Darkmatter — Roleplayer Guild

The door swinging open, the first had arrived. A large Venar stood before Conrad and butchered Eolas' name, before being pointed over the corner where he sat. 

"Hello, Bakk. I'm Eolas." replied the scholar, standing and bowing slightly as a formal introduction. Despite his bulk, and undoubted savagery, something about his wide-eyed gaze and basic grasp of the common tongue, made Bakk somewhat approachable. Eolas seemed somewhat hesitant at first. The nature of the task ahead of him was one of a delicate nature. Bakk seemed like he might genuinely not know the meaning of the word.
Before another thought on the issue could form, the door to the tavern swung ajar again, and in strode the second.

Still standing, having not sat since greeting Bakk, Eolas was pleasantly surprised when the next would be employee handed him a pint of ale and offered him a handshake. Taking both, Eolas responded in kind;
"The pleasure is mine, Haljon. And thank you."
Haljonn was human, not Venar or Ventus, but still a large well built man. From the north of the Raven's Ire mountain range, if his dark hair, beard and accent were anything to go by. Yet again, much like Bakk, he seemed a strong but negotiable fellow. He seemed to be the type to enjoy his ale, but to take his work to heart. Of course, these were merely cursory first impressions which were filling the void of knowledge in Eolas' head, and either of them could be wildly different to his perceptions thusly.

Not even had the air of welcome settled, than the next had arrived. The lady monk had arrived. Eolas' contact, who had strung all this together assured him that the devout of High Atoll would be a succinct inclusion in the task at hand. The old scholar though, had fear of having a heretic with them from the start. Not that it would matter once the task was underway, the old Ventus was just anxious with regards to drawing too much attention to themselves too early. The woman merely informed the Ventus that she was ready, and Eolas nodded in reply, just as the door opened yet again.

Ren presented himself to Eolas in a more formal manner than the previous three. Human, and rather frail looking, it seemed as if this addition to their burgeoning group would be providing some more technical expertise. Eolas had been informed to expect some less than orthodox methodology and equipment from Ren, but was assured that contracting him would prove vital. Eolas responded with a polite 'yes', aimed at Ren.
"Only another one is yet to join us" mouthed the Ventus at his group, and sure enough, like clockwork, almost comically timed, the door opened again, again.

A dark skinned human entered, another man, but shorter than any other male in the room now. Eolas immediately noticed tear drop tattoos on the man's face. Not familiar with the marking's meaning, or if there were one, Eolas was still able to ascertain from the complexion, inking and accent that the man originated far from the south, likely in the dunes of Herwen. Hector, as he introduced himself as, also seemed like a pleasant chap. Though again, Eolas reminded himself that he was likely, as with all his group bar possibly Ren, a trained killer. 

A deep welt of anxiety tucked itself into Eolas' being. This was madness. Literal suicide. 'No' he prompted himself. If I don't do this, it won't mean anything either way. It had to be done, and he, no they had to be the ones to do it.
"Ahem!" coughed the scholar, forgetting for a second it was probably best to not address these folk as he would a classroom.
"I've arranged for something, more, private. Yes private, for our briefing, if you'll follow me, it shan't take long," rattled Eolas.
'Briefing?' He quizzed himself. Did it sound as stupid to them as it had to him.
Leading the group out of the tavern, he gestured a wave of respect at Conrad, and was truly grateful. Out onto the docks, and the sun was now high above the horizon. Porters and fishers and kids swarmed the docks. Barrels, buckets and boxes were being shifted here, there and everywhere. 
Being the only salt-water fishing port of any size in Vrent, Sfel was certainly all hustle and bustle even this early on off day. Making his way along the docking, Eolas assumed the others were behind him. Pushing past the workmen, and making his way along to the smaller outlying docks, the entire journey on foot only took a couple of minutes, and Eolas did not bother making small talk. Though for all he knew, the others may have been chatting behind him. There was so much background noise, he'd have been none the wiser.

Reaching the mooring he had been aiming for, Eolas noted there were far few people about here. Nodding at an man attending a large rowboat, Eolas handed him a Blood coin. 
"Aye haff an 'our, an' I ain't say a word," came the thick country tongue of the boat's obvious owner.
Eolas gestured for his companies to board the vessel. Made of sturdy oak and bolted with refined balsite bearings and hull work, the boat could have easily seated a dozen people on its pew-like seating. Three pair of oars dotted the boat's rim, and Eolas quickly clasped one, and waited for the others to do the same.

They only rowed for a short time, just over a minute or so, and in silence. Eolas could feel the tension growing, or perhaps it was just him, and the others were merely nonchalant.
"That should be fine," he offered. They weren't far out of the dock at all, but crucially they were out of earshot.
Feeling all eyes turn to him, Eolas realised this was the point of absolute no return. Reaching into his small leather sack, he produced five coin purses and tossed each of his companions one. Inside each were three ℘ragon's. Three actual dragon minted coins, very few of which were ever minted. To the extent they were often considered worth more than the ten thousand farthings they represented. Enough in each purse to purchase a house and live comfortably for a few years. 
"That's a portion of the final coffer. That's to keep you silent. If you choose to not pursue this course, take that purse, and swim to shore right now. I nor anybody else will attempt to stop you."
Eolas cast his gaze around the group and gauged their reaction before continuing.

Continuing, Eolas took a deep breath, and gave up his life with a sentence.
"We're going to steal the Eye of Yvazgrul."

Update: I'll have the chatzy open for the next 9 hours at work.
us20.chatzy.com/19928744819596

I'll edit in thoughts on the posts anyway, here, soon.

Important

There was a lot of meta gaming on my part in that post, and god-modding. I want to refrain from doing it too much, but didn't want the RP to be us faffing around for too long with no plot! If anyone wants any edits/changes or chance to RP some of the transition from tavern to boat. Please just ask and let me know. I don't want to just drive this RP without you guys I want it to be a mutual venture. Just occasionally, I will feel responsiblity as GM to push it along, and now, getting to the actual plot, was one of those times. Looking forward to people's thoughts.

@Lutalica The Vidrils are essentially departments or institutes which run aspects of live in Vrent. You said Eolas is and ex Vidril so I thought maybe you misinterpreted my wording! Either that or misintepreting yours! Either way it's not a problem, I just wanted to make sure there wasn't confusion :)

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