The district closest to the river Reik was a thriving, prosperous area. Men, Elves and Dwarfs all worked and traded with each other, the rich merchants easily distinguished from the labourers by their bright clothes and considerable girth. Except the Elves, but Elves never seem to get fat (Lucky buggers). Indeed, the water front appears to be a riot of colour, the reds and purples of the human traders mixing with the blues, whites and golds of the other races. Barges move freely up and down the river, some carrying as much as a kings ransom with little fear of robbery. Taverns spilt their gleaming lamp light into the night, and the sound of drunken laughter came from within. All in all, it's quite a nice place. So why the hell would you think you were meeting there?

The dark, dank stench of decay emanated from the surrounding houses, which were slowly rotting and falling apart beside the fetid waters of the old canal. The few passers by are gaunt and haggard, their ragged clothes mirroring the decrepit state of the buildings around them. Gradually, they disappear all together, only the stealthy shuffling and muffled whispers echoing ominously from the surrounding buildings. Unlike in Suiddock, the Doodcanal is not lit by torches or lanterns, instead, only the necrotic glimmer of Morslib provides any light to this gods forsaken district. Deeper, and deeper, into the very heart of the slums, where those you meet are but shadows of human beings, who look at you hungrily before scuttling off back into the dark.

Eventually, you find what you're looking for. A low stone building, out of place in the surrounding crude huts and collapsed rubble, but still in as sorry a state as any of them, the windows are boarded up, and a few bricks appear to have fallen out of the walls. A set of crumbling stone steps lead up to a flimsy wooden door. You push on it lightly, and feel your hand almost smash straight through the rotten planks. Inside, you find a large room with strangely smooth walls. There is no furniture but a long, polished oak table, with three chairs on either side.

Well, nothing to do but wait.

As Fortune walked through the Morslib lit street lined with decaying buildings with the tell tale rattling of plate armor as he moved, he didn't seem all that bothered by the sights and sounds of the beggers and shadowy figures around him. While one would find such an indifference strange in a member of nobility, Fortune De Vigny was from Bretonnia; Having rode past several of his native land's villages before, he could say with certainty that compared to the terrible conditions of the inbred, mutated peasantry of his own homeland that the buildings and 'people' he were walking by currently were a major step up. They had bricks made of STONE used for their hovels for lady's sake! And that shadow figure that he was pretty sure was a ruffian that slipped away because he was too dangerous a target only had two eyes and four fingers on the hand he saw!

Before the young man knew it, he had arrived at the address...

Compared to the castle manor that he had been raised it, the place was an absolute dump... but it still looked more inviting then stepping into a peasant hovel that was poorly made with straw, dung (one assumed and hoped that it was animal, but one could never be sure...) and at least on one occasion, a live cow. Placing his plated hand on the door to push it open, the fact that his hand went through it was ease caused Fortune to chew his cheek for a moment before sighing. With a bit more care, he pulled his hand back and opened the door without putting any more holes in it before stepping in... and finding himself alone.

Walking over to inspect the table, Fortune hoped that this was the right place and he was just a little early; He had paid to give Twilight room in a stable in a more well off part of town because he didn't want any ruffian trying to steal her if he left her outside... or worse, trying to eat her for meat. For the moment he lent against what he hoped was a wall strong enough to support a knight in plate armor, unwilling to trust the chairs to support his weight just yet.

All he could do now was wait...

Brokk was strolling down the street happily, his Thrund in hand. He did not mind the inferior umgi architecture and smells knowing it was all a price he had to pay. He whistled the tune of one of the marching songs he learned with the longbeards, looking around to see if anyone else was going where he was. As he rounded a corner he just saw a man in umgak armour walk into where he was supposed to. "One for sorrow, two for joy." he muttered, as he went along. He casually flicked the hammer on his handgun back in case he would need it, seeing as the bugger before him was armed. With a "hup, hup hup!" he climbed up the steps, the fact that they were made for a human giving his arthritic legs a little bit of trouble. Still, he was not to be dismayed by that, nor the broken door! He took a quick look left and right to make sure that this was the right spot and he had not made some grandiose mistake, and stepped in.

As he stepped in he nodded to the man, knowing that no leader would wear so much armour so far before a battle; thus he had not too much to say to him but an "Evening." He did not bother with the chairs either, the height not particularly appealing to him. Instead he decided to place his handgun on the table and start inspecting it once more. While he knew there was not to be a scarp that soon, it was habit. At the same time, he did not wholly trust the man nor those who may walk in. He placed his Grund beside his Thrund, and a throwing Az parallel to them. As he worked on his weapon, he pulled out a pipe and lit it; another recent habit. After a few more puffs he decided to take off his bag and place it on the ground too, the unnecessary weight being a bit of a nuisance.

As he finished inspecting and cleaning his rifle, he once more slung it upon his back and went to lean on a wall too. He considered chatting with the human while they waited but chose not too, enjoying his smoke too much. He pulled out a small flask of Bugman's to drink, deciding it was the perfect compliment with his chosen herb. He let out a small "Ahhh." as he waited.

Deleted

Ernst Kopfler had come to the trade hub of Marienburg with his family some eight or so years ago, moving from the capital of the Reikland to this location because of his father and the merchant work he did. It was well known that Marienburg was the epicentre of trade and commerce in the Empire, and now he, his father, and his mother were sharing in this pie...a sadly rotten pie; in fact he had no idea, as he stood their on the balcony of the rickety building where he lived and gazed into the shadowy streets, how they had even ended up there! Possibly something to do with his father's insane gambling habits?

For nearly an hour he had been where he was, the thirteen year old boy staring out at the rooftop across from him, sure as anything that he had seen someone or something moving up there not five minutes ago. Trying to ignore the foul-smelling canal nearby, as hard as that was to do for anyone with a healthy nose, he narrowed his eyes once more and willed them to pierce the darkness where he thought...knew...something now sat.

There was nothing though, nothing but the blackness of night and the chill wind that blew the rot and reek of the watercourse toward him, or was there?

On the opposite side of the street – well, alleyway would be a more accurate term, the entire 'street' being nothing more than a thin trail lit by the worst lighting known to man – the slender figure sat with inhuman patience and looked back at the adolescent Imperial, a minute angling of his neck the only gesture of curiosity he had made in the last two hours.

Upon arriving in the city he had visited what was known colloquially to the Humans around here as 'Elf town', a most basic if not offensive moniker for the section of this ancient Elven colony still inhabited by his people – 'his people', hah! - and where he had taken a look at the Tar Eltharin runes that so amazed visitors, tourists and foreign merchants alike. What they did not understand was that, as aesthetically pleasing as all Elven script was, what they thought were magical incantations or important notations were in fact trivial scrawling of the most mundane kind.

During the War of the Beard, that long forgotten conflict except for between the two combatant races, what the Men called 'Marienburg' had been known as Sith Rionnasc'namithshir – an Elven fortress at the mouth of the river Reik, meaning “Star Gem of the Sea” in the Human tongue – and, as with the garrison forces of all races, those stationed here had partaken of graffiti for humour, relaxation or out of spite.

For example, he had read one of the carvings on one of the nearly submerged colonnades that read “Letherion Beardplucker joined with your wife here”, a piece that certainly lost something in the translation, the word 'joined' – as with many words in the Elven tongue – having a duel meaning of either coitus or marriage, or both. Such is the complexity of Asur script and spoken word.

Across the rooftops of the town he had made his way, avoiding anyone and everyone with supreme skill and not a little bit of using the encompassing night as camouflage, at least until the youth had seen him and not stopped staring in his direction since. Of course the boy, who would have been no more than a baby in the years of his own people, could not penetrate the gloom to catch sight of him...not until he moved, something he had to do if he wished to make this meeting.

It was only then that Ernst caught his final sight of the long-limbed figure with a gasp, remembering it for the rest of his life, how he had seen an Elf in the wild and lived to tell the tale.

---

"I would advise you to leave my destrier to his own devices, seigneurs. If you like having fingers and face that is."

A Bretonnian?

If there was one thing that Listec truly abhorred about Man, it was just how slow they were...By Loec they moved with such cumbersome speed, and adding armour to their already inferior bodies only compounded it tenfold.

From his perch on the rooftop of the shambles of a building, although all around were somehow far worse, he could see and smell everyone that had already arrived. Two men...correction, a man and a woman...and a Dwarf. Well, this just got more interesting. The dour and stout figure was smoking some form of pipe weed, the smell separating into a hundred differing scents within his nostrils, but it was not strong enough to block out either the foetor of the Doodcanal or that of the Dwarf's body odour.

Yes, here was as good a place as any, a good place to observe and analyse, and so until the entire coterie of sellswords showed themselves he would remain where he was; patiently sitting near a hole in the roof, crouched with the precision and silent poise of a feline, and waiting.

His ham sized fist struck the would-be thief in the stomach, bowling him over and sending him to the ground, squealing at the hit. The other cut-purse waved a knife menacingly, but the curious looking Dwarf of the Slayer Cult shattered his knee before the man could strike, snapping it like a twig with a strike from his makeshift prosthetic arm. This time it's fixture was a hammer head, though he imagined screwing on his wrench would have been just as good.

The man screamed, and fell to the ground hard. "Oi" the Dwarf said to them. "Either of ye got a light? I'd rather not use up anymore of my flint. Got things to blow up, you know?" It was hard to tell if this small talk was a jest, or actually as nonchalant as he was meaning. The Dwarf was muscled and rough looking, not to mention he had an odd look in his mad eyes that spoke of danger. These men had thought the risk was worth it, for he carried a large pack and was seemingly unarmed save for an Axe that would be hard to reach for with his free hand. Needless to say, their bargain failed.

Sketti hammerhand gazed up into the sky, seeing the time of day. "Well, never mind. Got to get goin'." he declared, and marched further into this Grobi wrought city of the manlings.

He found the building after taking a few odd turns. The layout of this settlement left something to be desired, but he made do and finally got to his destination. The house certainly looked like a manling had made it, standing there in all of its shoddy glory. He stepped in, nearly ripping the flimsy door off its hinges.

There were two manlings, but the Dwarf is who he noticed. Looked like a miner of sorts, though the Thrund was recognizable. Walking toward the only other Dawi in the room, Sketti gave Brokk a gruff nod. He supposed they were both longbeards, but such thoughts he had not considered for himself in a long while. It was all doom and explosives now, though he supposed the only thing that changed when he took the oath was the 'doom' part.

Even after all these years, he knew the streets of the Doodkanal like the back of his hand. You tried to stay away from the festering slums, but every now and then, you ran into a patrol of Black Hats you couldn't lose any other way. And it was the only place you could run smuggling operations through the sewers, without wasting half your profits bribing the River Watch. The occasional fight for your life was well worth it, once you saved your first trader the toll fee on a box of Bretonnian truffles. Unfortunately, a thief's knowledge of the Doodkanal's back streets was of little use to him on this Morrslieb-lit night.

The instructions were written for an outsider, with street names and building numbers, that left Baltazar squiting in the dark, trying to make out the faded text on withered old signs - where the signs hadn't fallen away completely. Without the invisible paths of the underworld, making way through the slithering streets was a slow process, and one that exposed him uncomfortably to far too many greedy eyes. The gleaming blade resting against his shoulder had kept the worst of the riffraff away, but Baltazar was not foolish enough to let his guard down. The aetheric winds writhing in the glow of the Chaos moon provided no comfort, either.

When he finally made it to the rotting doorway of the tavern, he shouldered his way unceremoniously through the door. It wasn't the first run-down hovel he'd used to meet an employer, though he faintly hoped it would be the last. The Dwarfs were the sort of folk he'd been expecting for this type of job - a tattooed maniac and a withered old half-beard - but the Bretonnians were a bit more of a surprise. Baltazar had learned a healthy mistrust toward Bretonnian knights in his years with the caravans, having seen one robber baron too many "honourably" steal the livelihood out from under him. He'd seen his fair share of destitute black knights too, loitering around the countryside in the off season. But two at the same time, and in Marienburg of all places? Must have been a bad year down south.

And no one was saying a word. Neither Dwarfs nor Bretonnians were known to be particularly jovial, but Baltazar had seen ransom negotiations with less tension. He hated the thought of calling attention to himself so early, but his military experience told him a group like this could never without a sense of camaraderie. With a nod to anyone who'd meet his gaze, he pulled out a chair with his foot and sat down, sheathing his sword and placing the sheath across his lap. With practised ease, he put on the self-assured expression of a man with complete confidence in his own abilities.

"So. Treasure hunting, huh?", he said, adressing anyone who'd turn their head. "Well, looks like we've plenty enough of muscle. But where's the brains of this operation?"

Fortune remained rather quiet as people started to come in and fill up the room... even if it was just with awkward silence. If nothing else at least it proved that he was in the right place. Some knights would have lent back against the wall and inspected each person that came in, judging them silently on if they would be worthy companions or if they were just problems that they were going to have to deal with on their journey; Fortune was silent because not only did he not know what to say in this sort of situation, but he didn't know what language to say it in either!

The tongues of his homeland wouldn't be of much use within the boarders of the Empire (at the very least, not in this situation anyway) and while he had been taught how to speak a couple of languages beyond Bretonnia's boarders he wasn't exactly fluent in such lesser tongues. He also hadn't been taught dwarfish, which in hindsight was now kind of a problem. The arrival of what appeared to be a Bretonnian black knight didn't exactly raise his confidence in the situation around him either...

He was polite enough to nod his head and respond "Good Evening." to the dwarf that had greeted him as such. He might have carried a strange contraption but the man had seemed friendly enough (and while he hadn't been taught much about dwarves, he did know that they didn't take slights against them lightly).

It was the last man to arrive (and the only one to take a seat) that finally broke the silence properly. Deciding to ignore the comment about the 'brains' of the operation, Fortune was happy enough to have something to break up the silence a little as he started speaking in one of the more common tongues used in the Empire. "While I confess that the opportunity to gather some fresh wealth is appealing, the chance of finding something worthy of becoming a full knight is primary hope." Smiling a little, he quickly added "The chance to see more of the world at the same time is just a wonderful boon."

"I take it that the call of riches lured most of you here as well?" He asked openly, hoping that it would give them all a chance to get to know each other a little bit.

@Andreyich@Maxwell@POOHEAD189@Jbcool@DrunkasaurusRex

Brokk grinned at the sight of the Drengi arriving, his nose curling at the smell of Bugman's any Dawi can recognise from miles away. "Greetings Slayer, looking to find your death are ya?" he asked Sketti in Khazalid. When the Priest of Ranald walked in he nodded and thought of the question he made. Switching to a broken Reikspiel he began to reply. "I'm the oldest here I reckon. I outsmarted Forest Grobi, Wutelgi Waywatchers, the ratmen (with a glare to the humans who did not believe in their existence) and Beastmen in their own game of deviousness. Unless anyone here wants otherwise, I think I'll be the leader. Any objections?" he asked. He thought that perhaps the Slayer was older and simply dyed his hair red, but his body did not seem to be as aged as his.

Upon the speech of the Bretonnian he chuckled. It was an umgi thing to have a conversation without having a name. After all, a conversation like that was not as honest, and manlings were not naturally as honest, no matter how hard they tried. "Aye, gold-lust was my biggest interest." he told the Knight. "But seeing the world is a wonder is it not? I thought that this was the best way to do it, since I would also be getting paid for it. I can eat all the foreign foods and delicacies, I can play chess with rich gits all over, puff the finest pipes, so on and so forth." Blowing out a ring of smoke from his pipe he decided to add: "My name's Brokk. Brokk Ghammarad, Ranger of Everpeak-Zhufbar-Karak Izor. Who're you all?" he asked, genuinely curious. They were quite the motley crew he had to admit. Even within the same species, the two Dwarfs could not have had a greater difference.

He decided to give some taps of Hammertongue to the Slayer too, wondering if he knew it, saying "Miner, Engineer or Ranger?" those groups being that only ones that usually knew it.

Deleted

Two Dwarfs and three Men...it seemed to the patient Elf that he was all that was missing from the group now - at least to become the beginning of one of those awful human jokes he had been forced to hear often enough in his extensive lifetime!

"So. Treasure hunting, huh?"

"Well, looks like we've plenty enough of muscle. But where's the brains of this operation?"

True, where was their benefactor? Each of them had been hired, he assumed, to undertake the same task as the others, yet thus far there was no sign of their mysterious employer or even the reason they were gathered about in the first place.

"I'm the oldest here I reckon. I outsmarted Forest Grobi, Wutelgi Waywatchers, the ratmen, and Beastmen in their own game of deviousness. Unless anyone here wants otherwise, I think I'll be the leader. Any objections?"

"Aye, gold-lust was my biggest interest."

"But seeing the world is a wonder is it not? I thought that this was the best way to do it, since I would also be getting paid for it. I can eat all the foreign foods and delicacies, I can play chess with rich gits all over, puff the finest pipes, so on and so forth."

"My name's Brokk. Brokk Ghammarad, Ranger of Everpeak-Zhufbar-Karak Izor. Who're you all?"

Trust a stunted member of the Dwarfen race to embolden and embellish every tale he could think of or recollect, although he had to admit that this particular Dwarf had a style about him, one that well leant itself to the sing-song dialect and the whiff of pipe smoke drifting up and out of the hole before him; as well as that, only a Ranger would have the wits to suggest that he had outsmarted an Asrai Waywatcher! No doubt this 'Brokk' had seen much of the world, but that was one claim that Listec would not be under keen to challenge.

"Yes, seigneur, you are correct in that assumption, at least as far my involvement in this enterprise goes. You'll find as time goes on that money in a vault somewhere and a warm place to sleep tend to be more appealing than what a cold night in some strange place has to offer."

"Greetings, Master Brokk. I'm Jehan le Cordelier, formerly of Bretonnia."

Ah, now here was a fine example of a Man; wishing for only some coin, a warm fire and a roof over their head, it was no surprise that Mankind was so limited...or that Bretonnia, the so-called chivalrous kingdom of knighthood and plenty, was in actuality a backward region of inbred peasantry and arrogant fobs. This Jehan le Cordelier though, there was a certain note in the gruff speech that seemed to hint at a bitterness barely concealed, perhaps not entirely full of arrogant beaus then?

Thus it seemed as good a time as any to 'throw oneself to the Chracian lions', a time to get in among his would-be companions (although equals, that was a different matter) and test their racial sensibilities if nothing else.

With poise, grace and finesse that would have made a feline green with envy, he squeezed through the hole in the roof – not exactly a hard task, the hole was nearly the size of two men laying side by side – and dropped to the floor of the room just behind where Baltazar had decided to seat himself. There was no thud, no indication that he had even landed at all, save for a slight rustling of robe and a clink of metal scale on scale, the ground beneath the Nagarythi barely registering such a disturbance to its surface as Listec drew himself from a half-squat position and up to his full and considerable height.

Half-concealed in shadow for a moment, the room not exactly lit in any sort of way save by the glare of the twin moons, the Elf took a step forward and to the side of the follower of Ranald. Barely a gesture, hardly perceptible to the human eye, and he had taken one of the other seats on that side of the table. One-by-one he glanced from within the eye-slits of his helmet, black eyes unreadable and the bottom half of his face covered by a section of his blue cloak, nothing but cold calm radiating from his seemingly relaxed but thoroughly alert posture.

“I believe,” he spoke in perfectly accented Reikspiel, “that I am the oldest here, if we are speaking in terms of Human years,” his head inclined to the side by a fraction of a millimetre as he looked to Brokk, “but if the Ranger wishes to lead us...then so be it.”

@Andreyich@Maxwell@POOHEAD189@Bright_Ops@DrunkasaurusRex

Almost as soon as the elf had finished speaking, just as the Dwarfs begin to turn towards him, the shadows in the room seem to grow darker, the light filtering in through the cracks in the wall dimmed, and the darkness itself seemed to coalesce, drawing form from the night. The air is thick with the winds of Ulgu, and even those who do not practice the mystic arts can almost taste the magic. Eventually, you can see a humanoid form, crafted out of shadow, sitting at the end of the table. It appears motionless, cold, distant. And then the shadows burst from the figure, scattering back to the dark corners from whence they came, revealing a stooped man in a long, tattered black cloak, a hood pulled over to obscure his face. Should you try to see under it, you would see an unnatural blackness beneath. "Gentlemen." He rasps, "I see you got my message, so glad you could come. Please, have a seat. I assure you they are more than sturdy enough."

Holding up his hand to halt any questions, an aura of power surrounds the man, and even the most boisterous quickly fall silent. "I have asked you here, you, of all people, from all corners of the old world, to give you an opportunity. I would like you to appreciate that. Appreciate the opportunity to become the richest people in the Empire, the opportunity for a life you had never dreamed of...." As the man describes this to you, your head clogs and fills with dreams of wonder, of grand palaces, fine foods, excellent servants, you suddenly want nothing less than what this man is offering you, it's what you crave, what you deserve, power, wealth, all of it. You cannot fathom life without it, how had all these other people managed to live without such comforts? How could they live such a squalid, miserable existence, when you, you of all people, were living in the lap of luxury, surrounded by comforts and glory.....the man claps his hand, violently bringing you back to the present, in the squat, tumble down building of rubble and draughts, leaving you to chase your rapidly fading dreams of wealth and power.

"All I require of you," He says, "Is seven items, just seven, that scattered across the known world. I have gathered you here to tell you of the first: The Plaque of Tepok, sacred of the Skinks of Lustria." A floating imaged of a golden, ruby studded plaque spins over the table top, inscribed with glyphs of serpents and twin-tailed comets, "It is found deep in the jungles of Lustria, in the temple city of Hexoatle. Retrieve it for me, and you will be one step closer to the wealth I offer. I have a ship prepared for you, and it will leave Marienburg at midday tomorrow. It is called the Wellenbrecher. You will be met by a magician scholar and his apprentice, who will ensure that you do not wonder Lustria's more avoidable dangers, and to lead you to the city. Should you wish to back out now, you simply need not turn up. But remember what I am offering you, and chose wisely." He pauses, letting the memories of wealth return to the surface of your mind, "One last thing, Jehan." He barks, turning to her. "You must be the first to touch the plaque. The rest of you are welcome to, if you do not mind your soul being ripped from your body and used to fuel the protective magic's of the Slann. It is more than just luck that I chose you all. You each have a gift, though you may not know it. Do not fail me." And with that, his form dissipates back into shadow, and the grim light of Morslib begins to peek through the cracks once more.

@Jbcool @DrunkasaurusRex @Andreyich @Bright_Ops @Maxwell @POOHEAD189

"I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding here," said Baltazar, leaning forward on his elbows as he steepled his fingers. "Maybe it's the language barrier getting in the way. I was referring to our employer, not to whoever might end up leading us through wherever we're heading. But on that note, unless the boss wants that honour for himself, I nominate myself." Leaning back, he jerked his thumb toward himself. As he leaned back, he paused briefly in surprise as he noticed an elf taking up the chair next to him, and before Baltazar could do much about that, their employer made his entry.

Baltazar didn't know what he had expected, but certainly not that. He heard out the orders with a grim expression, and even through the magic dreams of glory, his lips remained a thin line as he stared straight at the man at the end of the table. After his disappearance, Baltazar uncorked his hip flask and took a long swig. Staring at the floor, he heaved a deep sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked back up at the rest of the room.

"So, where were we? Ah yes, I should lead," he declared, instantly turning back into the cocksure mercenary. "Age aside, I've commanded men across the Old World, on sea and on land, from Norsca to Sartosa. Killing monsters is all well and good, but leadership, that's another matter." He waggled his finger at the Dwarf.

"My name's Baltazar Engels, by the way."

Fortune tilted his head a little as he looked at his dark Bretonnian counterpart, not really that surprised that the black armor wearing night was more interested in the promise of coin then the trill of adventure. As much as he disliked the idea of actually going on this expedition with cut throat mercenaries who didn't give a damn about honor and would almost certainly try and slit his throat in his sleep in order to get themselves a greater share of the treasure, this was his current best shot at earning himself the rights to own land back home and the money to actually do something with it.

Turning to look at the rest of the party... and blinking as he noticed that there was a new addition that hadn't been there before. If the pointy ears were anything to go by, an elf had decided to join their group. Still, he decided to at least introduce himself as "Fortune De Vigny. A pleasure to meet you all."

It was then that their employer had decided to show himself... in a fashion. Fortune had never seen magic for himself before; He knew that it existed and that the Damsels could channel it in service to the Lady herself, but their client was definitely not a Damsel and he sure as the vermin living in the sewers wasn't a servant of the Lady! While he tried to hide the fact in order to keep up appearances, anyone who bothered to look in the young noble's direction would easily tell that the usage of magic and the images that had been implanted into their minds had clearly unnerved him a great deal.

It was an experience that he never wanted to have again.

Still, one had to keep the image of control at all times in public. Still, Fortune managed to ask two questions after he calmed himself down enough to speak clearly. "Is anyone else slightly concerned that we are being sent to locate an artifact that can apparently consume the souls of anyone who touches it?" Turning to look at Jehan, he quickly followed up by asking "And why are you the exception to that?"

He also privately hoped that the ship they were taking would be big enough to carry Twilight as well. He would really hate to have to leave her behind in this awful foreign city.

@Jbcool@DrunkasaurusRex@Andreyich@Maxwell@POOHEAD189@CelticSoldier

Sketti held up his 'hammerhand' and grinned, showing his yellowed teeth through his equally unwashed beard. He tapped the wall, indicating he was in fact, an Engineer as well as s Slayer. He wasn't keen on speaking back in Khazalid. He already felt he often revealed too much of their ancient language, walking around with his Khazalid tattoos for all the world to see. Though Men and Elves probably would not be able to fathom it if they tried.

Sketti wasn't entirely untraditional, but even before he took the Oath, he was what some Dwarfs called 'disrespectful' to the hierarchy of his fellow Dawi. A few Dwarfs (other than his family, who as per tradition considered him dead the moment he shaved his head) whispered he had no guilt for his shame, and he had simply taken the oath so he would have free reign to make whatever he wanted, and that he had always had a death wish.

That was only partly true! He had guilt for his shame, as any sane Dwarf would, and took his oath seriously. Far more seriously than anything else in his life, save his contraptions. Though granted, he hardly took much anything seriously...save his contraptions.

He certainly took the surprise Elgi seriously as the lithe, twig like form fell out of the sky as if he or she had been drifting in the wind. "Oi!" he said, pointing at the Elf. "Yo-"

Suddenly, their patron showed up and effected him in various magical ways. Thankfully, it wasn't enough to halt his Dwarven sensibilities (especially with a durned Elf present), but he waited until the announcement and images in his head subsided.
"-...You must be lost Elgi! And blasted insane if you think you can come in here and speak to a Longbeard like that!"

Listec was neither shocked nor surprised, it was far harder to impress a being coming from both an island-nation and a mortal race infused with magic to their very core, the Shadow Warrior having seen acts of magic that would make the vision show within his mind seem like a paltry parlour trick from a drunk College of Magic initiate at the local tavern. During the magically enhanced exchange of knowledge, he could not help but keep his face completely expressionless - even though his helmet obscured his features - snorting ever-so-lightly at the suggestion that he was even there for riches, wonder and power. No, he was there because if there was any chance of crossing blades with his former kith and kin, his most hated adversaries, whether on the sea lanes or in the jungle, then he was going to take it!

After listening to introductions from two of the Human adventurers, silently contemplating all that had been revealed to them at speeds which the others present could only imagine, he opened his lips to speak, "Listec," was all he said by way of naming himself.

"Is anyone else slightly concerned that we are being sent to locate an artifact that can apparently consume the souls of anyone who touches it?"

"And why are you the exception to that?"

"There are many such artefacts in the world, Master De Vigny," quipped the Elf in his syllable precise but also lilting toned Reikspiel, "some which can achieve worse than merely consuming ones soul..." again his head tilted, this time to follow Fortune's gaze, "it is a valid question however, as to why you are the exception," he took in 'Jehan' with a slightlt intake of breath, "possibly something to do with identity?"

Almost every word in Tar Eltharin, the language of the Asur, had a duel meaning and although this time he spoke a Mannish tongue, Listec certainly meant both who Jehan was (or was not) as well as alluding to their true gender in as subtle a way as he could manage.

"-...You must be lost Elgi! And blasted insane if you think you can come in here and speak to a Longbeard like that!"

He had hoped that the magic would distract the Dwarf from his tirade, but apparently it was a lot harder to do so than he might have thought. No, the stunted mass of hair, ink and flesh continued as if their patron had never even revealed himself.

"Lost? With company such as you, quite possibly. Insane? Undoubtedly," the glimmer in his eyes that accompanied his latter words - perhaps a simple touch of the moonlight, or maybe something else - showed that he might not be jesting about his mental state, "you are correct though, my vertically challenged friend...he does have a rather long beard."

The Dwarf grumbled at the mental pictures brought to him by the apparent shadow wizard, although he was able to tough through all of them thanks to his natural magic resistance except... the offer of gold. That was something no Dwarf but those who had the pact with Grimnir or had Runes about them could resist. Finally having it all ended he shook his head. First he had his attention turn to the grubby man who said he should be leader. "Well good sire, I did not do it alone. I was leader of my Ranger Outpost, the Everpeak-Zhufbar-Karak Azul route specifically. But if you think your skills surpass mine, so be it." this man may well have been more competent, so he would give him a chance. After all, age was not always a good thing.

He then looked to the Drengi and the elf. He sighed, and made a motion for the other Dwarf to calm himself. He turned to Listec with a face of annoyance; he did not hate elves with such a burning passion as other Dwarfs (after all, it was the Dawi who won the war) but he was distrustful of them having only dealt with their woodland kin, most of which he had to kill after they tried to trick him. With a point of his Thrund he finally spoke to him. "Look wazzock you might be fast but you can't go faster than a bullet so I reckon you best pipe down when there's two of us." From what he saw so far the high elves were not much better than their wutelgi kin. Both seemed to have life spans infinite, but by frailty of body and mind had quite the short life expectancy. "And we're not vertically challenged; see, your groins are level with out teeth, just where we want your minuscule elfhood to be."

Brokk sighed. All was not to a good start. The Bretonnian Knight seemed to be an alright sort, and the Drengi behaved as predicted and thus not too bad. The elf, other Knight, and the grubby man called Baltazar unnerved him however. With the scratch of his nose he re-lit his pipe and took a few puffs. He did not think anyone here but the elf would have experience with lizardmen and even that was doubtful. Ulthuan while closer to Lustria than the Old World, did not have inhabitants with much reason to go there. He had some friends come back with trophies of scaly heads and great gold, telling him of wondrous architecture and riches untold. Some Dawi looking for Karak Zorn had also told of a slightly different breed although related Lizardmen. They were not the most welcoming folk from what he knew. It would be a real fight, and with the great cities the lizard folk supposedly had his skills as a ranger would not have too much use. However, his time with the longbeard would be excelsior for this, and his fondness for explosives as well as the Engineer background of the Slayer would be quite helpful in blowing up the various barriers they may face. Satisfied with his train of thought, he straightened out. "Well, if that is all, let us go." Brokk was a little upset that they would not travel via Dwarfen steamship, but an Imperial Sailboat was a close third to the master-work of the Dwarfs.

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Waking from whatever accommodation you chose, you have until mid-day to arrive at the ship. Plenty of time for exploring. Marienburg is a big city, and it's probably best you arrive at your destination sooner, rather than later. As you are travelling down the dock, large crowds fill the pavement, and any normal person trying to make it through the colourful press has half a chance of being crushed. Fortunately, you are quite out of the ordinary.

Upon reaching the ship, the captain, a gruff, surely man who you would guess had taken many adventures before you (you also guess that most of them never came back), escorts you onto the deck, up a somewhat questionable gangplank. Once there, you find the magician and apprentice who were promised already waiting. The magician is surprisingly young, with barely any grey flecks in his curly chestnut hair. He is wearing rugged, well worn adventuring gear, as opposed to the traditional robes, but his staff, wooden with a red crystal on top, as well as certain symbols on his clothes, mark him as a pyromancer. His face seems to be fixed permanently in a cheery grin, and he welcomes you warmly as you come aboard, naming himself as Darren. His apprentice is far more demure. A young girl, who couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen, she is actually quite pretty. Pale skin, contrasted by her dark hair, she had high cheekbones and dark eyes also. She nods her head nervously at you as you step aboard, though you notice that, every now and then, she flits nervous glances at Jehan. She doesn't give her name. Even Darren's permanent smile wavers as she comes aboard, but he hesitantly shakes her hand and bids her welcome all the same. Depending how your feeling, this man is either going to be a great friend or very, very annoying.

Once mid-day arrives, the captain comes upon deck, "Right," He growls, "You lot, down below. I don't want you getting in the way of my crew. Move it!" Deciding that it's probably not good to be on the bad side of a Captain who's ship you'll be on for quite a great length of time, you hurry below decks. You each have your own room, but it's sparsely furnished, with only a shelf and a small chest to keep your belongings in. It's cramped, but you'd better get used to it. It'll be your home for the next few months.

When you're finally allowed back on the deck, the breeze is a relief. You notice that the apprentice try's to keep her distance from Jehan, subtly walking to another part of the ship when she draws near. Checking the sails, you appear to be sailing at a good clip, the sea spray reaching high enough to brush your face as you lean over the side, watching the sun sink into the horizon, lighting the sky afire with oranges, reds and purples. "Sailors delight!" Shouts one of men on the rigging, "We're in for a good voyage!" You may, or may not be aware of what he's talking about, but regardless you have to agree. It's quite delightful.

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