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Post by Hroderich Gottfrei on Dec 26, 2012 12:38:30 GMT -6
Hroderich Gottfrei, half-orc, half-man, all-warrior, pushes open the heavy oaken door to The Silver Dragon, patting the silver-inlaid icon on the door as he does. He looks around the room, finds it empty (as any tavern should be at ten in the morning) and heads straight for the bar. He catches the eye of the owner, a small balding elf, and grunts. He returns to the door and removes his belt, placing his swords on the coat rack. He removes his dagger and turns around to find the proprietor eying him skeptically. Hroderich grunts again and removes his boot-blades, leaving them with his other weapons. When he turns around, the proprietor is polishing a wooden plate, not looking at him. Hroderich grunts a third time and makes his way past the heavy oak tables, dodging the wooden beams carved to look like dragons, and plops himself down at the bar. "Morning, Elandras."
The elf-proprietor glances back at his customer, his pale green eyes cool and observant. He breaks into a smile, his eyes lighting up as he leans against the bar. "The usual, I presume?"
"Yah, please."
Elandras places a plate of warm bread, ham, turkey, and cheeses on the bar from seemingly nowhere and lifts a tankard filled with ale from beneath the bar's surface. "Seven copper."
The half-orc pushes three silvers across the table. "Tab," he explains in his rumbling voice before digging into his food with relative civility.
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Post by Braith Nonsharese on Dec 26, 2012 13:44:00 GMT -6
The ceiling creaks above Hroderich's head, followed shortly by the stairs at the end of the room. Tottering down them are a pair of brown boots stepping gingerly as they descend, revealing a man dressed in pants and shirt, plain but clean, though wrinkled with a day and night's wear. In contrast, his long coat, good thick navy blue wool, is immaculate, with antiqued silver buttons and a simple silver ring pf embroidery around the cuffs.
One hand held to his head, he picks a more or less straight path to the bar, peering intently at the floor before he chooses each step, wincing slightly as a few floorboards creak despite his precise foot placement. With the last step, he settles onto a stool at the bar, a few seats down from Hroderich. After giving the half-orc a short sidelong glance, free of any contempt but full of calculation, he motions Elandras over, speaking in hushed tones, though not out of secrecy.
"I'd like two eggs, beaten and mixed in a glass with some orange juice, some grated farmers cheese, and three sprigs of mint. Oh and a tomato on the side. Let me know what I owe for the room."
Elandras furrows his brow, shooting a glance at Hroderich as if to say 'What do you make of this one?', before picking up a glass and polishing it with a towel tied to his apron. "Can't help you with the produce, wrong time of year for it. And as for the room, " he pushes a tankard of water towards the man, "I'll let you know once I've seen what condition it's in. Not to mention your tale of how you got there."
At the mention of the time of year, the man's head shot up from the bar, immediately followed by his hand to cradle it once again. "Uggh. Wrong time of..." He muttered a string of what could only be curses, but neither Hroderich nor Elandras recognized most of them. "What city is this then? I was in Tarnis, last I recall."
"Corimna. No place I've heard of by the name of Tarnis. Might want to be trying that tale soon, mister man."
The man grunts again, frustration running off him like a heavy rain, though he manages to take a moment, visibly restraining himself from letting it out at the blameless barkeep. "Long story short, if you make the mistake of drinking with a half-dragon, there are two things to never do at the same time as the first: allow a Kobold with a penchant for various displacements and a sneezing condition to join, or drink anywhere near you alchemy workspace." He sighs again, drinking some of the water and patting the outside of one of the pockets of his coat, which has a visible bulge. "Terribly sorry for the confusion. Call me Braith, good sir. In lieu of the produce..." he glances at Hroderich's plate, "I'll have what he's having, if you please. I can pay." With that he lifts a purse from his pocket, though larger than the bulge would have suggested.
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Post by Hroderich Gottfrei on Dec 26, 2012 13:55:42 GMT -6
Hroderich watches the newcomer with somewhat dim eyes, continuing to eat and drink. His body language remains relaxed and calm, one hand on his tankard and the other shoveling meat, bread, and cheese into his gob. When Elandras glances at him, Hroderich just shrugs and continues to eat. Not my problem, unless he starts casting. He looks too pretty to be a fighter and too ostentatious to be a thief. I could be wrong.
Hroderich listens to their conversation with less than his full attention, continuing to drain his tankard and clear his plate. As he does so, Elandras takes his plate and tankard below the bar and returns them, filled again, to his patron. Hroderich hears Braith's exclamation and glances when he sets down the coin bag, but merely exhales with slightly more force at the sight of so much money.
Tarnis? What'sa Tarnis? Maybe I should read more maps.
Hroderich returns to eating and drinking, consuming a prodigious amount - but then, topping well over seven feet in height and weighing at over three hundred pounds when he's neither wearing armor nor wet, Hroderich has the size to gobble up portions of several lesser creatures.
Hroderich eyes Braith again, chewing with his mouth mostly closed, scraps of food and dribbles of ale hopelessly finding their way into his beard.
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Post by Braith Nonsharese on Dec 26, 2012 15:22:14 GMT -6
Braith begins shoveling the food into his mouth as soon as it is set before him. After a few full bites hit his stomach, he slows, actually tasting the food, and finding it quite good, especially the cheese. He keeps to water, for the time being.
After the barkeep checks the room finding nothing broken, though a pretty disheveled and oddly re-arraigned, they agree on two silver for the room, plus meals for the day, with a third silver as standard for another night. Braith fishes a thick gold coin from the purse and slides it across the bar. "I'll be staying at least that long. Have to figure out what happened before I can try to reverse it." Elandras eyes the coin's odd markings, but puts it away without question, the weight speaking for itself.
After finishing one plate, Braith pulls a small book and a pen and inkwell from somewhere, beginning to write something down, which goes on long enough for him to nearly finish a second plate. As he munches thoughtfully at the last bits, Braith asks, without looking up, "Anybody know where I can find a library in these parts? Or someone with a knowledge of geography, that would do just as well."
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Post by Leonidas Wahrheit on Dec 26, 2012 16:24:01 GMT -6
The air reeked of putrid death and the echoing clink of heavy armor reverberated throughout the walled catacombs. Many people had attempted to cross this hazardous passage into the next town, yet few ever returned alive. Those that had spoke of ghastly visions and horrid visages of a time when Man practiced arts steeped in the blood of the fallen. Whispers of hatred and impunity exuded from the mottled stone walls as the footsteps stopped.
"Now now," a confident voice muttered into the dark abyss, "it's inappropriate to hide from your guests. What kind of host would you be?"
A burst of light emanated from the armored individual, sending a plethora of blues and whites out into the darkened hallway, their fingers reaching out and grasping the very darkness itself. A faint hiss responded:
"Fool! Believer! YOUR FAITH HOLDS NO SWAY HERE."
In an instant, the temperature within the catacombs rapidly climbed and a pair of ruby eyes stood out from the black veil. The man stood his ground and took a deep sigh.
"This was no slighted spirit..." He whispered to himself. "Tell me, fiend. What do they call you?"
A wicked cackle met the young Paladin's challenge as the winged pendant on his chest glowed with an iridescent silver light.
"MY TRUE NAME. YOU THINK ME STUPID. FOR NOW, YOU MAY CALL ME 'DOOM.'" A raging torrent of sickly green fire sped down the hallway. The Knight grasped his pendant and popped open a vial of Holy Water.
"WHAT DO THEY CALL YOU, HUMAN? I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW THE NAME OF MY NEXT MEAL."
The Paladin let loose a calm grin as he poured the Holy Water onto the ground.
"Leonidas Wahrheit."
With vicious force, the flames slammed into a wall of bright light, temporarily illuminating the entire passage. As he made his escape, Leo heard the bellowing voice of this "Doom" calling for his blood. Though powerful, he could not handle such a challenge on his own...
Especially not against a Demon. He ascended into the church once more, breathing heavily from the sheer amount of evil present within the resting place of this town's ancestors. Sister Relena knelt next to Leo and held her hands up to his chest.
"I told you so," she responded, light emanating from her palms.
Leo removed his steel helmet and set it aside, steam still rising from the hot metal. He looked into Relena's blue eyes and scoffed.
"Perhaps I underestimated the threat," he sighed.
"Perhaps?"
"Fine. I need assistance." Leo rose from from the floor and grabbed his helmet. "But first, I must do some research. I've never encountered a Demon like this. Most assault their foe with relentless fury and often use Hellfire to cook their foes alive, yet Hellfire always takes on a deep red hue. Green flames? This I've never seen before."
With his eyes glazed over, Leo's mind wandered into the vast sky of thought. He reached out with his soul and grasped the warmth of Bahamut's glory, if only to reassure himself of his mission. After some time, he shook his head and strode toward the Library.
Leo paused and turned.
"My apologies, Sister. We have some research to do."
"Yeah," she grinned, "let's leave the Demonologist out of the 'Research' part. Great idea, Leo."
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Post by Hroderich Gottfrei on Dec 26, 2012 19:20:44 GMT -6
A Library? Hroderich grunts into his tankard, liquid spilling over his lips. He sets the container down, wiping a large hand across his bearded mouth and belching. He looks at Elandras, who again grabs his tankard, dips it below the bar for a moment, and returns it filled to Hroderich's hand. The large half-orc turns to face Braith, again eyeing his flamboyant attire, and reluctantly grumbles "When you leave, take a right. Go down two blocks, take a right. On your left." He scratches his chin with his left hand, belches again, and returns to his food and drink.
His right arm, covered in whorling bright blue tattoos - an series of lions chasing prey dominated by a massive lion's head, mouth agape just below his shoulder - is not matched by similar tattoos on the left. Instead, a series of thin scars - burns, from the look of them - slash his arm diagonally. His forearm is a horrid mass of scarred lines all running parallel and obviously intentional. The front of his plain gray tunic has meat and ale drippings staining it, but the half-orc remains oblivious.
Pausing for a moment to wipe his hands (on his brown trews), Hroderich sets about cleaning the last scraps off of his third plate.
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Post by Hroderich Gottfrei on Dec 31, 2012 13:47:31 GMT -6
Gromovoii Malchikh, wizard, scholar, tiny bronze kobold, sits precariously upon a stack of useless (cooking recipe) books. His brow furrowed, the small kobold endeavors to read his way through the unbelievably interesting and engaging Magical Theory IV: Subtopics in Evocation: Lightning and the Application of Electrical Force to Organic Materials - halfway down page 617 of the 1700 page tome, Gromovoii taps his slender little finger against his jaw, half-nodding as he reads. To his immediate right, placed upon another stack of worthless books (So You Want to Be a Bard? Volumes I-XII) is an ink-well and small pen. Laboriously scrolled notes in every margin and free space, line annotations and corrections, as well as calculations and projections - the pale vellum and blank ink of the wonderful tome Gromovoii is reading are nearly overwhelmed by the cobalt blue writing in his neat hand and native language (the alphabet would appear pseudo-cyrillic to anyone viewing it - related to Draconic, but fundamentally different). Though he is reading from the evocation section of the library, Gromovoii has discovered that this seat in the intersection of Summoning/Binding sections provides the best combination of lighting, lack of draft, and minimal traffic from other people in the library.
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Post by WxCougar on Dec 31, 2012 18:30:33 GMT -6
The library, a building chalk full of knowledge from the esoteric to the common. A one stop shop for learning about a new place aside from going around and asking the locals. The young woman entered in through the front door and tucked back the hood of her cloak once inside. A slight smile crossed Nadya's face at the books. While she loved talking to people, she loved books for the same reason - learning.
Now should I start with geography or history, she mused to herself as she moved forward on nearly silent feet. Her green eyes searched the various sections. This was her first time in the River Kingdoms, having departed from her home almost a year ago. And she wasn't about to venture around in a place she knew little about.
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Post by Hroderich Gottfrei on Jan 1, 2013 15:24:25 GMT -6
Arnost, a fat (very, very fat), half blind, upbeat old half-elf, his hair a thick shock of white (time has not been kind to him since he left military service behind him) ambles from the back of the library, hearing the tell-tale tinkle of the bells. He gives wide berth to the grumpy Grom, eyeing him as he passes by - thirty feet away - and receives zero attention from the tiny kobold. With a sigh of relief, he makes his way towards the newcomer, his plain blue clothes and black-threaded symbol ("LIBRARIAN ADJUTANT") proud upon his chest. He closes the distance to the female, stopping well inside most people's comfort zone, and conspiratorially leans in to whisper "Greetings! Welcome to the Library! How can I help you today?" His voice is enthusiastic, perhaps a bit too loud for the location. He is overly enthusiastic, blinky his milky eyes constantly as he attempts to get a good look on the newcomer. From his place deeper in the Library, Grom grunts to himself - his overly acute hearing is not damaged enough by his practice with electromancy to have deafened him to the voice of Arnost. Grom absently fumbles his hands and mutters quietly to himself, throwing up a Silence spell centered on his location and expanding for ten meters in every direction.
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Post by WxCougar on Jan 2, 2013 10:42:20 GMT -6
If the young woman was offset by the librarian's overly enthusiastic greeting, she didn't show it as her smile reached into her green eyes. Her reply was, however, much quieter. "Thank you, kind sir. I was hoping to find your geography, or perhaps history sections?" The accent did not place her as a local, but rather someone from further west.
Her dark brown cloak hid most of her clothing, but any time she moved, a splash of color showed from her red skirt. A matching red scarf was loosely wrapped around her neck, mostly obscured between the cloak and her medium-length black hair.
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Post by Hroderich Gottfrei on Jan 2, 2013 10:49:15 GMT -6
"Oh, absolutely! Yes! We have much and many books on those subjects! Please, follow me!" Arnost beamed at her, clapping his hands with excitement. He turned to begin walking towards the NW section of the library, only to smash into a table and stumble in pain. Quickly, he turned to face her again with an apologetic expression "Sorry! Oops! Off we go now!" Turning more carefully this time, he led the young woman toward the History section, which was helpfully adjacent to the Geography section - and unhelpfully within eye-sight of Grom - and thus within his grumpy presence. As soon as Arnost spots Grom again, he turns to the lady and raises a fat finger to his lips. "Shhhhh!" He follows up his exhortation by jabbing his finger at the tiny Kobold, before moving carefully (tip-toeing now) towards history/geography. When the pair passes within ten meters of Grom, they find their hearing completely nullified.
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Post by WxCougar on Jan 2, 2013 12:02:40 GMT -6
As the librarian hit the table, she winced in sympathy. Once he started off in a less painful path, Nadya followed after him, adjusting the strap of her bag to not hit against anything accidentally.
When the librarian paused again to her, the shushing gained a faint look of amusement before she followed his indication to the Kobold engrossed in several books. Nadya gave a nod of acknowledgement to the librarian and then continued following silently. Her curious thoughts were on what the other library patron might be working on when they hit the magical silence section. As she felt her hearing disappear her eyes widened a moment and then she glanced over at the Kobold before looking to the librarian to see his reaction.
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Post by Hroderich Gottfrei on Jan 2, 2013 12:38:26 GMT -6
Arnost stopped walking abruptly, sticking a finger in his ear, and then the other. He attempted to say something to the young woman, but no words came out. He turned and frowned at Grom for a split second, before turning back to Nadya. With hand gestures and facial expressions, he attempted to express his apology for the little bronze Kobold's unwarranted use of magic. When he turned again to frown at the creature, he found Grom staring right back at him with his hooded blue eyes. Arnost's facial expression quickly ran from frustrated to surprised to scared and finally to apologetic. Grom pointed a finger at him, his expression calm.
Alarmed, Arnost took two steps back before shuffling to the side - away from Grom and towards History/Geography. Grom's little finger followed the fat half-elf's progress until he disappeared from sight. However, from the moment Arnost had begun moving, the tiny bronze Kobold had fixed his eyes upon the young woman, studying her in absolute silence and stillness - apart from that pointing finger trailing Arnost.
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Post by WxCougar on Jan 2, 2013 15:05:57 GMT -6
Nadya watched this exchange with one eyebrow raised. Between the hand gestures and the back and forth, she figured that it was the kobold to have placed the spell. And considering the librarian's apparent penchant for more noise than most may care for, he was likely the reason why. Really, she couldn't blame the reader for wanting some quiet, but she wondered what took place that the librarian scurried away so quickly.
Before following after the poor librarian, Nadya looked back to notice the kobold watching her. She gave him a bit of a smile, a nod of her head and then turned to follow the librarian. A multitude of questions and curiosities swam through her mind.
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Post by Hroderich Gottfrei on Jan 2, 2013 15:19:25 GMT -6
Grom snorted (silently) to himself, before returning to his annotations. How that fool manages to annoy me even while he is unable to make sound is beyond me. Now, about these current calculations... These appear inefficient! Must I rewrite every tome myself? His quill began to scratch his neat blue notes irritably under the line he was reading, though Grom couldn't hear it. His curiosity about the woman was set aside in another room in his mind, locked up behind an adamantine door for further investigation - if he ever got back around to it.
Finally reaching the appropriate section, Arnost turned to Nadya with a faltering half smile - still evidently shaken by his minor confrontation with Grom. "Well miss, here we are!" He said, clapping a hand over his mouth as he realized he had shouted it - his perception of sound level having been wildly distorted by passing through Grom's silence spell. "Is there something in particular I can help you to find?" His voice was perhaps half the level he had just used, his face bashful.
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