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Posted, let me know if I should change anything
Vaerun drifted through the slums on the outskirts of Providence, looking every inch the beggar that he was pretending to be. In the slums, you never made it very far without an "accident" unless you looked like an accident had already befallen you. Fortunately, this wasn't his first visit to the tiny trash pile that so many of Providence's poor called home, and he had chosen his outfit appropriately. His shirt had originally been a natural white color, but a day spent rubbing it in mud and dust had changed that, including purposefully tearing holes in the sleeves in areas where he never bothered to conceal anything useful anyways. The shredded remains of his pants were more akin to shorts, their longest part stopping just below his knees and caked in mud. Vaerun deeply wished he could have worn his boots today, but most beggars lacked even the most basic of sandals, and he was not going to stand out as an exception.
Vaerun ran a dirty hand through his dusty, ebon colored hair, groaning inwardly at how much further he had to travel to reach the agreed upon rendezvous point. He didn't know why, but one of his oldest acquaintances had sent him a message he couldn't ignore, and Vaerun was determined to find out why. And so he continued to walk through the streets, eager to see this meeting over and done with, but at the same time trying not to draw attention to himself.
After another hour of walking, Vaerun finally pushed open the door to the Rich Joke, a tavern located even further on the outskirts of Providence. For some reason, the first owner of what was now one of the roughest taverns in the city thought that so long as he watered down the drinks and paid his workers in that same mead, he would make a handy profit from even the poor here in the slums. That owner was long gone now, his body buried somewhere in the basement after a card game gone wrong. The current proprieter was a bald, sickly looking man who smelled of things Vaerun tried his hardest not to contemplate as he approached him.
"I'm here for a meeting," Vaerun said.
"What do I look like, a skin merchant?," the man grunted back in reply, pretending to clean a filthy looking tankard.
"No, you look like a dog got drunk and mated with one of the ugliest crabs in existence," Vaerun retorted, slapping a gold coin down on the table. "I'm looking for Geoffrey."
" Well you should have just said so," the man replied, taking the coin and biting it to test its authenticity. Seemingly satisfied, he answered "Room eight. Upstairs."
With that finished, Vaerun turned and walked up the slowly rotting wooden planks that had been nailed together in a crude imitation of stairs. Continuing until he found the appropriate room, Vaerun checked once more to make sure the knife he had pressed against his side was still safely in place and concealed before knocking once and entering.
There across the room, was an old man clad in thick traveler clothing sitting behind an oaken desk covered in parchment. Leaning back in the chair, Geoffrey did not even acknowledge Vaerun's existence, leaving him to break the silence himself.
"What do you want Geoffrey?," Vaerun said, leaning against the wallnext to the door. When still he received no answer, Vaerun began to grow impatient.
"Do I look like I have time for your games old man,," Vaerun growled, and was answered once more by silence.
What was going on here, he wondered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He pushed off the wall, approaching Geoffrey cautiously, his instincts screaming at him from some unknown danger. As he approach, he noticed that not only was Geoffrey silent, the man wasn't even breathing.
Vaerun ran, pulling open the door in time for the first city guardsman to come barreling through. They slammed into each other, and instincts honed by years on the streets sprang into action. As the guardsman raised his cudgel, Vaerun jammed his fingers into the gap between the man's helmet and breastplate, smashing the man's Adam's apple. As the other man gasped, Vaerun rolled away from him, starting to sprint towards the door but drawing up short as the rest of the guard's patrol entered the room.
Vaerun began to step backwards as he came face to face with half a dozen guardsmen. One, a cleaner looking fellow with a long mustache and gold filigree on his helmet smirked and cast a glance at his fallen companion. "I suppose we'll add attempted murder of a guardsman to the charges then. Citizen Vaerun of Providence, you are under arrest for murder, assault, treason of he highest order, and conspiracy t assassinate highly placed members of this city's lawfully elected council. Please, resist if you dare."
Vaerun ran a dirty hand through his dusty, ebon colored hair, groaning inwardly at how much further he had to travel to reach the agreed upon rendezvous point. He didn't know why, but one of his oldest acquaintances had sent him a message he couldn't ignore, and Vaerun was determined to find out why. And so he continued to walk through the streets, eager to see this meeting over and done with, but at the same time trying not to draw attention to himself.
After another hour of walking, Vaerun finally pushed open the door to the Rich Joke, a tavern located even further on the outskirts of Providence. For some reason, the first owner of what was now one of the roughest taverns in the city thought that so long as he watered down the drinks and paid his workers in that same mead, he would make a handy profit from even the poor here in the slums. That owner was long gone now, his body buried somewhere in the basement after a card game gone wrong. The current proprieter was a bald, sickly looking man who smelled of things Vaerun tried his hardest not to contemplate as he approached him.
"I'm here for a meeting," Vaerun said.
"What do I look like, a skin merchant?," the man grunted back in reply, pretending to clean a filthy looking tankard.
"No, you look like a dog got drunk and mated with one of the ugliest crabs in existence," Vaerun retorted, slapping a gold coin down on the table. "I'm looking for Geoffrey."
" Well you should have just said so," the man replied, taking the coin and biting it to test its authenticity. Seemingly satisfied, he answered "Room eight. Upstairs."
With that finished, Vaerun turned and walked up the slowly rotting wooden planks that had been nailed together in a crude imitation of stairs. Continuing until he found the appropriate room, Vaerun checked once more to make sure the knife he had pressed against his side was still safely in place and concealed before knocking once and entering.
There across the room, was an old man clad in thick traveler clothing sitting behind an oaken desk covered in parchment. Leaning back in the chair, Geoffrey did not even acknowledge Vaerun's existence, leaving him to break the silence himself.
"What do you want Geoffrey?," Vaerun said, leaning against the wallnext to the door. When still he received no answer, Vaerun began to grow impatient.
"Do I look like I have time for your games old man,," Vaerun growled, and was answered once more by silence.
What was going on here, he wondered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He pushed off the wall, approaching Geoffrey cautiously, his instincts screaming at him from some unknown danger. As he approach, he noticed that not only was Geoffrey silent, the man wasn't even breathing.
Vaerun ran, pulling open the door in time for the first city guardsman to come barreling through. They slammed into each other, and instincts honed by years on the streets sprang into action. As the guardsman raised his cudgel, Vaerun jammed his fingers into the gap between the man's helmet and breastplate, smashing the man's Adam's apple. As the other man gasped, Vaerun rolled away from him, starting to sprint towards the door but drawing up short as the rest of the guard's patrol entered the room.
Vaerun began to step backwards as he came face to face with half a dozen guardsmen. One, a cleaner looking fellow with a long mustache and gold filigree on his helmet smirked and cast a glance at his fallen companion. "I suppose we'll add attempted murder of a guardsman to the charges then. Citizen Vaerun of Providence, you are under arrest for murder, assault, treason of he highest order, and conspiracy t assassinate highly placed members of this city's lawfully elected council. Please, resist if you dare."
Sounds like a plan.
Khaylan Somisteel walked down the villages pathways, followed at a distance by a small entourage comprised of starry eyed peasant children and a pair of his fellow knights. Standing taller than both of his "brothers", and clad in a somewhat ostentatious set of clothing, it was Khaylan who had drawn most of the attention of the tag alongs. His black vest was embroidered with silver and leff open enough to expose a deep purple undershirt and was sinched together by a thick leather belt over a pair of loose fitting black pants that tucked neatly into a pair of high leather boots. He wore a single steel ring on his left hand, emblazoned with the seal of his house. All in all, he was the picture of wealth to the villagers who caught a glimpse of him, a dangerous prospect, were it not for the broadsword that hung comfortably on his hip.
The knights were both from houses that ranked lower than Khaylan's own, and were feigning friendship in order to curry favor towards their own respective houses. What he found most amusing was that both of the men beside him wouldn't hesitate to stab him in the back if they thought it would bring them power. Fortunately, like most nobility, this was a game he had been playing most of his life, and he'd had far better teachers than these two ever had. Still, although part of Khaylan berated himself for being so shallow, he was unable to lie to himself:
He loved the attention.
The trio approached the village square in time to catch the tail end of the performance. In truth, this had been his objective all along. Another peasant, hoping to earn a few gold coins had informed him of a delightful songstress who sang in the village square along with a small band of instrument players. Ordinarily he would have scolded the man for wasting his time, but the peasant had also mentioned that the songstress had long hair that was a very attractive color of strawberry blond. Instead, Khaylan paid the man a single gold coin and had arranged to investigate this rumor to see if it matched up with a girl he had encountered in the past. Now that he had seen her with his own eyes, the knight grinned in anticipation. When the crowd had dissipated, Khaylan clapped his hands together slowly and loudly, his two "friends" misunderstanding the sarcastic tone of the gesture and adding nervous claps of their own.
"A sad sum, my dear, and after such a wonderful performance," Khaylan said, directing his words at the singer. "What did you pull in I wonder? Wait, don't tell me. I'll double it if you and your friends here would play me a little song..."
The knights were both from houses that ranked lower than Khaylan's own, and were feigning friendship in order to curry favor towards their own respective houses. What he found most amusing was that both of the men beside him wouldn't hesitate to stab him in the back if they thought it would bring them power. Fortunately, like most nobility, this was a game he had been playing most of his life, and he'd had far better teachers than these two ever had. Still, although part of Khaylan berated himself for being so shallow, he was unable to lie to himself:
He loved the attention.
The trio approached the village square in time to catch the tail end of the performance. In truth, this had been his objective all along. Another peasant, hoping to earn a few gold coins had informed him of a delightful songstress who sang in the village square along with a small band of instrument players. Ordinarily he would have scolded the man for wasting his time, but the peasant had also mentioned that the songstress had long hair that was a very attractive color of strawberry blond. Instead, Khaylan paid the man a single gold coin and had arranged to investigate this rumor to see if it matched up with a girl he had encountered in the past. Now that he had seen her with his own eyes, the knight grinned in anticipation. When the crowd had dissipated, Khaylan clapped his hands together slowly and loudly, his two "friends" misunderstanding the sarcastic tone of the gesture and adding nervous claps of their own.
"A sad sum, my dear, and after such a wonderful performance," Khaylan said, directing his words at the singer. "What did you pull in I wonder? Wait, don't tell me. I'll double it if you and your friends here would play me a little song..."
Interested in the small group version. Which is to say if one more person joins in then I'm in. I'll keep an eye out here.
Possibly interested. Will know for sure once the plot is established but its a great idea.
Character sheet is finished for now.
Appearance: 
Name: Aracht Devaron
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Mana Color(s): Purple
Summon Beast:
Persona: Playfully inquisitive, Aracht delights in learning new things and has spent the vast majority of his free time with his nose in a book. Although his curiousity has sometimes gotten the better of him, Aracht is always prepared to charm his way out of the worst of situations with a quick wit and a snappy joke.
Why they were selected: Aracht was selected due in part to his vast knowledge of the world around him and in particular, a talent for unraveling the secrets of the arcane.
Name: Aracht Devaron
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Mana Color(s): Purple
Summon Beast:
Persona: Playfully inquisitive, Aracht delights in learning new things and has spent the vast majority of his free time with his nose in a book. Although his curiousity has sometimes gotten the better of him, Aracht is always prepared to charm his way out of the worst of situations with a quick wit and a snappy joke.
Why they were selected: Aracht was selected due in part to his vast knowledge of the world around him and in particular, a talent for unraveling the secrets of the arcane.
Interested, char sheet incoming tonight hopefully.
This actually sounds quite entertaining. Send me a pm and well talk.
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