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  #176  
Unread 2nd of December, 2008, 12:34
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Balar thinks over the situation for a moment. He could certainly use the extra coin if he's going to be paying for Jinxie's room and board. The others might appreciate the opportunity as well. "I am with a group. I'm sure they'd like to hear about your offer. We're staying at the Wagoner, in the Merchants' Quarter."
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Last edited by The Alcotroll; 3rd of December, 2008 at 05:15.
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  #177  
Unread 3rd of December, 2008, 06:38
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Malachi resists the temptation to reply in-kind to Darriel's cantankerousness. He settles for a cocked eyebrow and a slight shake of his head. "I need to make a quick stop at The Wagoner as well...a scrap from Balar's personal effects for the gargoyle to catch his scent."

Once at The Wagoner, Malachi quickly rumages through the barbarian's belongings and locates a stray hair on a cloak that he feels will suffice. Wasting no time at the inn, he heads for the markets.
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There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die. ~Raoul Duke, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"
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  #178  
Unread 10th of December, 2008, 05:52
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A city built into the side of a mountain and sprawling from valley to peak is hardly comfortable to traverse. For the second time in a day, the three men find themselves descending winding staircases, open terraced boulevards, narrow ginnels and corkscrewing roads on their way down Aterium's slopes towards the river valley and the slums that throng the foothills of the mighty mountain peak. Dusk is falling, and the streets are bathed in the pastel glow of mage-lights and glow-globes, illuminating the citizens as they hurry towards their homes. Trading has ceased for the day in the Merchants' quarter, and street vendors sell roast meat and pastries to passers by, while watchmen and liveried estate guards patrol the bustling crowds.
The canal-side Bazzar has emptied as well, disgorging a tumultuous multitude of people hurrying home from the markets, making it difficult to forge a path through the clogged streets.

Once, the city of Aterium was encircled by walls and guardhouses to keep marauding bandits and orc bands at bay. But the peace and prosperity of recent times have made this precaution less necessary, and the walls now serve to mark a distinction between the old city itself and the newer slums that have sprung up around it like fungus. Thriving trade and plentiful river traffic encouraged the growth of way-side taverns and boarding houses, brothels and drinking dens. Ramshackle dwellings were built to house the whores and barkeeps and thugs and thieves, their numbers swelled by destitutes and fugitives from within the city and migrants from without. Unfettered by formal planning or process of law, the slums grew swiftly and without guidance, providing a haven for the lawless, the peniless and the hopeless in equal measure.

Two Quarters marks the western flank of Aterium like a scabrous rash, lurking in the valley between two spurrs and spreading lugubriously down towards the river, where fishing boats and barges bob at makeshift piers. In a place like this there are innumerable drinking holes, bawdy-houses and tavernas, so it takes some time to locate Callo's bar. Passers by are stopped, questions asked and gold changes hands before the three men find themselves standing in a scruffy, muddy street looking up at the decaying frontage of what was once a livery stables. An old stone horse-trough still full of murky water holds a recumbent drinker, snoring loudly. Above him hangs a creaking, torchlit sign which reads in flaking paint; "Callo's Bar."
From within can be heard the riotous sounds of a night of drunken revelery already well underway.
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  #179  
Unread 10th of December, 2008, 07:35
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Lionel always found Aterium to be quite beautiful, but wandering the city like this can become quite a nuisance. As the group wanders the streets searching Callo's Bar, Lionel starting to feel a little bit... stressed out.

Dealing with beautiful women, sure.
Dealing with drunken men, not quite.

"So, how must we proceed?", Lionel quietly asks the others members of their little cohort, not feeling as confident as he thought he would.
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  #180  
Unread 12th of December, 2008, 00:00
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Sensing Lionel's unease, Malachi tries to comfort the mage with confidence and encouragement. "Steel yourself, Lionel. We will enter, find a place to sit and order food and wine like any other patron. Keep an eye out for any Red Handers or someone who could be Old Skin Bag himself. After that, I will try to work some of my own magic." Malachi gives Lionel a reassuring wink, then, clapping him on the shoulder with a slender elvish hand, "Keep an eye out for trouble. We can make a hasty retreat if necessary."

"Let us enter. Callo's is probably more dangerous out than in." He looks around quickly as if he might catch someone sneaking up on them. "Remember to smile like you are happy to be here." Malachi enters through the front door before Lionel and Darriel can think too much about that.

OOC: Malachi is looking for a place to sit with a good view of the room. He intends to blend in by being nonchalant and ordering whatever everyone else appears to be eating and drinking. Lastly, he is looking for Skin Bag and/or anyone else bearing the Red Hand insignia.
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There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die. ~Raoul Duke, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"

Last edited by Nicodemis Finch; 12th of December, 2008 at 00:04.
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  #181  
Unread 13th of December, 2008, 08:57
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Does he have no idea of how poor these disguises are? Darriel shifts his ill-fitting trenchcoat, trying to bring it farther over his greaves, and follows Malachi barely a foot into the door before deciding he wants nothing to do with the sordid sorts inside.

I'm not getting bashed in the back of the head, he thinks, as he ducks around the corner. I'll save their lives when it happens to them.

Last edited by LeadPal; 14th of December, 2008 at 15:46. Reason: switching to the accursed present tense
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  #182  
Unread 14th of December, 2008, 08:07
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Not particularly inconspicuous in their hastily obtained overcoats, Malachi and Lionel shuffle inside Callo's bar, trying not to look too shifty- or at least, any more shifty than the usual clientel.
The door creaks ominously as it closes behind the two of them.

Inside the bar is further proof of the establishment's equine origins- there's still straw on the floor (amongst other things.) What was once a row of stalls has been converted into private drinking booths; simply by the addition of a few rickety tables and chairs. More stools are clustered around a couple of knife-scarred tables, scattered with spilt food and splashed with ale.
Hanging from pegs on the walls are various items of saddlery and tack- perhaps intended as faux-rustique decor, or perhaps simply left hanging because nobody could be arsed taking them down.

The patrons are almost entirely human; male and female and of all ages. All are dressed shabbily, ill-kempt and villainous of appearance. Most are thoroughly drunk. Those nearest the door pause in their bawdy banter to regard the two newcomers suspiciously for a few moments, before losing interest and carrying on their conversations.
It escapes the notice of neither Lionel nor Malachi, that many of the men and women in the room bear some sort of Red Hand insignia, whether as a tattoo, a necklace or bracelet, or a badge of cloth roughly sown onto their shirts and jackets.

The tavern floor is crowded and offers little in the way of seating, but there's a space in one corner where a guttering candle is perched on top of a rotting barrel. Across the other side of the inn, the barman lurks behind his makeshift counter and glares thundrously at his two newest customers.
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  #183  
Unread 23rd of December, 2008, 06:53
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I have seen worse.... Malachi turns to address his companions and is shocked to see that Darriel is missing. Assuming the worst, he grabs Lionel by the shoulder and rushes back out into the darkness. He puts one hand on the hilt of his rapier as he clutches the mage's robe in the other. Peering into the darkness he tries desperately to catch some glimpse of the druid. He expects to see Darriel pinned to the wall by thugs, or perhaps his body being dragged into a dark alley, lifeless, head twisted at an unnatural angle, to be discarded like so much waste by his murderer.

EDIT: Malachi's anxiety was short-lived, however, as Darriel had merely slunk around the corner and hadn't had the chance to hide himself, if that was his intention. "What is the name of the good gods are you doing?" he said crossly to the druid. "I thought we had found trouble before we even found our seats!" Releasing his grip on his rapier, Malachi grabbed hold of Darriel. "No one stays behind. We are safest in numbers." With both his companions in tow, Malachi once again crossed the threshold into Callo's. Once inside, he quickly released his grip on the two and instead placed his arms around their shoulders, as friends often do.

Let us keep this simple...one step at a time. Malachi makes a bee-line for the empty space in the corner. It'd make a suitable, if confined, base of operations.

OOC: Spot check looking for Darriel: 9

http://online-roleplaying.com/forums...&postcount=479
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There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die. ~Raoul Duke, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"

Last edited by Nicodemis Finch; 24th of December, 2008 at 16:00.
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  #184  
Unread 1st of January, 2009, 15:46
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"And what a... bloody fine leader you are," Darriel mutters. While still outside, he carefully coaxes a tight roll of vellum from a crude cylinder of stripped bark, and unfurls it with a flick of his wrist. After a brief glance at the runes upon it, the druid begins to wrap the vellum around his shortstaff while speaking an incomprehensible incantation.

"Bastynu ag cenhadau at chledd ag bigynau."

As he finishes, the vellum slowly dissolves away, revealing a mottled grey-red lichen upon the hardwood staff. He glares at Malachi before stepping into the building.

"We'll regret this."

Last edited by LeadPal; 1st of January, 2009 at 15:49.
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  #185  
Unread 2nd of January, 2009, 06:55
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"If things go bad, I'll try distracting them", he says while grinning to Darriel.

As Lionel enters Callo's Bar, he is somewhat surprised to see what kind of dirty place it was; thugs who probably never learned what personal hygiene was, or even the bartender who probably never cleaned his own place of business.

"And I was hoping for some cute girls, guess that won't happen", he mutters to himself, while looking for a place to sit... as close to the door as possible.

Last edited by Scythe; 2nd of January, 2009 at 07:06.
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  #186  
Unread 3rd of January, 2009, 02:16
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Malachi makes a bee-line for the empty space in the corner. It'd make a suitable, if confined, base of operations. Once seated, he speaks to Darriel and Lionel in a hushed tone barely audible over the din in Callo's. "Our reason for being here, you will recall, is to discover who hired the Red Hands to kill Morrisey, before the Watch gets their hands on Skin Bag. If we can get an audience with Skin Bag, my hope is that we can trade our knowledge of the impending Watch raid for his knowledge of the assassination. Maybe we will have to throw a bit of gold his way as well...we will have to see how the meeting proceeds.

Admittedly, my plan is not without...flaws. Aside from the obvious danger of our merely being here surrounded by cutthroats and killers, not to mention meeting with their leader, trading in information is always tricky. I will admit to you both that my plans often involve a bit of...improvisation. I am entering that phase now, so, in the spirit of our fledgling partnership, and in consideration of past mistakes, I am giving you fair warning...and asking for your advice." It's obvious from the look on his face that Malachi is being sincere.
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There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die. ~Raoul Duke, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"
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  #187  
Unread 5th of January, 2009, 16:26
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Leaning his chair against the wall in a listless slouch, Darriel spends more energy nervously watching the rest of the bar than listening to Malachi. He only just understands the second part, and only just enough to mock it.

"Huh. Well... I'll do my part to help this important mission," he whispers back, affecting Malachi's voice. "Clearly we'll need to engage in our characteristic teamwork to deal with these... unfortunate foes."

The druid pauses, unsure of how else he can sneer at Malachi, when he notices that the lone serving girl dodging heckles and catcalls throughout the room is ignoring their table. "Hey... that's also... unfortunate," he says, only implying his intent by glowering at the girl.

Oh, there's no good way out of this crap.

Darriel propels himself from against the wall with his shortstaff, lurching forward as the legs of his chair slam back to the ground. He then bangs his staff against the centre of the table twice, and yells "Wench! Get us some goddamned drinks!"

Improvise with that, fucking elf.

Last edited by LeadPal; 5th of January, 2009 at 16:54. Reason: grammar
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  #188  
Unread 10th of January, 2009, 05:00
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Lionel remains speechless.

His heartbeat, if anyone could hear, is flying up the charts., and his legs ans feet are trembling like a seismic catastrophe. If he wasn't a trained Wizard, he probably wouldn't have the mental strength, and would have... spewed his pants with his own excrements.

The young Wizard looks around, hoping nobody noticed Darriel's aggressive demands.
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  #189  
Unread 12th of January, 2009, 11:06
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Malachi looks back at Darriel with an evil grin and a twinkle in his eye. He slaps the table with an open palm and exclaims, “Right!” He hisses at the druid to avoid anyone overhearing, “We use the 'street tough' approach!” After another slap on the table, Malachi’s courage is sufficiently mustered. He stands up, twists his neck a few times until he receives a satisfying “crack!” He then shoves back his chair, throws off his cloak and heads for the sour-faced barkeeper.

It is high-time you made a contribution you odoriferous, ditch-dwelling bastard. I only hope this ploy works better than it did last time. The anger fuels Malachi’s courage, so he stokes it a bit further. I should be the only one collecting coins for this job. Balar will likely never been seen again. He is probably gaze addicted himself by now. This peacock of a wizard cares only for mirrors, his face, and naive women. I am little more than a failed thief myself! A disgrace to my people and, now, a puppet of the watch. It is as if we were hand-picked to fail. I refuse to fail....

On his way to the bar he keeps an eye out for anyone who could be the one they call Skin Bag.

OOC: Spot Check 15 http://online-roleplaying.com/forums/showpost.php?p=335332&postcount=502
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There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die. ~Raoul Duke, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"

Last edited by Nicodemis Finch; 12th of January, 2009 at 11:10.
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