thought. After several hours of internal debate on whether or not to simply ignore the note and continue his flight, he makes his way to the Gilded Stag. Chuckling, he recalls that the establishment was referred to as the 'Gelded Stag' under previous management.
He enters, approaches the bar, discreetly flashes the seal on the envelope at the barman, and requests a waitress for his table.
"I'll have the brined veal with asparagus tips and sweet bread. Hmm? Oh, huckleberry wine, please. And don't bother with small portions."
Dieter sumptuously enjoys his food. He keeps the corner of the envelope sticking out of the fold of his jacket and an eye out for the mysterious fellow recipients.
The Stag has changed in far more than name, shifting from a middle-class inn of moderate means to one of the most upscale restaurants in the city. Tables made of richly inlaid wood scatter across the large first floor, lit by dim chandeliers of multi-colored, magically enhanced crystals. Soft music wafts over the diners, provided by a quite talented local bard. Mingling with the harp and quiet lyrics are smells of decadent and exquisitely prepared meals; the dishes that emerge from the kitchen are tiny pieces of paradise plucked from far and wide across the continent.
Hagrym and Dieter are both momentarily stopped at the door by a hulking Jocab, who lets them in after a brief flash of their letters. Hagrym is immediately lead to a comfortable table that seems to be one of the best in the house. A bonny young dwarvish lass arrives relatively quickly to ask if he would like anything to eat or drink.
Dieter is allowed by the staff to head to the bar, where the pair of human bartenders take his order. The taller of the two challenges the halfling to try and ask for something that might be a challenge. The other snorts, and points to the table where Hagrym sits, "That, my good sir, is the table we were called to reserve for you. If you would enjoy spending the night at the bar, we would be most glad for your company. It does get rather tiring dealing primarily with the young nobles most of the night."
"Hullo, my dear," the dwarf nods to the comely dwarven server. After getting a list of the house specials, he makes an appropriate selection. By a strange coincidence it happened to be the same dish the halfling ordered.
After placing his order, Hagrym walks to the bar, where the halfling who obviously had received the same letter, and the bartenders were having a discussion.
"Greetings all," the dwarf says in his deep voice, looking at each in turn. He then turns to the smallest one, "Seems you got the same invitation that I did. Pleased to meet you, the name's Hagrym. You found out anything about the 'grand opportunity to aid the city?'" he says with a smile.
Dieter scans the visitor from head to toe, then clears his throat and replies in Dwarven, "This city has plenty of ways it could improve. But as to which we are called upon to assist, I am as knowledgeable as you. Come, let us sit at our reserved table." He winks at the dwarven waitress and switches to more casual Dwarven, "Mind bringing our plates over, Topaz?" After sitting, he resumes eating and keeps an eye out for more people. "Let us save our introductions until all of our company arrive."
Hagrym nodded at the halfling's response. He was pleased that at least one member of the possible group could speak his native tongue. The monk switches to dwarven himself, and says, "You speak the language very well. Have you spent much time with my people?"
Dieter smiles between bites, "I am an alchemist by trade. Much our knowledge of alchemical processes and material characteristics come from dwarven scholars. General distaste for magic and being close to the earth and all. My master during my apprenticeship was dwarven as well. Rather surly fellow, but knew his stuff." He speaks into his goblet while drinking, "And what is your occupation, Copper Friend?"
Kalathas wipes the blood from his face as the grim-faced messenger departs swiftly after delivering the missive. He turns the envelope over, noting the scents of soft beeswax, milled finegrain paper, and ink from the juice of the Culcerry.
He opens the envelope swiftly, tearing into it and reading the contents as the raging sound of swordpractice rings behind him. He turns to address the noisemakers.
"ENOUGH!"
He reads the missive carefully, smirking a little to himself as he realizes that the mayor must be in quite a state if he's calling on a half elf for assistance. It should be amusing. Besides, the last time he was in the Stag.... Kalathas doubted he would ever be invited back there again.
Although it grieved him to do it, Kalathas pulled the swordstrap from his back, leaving the heavy weight of his sword in the care of a temple acolyte, splashed water on his face but otherwise made no attempt to change his attire, and stepped out onto the streets in the direction of the Stag inn.
Maz is quite surprised by the Mayor's invitation, and being a suspicious man by nature he departs immediately for the Gilded Stag. After watching the building from an alley way to make sure there are no surprises Maz decides to rent a room at a nearby inn. He leaves his armor and large Falchion locked in his room, and heads back to the Gilded Stag dressed in nondescript grays and blacks with his customary wide brimmed hat on his head. Armed only with his longsword and daggers Maz enters the Gilded Stag, and asks for a secluded table in the corner of the establishment. Trying to blend in with the crowd on the way to his booth, and hanging back in the shadows once sitting Maz orders mead and quietly watches the other patrons.
Dieter smiles between bites, "I am an alchemist by trade. Much our knowledge of alchemical processes and material characteristics come from dwarven scholars. General distaste for magic and being close to the earth and all. My master during my apprenticeship was dwarven as well. Rather surly fellow, but knew his stuff." He speaks into his goblet while drinking, "And what is your occupation, Copper Friend?"
"A lot of my people are...surly, as you said. Especially with those of different races. As for me, I am nothing but a humble servant of Fel Morath,"Hagrym says to the alchemist, between his own bites of food, after being served. "I travel as he wishes, using my meager skills to spread his glory," he says, raising his goblet, and motioning to the server for it to be refilled.
Kalathas makes his way to the Stag, where he is nearly denied entry. The red-rimmed glare he gives the doorman is not as effective as he hoped it would be.
"Move!"
He's surprised when the Jocab grudgingly moves, and makes his way into the inn. The dim light washes out most of the stains on his scale armor, so he does not stand out as much as he otherwise might.
He takes out the letter and scans it again, hoping to find more information on the people he is supposed to be meeting.
"Good deity, that Fel Morath. I'm not dedicated myself. Halflings tend to worship whichever deity is most likely to be interested in dispensing blessings at any particular time. And if one doesn't seem inclined, we invent one who will be!" Dieter raises his goblet, "To Fel Morath!"
After a few more bites, Dieter notices the commotion at the front of the restaurant and sees the perturbed half-elf in armor. "Oh, bother. Pray to Rhuenth, God of Pleasant Dinner Company, that he doesn't have an envelope like ours."
"To Fel Morath, the Righter of Wrongs," Hagrym exclaims raising his since refilled glass.
After the friendly toast with the halfling, he noticed the armored half elf whom the halfling had mentioned, who entered the bar with a scream toward the doorman. No sooner than he chuckled at the alchemist's joke, than he saw the half elf pull out the same sort of letter they both possessed. "Not so lucky, my friend. Tell Rhuenth he let us down."
After waiting quietly in his booth, he notices nothing more than people going about their meals. After a time he hears two people seeming to have an introductory conversation, and wonders if they may be part of the crew invited here along with himself. With nothing seeming out of place he gets out of his booth and heads over to where the other two are conversing.
"Pardon me" he says in a subdued voice "but you two wouldn't have happened to receive an overly vague missive from the mayor, would you?"
The dwarf looked at the large figure before him and paused slightly. He race's longstanding hatred of these creature had been muted somewhat in him (thanks to Fel Morath's blessing), but he still wasn't completely comfortable with those Jacobi creatures. He was able to be at least polite, however, "We did indeed. By your question, you are here fro the same purpose, I assume."
"I am indeed." Maz lifts the brim of his hat so those sitting at the table can get a clear look of his face. "My name is Maz, it is a pleasure to meet you two. Might I have a seat with you so we can speculate idly as to why we have been summoned?" Maz says with a smile, then gets the barmaid's attention and says "Another round over here, please"
Although perplexed at first, Kalathas eventually wonders over to the bar, his sun-ravaged face permanently reddened. His wild eyes put most everyone at a state of unease.
"Drink."
He places a few silver coins on the bar, uncertain if the fancier tavern had raised its prices.
The bartender nearest Kalathas chuckles softly and slides the half-elf's money back to him. The smile he flashes is obviously a little forced, but it isn't the worst fake smile Kalathas has seen directed at him.
"Don't worry sir, you're covered by the Lord Mayor with your piece of paper. What would you like to drink?"
The food and drink has thus far been nearly miraculous in its quality, the flavors of each striking you taste buds so that they leave you just short of stunned. The chef is clearly a master of their trade, and the wine and mead have been chosen with by someone who knows well what they are doing.
The room begins to fill with customers, ones possessing of enough money to know how to ignore you in the most insulting manner possible. The staff seem ecstatic to focus more on you than the high class custom.
While not much seems too out of the ordinary in the Stag, a number of young nobles in a very conspicuous spot do glance over at the half-elf and begin to whisper amongst themselves.
You can't hear quite enough of their conversation to make out exactly what's going on amongst them, but you're quite certain they begin to focus on the loud half-elf when he arrives.
Sensing trouble, Kalathas stills and listens to the crowd behind him.
The drink is heady enough, but the sense of anticipation as the sound of soft murmurs filled with ill intent reaches his ears is what really sets him on edge. He placed a hand against the armor on his chest, glad to feel the wooden wand beneath it press against his skin.
"If you would excuse me, I will confirm whether or not that jumpy fellow is our dinner guest." Dieter makes his way over to the bar, clears his throat to draw his attention, and whispers in Elven, "Sir, would you happen to have a black envelope? If so, this table over here has a seat for you."
"Well, this could be interesting. Don't you think Talos?" Taerl says as he hands the letter to the eidolon to read.
"Interesting...perhaps." Talos replies, "and also dangerous."
Taerl and Talos ask one of the local people where the Guilded Stag might be located. The woman answers, but she can't help but stare at Talos. His appearance is....different. Talos is used to this sort of thing and ignores it.
They eventually find the Guilded Stag and take a seat at one of the tables.
Kalathas turns to the little person, remaining silent as he lets his eyes take in the child-sized being. He pulls out his own black envelope, and with a silent smirk follows the halfling back to the table.
He allowed his gaze to travel over the dwarf and jacobi as well, taking their combat readiness into account. He sensed no threat and could see that they were not so well armed. They held themselves at ease though, being no strangers to combat.
"Greetings." The one word was spoken quietly but not without force.
The dwarf raised his head to look at the newcomer up close. At this distance, the intensity was literally radiating off of him. "Welcome to our tabled, stranger. I am Hagrym, humble servant of Fel Morath. The remainder of the group can do their own introductions. Sit, as the food and drink is divine."
"Greetings!" He says with an open smile on his face. As he moves to make room for the new comer he says in hushed undertones to all at the table "It seems we may have attracted some attention." He subtly indicates to a group of noble men.
While not much seems too out of the ordinary in the Stag, a number of young nobles in a very conspicuous spot do glance over at the half-elf and begin to whisper amongst themselves.
You can't hear quite enough of their conversation to make out exactly what's going on amongst them, but you're quite certain they begin to focus on the loud half-elf when he arrives.
"I'm not sure what their interest is, but we best keep our eyes open."
The dwarf smirks at the words of the Jacobi. "I doubt they have ever seen such a motley collection as us," he says breaking into a grin. "Perhaps we should buy them a drink, and see their reaction..."
Kalathas struggles to calm himself as the humor behind the dwarf's suggestion burst out in sudden laughter. The laughter eased his personal tension.
"Kalathas, Servant of Ossitha"
"And I am Dieter Stolzdorf, alchemist of small repute." Glancing towards the milling young noblemen, he remarks, "A few of them might know me. They may have a few little bastards running about they would love to blame me for. But I doubt they would make trouble in such an establishment. This is the most fashionable dining experience in the city. They cannot afford the social repercussion of being kicked out or barred from eating here. Ignore them." Dieter scoops another bite of veal into his mouth, "So, what sort of problem would need our varied skills to accomplish, hmmm?"
Their waitress passes by to refresh their drinks, and seems to become excellently skilled at just happening to overhear the situation. Her voice is a bit hesitant, as though she's not too terribly sure she should be speaking up.
"W-well, if I were you I'd be runnin' outa town."
"Eisha," calls over one of the two barmen, "don't be trying to scare them off, they're not the type to be frightened easy."
The dwarven woman grumbles a bit and leans in towards Hagrym's a bit to whisper.
"I hear that most of those Lord Inaris calls for never end up coming back. Mesha told me that she's hear he's a vampire, too."
"Yes, but if no one returns who is left to propagate these rumors? Have you ever spoken with some one previously summoned?" asks honestly of the waitress.
"We will certainly be on the look out for any issues with Lord Iranis. Do you have any extra garlic I could trouble you for," the dwarf smiles at his server, trying to allay her concerns.
"I'm sure that not everyone meets a gruesome end in his employ. But thank you for your concern. In the meantime, I believe I may be ready for dessert. What would you recommend?"
Kalathas grunts a laugh, quite content to lean back and watch his new companions make fools of the inn's servers. The evening was already entertaining, he was glad he had come.
Eisha sits there, a bit stunned from the complete lack of fear displayed by the group. The first few seconds must have consisted of her wits scattering to the far corners, as it takes several long seconds for her to reclaim them. Even after she gathers her senses, the young dwarf stutters slightly as she reads off the desert menu.
The list is quite long and includes quite a few delicacies, including Chocolate-Covered Rellan Squid Egg and Helonth Griffon Beak (which, as the shaken waitress notes, has nothing to do with either griffons or beaks). The list also includes a large selection of dessert liquors.
Some grumbling comes from the table of young buck nobles, and a quick visual check shows a growing number of empty wine bottles piling up on the center of their table.
"Don't let our merriment bother you, my dear," the monk says to his server-kin. "We will be very careful, I promise."
"But now, I have to sample the Griffon Beak. I bet it will be quite some time before we are able to eat like this again," he says looking at the congrgation of advenurers before him.
"I will have... whatever is most expensive. Two of them." Dieter smiles and laces his fingers behind his head. "I certainly hope those gentlemen across the room stay temperate for the evening. So any speculation on what we could possibly solve with out varied abilities combined?"
Kalathas closes his sun-reddened eyes, enjoying the cool, gloomy darkness of the room, but he soon opens them and eyes the group across the room warily.
He reaches into his armor and pulls out the dark ebony wand, with a fairly gothic symbol of Ossitha emblazoned on its surface in aged silver. He places it on the table in front of him.
"No idea."
Dieter regards the wand for a moment, "I don't know manner of custom may be considered polite where you hail from, but brandishing a weapon, especially a magic wand, in a crowded restaurant is considered gauche at best around here. Mind letting us know what the business end of that stick is capable of?"
There is the unmistakable sound of a chair being scratched against the floor in just the tone that is looking for trouble. The sound repeats three times more and is followed by the curious silence that accompanies particular forms of improvisational entertainment normally found in much lower class establishments.
Four bodies of young bucks lurch to a stop nearest Kalathas, swaying slightly and giving off the scent of a rather large distillery that specializes in extremely fine liquors. The lead noble, slaps a hand in a feeble attempt at appearing threatening on the table. If in the proper state to actually unfurl himself, the human lad would perhaps be a towering dark hair menace. In his current one, he manages to look more clumsy and quite red about the face.
"Yeah...elf." Even intoxicated, the word carries a heavy threat, "Wossa little man said. You plannin or takin' all uz? I 'on't take to freaks threatenin' real people..."
The words drop off with menace from wavering, beady eyes. The boys behind him cross their arms, their attempt to appear tough hindered slightly as one of their number stumbles from standing and half crashes into a barstool.
The dwarf speaks up to the young drunk nobleman, "Sir, perhaps you should go back to your table. I'll buy you all a round of drinks, and you can leave us be." He points to the server, and tells her to get them more beverages. "I doubt you are going to get a better offer from anyone else at this table."
Dieter sits quietly and says into his glass as he drinks, "Well, gentlemen?"
Kalathas is silent for a brief moment, waiting for the din to die down, before he speaks. "Who is threatening whom?"
Taerl and Talos order their dinner and begin to dine. They notice several inebriated patrons stumble over to a table.
"Hmmm...I wonder what this is about?" Taerl says quietly to Talos as he nods towards the table.
"Don..don' you use that...that elf shpeek on us...elf." Exclaims one of the swaying nobles behind the leader.
"Shut up, Simol, I'm doin' the... talkin'." The dark haired leader glares at the other behind him when he speaks, stumbling a little as he sways back to face the elf. He seems either unable or unwilling to perceive anything other than the half-elf. His eyes are ablaze with unfettered hatred when they rest on Kalathas.
"An' as fer you. You're a threat to everyone, a quick death'd be too good fer ya." He pauses briefly, as though it were an incredible threat, "We're too good men to kill summun' in the middle of a fine place like this...even if it's a pointy-eared bastard. Let'sh go."
"But-"
A quick glare silences the protest, and the four stumble outside. A disappointed quiet follows them, and conversation slowly resumes.
Kalathas shrugs as the four depart, but keeps a wary eye on them, wondering if the whole thing was a ruse. He watches them depart wordlessly, but thinks that they are likely more than they appear.
Then he turns to his companions calmly. "I don't make threats."
"No, but you do seem eager to provoke them" Maz says nonchalantly. Keeping his eyes on the inebriated nobles,
Maz addresses the table "Back to the topic at hand: Anyone know why the mayor needs us or how we attracted his attention? And, has anyone seem the fifth member of our group?"
"Don't let that extra round go to waste, lassie, Hagrym smiles toward the server. "I'm sure this table can polish those off."
He turn back to the gathered group. "I'm anxious to hear what the Lord has planned for us as well."
Kalathas leans back in his chair, bemused by the entire scenario.
"Provocation is what a man claims when he allows others to dictate his actions."
Perception check
"True. We feel what we may feel, but our actions are always chosen. Well, enough philosophy for now. Now where is that buxom young she-dwarf? She ran off to get more drinks but I want my dessert and some coffee..." he trails off as he scans about the room.
Eisha slowly rounds her way about the tables, holding a large platter filled with a great deal of delicious trifles. She smiles wanly as she places the tray nearby and begins handing things out.
"Sorry about the wait, they hold back the waitresses any times something like that happens. It's not often, thankfully, but some of the nobles have a bit of a temper. Gren likes to keep us safe, thank the gods."
The Griffon Beak looks somewhat vaguely like an upside down raptor beak made out of thick chocolate and filled with a reddish cake that oozes slight amounts of cherries. The top is sprinkled with small bits of shining silvery particles of incredibly fine sugar.
The most expensive item, ordered twice by Dieter, ends up being a set of four small candies that look for all purposes as though they are made out of gold and platinum. Scattered about the top are tiny bits that appear as though carved from much larger gemstones.
All the dishes are arranged in a fabulous fashion, with little touches that change them more pieces of edible art than desserts.
"Anything else I can get you gentlemen?" The young dwarven lass smiles brightly, though her eyes can be seen to flicker once or twice to the various delicacies spread about.