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    Rextoret

    top kek
    Am Manadh de Eòlas

    Caden looked over the docks of Kilbride, watching the comings and goings of the merchants, sailors, soldiers, and travelers. They bustled all around, the merchants arguing with citizens over the prices of their goods, sailors rushing around to make repairs to their ships, naval commanders barking orders to their subordinates, and all the various travelers wandering around. They came from all over, speaking in their foreign tongues and accents.

    He didn't stand out much in his typical village boy clothes of browns and greens. He didn't carry much, just a 6 foot staff carried on his shoulder with a bag tied around the end to hold his few possessions and meager sum of money. The makeshift bindle was awkward, but it worked. The boy held himself awkwardly, fidgeting every now and then - scratching his neck or biting his nails as he observed the going-ons around him.

    He loved watching all the foreigners. They sped around in their different garbs. Some wore vibrant colors, others wore pitch black. Some wore the bare minimum, some even less. Some were wrapped up head-to-toe, nary an inch of skin in sight. At their waists hung weapons of different cultures, curved blades, sickles attached to chains with weights at their ends, straight swords, hammers and axes, and everything else imaginable.

    Caden walked down the street, tore between anger at the monks of Nodsta that he had left behind and the astonishment he felt at all those who walked down the street with him. "Not even the largest city...", he mumbled to himself. He had always wanted to adventure far and wide, to see everything that no one else in his tiny village had ever seen. He spent 18 years of his life waiting for this chance and he wasn't going to let some monks dictate how he'd spend his life.

    He had always admired the monks, of course. Their wisdom left him in awe and their combat skills were a perfect balance of aggressiveness and passivity. He wanted so badly to be one of them, to twirl around the courtyards of Nodsta dodging every falling snowflake. But they had said he was "too conflicted", "too rash", "too unsure of himself". So he left. Caden had had enough of fetching water for the monks he could never join. So he left, to pursue his other great aspiration: adventure. To leave the safety of his small fishing village, and now it was to leave the walls of Nodsta.

    So he had come to Kilbride, to board a ship and find his fortune somewhere in Argylle. He walked down the street, looking for a ship to take him anywhere. He picked the closest one. The man by the gangplank told him this one went to Dornach. Brief memories of his teacher mentioning it in geography class back in the small shack in Aviemore flashed through his mind. Close to the capital, he recalled. He gave the man a handful of coins, getting two back as change. Up the gangplank he went.

    Once he was on the deck of the cog, he went down into the hold where he stashed his bindle in a corner for the short trip to Dornach. Having done so, he went back up to the deck and leaned on side of the ship, letting the wind blow through his wavy black hair as his deep blue eyes took everything in. The sailors on the ship were rushing around, and it seemed like the ship was about to take off.
     
    Last edited:

    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    "Excuse me."

    Avari's speech was accented but clear, and it rolled off her tongue in a manner both sharp and smooth. She stood up straight without effort, looking across the table with questioning eyes at the harbormaster. He was slouched back in his chair, making it creak as he leaned on the rear legs. His unshaven face labored the turn to meet her stare, and when she didn't speak he let the front legs of the chair fall. It screeched over the wooden floor as he scooted up to the table, flipping his thick bound registry open to the last entry. "Yes?" He finally said.

    "Which city is this?"

    "Dornach," came the reply.

    Which was in... Argylle? Recognition came across her features. "Are you the harbormaster?"

    "I am."

    "Then I would like to register my arrival." The man was looking down at his ledger, but Avari still watched him intently. "I am Avari Ahrusk Khimer, and I sailed aboard the Puttana D'onore out of the port of Vestito."

    "You are registered. Is that all?" The man's tone dripped with disinterest.

    "No, thank you." Avari turned and walked briskly through the door of the office and out onto the docks of Dornach. The day was dreary, and all vibrancy seemed to have run out into the water, where it was an interminable murk, so that all that was left was the off-grey of weathered wood and the off-blue of the misty air. Shadows hung heavy in the alleyways that stemmed off of the waterfront, and the streets were grimy and dank. Past the jumble of smaller craft that bobbed along the wooden pier, an imposing mass rose - the shipyards, where the great hulking hulls of warships and trade vessels were hewn out, bellies ready to be full of cargo either human or material, high masts ready to bear the colors of the navy or any one of the merchant companies. It was a rough city, Dornach, Avari could tell with one look. Dockworkers were weaving all around her to get to their ships, so she rested her hand on the hilt of her blade and stepped out into the streets.

    Port towns were interesting to Avari. Any city, really, was of interest to her, and she cursed Sevar for neglecting to give her eyes that could take in everything they held at once; in the urban heart of Dornach, she found herself walking with her head at a permanent tilt, trying to catch the high roofs of the townhouses and warehouses and the faces of the Dornachans (Dornachis? Dornachers? She had learned their language, but it still had idiosyncrasies that she would never get used to). They were often pale, as she was, but their hair was a sea of brown and black with an occasional spot of dark red like a drop of blood in the mix - and it was almost always long, rather than shaven as her own blonde hair was. They shuffled over the cobbled lanes, and they bundled in drab clothing against the chill endemic to a portside city. It made Avari's whole body feel like a sneeze. She was not accustomed to being near water, or at least not where it was also cool; she could deal with bitter winters in the Severnayan highlands, and she would make no complaint about Vestito's warm shores to the south, but Dornach was clearly the unfortunate meeting of those two qualities.

    So, what was she there for, anyways? Why weather the perpetual sneeze? Given that she hadn't even known she was in Dornach until the harbormaster had told her, it took some searching to recall. Recognition and a pang of regret came as she arrived on the memory of the conflict that had set her to fleeing Vestito: the merchant houses that ruled the city and held the poor down under the heels of tailored boots, and which she had made her enemies when she had tried to assist a small revolution - she had a headache just thinking about it... And still, she had the craving to get involved, to stick her nose where it probably didn't belong. It was a sickness, perhaps, but looking around at the bleak streets only made it worse, and she was sure that wasn't the cold she was catching. So, then, she would get involved somewhere. She had a whole fief before her, and it was only one of many. She would meet people, she would see new sights, she would make a difference, she would leave her mark...

    But first, of course, she would find a tavern.
     

    Farthlion

    I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.
    The familiar scent of salt filled the air, the waves crashing into the cog as it continued its journey to Dornach. They'd be there in a few hours, the faint outline of the great mountains near Chaill Morachd disappearing in the distance. Hallis made her way to the helm of the ship, the first mate leaning lazily upon the spokes of the wheel that controlled their direction. He was half asleep, having been ordered to man the helm throughout the night. She smiled at him before adjusting the wheel slightly to the left.

    "I've got it covered," the man drawled, sleepiness coating his voice, "Go back into the galley and get drunk or somethin', girl."

    Hallis shook her head with a grin, "I ain't getting paid if you run us aground in the shallows."

    The man straightened up, looking at his surroundings before locating the mountains in the distance. "We that close to Dornach already?"

    "Ay, a few hours away. Can nearly see the peninsula and a few of the mountains."

    The end of the trip passed quickly, and soon the shoreline was upon them, the bustling docks of the familiar harbor greeting the cog. The mainsail was lowered in order to slow the speed of the vessel. Both the dockhands and crew members worked together in order to secure it in a large slip at the end of one of the larger piers. Much like Kilbride, the docks of Dornach were inhabited by men who knew how to do their jobs well. She had only run into trouble once upon arrival, and that was due to the man at the helm being too drunk to safely guide them into the harbor. Overall, a respectable track record for a non-Eastern port.

    The passengers began to disembark from the cog via gangplank. Hallis was among the group, a small satchel slung over her shoulder. She wore an off-white blouse with dark pants tucked into her boots. Her hair was held into a loose ponytail, a few strands here and there having fallen out in response to the wind. The young woman was relatively pretty, and had she bothered to make herself presentable, she could have probably found a husband by now. Hallis was a free spirit though. She refused to be tied down by obligations or plans. Hell, she wasn't even sure where she was going to go next.

    A boy - no, a young man - was a short ways in front of her, making his way off the crowded dock. He held a large staff that was easily taller than Hallis. He had just come off of the very cog she had been on, but the young woman was certain she hadn't seen him once while sailing. She hurried to catch up with him, genuinely curious.

    "Ay there, that's a big ol' staff you got," she greeted with a friendly smile. Her Eastern accent wasn't as thick as some, having traveled constantly at a young age. It was noticeable though.

    She got a better look at the young man now. He was definitely younger than herself - a bit taller, but everybody was taller than Hallis. "You from Kilbride? Saw you came off the cog I was on. Never seen a man carry a staff like that in Kilbride."
     

    Rextoret

    top kek
    Caden woke from his nap to the squawking calls of gulls as the cog pulled into the harbor. Energetically pulling himself up with the leverage created by his staff, he quickly moved towards the gangplank. He waited until it was dropped and then began to hurry down it, eager to leave the ship and begin striking out into the world.

    Just as he was leaving the docks, he heard the accented voice of a woman next to him. "Ay there, that's a big ol' staff you got," She said, while smiling at him. "You from Kilbride? Saw you came off the cog I was on. Never seen a man carry a staff like that in Kilbride."

    He was somewhat taken aback by the stranger's friendliness, but replied quickly. "Erm, yeah... It's pretty big I guess." He thought for a moment, debating whether to tell her of his truthful origins as a fisherman in a tiny village or lie and tell her he was a monk of Nodsta. In his meager experience, tall tales and lies never brought anything good and would eventually need to be explained. So he went with the prior. "No, actually. I'm from the fishing village of Aviemore. Ya- You might have heard of it, it's kinda small." He made sure to correct himself after the small slip where his speech mannerisms and light accent from his village came out. He always made sure to sound less like a village hick when he could, but sometimes it slipped out now and then.

    The woman was probably a few years older than Caden, but she was shorter by over half a foot. She looked a little rough-and-tumble in his opinion, but for a sailor she was more attractive than most he had seen before. Just could use a bit more attention keeping herself looking nice. Recalling her comment about his staff, he went ahead and told her where he got it. "Yeah, I got the staff from the monks of Nodsta. Borrowed it, I guess. I had an... apprenticeship there, you could say. Ever been to their monastery?"
     

    Farthlion

    I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.
    The man stated he was from Aviemore, to which Hallis beamed pridefully. Another Easterner was always a welcome sight. Those of the far east in the fiefdom had a sense of unity - at least where she came from. Kilbride was the great Eastern Gate, a powerful military city. Whether it was true or not, there was a sense of superiority and pride in being from the east. After all, they were most likely the only city that could hold its own against the capital in terms of shear might. They were tough people who were loyal to their homes and their military. They had a reputation for being hardier than most.

    "Yeah, I got the staff from the monks of Nodsta. Borrowed it, I guess. I had an... apprenticeship there, you could say," he contined. Hallis would have to ask him about that. Perhaps over a pint. "Ever been to their monastery?"

    She shook her head, "No, Nodsta's inland. Been a sailor all m'life."

    They had made their way off the dock by then. A street filled with a busy stream of traffic greeted them. Hallis came to a stop, "You want to go grab a pint? The tavern I often stay in has one hell of a brew."
     

    Rextoret

    top kek
    Stopping in the street, the woman asked "You want to go grab a pint? The tavern I often stay in has one hell of a brew." Caden hadn't really drank all too much, just a little bit earlier in his life in Aviemore. At Nodsta, the monks forbid alcohol. As a result he hadn't had a drink in years and wasn't really sure he'd be able to hold it well. But he didn't really have a reason not to have a drink with this random sailor. A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step after all. Who knows what this random encounter might hold in store for him.

    "Sure, why not." She pointed the way to the tavern and they pushed their way through the busy street to get to it. Entering, they were greeted with a blast of warm air and a roar of chatter. They worked their way over to the bar and took seats. Caden ordered the brew she had told him about and turned to face her. "My name's Caden. You are?"
     

    Farthlion

    I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.
    "My name's Caden. You are?"

    "Hallis," she replied before taking a long sip from her drink.

    The tavern wasn't rowdy, at least by sailor standards. It was a meeting place for travelers that was just a walk away from the docks. While Hallis appreciated the low-key atmosphere and convenient location, neither were the reason she exclusively stayed at this particular establishment. The building next store was home to a brewery that made the best ale she had ever tasted.

    "Take it that it's your first time in Dornach? You come here for anything in particular?"
     

    Rextoret

    top kek
    To Caden's small-village perspective, the tavern was booming. Even if in reality it wasn't, to him it most certainly was. He was somewhat caught off-guard when Hallis asked him if it was his first time here because he was observing the different people in the tavern. One caught his eye, a man wrapped head to toe in cloth - nary an inch of skin visible. Odd, he thought, perhaps a leper? But he was sure that if he started a journey he'd see much more.

    "Yeah, the biggest settlement I've ever been to was Kilbride. Haven't been outside of the east my whole life." A small hint of dejection lingered in his voice, but quickly replaced by excitement. "But hey, now it's not! This is a pretty big city, right? Probably not as big as the capital, I'm sure though."

    He observed her for a moment. She looked like she'd been around, seen some places. "What about you? What's the furthest from Kilbride you've been?"
     

    Delusional

    Connoisseur of Hallucinations
    Distant bells rang across the foggy water, lapping at the hull of a more-or-less dilapidated ship that slowly glided through the breaking dawn. The rising sun's early rays began to pierce the thick mist that hovered above the murky water, lighting the way for the traveling barge on its journey along the coast of Argylle's mainland. The vessel had departed the small coastal town of Gairlock at the crack of dawn, en route to the hub city of Dornach from the island of Chaill.

    A single man was riding along as a passenger, smoking a herb concoction sold in the bazaars of Tirga, watching the rising sun from the bow of the cargo barge. With the flick of his wrist, he produced a small flame from the palm of his hand, and lifting it to the end of the rolled up tobacco leaf, lit the concoction again. Exhaling a steady stream of almost green smoke, he withdrew a small, worn piece of parchment from the inner folds of his desert garb, unfolding it while holding the bundle of herbs idly in between his fingers.

    Jericho, the stout, scrawled handwriting wrote.

    I feel my last breath coming. Please, right this wrong. We believe in you.

    The message, unsigned, was covered in small specks of dried blood, coating the crumpled paper with an ominous tint. Jericho closed his eyes and sighed, slipping the letter back into his pocket and raising the tobacco leaf for another drag. Despite the lack of signature, Jericho knew exactly who the note was from, and what its cryptic text meant. It was, after all, the reason he had not long ago departed from the island of Chaill for the first time in his life, much less on a bartered passage aboard a cargo barge. It was his duty to avenge the wrongful deaths of his closest friends, and this coastal city of Dornach was Jericho's first stop on a journey into the unknown.

    After another lazy drag of the tobacco leaf, Jericho ashed it against the railing of the barge and tossed the rest into the water, turning to return to the back of the ship. It was going to be a long journey, and he needed rest.

    ---

    By the time the sharp edges of the port city of Dornach came into view, emerging from the hazy fog like an ethereal entity, the sun was nowhere to be seen, instead obscured by ominous clouds that commanded the sky overhead. Jericho looked up from sharpening his blackened machete, scanning the horizon of coastal town homes and warehouses that peaked up from the bustling docks and piers.

    The prospect of taking on this unknown, almost foreign city did not excite Jericho. He would easily be pegged as an islander, but there was not much he could do to disguise his origins. Instead, he simply adjusted his headdress, ensuring his face was properly shrouded in the white hood and mask before emerging from the back of the barge.

    Jericho stepped out towards the railing, surveying the busy docks as the cargo ship slowly floated past, searching for its port. Throngs of people weaved in and out of the numerous bustling fish markets and dockside shops, dodging dockhands and sailors from across the province as they emptied or loaded up their ships of cargo and passengers before the next journey. As the cargo barge began to pull into the port, the tall Chailli man checked his armor straps and blade sheaths once again, before leaping out onto the docks as the ship came to a stop, dock workers hastily securing lines around him. This was it--Dornach. Taking one last wide look at the clusters of buildings rising from the horizon, Jericho took a deep breath and set out across the open pier.
     

    Farthlion

    I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.
    She followed Caden's gaze as he spoke, her eyes falling upon a suspicious looking fellow. Anybody dressing like that was probably up to no good. As her master, a learned old navigator, one said: the ones who hide often have something to hide. The old man was talking about how to safely choose business opportunities, but Hallis applied it to many parts of life.

    She took another drink of the brew, the cool liquid causing a slight, comforting burn down her throat. Hallis could drink, but another pint and she would start being tipsy. Probably had something to do with her small stature. Caden looked back at her for a moment, to which Hallis reacted with a friendly smile. He paused before speaking, "What about you? What's the furthest from Kilbride you've been?"

    "Hmm, probably Arran. Never went further west than that. Always stayin' in Argylle when I went that direction. Traveled a few times eastward, out of the fief though. Not to far. Kilbridean accent ain't exactly welcome over there," she laughed. She had gone east twice. The first time she was under the watchful eye of her captain. As a 6 year old, there isn't too much prejudice toward you. As a 19 year old there wasn't a limit to the men who were open to professing their hate for a person from Kilbride. Noticing he hadn't taken a drink yet, Hallis cocked her head to Caden's mug, "You should try it. It won't kill ya."

    She looked back at the figure from earlier, her brow narrowing as she tried to take a better look, "Never seen anybody dressed like that, even in Dornach. Those clothes look real foreign."
     

    Rextoret

    top kek
    "Hmm, probably Arran. Never went further west than that. Always stayin' in Argylle when I went that direction. Traveled a few times eastward, out of the fief though. Not to far. Kilbridean accent ain't exactly welcome over there," Hallis laughed after the last bit. "You should try it. It won't kill ya."

    He glanced down at the mug, unsure whether it was wise to drink it. Oh well, he thought, live fast and die young. "Erm, yeah." He hastily took a gulp and nearly choked, but tried to play it off like nothing had happened. He coughed. "Oh yeah, good stuff..." She was right though, it did a nice taste. Caden took a sip, a little bit more normally than before.

    He noticed Hallis glance over at the man sitting near them. "Never seen anybody dressed like that, even in Dornach. Those clothes look
    real foreign." She was right, he hadn't seen anyone like that before either. He had a strange weapon hanging from his waste too, a chain and sickle. That was pretty foreign as well. "Yeah, that weapon doesn't look like it's from here either. And those clothes look ancient, on top of foreign. See the fabric fraying?"

    The man turned to see them staring and talking. He might've glared, but it was hard to tell with all the cloth wrapped around his face. He pulled the cloth down from his mouth and stuck the edge of his mug into what seemed like a void where his mouth should be, but it was probably just the lighting and bad angle. He pulled it back up and slammed the now-empty mug down, got up, and left.

    "Weird," Caden said. "Guess there's all kinds of types here in Dornach, huh? Must be cause it's the biggest port in the fief. Gets travelers from all over, I'm sure."
     

    Farthlion

    I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.
    Hallis watched as he swallowed the drink down. The slightest bit of a grimace graced his features - the cool burn of the drink must have hit him. She knew he was a monk, but she figured that even monks took breaks. No man could have that much restraint... after all, drinking was just another part of life where she came from. Then, like all men, Caden took another sip. Hallis was highly amused.

    "Yeah, that weapon doesn't look like it's from here either. And those clothes look ancient, on top of foreign. See the fabric fraying?" She nodded in observance.

    The young woman downed the rest of her drink, setting it down on the bar with a small knock - a wordless sign to the bartender that she wanted another. The man soon came by with another pint. Hallis was starting to feel the alcohol set in, a calming, carefree wave washing over her.

    She looked at the weapon and her muddled thoughts escaped her mouth, "Curved sword. Curved.... sword."

    The figure left abruptly. Caden seemed to have taken notice to it as well, "Guess there's all kinds of types here in Dornach, huh? Must be cause it's the biggest port in the fief. Gets travelers from all over, I'm sure."

    "Maybe... Never seen one like that, and in my trade you see a lot of odd folks," she paused before a wide grin appeared on her face, "There was once this fellow aboard a ship with me - he was massive! Said he had giant's blood! Ended up being a dwarf using stilts... but it took us two days to notice, so I suppose he was convincing."

    Hallis straightened as a thought crossed her mind, "Oh! Tell me about your time in the monastery. I'll buy you another round if ya do."
     

    Rextoret

    top kek
    "Maybe... Never seen one like that, and in my trade you see a lot of odd folks," Hallis grinned. "There was once this fellow aboard a ship with me - he was massive! Said he had giant's blood! Ended up being a dwarf using stilts... but it took us two days to notice, so I suppose he was convincing."

    Caden chuckled awkwardly. He took another sip. "Either he was very convincing, or you were all very drunk."

    She straightened herself quickly. "Oh! Tell me about your time in the monastery. I'll buy you another round if ya do."

    Well, that wasn't very good. Either lie or tell her he was really a glorified waterboy. He thought about it for a moment, ears reddening as he clasped his mug in both hands and looked down into the remains of the drink. "Uh, well." He scrambled for a few more seconds to think about it. Didn't want her to look down on him as pathetic, even if she was a total stranger. He decided to dodge his specific role as best as possible.

    "Well, the head monks are really... wise, and all that. Seem to know what's best and all that, though sometimes it's hard not to disagree with their methods. The monastery itself is really nice, nestled on top of a snowy mountain. Really nice view from the tower, one way you can see out to Braemar and the other way you can see to the mountains where the great dragon Sanntach supposedly lives. On a clear day." He paused for a moment. "All in all, a pretty good place to live."
     

    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    The tavern was a pleasant surprise a few streets in from the waterfront. It was attached to the large, nondescript brick building of a brewery, itself nestled between this and a warehouse, so that it was something of a hidden gem. Avari immediately felt warm as she stepped out of the damp, cool streets and was met by the universally inviting crackle of a central hearth and the low din of chatter colored by diverse accents and often a peppering of expletives. It was early for the taverns, so there was plenty of space by the bar, and the tables on the floor were only spottily occupied. Avari chose one near the bar to sit down at, and when a man came by to ask what she would have she ordered a plain ale.

    The man came back around with a cold mug of amber liquid, and she ventured a sip. Crisp, smooth, and just a bit strong - good stuff, for a brewery in a run-down port city. She took another drink and leaned back in her chair, listening and letting her eyes wander. A sailor woman and a young man with a staff sat at the bar nearby, and she overheard snatches of their conversation: something about travel, a place called Kilbride - "Never seen anybody dressed like that, even in Dornach. Those clothes look real foreign."

    Avari glanced over at this, for a second thinking that the pair was talking about her. They were looking elsewhere, at a man in a leather robe and breastplate who looked to be bundled up in cloth. He was big, and something in the way he stood at the bar seemed to mark him as more out of place than just a foreigner. He wore weapons, too. Avari took another sip of ale. For now, she would dismiss him as a curiosity, nothing more.

    She herself must have been a curiosity to someone: she wore high-waisted brown trousers with the bottoms tucked into her boots, and where many of the natives wore simple shirts, she had on an orange open-fronted garment that was closed to cover her torso and belted with black fabric at the waist. Over that, she had an open vest of scaled armor, with the harness loosely fastened - she assumed, and certainly hoped, that in a civilized setting it wouldn't be necessary. On the right shoulder of the burnished scales, a blue cloth was tied. It was tattered at the ends, but one could still read the sharp characters (or at least, a Severnayan could read them) - her family name.
     

    Seanu Reaves

    The Shogun of Gaming
    Meanwhile as all these interesting folk were arriving into the city by ship, a young man was cursing the fact he was still here. It was time for a break, Lilac thought to himself for the thirteen time. He acted like repeating the thought helped make it true. Maybe it was because the last six years was filled with busy work as he learned to master the ways of magic. Even with the everyday stresses of class and various partners he may have offended with relations with roommates or friends, it was better than the crushing boredom that was him being sent out as an errand boy. Master Slene gave him a mysterious box that fit in the palm of his slender hand, with a note saying “It will activate when you meet the right person.” Unfortunately, after months of toting the box around, it didn’t even give off a magical signal. Lilac had to wonder if this was payback for giving private lessons to the master’s niece.

    Lilac, a bastard son and magical apprentice, found himself stuck in a strange port town with his weapons and armor, pretending to be as much the down on his luck pretty mercenary as he looked. From “gambling.” Drinking, and taking odd jobs he found himself growing incredibly bored. The only solace was the constantly shifting faces as sailors came and went. Even if many were not women, it was nice to meet a new mark who didn’t quite realize what they were getting into when a young and pretty clean shaven boy challenged them to axe throwing or knife throwing. You can’t say I didn’t take the time to practice my magical talent, Lilac thought with a smile as his coin purse jingled. Even the street performances he did to dazzle the crowds was bringing in less money, as most people were too busy or had seen it all before to care about his dazzling displays of spearmanship.

    As he was making his way back into the tavern where he was staying. Spears bundled up on his shield and bound to his back. The last job was a bust, turns out that they didn’t want someone who could fight. Instead settling for the giant of a man who didn’t know how to even swing his sword properly. I still wish I could have helped them, Lilac sighed. Plus, it would have been nice to get to know that merchant’s daughter better. The dandy found himself making his way into the tavern, to be greeted with a gaggle of laughter. He hefted his shield and spears, and made his way to the bar. Probably can see the defeat on my face, Lilac sighed. Taking this time to look around the tavern for any new faces. He saw a strangely dressed man, a young man likely a monk… Lilac made a sour face at that. That doesn’t make sense… But that thought was cut short when he saw the woman the monk was with. I would totally abandon any vows for a bit of that, Lilac smirked to himself. Sure she had the look of a girl more used to sea air based on how her hair was semi-matted, but that sun kissed skin was definitely looking good on her. Getting to the bar he hefted his shield over for the barkeep to take. He smiled at Lilac. “I see you didn’t get the score you wanted.”

    “Yeah… Sometimes I wish I was a big meathead. People don’t know that strength and skill need to be in balance.”

    “Doesn’t help you probably flirted with someone you shouldn’t have… Tell me daughter? Young wife? Ward?”

    “Got it first try… Daughter. Cute thing and huge… Tracts of land…” Lilac holds his hands in front of his breastplate to gesture the size.

    “For such a smooth talker… You are quite crude…”

    “Culture shock. Anything on the new arrivals?”


    “Probably less than you.” The Bartender shifted his eyes over to the woman with the shaved head. “Thought we had another pretty boy but that outfit is pretty flattering for an otherwise rough flower.”

    “Huh… Bet you she can kick my ass. And I would like it…”

    “Freak… And do you have your spears? That’s the game changer.”

    The two friends laugh and Lilac pays for five drinks. He gestures at each person, as he leans against the bar, short sword on his hip poking into the bar. The bartender brings him his wine, and takes each of the newcomers the drink. Lilac looks pretty confident, as he sets his helmet on the bar and grabs his drink.
     

    Farthlion

    I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.
    Hallis chuckled, downing a good portion of her second drink, "We were probably drunk."

    Caden paused at her next question, seeming unsure of how to answer at first. A reply soon came, and Hallis was sucked in, listening to him describe his life prior to leaving the monastery. The idea of being able to sit at the top of a peak of a mountain and look around at things thousands of miles away absolutely fascinated her, "All in all, a pretty good place to live."

    "Sounds beautiful and peaceful. I've always wondered what it would be like to climb a mountain,"
    she was a teeny bit drunk, but she sensed his discomfort with the question and didn't want to press too much, "So you never answered my question earlier - what's a former monk like you doing here in Dornach? Some type of spiritual adventure?"

    As she spoke, a man came to the bar, sitting at the opposite end. He took a shield and a bundle of spears - heaving them over the bar and handing them to the man behind the counter. She lifted her mug to her mouth, drinking slowly as she observed him talking to the bartender.

    Then there was the woman who had quietly taken a seat at a nearby table. She looked foreign as well. With that scaled armor. Her look wasn't as mysterious as the man from earlier, but one could tell she was most definitely a foreigner.

    Interrupting any future observations of the woman, the bartender placed two drinks in front of both Caden and herself. Before she could ask he gestured the way of the newcomer at the bar. Hallis smiled his way, giving the man a thumbs up. Her emotions were becoming more and more unfiltered as she continued to drink.

    "Damn kind of that man," she stated before taking a small sip. She would have to slow down drinking for a bit. She didn't want to get too plopsfaced.
     

    Seanu Reaves

    The Shogun of Gaming
    Lilac returned Hallas’ smile and added wink at the girl as she gave him a thumbs up. I wonder if she will trigger the cube, he thought as he sipped his wine. Or at least spend the night as his companion. The woman in the armor did not seem to respond to his gift just yet, neither did the strange foreigner. So it seemed that only the sailor girl was especially open to any forward actions. He thought about the man she was with, and his staff, Lilac had always been interested in the monks ever since it was mentioned that in some ways his spear forms were reminiscent of their staff combat style. Lilac sniffed his wine and headed over to the table to join the monk and the sailor girl.

    “Hello, mind if I join you?” Lilac says in a partially seductive, partially flippant tone. The best description he ever got was from the bartender, a playful and casual tone with undertones of intimacy that one would not want to miss. “It isn’t often the sea brings in such interesting treasures such as yourselves.”

    He would have to check on the other newcomers eventually, but “first come, first serve” was usually the way he did business. He tried to keep his foppish mannerisms as underplayed as possible. Not moving his arms as much, not playing on his looks as much. He guessed he would have to play the rogue more than usual, since sailors seemed to respond to that type better.
     

    Delusional

    Connoisseur of Hallucinations
    Jericho shivered as he shuffled along across the city's docks. Already, the cold and clammy weather had chilled the desert islander to his bones, and he pulled his cloth garments closer around him as he walked further into the gloomy city to combat the setting chill. Locals stared, glancing up from the ground as they shuffled by the foreigner, judging his outlandish apparel and strange weapons. Jericho quickened his pace, passing under a large archway that led into the heart of the city. The fog thickened around him as he surveyed the shopfronts and tenement buildings that lined the crowded road. He needed to get out of this damp hell and into some warmth.

    A few blocks in from the waterfront, Jericho picked out a tavern attached to a large brewery, nestled behind a warehouse, obscured by a trio of carriages, slowly rattling down the cobblestone streets, curtains drawn, perhaps containing any variation of mysterious figures. Weaving through the crowds, the islander found his way off onto the side street, in front of the tavern. It was busy, and there were several patrons loitering outside the door, holding tankards and sharing a smoke. Beyond them, the inviting glow of the tavern beckoned for Jericho, and he happily obliged, shoving past the group of locals and through the heavy door.

    The happy rumble of friendly chatter filled the tavern, complementing the warm orange glow that emanated from the hearths and oil lanterns that crackled quietly underneath the conversations of the bar's patrons. Jericho scanned the array of tables before him, his foreign garments billowing around him as the door swung shut behind him. He approached the bar counter, leaning against the counter next to a younger mage-looking lad who was wearing colorful garb beneath a mismatched set of leather and steel armor. Jericho nodded in acknowledgement, turning to wave down the bartender and order a drink.

    The young man who had been nursing a flagon of wine departed the counter, waltzing playfully across the tavern to a table that held a curious sailor woman and another young lad, this one appearing painfully average. Jericho shrugged, uninterested as he took off his face mask. I need to find some direction or information if I'm going to continue this search... and it probably doesn't begin with that crowd, he thought idly, sipping a strong liquor beverage the bartender had left on the bar counter for him. Jericho withdrew a handful of coins from the inner folds of his garments and left them on the counter as he retreated to an unoccupied table in the back, unbuckling his weapon holsters and setting the sheathed weapons beside him before posting up with his drink.

    Time to play investigator, and begin to piece together this mess.
    Jericho sighed as he took a long swig of liquor, leaning back in the chair, watching the patrons of the pub curiously.
     

    Mr.Self Destruct

    Chosen Undead
    squeak

    "Oh for fl*ff's sake."

    squeak

    Sten took another step and as expected the ramshackle apparatus he passed off as a leg brace let out another squeak. His face was twisted into a scowl and with each shrill squeak he couldn't help but grimace as there was something so precisely irritating about the squeak in his leg brace at times he wondered if had been intentionally cursed by the higher powers that be. He momentarily scoffed at the thought of the gods forever forsaking him to walk the land accompanied by the ceaseless and never ending squeaking.

    squeak

    Sten grimaced again. He cursed once more, hobbling along the winding path before him in such a way to minimize the squeaking. For such a large and physically imposing man visibly armed with a sheathed greatsword, he thought about how peculiar, and downright foolish, he must have looked squeaking down the street. He continued on his way heavy-footed, his boots plopping down in the mud which had begun to overtake the rotten wooden planks laid across the pathway in a sorry excuse for a road. Upon hearing the strange squeaking, a gangly and begrimed man emerged from a dark recess between two buildings. He looked Sten up and down before letting out a stifled giggle. Sten shook his head, thinking of how there was once a time where he would gut someone for even looking at him cross.


    squeak

    He was in Dornach now, as it happened. After a while he found it hard for him trying to differentiate cities from one another, they all blended together into an interchangeable metropolitan bustle of buildings and people. Of sneering aristocrats and patricians with pockets heartily occupied with gold and silver, and the impoverished and destitute clinging to the streets with nowhere else to go. He had been on the road for a long time now, however many years it had been he had lost count, and now his wanderings had brought him back west to the city of Dornach. He took a moment to stop and survey the scene around him. He could see the deep grey of the sea in the distance, with the maze of wood and cloth sails that was the harbor in the foreground. The familiar scent of sea salt drifted over him and brought to life memories of the first time he had seen the ocean. He had been in the Valoran woods outside of Thurso, which wasn't terribly far from where he was now. He took a step forward.

    squeek

    Maybe it's the coastal air he thought to himself, once more grumbling curses in annoyance. Rusts up the joints something fierce. He happened upon a seedy and sordid building, a sign hanging above the weathered door frame reading Damens Genarel Goods Stor. For a moment Sten thought about how badly Damen's past language teachers should've taken up different work before he figured that Damen might have something to help with his squeaking leg. He stepped inside, squeaking as he unintentionally swung open the rotten wood door with great force.

    "Hey! Easy on the feckin' door!"

    Sten saw who he guessed must be Damen sitting behind a counter beneath the glow of a flickering lantern, glaring back at him with beady little eyes. Sten surveyed the interior of the store: a miscellaneous and completely disorganized hovel with random items strewn about.

    "You got lube?"

    Sten said, turning towards the man. Damen raised an eyebrow and made a reviled expression.

    "Huh?"

    "Oil? Anything like that?"

    "No, what are ye' some kind of feckin' pervert?"

    Sten spat, feeling a twinge of annoyance.


    "In that case, is there anywhere to get a drink in this pit you call a city?"

    ---

    Sten found himself standing before the tavern which had taken him longer than he would've liked to find. The tavern was tucked away in an alcove beside a warehouse and was further obscured by the convenient placement of carriages. It was getting darker outside, and the warm yellow glow of the tavern was beginning to spill from the open windows and doors onto the cobblestone street. A few patrons stood outside, drinking from flagons and smoking tobacco or any other substance they could roll up and pass around with friends. Sten hadn't had a drink in days, and he was practically fiending for ale as he squeaked towards the door when one of the patrons suddenly stepped before him.

    "Hey! I like you're squee--"

    "fl*ff off."

    Sten cut off the drunken man's taunts by putting his gloved hand to his face and shoving, hard. Sending the inebriated patron falling into the muddy ditch beside the tavern. Sten barely looked the man's way as he stepped inside, greeted by a scene typical of any upscale tavern he had visited in his time. He took a seat at the bar and sparing any sort of pleasantries with the innkeep ordered an ale.

    As the innkeep filled Sten's tankard, Sten glanced around the room at the others around him.
     

    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    Two more people had come into the bar, and Avari had eyed both of them discreetly sidelong - one was a tower draped in white robes, and the other was dour and fuming with annoyance, and she suspected that both would provoke comments from the sailor woman. She glanced toward the bar. A man with a pair of spears was making conversation with the tipsy woman and her quite awkward-looking companion, and from that way there came a waiter holding up a mug of ale. He informed Avari that it came from the man at the bar, and she thanked him, sliding the drink gently to the side. The man was eyeing her, but she showed no reaction. She doubted they had much in the way of shared interests. She took another sip at her ale, half-downed by now, and laid it on the wooden tabletop. Not only would the stranger's drink be wasted, so would whatever she had left, but she hadn't come to get drunk, but rather only to rest a bit.

    She stepped away from the table and rounded toward the barkeep on the side of the bar closest to her, the conversing strangers separated further down the bar. The man absentmindedly polished a rounded glass as he watched Avari's approach, and stopped when she halted before him.

    "Greetings. I have just arrived in Dornach, and I would like to find work." Avari's pronunciation was impeccable, though her voice was clearly accented, full and resounding.

    The man scratched the stubble on his chin. As Avari watched the man give his reply, she seemed to space out a bit, searching for something, the meaning of a word. "You can always go down to one of the open warehouses in the waterfront district. Just find some place that's looking for shiphands or laborers, and-"

    "I think maybe my language has made things unclear. I am searching for work. Contracts," she ventured, the translation escaping her.

    "Bounties?" The bartender said, and Avari gave a short nod of assent. "Oh, those're down at the civil office, up the hill a ways. They'll ask you some questions, and then they'll assign you a mark."

    "Thank you," Avari said, nodding again and offering a slight smile. She turned and headed for her table once more, slipping into the seat and leaning back a bit, nursing the remainder of her ale.
     

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