[DMZ]Faerun RP "The Path of Gold"

[DMZ]

If you wish to join this RP, see the OOC Thread: http://roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php?t=96411

This is a drop-in, drop-out RP, so joining should be possible at almost any time.

A small town, serving as a market and crossroad between Westgate and the South. Its population consists mostly of humans, with the occasional dwarfish smith and Elf living among the crowds. Despite not being as large as Westgate or similar cities, this little city is one of the richer places around. People live simple, yet fulfilling lives, which mostly works out. The city militia run by Honlinar Tempest watches over the safety of the people, making it a very unwelcome target for any bandits. Having a large customer base to serve many shops set up base here, ensuring a wealth of variety for any traveller. This comes, of course, with prices that are far higher than normal, leaving the buyer with a much lighter pouch.

Despite the cost one finds that Assam is a warm and welcome place, even more so if one has the coin to pay for the most luxury treatment. One of the poorer districts houses a large amount of people from all corners of the realms. The unchallenged center of this area is the large inn that sits at the meeting of five roads. A large building that has an uncanny resemblance to a hill rises from the ground. The roof is covered with grass growing on the mud. An abundance of round windows look out of the inn at either side, covering the entire square around it. A small fountain, garnered with statues of singing angels finishes the picture.
Upon entering the inn one sees an immense difference in appearance. Walls covered with silk and carpets, each costing at least a hundred gold coins. Beautiful elven, human, halfling, even orcish maidens manoeuvre the tables, serving ale and food to some wealthy looking guests. Almost nobody is wearing armour or any kind of weapon inside the inn, barring a few remarkable exceptions here and there. Guests take their time eating and talking, the guards are laughing as they drag away everyone that dares lay a hand on the servants without permission.

The Innkeeper is a large bearded man who stands behind a truly massive redwood bar. Periodically taking and placing bottles on the counter and throwing silver and gold pieces inside a very present open chest that stands behind him, not seeming worried that it might get stolen. Every few minutes a few "klangs" indicate someone's purse contains more air than usual.

One of the few guests present in full gear is a large suit or armour, or so it seems at first. Surrounded by a few girls who work in the inn he is eating, drinking and talking to another figure, also in dark full armour, who sometimes nods in response and strokes his beard. The girls giggle and touch the engraved armour on him, commenting on how much gold it must have cost. The table is littered with plates and bones from various creatures, a sure sign of an immense hunger.

[generaldisaster]

The journey had been long, and the time away from the caravan was arduous. These people out here were strange, with a refusal to talk to strangers and a mistrust of others who they did not know. Her trappings marked her as a gypsy, and even the elves out here were strange-some had abandoned their ways entirely in favour of cities, unable to sing or dance or even to tell a story. They wore the clothes of the common worker, the common farmer, the common craftsman. All of that which made them unique, that which gave them colour and spirit, was gone. There were fewer huntsmen, and hearing Kaela's fellows not speak their own language amongst themselves was most definitely a new experience. Eventually, her journey came to an end outside a wooden building, outside which hung a lustrous sign, all as described in the note.

Now, perhaps she could do something of use to her caravan. They would not forget her, and she would have plenty of time to find something to prove herself worthy of journeying along the Sword Coast. They had not rejected one of their own before, and while Kaela knew in the back of her mind that she would be sent away, she felt in her heart, the heart of a slightly silly young girl, that whatever she could do might not be enough, and that she would have to abandon her old way, to live like this, alone and wandering through the wildernesses of Faerun or worse still ending up as some sort of harlot in Nashkel until a disease ended her near-unending lifetime. This was always plaguing her thoughts, the hint of nerves in every pull of the string around her bow. She had been singing to Laeroth every night, telling her stories and tales to make sure that she did not lose herself in here, trapped in a single place. Towns did not suit Kaela, not at all, and as she entered the inn, she remarked to herself quietly that the sooner this was over the better.

[Blu]

The Dread Pirate Zoroff. Presumed dead by most, his ship having sunk miles from shore just one week ago. His reputation was less known by the city; it had rivers and a lake nearby, but the actual sea was far enough away that stories of pirates were usually third hand.

Fortunately for Zoroff, Assam was such a type of city. The chances of being recognized and found were slim to none. He wanted them to keep thinking he was dead. He wanted that bastard Captain Rain to believe he was dead. He wanted him to enjoy sleeping soundly at night in a fresh made bed. After all, revenge is best served cold and unexpected. He sat leaning against the wall with his feet on the table. Instead of ale or mead, he was drinking a tankard of sarsaparilla. Had to keep his head straight, at least till he was back on top.

Across from him was his first mate, who could not stop eyeballing the ever growing pile of gold. He could feel her leg twitching under the table as she thought of how she could get away with stealing at least a handful. Zoroff sighed. "You would never get away with it. You really don't think things through enough."

She immediately turned and stared him down with an accusing glare. Zoroff buried his face in his mug. "Don't give me that look. I don't like the taste of crow, but I ate it. You were right. I know how long you have been waiting for a chance to hear that."

He finished off the last gulp, before continuing. "Besides, that makes the score, what? 40 to 1?" He slammed the mug down and got one of the whor... 'tavern girls' to get him another. "Question is, how do we get a ship without drawing attention to ourselves?"

[Kostvel]

With another weary footstep, he strode into the town of Assam, a low wake of dust swept up off the road. In fact, Kostvel found more dust falling off himself, rather than swept up by his feet. Taking a moment on the side of the street, he tried to knock some of the stones form his boots, although it was rather futile. There were enough holes in the soles to ensure that the soles of his feet were walking on every lump and stone.

Looking around he could see the well equiped guards, and the fairly well dressed citizenry. This only made him feel a little worse, as he could feel the lightness of his empty money case. Well I better go find this inn then, and get it over with. He thought, as he quickly asked for directions from a man selling pastreis from a nearby stall. Walking briskly on his tired soles, he soon navigated his way through the streets till he could see the frint of the inn.

Momentarily pausing to ensure that this was the proper place, he pushed through the front door, the butt of his halberd trailing slightly on the ground. Blinking to adjust his eyes to the light, he froze. He wasn't sure that this was where he was supposed to be as it looked nothing like the inns he was used to being inn. Stepping aside to clear the door he plunked himself down in an empty seat nearby and leaned his halberd against the table lightly. "Might as well rest the feet for a little while I still can." He muttered to himself under his breath.

[Vietmyke]

Here we are..
It's about damn time..

Atelar calmly strode though the small town, his face a mix of disgust and relief. This town was puny. It was a mess. This town put an odd taste in Atelar's mouth that he didn't really understand, but hated nonetheless. Of course, it was also the first sign of civilization Atelar had seen in about a month. He gotten here only the day before, and in that time he had sold the horse he came here on, the horse quite worn and old anyway. Of course with a bit of haggling and threatening, he had sold the old horse for the price of a first class chariot horse. Atelar grinned devilishly as he recalled how the transaction went down. The merchant was only willing to purchase the horse for a single silver piece at first. It was only after Atelar had ran his knife through several rolls of expensive silk was the merchant willing to up his price to something more... fair...

Atelar had been tempted to use magic on the merchant's store, but he decided against it in order to keep himself as non-descript as necessary. While mages were not unheard of, they certainly were not a everyday occurrence either, and with Atelar's particular style of magic, he would be known for miles away if he decided to use it. Atelar chuckled slightly to himself as he pulled out a silver coin he had got from the merchant and fiddled with it, rolling it over his knuckles and flipping it into the air and catching it.

Atelar walked half absentmindedly down the street, playing with his coin as he did. The 'friendly' merchant who had bought his horse told him that the 'Traveler's Rest' was just down this road. He had also been told that this inn was quite rich, something quite surprising for this tiny, poor section of town. When Atelar came upon it however, he was slightly crestfallen. The inn looked a little like a muddy hill, and had the grass and dirt to resemble it. How could this, of all places, be the rich inn they had spoken of? Atelar started to fume, what if this was all a ruse? A trick? Those people who had so honestly told Atelar about this job. What if they were just playing him? These honestly seeming people actually laughing at this moment at his gullibility. Heads would roll if this was a trick. Things would burn too.

When he entered the inn however, his sour mood was mollified. The outside was a hobble, but the inside was indeed filled with rich silks and carpets, and dozens of eye-catching, jaw-dropping women strutted quite casually through the place as the eyes of many hungry nobles stared at them, many hungry for things other than food. There were also many who seemed to be more of the adventurer sort, worn clothes, and weapons were not uncommon in this inn either. Atelar pulled back the hood of his cloak, his peculiarly handsome, golden blond hair popping out from under the hood. He drew the rest of his cloak around him, and kept his dagger close to his hand in case something with one of these armed visitors went wrong.

He still had time before he needed to talk to this innkeeper his informants told him about. Atelar looked about for an empty table in this crowded place and found one. He had started walking towards the table when a tired looking soldier bearing a halberd sat down. Frowning slightly, Atelar continued to the table anyway and pulled out the table's other empty chair. He sat down casually, and quickly grabbed a drink from one of the various smiling serving ladies. Atelar leaned back and propped his feet up against the table. Looking across the table at the soldier who sat there, he raised his mug in a silent toast and took a long drink. Shaking his head as he usually did after a long swig of drink, he looked calmly at the soldier at the table.

"So, what brings you here, soldier-boy?"

[DMZ]

((For the reference: The below colours are, in order: Thoughts, history, General Actions, Glith.))

The inn is unusually busy today. One might thinks that sounds strange when not even half the tables are occupied, but it isn't that kind of busy. There's an unusual amount of outsiders here today, all probably coming from one corner of the realm or the other.


A soldier who, by his appearance should not have the coin to afford this place. Not that soldiers are an uncommon appearance, but the ones that regularly visit are from caravans and most of the time have the money to keep their equipment in good order. This one was just in contrast with the usual image of the folks that came in here. Clad in simple leather chaps and cap, most of which looked worn out, accompanied by wool undergarments that had their best time as well. This was one hell of a candidate for any job.


Across him sat a young-looking Elf, who, by the smell of his was a mage of some sort. Glith didn't like mages. In his years he didn't exactly meet a lot of friendly mages, most were trying to destroy or kill him for his equipment and bragging rights. Despite being met with hostility wherever he went his sword didn't taste as much blood as it could have. Most of the attackers were not dead, not in the afterlife sense in any case. Instead of killing mages, Glith removed their hands, mouth, or whatever they used to cast magic, so they never could do it again. It wasn't the best solution, but taking away the gift of magic from someone wasn't on the "can-do" list since he was created. It was the next best choice he had. His thoughts drifted off to the only really friendly spellcaster he knew...his fingers running over the hilt of the sword, reading the inscription without ever looking at it.


An oddity was the character that came in after the guards left with yet another "grabber". A woman, but hard to guess from what race. Too small to be an elf, a bit too high for a halfling. Her face was hard to distinguish, the only thing that could be seen was that this was, in fact, a woman. The clothing she wore reminded Glith of the Wood Elves near Myth Drannor. A simple yet effective camouflage patterned in leaves and woodland colours was the cloak. Jolly thing was, it's effects were completely negated by the colourful wall coverings, making her stand out more than an orc amidst gnomes. An uneasy look around, searching for something the normal eye couldn't reveal at a glance.


This strange company was completed by the duo sitting at one of the table in the corner, oogling around them. Pirates. To most people in this region pirates were only known from stories and legends, barring a few guards who worked here and the city council, who were more than aware of anything and everything that happened on the seas. Or almost everything. They didn't know about a small fleet that was stationed near Neverwinter, just waiting until the time would come. For someone who did notknow where to look it would be near impossible to find. Heck, even for mortals it was hard enough to get to it without dying from cold or drowning. Glith grinned.


Sometimes it was really a treat to belong to the dead. Not having to breathe air meant that travelling wasn't limited to roads or the dry land, even if it was a little more active most of the time. Discovering ships while travelling wasn't uncommon, the most diverse sights memorized by heart. Special treats such as a ship sinking right above him still with its crew and belongings, rusketed up quite some gold at the time. The incription was funny, reading "The Dame", strangely spaced out across the hull. There were some other letters, but it was impossible to read them. Not having to eat, drink, sleep or rest meant nobody could ever steal on his watch. Reaching inside an empty armour and touching only bone and remains of flesh scared even the most brave of thieves. Sure, some actually succeeded, a young girl among them. She wasnt scared when he grasped her, just as she was about to run away. The child didn't know the meaning of "undead" yet. With the most innocent expression she looked up to him, barely reaching his knee and looked sad:
"Sir, could you spare a coin for me and my mother? She says she wants to cook me something special!" The begging made Glith smile, even though it wasn't visible on him. He accompanied her to a small house, where her mother laid on the bed, exhausted and thin. The girl told him her name was Kaylee, but most people just called her Kay...


A small boy ran inside and approached the Innkeeper, holding up a folder. Wearing nothing more than some ripped clothing, a shield and a short sword he announced with a puffy face, trying to look as impressive as he could:
"I am here for the job!" The guests' murmur ceased as everyone looked at him. Most of the guests, non locals at least, started hysterically laughing. The Innkeeper looked upon him and stated with a loud voice:
"Thee wishes to travel the Realms in search of fame and honour? Beware, for thy quest will be hard and difficult! Thee may not come home to ye folks in due time, and miss dinner!" The boy hesitated for a moment, then sighed and turned around, walking out with a defeated posture. Everyone resumed talking and life went on.
Not for long, as a well-dressed noble walked in, accompanied by two huge Half-Orcs. Not wasting any time on speaking to the Innkeeper he announced:
"I am here to claim my rightful prize! Siya, honey, you are coming home with me!" One of waiters turned around, her countenance twisted in fear. The guards from the inn, two spear men surrounded the group, only to see their spears snapped in two by the bodyguards. This didn't discourage them, the seasoned men attacking with their fists. One of the Half-Orcs folded in two from the pain and threw the guard outside. The other crossling knocked the attacker unconscious and awaited further instructions. A triumphant smile graced the noble's face:
"Any more princes on the white horse?"


Glith watched the scene unfold, waiting for someone to stand up and respond to the challenge. Siya wasn't leaving the inn, but only he, the Innkeeper and the man who sat across Glith knew that. The man's name was Lath, he was one of the city guards. His hand rested on the hilt of the sword, ready to strike. Glith shook "No" with his head. This wasn't their fight...yet. It would be a good test to see who would be worthy of the contract.

[generaldisaster]

The events passing Kaela by only affirmed her belief that they were all crazy out in the cities. Apart from nearly everyone being drunk, the only ones that weren't were the guards or the heavily-armed or robed strangers, who she assumed to be adventurers or bounty hunters also after the gold. Damn it, I knew this was too easy. If there were others here, at best there would be a sharing of the bounty-what could would three silver coins do for the caravan? This would all be wasted effort. Damn it, it's not fair. A petulant little voice inside Kaela's head protested; despite her years, she was still essentially a teenager and prone to all the flared emotions of immaturity. At least in the caravan the people were sane. Bunch of crazies, everyone out here. Baldur's Gate was preferable to this nonsense-at least the people there were consistently strange. Here they were just abnormal, both by her and their own standards.

Little girls, begging for gold? Small children claiming to be adventurers? Even by the standards of this mad civilization, this could not be normal procedure. Finally, a fight broke out. Kaela took off her hood, just to make sure that this wasn't her overactive imagination creating things in low light-no, this was genuinely happening. Two orcs, ugly bastards by anyone's yards, had come in behind a man in finery. He had a pomp, grandiose swagger and his orcs were good killers-the armed and armoured guards did not stand a chance. She had heard that Faerun was dangerous, but this was by some distance beyond her expectations. The Sword Coast paled in comparison to this lunacy, and Kaela decided that she would have no more part of it. Damn the reward, there would be another way to prove herself useful to the caravans. No reward could be worth all this. Her left hand flew to her quiver, and in a single, smooth movement she drew the bow, staring down the flights of her arrows with an angered, irritated look upon her face. She was unsure of what to do now-would she be arrested if she followed along with the course of action she was now set upon? Kaela decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and instead spoke.

She had to remind herself to speak in the common tongue. "Sirs, I do not know of your custom but where I was raised killing people is bad manners. I suggest you apologise and leave, while you still have tongues to apologise with." This had better work. If it didn't work, this journey could end very soon, and very messily indeed.

[DMZ]

The nobleman glanced upon the elf woman.
"So small, yet so brave huh? I like a little resistance, especially from weaklings that the elves are. I'm not even sure you are a real elf! At least those pointy-eared freaks stand higher than my chest!" The Half-Orcs laughed in response, pointing at the girl. The tavern guests were quiet, until a loud voice broke the silence:

"You do not know what you speak of, fool. Leave now, before the elf decides she can just as well grind you to dust. Just because you happen to be a major visitor from up north doesn't mean you can just come in here and take anything you want."

The nobleman turned around as fast as lighting, looking for the insulter. Nobody gave the slightest hint as to where the voice came from.
Lath grinned at Glith.

Glith looked over to the Innkeeper, slowly turning his helmet to avoid making noise. The man looked back and only slightly nodded.

[Blu]

Daena fidgeted in her seat, before looking back at Zoroff. They were going to get into this fight. That much was obvious. It wasn't because there was a defenseless maiden or two involved. Had nothing to do with the guard. And nothing to do with loot. But there was nothing Zoroff hated more than some snobby, spoiled, little bitch prince who thought he owned the world by birth right.

Zoroff stood up, clenching his fist, while Daena pulled out her crossbow, hands shaking from the thrill of some action. "Fade, please." Daena muttered under her breath, and did a little hand work as Zoroff walked towards the elf, the man, and his two guards.

Unseen to normal eyes, five invisible clones walked away from Zoroff as Daena's spell started taking effect. "If it's her height that confuses you, I can hack away at your legs till she fits the norm."

One of the half orc guards turned to try and grab Zoroff to throw him, only to find a second before his hand reached him, he disappeared. In that exact second, he reappeared behind the orc guard, striking two rapiers into the holes in his defenses, disappearing again.

Zoroff at work was quite a sight to behold. Using his clones, combined with Daena's magic, he seemed to be flicking around the room at speeds too fast to be seen. In reality, it was just a fancy, well played illusion. In the corner, Daena was preparing to start pumping crossbow bolts into the orcs' heads while Zoroff's fancy tricks kept them confused, distracted, and in some level of pain.

It was all about the show, not the death. The noble had to learn the fear of gods and commoners, to put this spoiled ass in his place.

[Vietmyke]

Atelar had only made a small amount of small talk with mr soldier-boy in front of him (take that as completely mindless dialogue-d banter, or after kostvel's response to my character, depending on what he feels like). Atelar looked up, slightly distracted as he noticed what looked to be the starts of a brawl. Some jaunty, snobby, ass-holish noble had walked in and did what nobles did, demand things, and an elf had decided to stand up to him. Or, he thought she was an elf anyway, maybe she was a half elf like him? They weren't as tall as full elves. Eitherway, the smaller elfish girl had her bow drawn, and 2 of the Inn guards had been knocked silly before another man decided to step in. The man gave quite an impressive show, disappearing and reappearing behind the first half-orc as the beast struck. Short range teleporting was no impressive feat, Atelar minded to himself, but he did not feel any distortion of mana when the man did such tricks. Was there perhaps someone in the back doing shifty things? No matter, some one was selling a fight, and Atelar was buying.

"I'll tell you what, I'll talk to you later soldier-boy." Atelar remarked coolly. Standing up from his table, he walked casually over to the bar where the innkeeper stood, and where the fight-to-be was starting to take place.

"Look at this shmuck," Atelar remarked loudly, enough for most people in the vicinity to hear. "He thinks threatening a little elf with his mutts (half-orcs) is going to gain him more prestige." He grinned to himself slightly, at the irony of it all. A half blooded 'mutt' such as himself, calling other half bloods mutts, it was fairly entertaining. Of course, Atelar himself looked enough elf not to be thought immediately as half blooded.

As it turned out, many half-orcs did not like being called names such as 'mutts', and one of the half-orcs, growled indignantly as it lumbered towards the smaller framed Atelar. Atelar turned towards the approaching half-orc, "Hello? I don't believe I was talking to you, mutt. Go wait over there until your little rat-lord calls for you, 'kay?" Atelar said disdainfully, goading on the half-orc and its master. Being told to wait in the corner seemed to be the last straw. The half-orc, its weapon still in its sheath, swung a huge overhand punch towards the smaller Atelar. Atelar quickly stepped inside the Orc's swing and countered with one of his specially developed 'Magic Palm' spells.

His palm glowed a dim, but light blue, and struck into the gut of the half orc, propelling him a few surprised paces backwards. The orc roared again to continue its advance. But Atelar drew his hand up in front of him. At the tip of his index finger began to glow a small, white-blue orb of intense light. Small crackling sounds could be heard from it, and the edges of Atelar's cloak seemed to start floating upwards. This gave the orc pause for a moment, now unsure of whether or not it should charge towards the glowing orb.

Atelar grinned devilishly before turning his head back towards the elf that had started the whole ruckus.

"Funny seeing another kinsman here," Atelar remarked absently, as if he were not aware of the current situation at hand.