[IC] Tales From the Realm of Laelilon

[WhiteAngel25]

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The misty rain seemed endless on nights like these lately. The moon was shining bright in the starry sky. A young woman's figure moved at a relaxed but quickened pace. Her dark gray, wool-hooded cloak concealed her features at the moment. It kept the dark brown light leather armor and daggers underneath dry. One couldn't be too careful when scouting potential jobs. Faline was always willing to scout ahead. This way, she knew the information firsthand. Posing as a simple mercenary for these last few months, Faline gained favors and weaved a tight web, all without many of her employers not realizing that she was of the Nightingale family.

The water collected within the cobbled streets as Faline made her way to the Lock And Key Tavern within the town of Somerset, one of the trade hubs of the Ellezag Plains. Her uncle, Nikolai, had all up and disappeared three, almost four, months ago after his last letter on his supposed business trip.

Faline had spent said months tracking her uncle's whereabouts and following a handful of clues he left behind. She had heard of rumors of the Plague out here. The royal guardsmen took anyone who showed signs of sickness to an outpost, but every village she passed through acted as if they heard no clue of such things.

Even more, rumors had it that the Governor of the Western Ellezag Plains was on the brink of madness. Common folk struggled to keep themselves alive, whether it was food or shelter. The taxes were so incredibly high that the commoners were selling their children to workhouses. It was their only way of ensuring their children had consistent food and a bed to sleep on.

---

Faline opened the door to the tavern. The place was alive with laughter, chatter, and banter with card games. She lowered her hood, her fiery locks tumbled down her back, stopping just above her waist as her vibrant green eyes scanned the room. She wasn't the only female mercenary here, just probably one of the more competent, if she was being honest.

Faline meandered through the lively bar scene as she turned to request a drink from the bartender, only for her eyes to catch the sight of whom she assumed was the tavern owner or a man that fit his description anyway. This man was tall, athletic with light hair so fair that it resembled that of fresh snow and ice blue eyes to pierce through one's soul. He was dressed from his neck down in steel armor with his sword at his hip.

Sir Dorian was the fifth son of the Governor. He was neglecting his duty to turn in his father, or so it seemed. Stories told that he was planning a revolt against his father and turning him into the Emperor. Faline watched for a while as he drank and played card games with others.

Once the game was finished, Faline stood up from the bar after finishing her drink of ale and made her way over to the table.

"Can I join a round?" She asked with a tilt in her voice. Faline flipped a coin down on the table in front of Dorian with her thumb while the other players were made scarce. The token in question had the symbol of a bard on one side and a rogue on the other that she received from finding her uncle's pack about a week ago. The engraving was from a blacksmith from Somerset.

The man smirked and nodded as he swiped the token on its first bounce off the table. He stood up and led Faline to a back room. "Once the others are here, I will explain," Dorian addressed as Faline raised an eyebrow.

"Others? How big is this job?" Faline asked as she crossed her arms. "I normally work alone."

"I think you will find this job will need multiple hands in the fire, so to speak," Dorian replied with a knowing look in his eye as he left the room to sit back at his post.

Faline looked around the room as the wooden door closed. It wasn't anything fancy. There was a fireplace with two seating sets, a few tables, a couple of walls lined with bookshelves, and then a few bunkbeds just off the room through a corridor. She sat on the sofa in front of the fire. She put her pack on the ground by her feet and pulled out her journal to go over for what felt like the millionth time. The soft, leather-bound book was packed with notes and clues left behind by her uncle.

[Jamesyco]

Torsten

Rain, it always rained in this place, each time he had come in the past, it was raining. He spotted something unusual for this place, an elf. He watched, analyzed the woman as she walked, and where she walked. He figured quickly they would be going to the same place, and he sauntered across the street letting water splash to his footsteps. Each one dragging him behind the woman until she entered a den of laughter and jubilee. The man let beads hand from his hands as he opened the door soon after the woman entered another room.

Dorian was there, a man similar to himself but still different. He stared at him, and approached as he began his journey back to his place at the table. He didn't make it there as a brute stood before him with prayer beads and a coin. A tall bearded man covered in pelts, metal, and cloth soaked in water.

"I assume that is the correct place," Torsten said as he nodded towards the door, eyeing it with the corner of his eye.

"It is," Dorian said quietly.

"Other?" Torsten asked

"Yes," Dorian replied, opening the door for the man to walk through.

"Then I will wait," he said, leaning down and entering the room; looking around, he assumed correctly that the elf was there. He listened to the door behind him close. There would be more coming, good people meant support, now only if they worked well together."

His hand raised empty as he bowed his head, "Lady elf, it is good to meet you..." the man almost grumbled in a friendly way, "We are the first, it seems."

Torsten looked around the room and found himself a place on the other couch, turning it towards the woman, and letting his packs fall to his sides before he sat in what looked to be a chair to him. He looked as if it was a chair, and he fits into it like a glove; it was Torsten-sized. Quietly he pulled his hand through his beard, and let his back relax into the seat.

"I am Torsten."

[Single Malt]

Maltar

Spirit of the Beast

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His pack was light. His weapons were housed in their places. Drenched in a tattered attired of a leather coat, gray undertunic, patched dark-leather trousers and black scuffed boots, Maltar stood outside across and down the street from the tavern. He had been there in the darker shadows of a straggly tarmar tree watching at the entrance of the Lock and Key for an hour or two, assessing those who would come and go. Though his physical size was intimidating, it was fortunate that his unkempt appearance presented himself as no one more than a common wanderer of the lands.

The rain didn’t bother Maltar. Being a hunter of animals, monsters, and monsters of men, had him spend much of his life in the wilds. He was desensitized to the elements. He enjoyed the rain. The weighed chill of the water rippling down his clothes made it feel like he was dissolved in the dreary night ambience of the street, unnoticed on the most part by those who may pass by.

Maltar didn’t like crowds, but that wasn’t the reason he hadn’t entered the tavern yet. As a formidable hunter, it was good to be cautious. Normally, a tavern wouldn’t fall into a category of caution, and it wasn’t like looming about outside of taverns was a hobby, that would be odd, but Maltar hadn’t wound up at the Lock and Key by chance or casual wandering. He’d been led there by a cryptic trail of indicators to the possible location of the only two people that meant anything to him in this world. No, Maltar didn’t believe that Thoren and Marya were in the tavern. He suspected the tavern would provide little more than just another piece to the puzzle but, under the circumstances, assessing the outside situation before entering seemed reasonable.

It was after he saw a cloaked woman with an Elvian energy enter the tavern, followed shortly thereafter by a sturdy combative-looking human male, that Maltar’s insight stirred within him. He felt a sense of undefined connection between to the two strangers. Though the sense of connection between them was vague at best, it brought with it the notion that they were also connected to his own quest in some way. Provoked by this sense of intuition, Maltar waited a short while longer before crossing the street to the Lock and Key.

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Maltar refrained from revealing his destain for the boisterous crowd as the tavern door shut behind him. He swiped his hand down his face to rid himself of excess water and took a moment to familiarize himself with the room. The Elvian woman and Human male he’d seen enter a while earlier were not in the barroom. It didn’t take long to establish an association to their absence by the presence of the Governor’s son. Dorian, a familiar face to many. The gleam of his privileged, icy blue eyes soon locked on Maltar’s from across the room. The men's stares remained locked for a few seconds, before Dorian stood from his seat at the table to approach Maltar as he too made his way across the barroom.

The two men met with a quiet understanding by the bar. The Governor’s son presented a narrowed grin of amused interest toward the tall Elvian male before tossing his head and turning to lead the way. Inexpressive, Maltar followed him into a back room.

As suspected, the half-Elvian woman was there, her now lowered hood revealing her fiery locks and penetrating green eyes of an obvious druid countenance. Of course, the human man who had entered the tavern close behind the woman was there as well, his Fighter's vibe now solid as his physical form. It became quickly obvious that more than just another set of clues were awaiting Maltar at the Lock and Key. The reasons for the connection he had earlier sensed between the Elvian woman and the Human became apparent. They were there for the same reason Maltar was. Maltar was disappointed that his quest had resulted in the pending companionship of others. He considered walking out and continuing his quest alone, but the requirement to establish understanding of this situation made him stay. At least for now.

Maltar nodded to Dorian, who then left to return to his place at his table in the barroom. The door closed in his wake. Maltar casually assessed the furnishings and items while making his way toward the far side of the room. Preferring to stand for now, he took position near a desk and bookshelf and pocketed his hands in his coat. Not showing his regret for the need to become acquainted with the two strangers, he regarded the woman and then the man with an unassuming look. He would wait to be spoken to before speaking.

[Pandolin]

Pebble Cliffside

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

"Roar, roar,
The Orc was green,
Had the biggest envy,
Ever seen.

Pretty, pretty,
The elf was tall,
She dominated men,
one and all."

Pebble toddled along a tall deciduous forest path singing her delightful song. Not a care in the world was given as she occasionally swung her hips at the outro of verses. Her sickening squawks resonated ghastly doom. Dissonant tunes aired like dull blades hacking at the breeze, murdering the peace, and sewing discord in the elements of life. The forest darkened at the noise of her ditty. Leaves wilted and small shrubs shriveled. Bark peeled like rotting flesh. A squirrel chirped and dropped dead from high in the trees. A young doe shuddered and keeled over.

It was a lovely morning! Little Pebble was supposed to be on the road to find her Ma and Pa, least ways that’s how she figured it, and she would’ve been a sight more prompt about it if she cared a tad more. She was headed in the general direction of what was meant to be, yet there was just so many other things that piqued her interest along the way. There were holes to dig, songs to sing, baths to take, foraging to do, food to cook, rocks to admire. Heck, the list of distractions was endless.

Life sighed with happy relief when Pebble’s voice cut out. She stopped in her tracks at the noticing of a corpse on the side of the path. It wasn’t no ordinary corpse. What do you call a body that’s been mostly eaten? She knew not to touch it. With her butt on her heels and chin on her knees she looked the dead person over. Most of the body had been devoured right down to the bones and it needed a bit of study to determine this person was an Orc. The remains of his gnawed and torn flesh were fresh and his head, by heckers, had been turned right around. Who could do that to a big ol’ Orc? Pebble had a hunch that it wasn’t an animal. What she figured it was wasn’t something she wanted to be tangling with. The death of this Orc being recent meant that whatever killed him wasn’t far away.

Pebble stood right on up and looked around. She took Ed from her pocket and gave him a kiss for good luck then slipped him back into her pants. With her hammer and axe in hands Pebble moved cautiously down the path ready to defend herself. Precious ores, this wasn’t how she was wanting to spend her morning.

Thundering avalanche! There it was around the next bend in the path. The sick form of one of the diseased sent shivers up Pebble’s spine. Pebble had never seen a Rotted with her very own eyes before but she recognized it by stories been told about them. This Rotted must’ve been well into its final stages as its gray pale flesh had marbly green patches and its own black blood was gooped down its chin and body. Some monsters Pebble could handle just fine. Bad men were a pleasure to mash up with her hammer. But a Rotted wasn’t something she wanted to get even the itsy bit close to. Heckers no! Pebble sighed at the thought of having to run, she absolutely hated running, but this Dwarf wasn’t about to get sick today.

There was no sure as heck way of knowing what race the Rotten was. If Pebble hazarded a guess by its height and how fast it was chasing after her short little ass, it was probably an elf. Pebbles wasn’t going to outrun this thing. She had to think fast and find another way to escape. Climbing a tree was no options. Pebble wasn’t the most atrocious climber in the world. Heck, she thought herself pretty darn good at it, but she was still outmatched by an Elf in that field of expertise. Throwing rocks at it wasn’t going to do a thing. She was beginning to panic. She could hear it coming fast up her rear. She figured she was gonna have to fight its ugly ass after all. There was also one other option that struck Pebble’s mind like a fast-moving stone as she turned to face her Rotted pursuer!

Pebble started singing her little heart out! Her voice shrieked like a dying litter of cat demons. Leaves wilted and snowed down from the trees. Small plants shriveled. Insects popped. The ground cracked at her feet. Birds started squawking with despair and some of them died if they couldn’t fly away fast enough. Pebble was raising her hammer and axe to throw at the approaching Rotted but ended up not needing to do that all. The sick Elf slowed down and stumbled to a stop a small distance away. It rolled its head all around like it was trying to catch a fly with its mouth. Pebble couldn’t believe her big doe eyes. The Rotted started to sway. Was this thing... dancing?

Pebble wasn’t at all certain what to feel about this. Kinda made her feel all nice and gooey inside to finally find someone who appreciated her lovely singing voice, but now what the heckers was she going to do? If she attacked it her weapons would be contaminated and splatter from the carnage could still make her sick. She figured pretty much that her only rock-solid option was to keep on hollering her dreadful song and back away reeeeeal slow.

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

[Ti]

ꁲ ꂵ ꁲ ꋊ ꂠ ꂑ ꋊ ꈼ ꋖ ꂑ ꂵ ꈼ Day 1 [Night] ꒒ ꂦ ꀯ ꁲ ꋖ ꂑ ꂦ ꋊ Lock and Key [Somerset] ꌚ ꂦ ꐇ ꋊ ꂠ ꋖ ꌅ ꁲ ꀯ ꀗ ♫

"Achoo~!" Amandine felt a chilly breeze as she warmed herself by the fire, hands outstretched as the flames licked them. She had been having lucid dreams lately, and one of the latest involved a shapeshifter turning into a plump pheasant, roasting itself on a spit for dinner. The juices ran down its flesh, crisping in the flames. Her stomach rumbled as she thought about food, and she sighed. Why were her dreams always more flavourful than reality? One part of her chastised her fixation on food, while another encouraged her to indulge, a third nagged her to focus on the mission, and a fourth gave her a sense of déjà vu. She sighed as she connected with her sense of self, finding the pitter-patter of rain on the leaves soothing, as she came into agreement with the parts. She bit into a piece of hard tack, then dimmed down the flames with her toasty mitts. "It seems you all have decided that I'd better get moving." She adorned her traveller's cloak, preparing to continue her journey.

As she walked through the dark streets, she could feel eyes gazing in her direction. Even with the modest travelling cloak, her features marked her as not being from these parts. In this area, they tended to think she was from the Sands of Regand, her swarthy complexion reminding them of the sun-kissed inhabitants of the south. Funnily, in the Sands of Regand, her paler complexion made her stand out as someone from the north. For those wiser and more travelled, she might be identified as one of the nomads from the Western Rife Mountains, a people who tended to keep to themselves. However, that would only be partially correct, as she was no nomad. In truth, she didn’t exist, and that is the way her people preferred it. Reclusive hermits of an ancient Dragonian temple, more ruins than a great city of eons past, who led a simple and monastic life, away from the eyes of the empire. Even within her temple, those who manifest traits of their bloodline like Amandine were prized amongst them, proof of their own existence. More secretive still, for those even more fortunate, they would learn of one last secret: that one true Dragonian still lives. “... and she is a bitch.” Amandine smirked widely, her lips curled as she recalled the Lady Phoenix, before making a ritual sign of respect.

Despite being out of place in these parts, her journey followed the footsteps of her shifu, ꁲꁅꍩꁲꂠ. The old man is considered one of the most knowledgeable of her people, though if they spent any time with him outside the ceremonial and formal settings, they might quickly question their assumptions. Less of a Sage and more of a Lore Keeper, she had been assigned as one of his apprentices, the one deemed from them to have any merit. Her day-to-day consisted mostly of travel to the ancient temple sites to keep the flames held in ancient braziers lit. A relatively mundane task, the nomads knew better than to camp within the sacred walls. The most common nuisances were ones that called themselves ‘Adventurers,’ seeking to plunder, vandalize, and destroy anything they got their hands on, in hopes of obtaining long-lost coveted Dragonian riches and treasures. It always amused her as they always seemed to expect riches to be sat on a pedestal, waiting just for them, or treasure troves filled with golden riches about to open their doors after hundreds of years. She concedes, sure, they do have a sacred treasure on display back home, but that quest is so foolhardy they would have much more luck trying to steal from the Emperor and his elite guard.

Amandine made her way to the Lock and Key tavern, opening the door and stepping through. Inside, you couldn’t ever find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy… in the town. The absolute title goes to the Volenstul Downtown district, and the fact one of the patrons was clearly from there in the crowd playing dice said enough. She wrinkled her nose as she exhaled the scent from the man’s magic from her nostrils, scanning the room. Her irises took a slit-like appearance as she gathered what she needed before blending in. She moved towards the fattened orange tabby cat on the table, her fingers stroking through its fur, pinching the flab. “Well, aren’t you a plump one.” Her eyes, however, were not focused on the feline, but on the one adorned with the best equipment in this place, Dorian. It seemed like with the gathering of armed persons in the backroom acting unfamiliar, multiple people had been lured here like a siren’s song.

When the Volenstul man began to gamble with a familiar-looking coin, her suspicions were confirmed. She watched as he was led into a back room. As the pair made their way to the door, she followed them, presenting her coin as she was challenged by Dorian, and followed through the door.

As she eyed the others who entered the room already, she unfastened her cloak and hung it up on a peg. “Now this feels like déjà vu.”

---

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[WhiteAngel25]

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Faline of Evergreen Forest

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Faline didn't have to wait long for one of these 'others' that Sir Dorian said would be joining her. Before the fiery redhead knew it, a tall man clothed in what appeared to be camouflage of some kind. She listened to his polite greeting and nodded in agreement to his statement of being the first people to arrive. She keenly watched him shuffle to a nearby loveseat sofa and plop himself in it. It was rather impressive how large he was, taking up the entire furniture space.

"It is nice to meet you, Torsten. My name is Faline," The redhead woman replied, closing her journal and slipping it back into her bag. "Where are you from?" She asked as she couldn't quite place it, but she felt she could trust the seemingly kind man.

It didn't take long for another person to join Faline and Torsten. Faline's jeweled eyes followed the newcomer, studying him. The newcomer was quiet and about the same height as Torsten. Similar to the camouflage-covered man, this new person appeared like could handle himself in a fight if needed. His appearance suggested a wild man of the woods, however, there was something behind those hazel eyes that hinted at something more within the silent expression.

"Greetings, newcomer. My name is Faline," she spoke to the mystery man by the desk and shelves before turning back to Torsten and the fireplace. Her gaze trailed along the flames dancing about the hearth. "I usually work alone. However, it seems that our host has different ideas."

The wooden door opened again. A petite figure walked into the room and lowered her hood to reveal she was a young lady. The girl had long blonde hair that was light enough that it was practically white—a stark contrast to her flaming red locks. Faline sent an awkward smile and nod to the other woman, who was hanging up her cloak. Another sense of relief and familiarity coursed through the half-Elvian woman as she noted the interesting hue of the petite woman's eyes. There was also something about her Faline couldn't quite pin down.

[Jamesyco]

Torsten

"And I often with others... but for your question, it depends how far you want to go back, but I like to say here and there. I try staying in forests and places of worship. the man said his hand reached forward for his hood, and he slowly drew it back to his neck. He leaned back some under the creaking loveseat and turned to face the elf better.

The second person entered sometime during his reply, and his head slowly moved to see another one of the woods, another man of the forests. His head slung back forward slowly after he gave a nod towards the man.

"Tor--." he was cut off by a woman opening the door, and he smiled gently. "Torsten for those just entering." he said with a rosy-cheeked smile. His eyes closed for a moment as he couldn't determine which way to turn his body, and thus, he just sat there. Four, four in the room with them, it was a small party, but sometimes size doesn't matter. It is easier to get three people past the walls than it is to get three hundred. Plus, it was meant to be a small group; he wondered what could be done with those around him. What they could do, why they were all chosen.

"Now, what are your names? We should all start off well and on a good foot."

[Single Malt]

Maltar

Spirit of the Beast

---

The Elvian hunter had returned a nod to the burly man and had barely established his footing by the bookshelf, when the redhead woman turned to welcome him and provided her name. Maltar's discomfort for being around people was slightly enhanced by her comely emerald stare. He required a moment to reciprocate before acknowledging her introduction with another nod, but he didn’t have time to reply with his own name before her attention turned. Faline's following comment to the man in the loveseats demonstrated what her mind was focused on. As it turned out, she too was of an opinion like Maltar’s. Both of them preferred to work alone.

It was then that Maltar’s attention was drawn toward the door by a strong energy approaching from the other side. The energy he felt was dragonian. No sooner had he felt the energy did the door swing open with the entry of Dorian and... a little girl.

Maltar tilted his head and assessed the girl quickly. The white-haired girl didn’t appear older than a teenager, but there was something about her visage that told him he was being deceived in that aspect.

While the girl removed her cloak and hung it on a peg, and the man in the loveseats then introduced himself as Torsten, the beast stirred within Maltar.

Maybe it was the rosy cheeks of Torsten’s jovial persuasion, or the awkwardness of Torsten’s shut-eyed consternation in not knowing which way to turn, or the presence of the dragonian girl and her Déjà vu wise crack that almost went over his head, or maybe it was Faline's relatable comment about preferring to work alone that had Maltar accept the situation. He would need to conform to the company of these people, at least for now. He suddenly found himself walking across the room as Torsten requested their names.

“My name is Maltar,” he spoke plainly for all to hear as he arrived at an empty seat, only to be stopped by a sense of courtesy. The seat was the last available of the three seats in front of the fire. Maltar held out his hand to offer the seat to the dragonian girl, then went and sat himself in one of the chairs by the wall beside the fire instead. He unhooked the Burden Flask from his belt and swallowed back a mouthful of its contents. Returning the flask to his belt, Maltar rested forward with elbows on his knees.

Once Dorian had returned to his post again and the four members of the group had formerly been introduced, Maltar pensively assessed the other three people in the room. Torsten's comment of starting off well on a good footing, and Faline's prior comment on their host having ideas for them to be working together, resounded with the shared assumption that they had all been brought together to continue their search. Maybe.... 'Strangers' with a shared objective being herded together by uncertain forces indicated there was more to this situation than a search for missing people. At least, that is how Maltar saw it.

"Do correct me if I'm wrong." Maltar started speaking with eyes on Torsten, though as he spoke his stare addressed all three of them. "I assume we are all here as a result of searching for people missing." Maltar's eyes fell on the bag by Faline's feet for a moment as he paused. "But the current situation reeks of a different agenda for those who brought us here." Maltar knew that inevitably Dorian may shed light on their situation, but he didn't necessarily trust Dorian, and prodding for information that the others had picked up along the course of their journey's might prove helpful in providing alternative insights.

[Ti]

ꁲ ꂵ ꁲ ꋊ ꂠ ꂑ ꋊ ꈼ ꋖ ꂑ ꂵ ꈼ Day 1 [Night] ꒒ ꂦ ꀯ ꁲ ꋖ ꂑ ꂦ ꋊ Lock and Key [Somerset] ꌚ ꂦ ꐇ ꋊ ꂠ ꋖ ꌅ ꁲ ꀯ ꀗ ♫

She observed as the others introduced themselves and moved toward the group. Her eyes casually flicked between them, assessing their appearances, especially noting any weapons they might be carrying. As she approached, she noticed that Maltar, as he identified himself as, offered the chair before him to her. It was clear they were all searching for missing individuals, a shared purpose between them. Turning, she gave a polite bow to the others, drawing inspiration from the last introduction she experienced, "Hello, my name is Amandine," as she moved to take the offered seat. She glanced at them with a questioning expression, "Have you met my father?" wondering about the nature of the missing people and hoping for clues that might shed light on their shared purpose. To break the ice and foster a positive start to their relationships, she added, "Prepare to dine," opening her bag to reveal some roasted pheasant meat, including a leg, along with some unleavened bread to accompany it with.

---

---

[jasbraq]

The Great Gus

---

It was a rather long day for the man. He did not have the best luck with the ladies today, he got caught trying to steal an apple from a merchant and had to run from the guards for a bit… Even his old man, the person who had always been there for him had been missing for a suspiciously long time. The only thing he left was this weird looking coin.

He did however manage to steal a bottle of wine and enjoyed it wholeheartedly. The thief soon found his next target to perhaps steal or gather intel from. The Lock and Key tavern had always been on his radar to visit but it was never really his style. He preferred the more grimy taverns.

He slammed open the door and waltzed in. ”Another round, please!” A young man yelled out as he enjoyed his drink. He looked intoxicated, should he even drink any more than he already did? After a while he found himself towards the gambling table. ”Mind a dashing, young man joining the table?” His bright smile showed no sense of malice. He did not wait for anyone's confirmation and sat down

---

Gus's nimble fingers expertly shuffled the deck. The flamboyant rogue smirked, eager for the game to unfold. Dorian, confident, leaned back, eyes fixed on the cards. With a flourish, Gus dealt the first round. His illusions subtly altered the perception of the cards.. The mysterious figure raised an eyebrow, suspecting trickery, but remained silent. Dorian, oblivious, won the round, attributing it to his own skill.

As the second round commenced, Gus intensified his magical sleight of hand. The flamboyant rogue engaged in witty banter, distracting others from Gus's subtle manipulations. Dorian, confident in his armor's luck, played boldly. ”Where did all your calculated smarts go?” He jested as he managed to win this round, while Dorian, growing suspicious, eyed Gus with a newfound wariness.

In the third round, Gus decided to escalate the game. With finesse, he altered the perception of Dorian's hand, creating an illusion of a winning combination. The rogue, caught up in the excitement, reveled in the unfolding drama.

Gus, with a confident smile, proposed a daring bet – Dorian's resplendent armor. Placing a golden coin on the table, the illusionist pushed the limits.”Know anything about this lil trinket?” The tension rose as Dorian hesitated, sensing something amiss. Abruptly, he halted the game to summon Gus into the back room for a private confrontation.

[Play Misty]

___________________________________

Budi

___________________________________

The Lock and Key.

In the bastard came from the rain, turning and stooping low. His shoulders dwarfed the head jam as the door thudded shut behind him. The reveling of the tavern hall died. All eyes focused on the taupe giant. Not the pigment or tusks of an orc, but the size of one he was. A step to his left and his head would dash the candle chandelier. The naked, bulky slabs of his pectorals quivered and showered water to the floor. A blithe grin cracked the intensity of his conic glare. He scanned the lubricated faces of scrutiny. Many little drunkards. Amused, perhaps, his thick third finger tapped delicately at the bulged pocket of his fur braies.

“Pip, Pip, Pip.”

Low mutterings of a monstrosity, though they would appear to hold some purpose. Many a patron wondered, others went back to their drink and gamble. But the giant was not done. He would require their attention.

“I WANT DORIAN!”

The booming rasp of announcement returned silence to the tavern hall. A pretty man in shiny armor stood with a wiry gent of tousled hair by a door, a door at the rear of the room. The pretty man was wary, but nevertheless, used four fingers to invite the large one over to the door.

This made the bastard happy. An unpredicted smile for fun. As summoned, Budi came.

___________________________________

[Pandolin]

Pebble Cliffside

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

Pebble’s glorious singing helped her escape the Rotted Elf. Last time she saw his sickly butt was off in the distance, swaying and swinging his head dancing like there was nothing else important.

That sicky sick encounter made Pebble think she should be heading on over to the place she was supposed to be going. To find her Ma and Pa. There was nothing else on her mind to do, anyway. She toddled on down a forested road in the right direction, singing and dropping things dead along her way. All was marvelous stones until she came across a traveling man who didn’t appreciate her singing and asked her to stop doing that horrible thing with her mouth. Pebble obliged the man but she was rocky mad at his comment about her lovely singing voice.

There was no denying it, the man was a tall and strapping sort to gander at, but he didn’t walk away after asking her to stop singing. Pebble didn’t like it none too much that he stayed to chat; told her all about his travels and how cute her little dwarven backside was. He came on in real close to Pebble and bopped his finger on her chin with a spoken proposition.

“One gold coin to lay with you, my sweet?”

Pebble smirked and rolled her brow and gave a big old shrug of her shoulder.

“Sure!”

Yep, Pebble was distracted again, and her mission to find her Ma and Pa will have to wait. By heckers, her hammer had some work to do!

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

[WhiteAngel25]

---

In Lock & Key Tavern's Back Room...

---

Faline gave a welcoming nod and soft smile as the tall Elvian man wandered close to her and Torsten, and then announced his name. [color=lightgreen][/color] she spoke as she sat up to catch a glimpse at what Amandine had in her pack to dine on. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of a Gray Pheasant that had been perfectly roasted and seasoned. Faline didn't know why she had the feeling the cooked poultry was a Gray Pheasant, just intuition she supposed.

Faline suddenly remembered all the symbols her uncle had scribbled in his journal as if his life depended on it. Her train of thought was interrupted as the door opened again. Sir Dorian walked through the doorway two more times. The first time with a rogue-appearing fellow and the second time with a being Faline never thought she would see. The big blue-hued being had to almost duck to enter the back room.

Faline had never seen a Northern Orc, or even a half-Northern Orc before. Sure, plenty of orcs had migrated to Vradia after the Seven Kingdoms united as one under the First Emperor, but Northern Orcs typically stayed in their territories outside of Vradia.

Sir Dorian turned and locked the door behind him. He moved over to a large table with many chairs around it. He was completely unphased by the fact that Simbelmyne was in the room without seeing her current appearance walk through the tavern's front door.

Dorian smiled at the group of six. "Be at ease, all of you, please. This is a safe space for all walks of life," he started as he gestured for everyone to sit if they wished at the long meeting table. Faline didn't budge at first from her place on the sofa. Her emerald gaze studied their host again. She cautiously stood and made her way over to sit at the table.

[color=blue][/color] he began to explain as he placed each token from Faline, Maltar, Amandine, Torsten, Gus, and Budi on the table. Dorian smiled.

Faline's green eyes widened with slight fear with Dorian's last word. "Our predecessors? Does that mean-," she started as the white-haired man smiled before cutting the half-Elvian woman off.

"Easy now, there's no need for rush conclusions. Your predecessors were working to solve a mystery that has been affecting the Ellezag Plains. A lot of the leads separated them. There is a need for all of you to step in for them in the area while they follow their quests to end those leads," Dorian elucidated in an attempt to ease any worry in the group.

---

Meanwhile in the woods with Pebble...

---

As Pebble and her newfound companion were on their way to somewhere private. They would walk into a brief break in the trees, a glen. The issue? Everything seemed to have been drained of life. Birds didn't sing, and the plant life was shriveled and dead before Pebble even had a chance to sing.

In the middle of the glen, there would be a pile of dead bodies all piled up on one another as if someone was purposely stacking them. If one took the time to count, there were fifteen bodies. Pebble's man companion would begin to try and lead her around the glen, a safe distance from the dead vegetation and tower of bodies.

Soon, Vradia soldiers dressed in a mix of armor and plague attire brought in another wagon filled with various dead beings that they added to the pile before setting the pile ablaze.

If Pebble would continue, there would be a brief farming settlement on her way. The population was too small to be called a village. The settlement would be blocked off with spikes and fencing around its borders to prevent people from entering or leaving.

[Play Misty]

___________________________________

Budi

___________________________________

The former taupe giant, now a blue hue like all northern orcs, did significantly duck to enter the back room. Since leaving home, Budi was enjoying the company of strangers. A convicted stare swathed the amused simplicity of his thoughts and scowled the group. One eye did narrow fondly on Faline as he strongly spoke his name to them all. An orc wink shimmered at Amandine. The pheasant looked scrumptious, and he ate a handful. He chewed slowly as he glared at Torsten, Maltar and Gus. Healthy competition.

Sir Dorian tried to settle the group and explain why he brought them all there. The orc did not sit; he loomed close to the pretty man and inspected him as he spoke. He eyeballed Faline when she became unsettled. Budi did not understand all that Sir Dorian said. He was amused at the thought of a sapphire sun. Sir Dorian concluded his speech. Budi raised a large finger and poked the pretty man’s shoulder three times.

“Tell Budi where Hon is.”

___________________________________

[Jamesyco]

Torsten

Dorian, and then an Orc, well, that was an odd sight; not many of those had had to deal with, but work with, that was a rare story. He pressed his lips together, his facial hair almost acting like two massive caterpillars forming a massive hairball on his face. He looked at the others in the room and let them listen to Dorian's words.

"It is good to know they are alive... I am sure many of us are relieved that that statement... but, what does it mean for us, it sounds as if there is something for us to do, that we are the next formation of this Order, the next line, the next thread in the web of it. If I am correct, then what is it that we are to do?"

The man was straight to the point, he mainly looked at the Orc during this entire time, not once resting his eyes upon anything else. Finally, he looked at Dorian and then the others. While his face at that moment after taking the focus off the orc was something that was much different than it was looking at the orc, it was almost relief or at least some form of joy.

His blue hues went over each one in the group, to the other woodsman, and lastly before going back at Sir Dorian. he wanted to be straight to the point and wanted Dorian to as well. He hoped that he wouldn't talk further in mystical diffleres like hismentor had about orders and the larger events of the world So far, it proved true that Dorian was also one who was straight to the point." He was thankful for that.

[Single Malt]

Maltar

Spirit of the Beast

---

Maltar nodded to Faline for her confirmation of his inquiry, and he considered eating some of the pheasant Amandine provided, but he wasn't really hungry having eaten a few hours earlier. The Elvian had some thoughts to consider while he listened to a discussion between the members of his company, a brief discussion at that, due to Dorian returning with the arrival of a young swindler by the name of Gus. Then, soon after, entered a Northern Orc. Not something you see every day.

For a moment, Maltar remained in his seat while the groups dynamic shifted to include the new arrivals. It was only when Dorian commenced his speech that he made his way to the table and stood back from the group with his arms folded. It was amusing to watch the Orc scrutinize their host as he talked, so Maltar couldn't help but grin while listening to what the Governer's son had to say.

As Torsten mentioned after Dorian finished speaking, it was good to be assured that Thoren and Marya were still alive, but a part of Maltar leaned in favor of Budi's less than eloquent request. Maltar's only real interest up to this point was finding his adoptive parents. Still, Sir Dorian's yet vague proposition gained his intrigue.

"Mercenary Guild...." The Elvian hunter added with a hike of his brow at Sir Dorian. "I know a little about what my parents invested some of their time in. By 'working to solve a mystery affecting the Ellezag Plains', would you be referring to the plague? If so, solving a mystery behind a disease doesn't sound like typical mercenary work."

[Ti]

ꁲ ꂵ ꁲ ꋊ ꂠ ꂑ ꋊ ꈼ ꋖ ꂑ ꂵ ꈼ Day 1 [Night] ꒒ ꂦ ꀯ ꁲ ꋖ ꂑ ꂦ ꋊ Lock and Key [Somerset] ꌚ ꂦ ꐇ ꋊ ꂠ ꋖ ꌅ ꁲ ꀯ ꀗ ♫

Amandine simply gave a serene wave as the big blue… buddy sent a wink in her direction. It is obvious that whoever orchestrated this gathering under the Sapphire Sun took pleasure in hosting a collection of eclectic individuals to join the organization. She cannot fathom anything that could unite them to a common purpose, other than the fact each one of them is rather different and unique from the other.

She placed the pheasant on the table as she allowed each to help themselves, making sure it was spread out to be enjoyed before her new buddy scooped up the rest in a single handful. Turning the chair at the table, she sat, leaning against its back.

Amandine listened attentively to what others said, mulling and contemplating their answers and perspectives. “Diseases come and go, but with the Rot, if it becomes a pandemic, it could bring the Empire down to its knees overnight.” She said as she took a bite out of her flatbread pheasant sandwich and washed it down with some wine. “The Royal Knights would be sent out to purge any areas affected immediately.” She gestured with the sandwich to indicate Maltar’s point about Mercenary work, she continued, “The mystery is certainly who or what is causing it, and I venture to guess that our esteemed Royal Knights are having their hands full of this question.”

Solemnly, she added, “There isn’t a known cure for the Rot, which poses a secondary problem for the Empire: corpses don’t pay taxes.”

---

---

[Pandolin]

Pebble Cliffside

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

It wasn’t at all every day that Pebble got propositioned for a good old romping between rocks. Even when they fancied a lady, most men had the decency not go about offering random ladies gold in exchange for a romping. Gold was as glorious to Pebble as swinging her pickaxe at an untouched vein of ore, but she sure as stones wasn’t no prostitute! No amount of coin was going to be buying her sweet affections. Heck, that’s what she told herself, anyhow.

All Pebble was thinking is that she was going to popping that pervy mans head with her hammer as soon as they reached a private place, but there wasn’t any harm at all in taking a peek at his dangler before she did. It’s a whole lot harder for a man to be running away with his pants down. Pebble had it all worked out in her pretty little head when she and her pervy companion arrived at the ugliest glen she ever be seeing. Heckers, the plants were all dead and there wasn’t any animal making a sound. Pebble hadn’t even started up her singing yet and she couldn’t see any good reason why all the plants be dying, but the pile of dead bodies could be meaning one thing.

Pebble was willing to forgo all her rock solid plans and turn on back around. Had it not been for her pervy companion taking her by the arm to try and lead her around the glen, she sure as stones would have. His gropy hand made the little dwarf refresh her original intentions to mash his head, and they were about out of sight of all the bodies when armored Vradia soldiers rocked on up with another wagon full of dead folk. Pebble and her pervy companion didn’t watch on any longer than to see them soldiers set fire to the tower of bodies. They moved on along and found themselves at a small farming community that had been bordered off by a spiky fence. So many hecken things were wrong about this and it seemed to Pebble that the further they traveled the deeper they were getting into trouble.

Sure as stone, it was time to turn around and head back to the road, especially when right there and then Pebble saw a bunch of lively Rotted moving in their direction from the farm side of the fence. Now, Pebble was not an expert on fences, but she was sure as a rumbling avalanche that the fence wasn’t going to be holding them Rotted off for long, and she couldn’t say for certain that her singing was wonderful enough to make a whole bunch of rotted dance. Pebble had to move fast and her previous plans didn’t matter none anymore. Wasn’t no head mashing important enough to risk her life over. But wouldn’t you know it? It was all sorts of fortunate that her companion was too caught up in perving at her body to notice the approaching rotted for himself.

“Gold first.” Pebble held out her hand. She was all sorts of happy that her pervy companion was dumb enough to hand over the gold first. She slipped the coin in her pocket right quick and gave him a glorious wink. “Now, pull down your pants!” The man did just as he was told and didn’t hesitate about it none, either. Let it be told right now, his dangler wasn’t anything to write home about. “Hechers, ain’t that a twig?” Pebble’s companion was just so stony offended by her comment that he didn’t notice she was holding the hammer until she was swinging it down on his foot.

With a whole great deal of displeasure, Pebble was off and running again. She didn’t have much mind to be looking back, but she could hear the pervy man screaming well enough to know that it wasn’t just his crushed foot that was hurting him. The bunch of rotted had themselves a good old pervy feed on their hands. In case the bait Pebble left those Rotted wasn’t enough to keep them off her tail, she went on ahead and started singing her wonderful tunes all the way back to the road.

Stones be praised, it wasn’t at all long after that Pebble was feeling all safe and sound again. She toddled on down the road singing her songs with very little care in the whole wide world.

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

[Aqutanama]

Rathiain Bukead Anviltank

The Cursed Son of Creation

Tavern Song

---

Weightless, silent, deep, dark, and endless. Oh, how he wished it could have truly been endless, sparing him the burden of wakefulness. His slumber was abruptly disturbed by the creaking of the door, followed by the placement of something atop his suit. Given his stance, he probably resembled nothing more than a glorified coat rack. Holding a staff in each hand, and with his armor shorter than most, it was easy for others to mistake him for unique furniture. At least he wasn't snoring—that would have been truly embarrassing.

Once more, darkness enveloped him as he drifted between sleep and semi-awareness of those around him. Each opening and closing of the door brought a grimace, though unseen by others, the pain still coursed through his body like a fireworks explosion. How he longed for the door to be a solid wall, allowing him to slumber undisturbed. Despite his exhaustion, snippets of conversation filled the room, yet they sounded like gibberish to his groggy mind. The intensity of his pain made focusing on anything else nearly impossible.

Noticing Dorian, the host of the event, amidst the crowd, he began to rouse himself, attempting to shake off the lethargy. Events unfolded rapidly as information circulated. His suit hummed with energy as he unlocked its mechanisms, granting him freedom of movement. Arcane symbols shimmered along its seams, releasing a soft ethereal mist from various joints. With a grunt of effort, he maneuvered, noting the cloaks and paraphernalia that had been draped over him in his slumber. As he moved, the coat rack behind him was soon laden with his collected items.

Only then did he realize the folly of sleeping directly in front of the door. Yet, it mattered little as he navigated toward the illuminated area. Tensions lingered in the room, though their source remained elusive to him. Undeterred, he approached the table and retrieved an old ceramic jar, extracting its contents into a wooden tankard that seemed to materialize out of thin air. After securing the jar, he stowed it in a small pouch, marveling at how such a sizable object fit so snugly.

Another mystical resonance heralded the appearance of a small rift at the bottom of his helm. Taking a straw, he began to sip his drink, opting to squat rather than take a seat. A strange suction and metallic clicking accompanied his action, but it didn't seem to faze him. His unconventional seating mirrored the diverse gathering of species in the room. Raising his tankard in acknowledgment to Dorian and the others, he observed their varied forms with a nod, grateful for the beverage's gradual alleviation of his pain.

With his suit now on full display, its dark purple hue and copper accents caught the eye. Intricate silver and gold filigree adorned the armor, with a shield strapped to his back and a sword at his side. Despite their size and apparent incongruity, they seemed to harmonize with him effortlessly. The shield, worn with signs of use, sat sideways on his back to accommodate his seated position, yet it shifted noiselessly. The sword, though seemingly new, carried an aura of mystery.

He remained silent, acknowledging the room's occupants in his own way. With each sip of his drink, the pain ebbed, clarity returned, and the tension dissipated. Yet, amidst the gathering of seemingly flawless beings, he couldn't help but feel out of place. Recalling the peculiar coin he had given to Dorian, its intricate designs resonated with him, featuring ancient runes and symbols that seemed uniquely attuned to him.

[Aqutanama]

Sorry delete please. Fat finger pressed wrong button on phone.