A Dark and Stormy Night [Open]

[Rayleigh]

Welcome to the Peaceful Promenade! This thread is open to all. Feel free to bring your characters in, out of the storm. You are welcome to use the named NPCs, William and Jozie, within reason. Please be advised, bunnying is discouraged in this thread, even with the writer's permission. This is to encourage real-time interaction between new and old players. Have fun!

The rain drummed on the windowpane, a calming, and strangely memorizing staccato. The drops streaked across the glass, leaving slick, criss-crossing paths in their wake. They shimmered like diamonds with each flash of lightning, the electric fingers of the heavens brightening the otherwise darkened town. Then came the thunder. Before, it had rumbled shyly, like the murmuring of gossip among polite circles. This time, however, it boomed like the burst of an Alerian flintlock rifle.

Startled by mother nature's sudden outburst, a mousy brunette woman tumbled away from the window. "Gods," Rayleigh exclaimed, right hand pressing hard against her racing heart.

She was answered by high peels of laughter, wafting across the otherwise empty tavern. "Its like you've never heard thunder before," a pretty blonde finally quipped between fading giggles. She appeared to be in her late teens, and was dressed in a simple blue dress that held faint stains of years of tavern work. Expertly, and without even watching her work, Jozie the barmaid ran a cloth over a damp, newly washed copper tankard. Her doe-eyes remained fixed to the still trembling Rayleigh, her salmon lips pulled back in a broad grin.

The mechanic scowled back, though her emerald gaze revealed the humor she herself found in the situation. "William," she whined as a third figure entered the room, "your daughter is being mean to me. I am a patron, you know. I shouldn't have to put up with this sort of treatment."

With a gentleness that contradicted his burly appearance, the man stored the bottles he had retrieved from the back room. His smile, though hidden by a thick mustache, was plain in his gruff voice. "Miss Aston," came the rejoinder, "you must buy something to be considered a patron." When she opened her mouth to argue, he raised a hand. "Joking, of course. As long as you're keeping my Jozie in line, your drinks are on the house. The water you drink doesn't cost much anyway."

Rayleigh shrugged, before motioning to the bare tavern. "No one here to drink with anyway." Besides, she was not one to abuse the gracious offer the owner had made her in exchange for her friendship with his trouble-seeking child.

"Just wait," William assured her, nodding toward the closed door. "The storm will bring them in."

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou muttered a curse to himself, shaking his soaked brown hair as he scrambled from doorway to doorway in a vain effort to keep himself, and his cards, dry. It was the first afternoon he had to himself for what felt like a year, so the Telgradian found it typical that this one was made up of heavy and cumbersome rain clouds that had rolled over the town, ones that hung there for what seemed like an ice age. The rain fell in sheets, bombarding the pavement and kicking up spats of mud as he stepped from toe to toe to avoid the puddles.

Another man who trailed him, a contact of Shinsou’s lovingly nicknamed Soap due to his aversion to being involved in anything unlawful, shook his head silently.

“Five minutes ago, this was the driest town on Athanas. Now it’s become a bad day in hurricane alley.”

Underneath Soap’s coat, a single scarred hand remained gripped around his own deck, as always, in habit alone. His leather smock, smeared with mud and streaks of dirty water, was rushed by the constant, chilling breeze swept through them.

Shinsou shrugged. “Bit of an exaggeration that, Soap. It’s wet but it’s not exactly the great flood. We’ll be fine. Just need to figure out which way to turn – was it left or right here?”

Soap sighed, shaking his head in frustration. Whether the Telgradian realised it or not, they were late for the game, soaking and lost. The heavy taste of electricity in the humid air was there, enveloping them, almost as powerful as the stench of the rotting garbage bins they passed from road to road. Being relatively new to Stonevale, and despite Soap’s warnings to the contrary, Shinsou had still not grasped the geography of the town and progress onwards soon ground to a resounding halt. What few unchecked street names remained were now dead ends or quite simply the wrong way.

”OK, now we’re absolutely lost.” Soap sighed, toe bunging a puddle for no reason at all as he stared at yet another one way street.

Shinsou, however, was characteristically calm. His soft, golden eyes veered through the rain and across the rugged edges of the houses not so far away as he remembered why his free time was so valuable to him. They were enrolled in the Brotherhood and being an enforcer for them was a six to seven day a week job. The odd days off between assignments were few and far between, but when he did get time off the Telgradian had a particular penchant for cards. It didn’t matter what game – poker or brag. With everyday life thrown into turmoil by the fallout of the Brotherhood’s rise to power, Shinsou knew that the rare opportunity for a day off in a tavern somewhere was too good for them to miss, especially if it meant relieving a few fools of their money.

“The fact is, Shinsou,” The gruff and irritated Soap started, turning to face the soaked Telgradian. “You haven’t a clue where we are!”

“Soap…” The Telgradian interrupted, spitting excess rain droplets from his mouth.

“This place has become a lawless free-for-all anyway, for the most part, so maybe we should just head back. There are better taverns…”

“Soap…” Shinsou once again tried to interject.

“We need a regular venue, really. Someone who knows Corone so we don’t have to fuck about out here, and, to be honest, I’ve already made the fucking arrangements for you anyway. So, my friend, you might as well learn to deal with it.”

“SOAP!” Shinsou yelled through the rain at the rambling man. “We’re fucking here. It’s right behind you. Look, there. The back of the tavern.”

“Oh?” Soap muttered whilst the Telgradian shook the rain from his own white greatcoat. “Well, we best go in then, hadn’t we?”

Shinsou stroked his day old stubble irritably. The rainstorm beat at the already weathered skin of the Telgradian’s face, with monstrous droplets shattering into white pearls against his jagged visage, but he barely flinched. Instead, he flicked the deck in his hand round and round habitually. One of the major difficulties Shinsou had experienced in his relationship with Soap was learning to distinguish between him pretending to be stupid just to get women off their guard, pretending to be stupid because he couldn’t be bothered to think, pretending to be outrageously stupid because he didn’t actually understand what was going on and really being genuinely stupid. Soap was actually renowned for being amazingly clever, and quite clearly was so, but not all the time. This obviously worried him. Soap preferred people to be puzzled by him rather than contemptuous. It was sort of a safety net.

The Silver Cup Tavern was located at the edge of the promenade, far away from the winding labyrinth of filthy alleyways and grotty passages that comprised the inner workings of the city. It was a crooked but quaint sort of building, propped up by its smooth, whitewashed limestone walls and protected from the elements by a brittle slate roof that looked as if it was barely holding together. Almost any time someone shut the heavy front door, fragments of splintered shale tile would rain down over the pavement and pepper the road below.

Despite its dilapidated state, the tavern always usually boasted a healthy turn out but barely anyone was in today. Through the frosted glass windows, coated with a layer of rainwater, it was clear to see a handful of oil lanterns burning brightly and the shadows of the few patrons in there mulling about.

As Shinsou and Soap entered, they noticed one glaringly obvious omission from their expectations.

“Where are all the players?” Soap queried. "I'm sure I told them midday?"

[Chopsalot]

And bring them in the storm did.

Cath sought shelter immediately at the rumbling of thunder and jagged lines of lightning moving closer by the minute on the horizon. Dark clouds swiftly descended making it nearly impossible to tell whether it was night or day. If it was not for her heavy woolen cloak, the High Elf from Winyaurient, Raiaera would have been soaked through to her pale, sensitive skin.

Opening the tavern door, she immediately welcomed the dry and warm space. It wasn’t much to look at but the Silver Cup Tavern was better than being pelted on by the rain. Well anything was really, a garbage bin in Stonevale perhaps… the point being that one couldn’t be picky if lacking a home.

And Cathoulous Lorr was bereft of this very basic need.

She slowly pulled her hood down to her shoulders and flicked away droplets of water from the folds of her cloak. While a High Elf may be an odd sight in and of itself in Stonevale, even more peculiar was the marking on her forehead, an elaborate patchwork of scars, no doubt purposeful in their design and artistry – a branding of some sort. Frankly, Cath was beyond feeling disfigured by it, but a few stares landed on her illuminated face, causing the Elf to slink away to a shady corner of the tavern. Eventually, she may move closer to the warmth of the fire, but for now, the exiled Bard would order a glass of black flower metheglin, letting the sweet, honeyed mead fill her empty stomach.

[Lye]

The rain fell and with it, a sense of weight only nature could personify. Heavy footsteps shuffled lifelessly from the tall form of a man. Shrouded in dark linens marked by the wear of time, each drop pressed itself into the already drenched cloth. Its ragged ends dragged through the cobblestones, mopping up the mud, debris, and waste of the locals, their carriages, and horses. Silently, he moved, accompanied only by the percussive rumble that rattled his weary bones. As he trudged forward, his viridescent irises caught the faint flicker of light through tavern windows. Through the wind and flash of lightning a wooden sign groaned on wrought iron chain above the doorway.

"The Silver Cup Tavern"

The figure halted. A long labored breath escaped his lips into a haze of chilled fog. The decision was made.

His muddied boots surged him forward, path carved for the tavern.

A dark, gloved hand stretched forth from the folds of his cloak and opened the tavern's door. He noticed its tenants, all faces unfamiliar to him as his would be in return. Lips sealed and silent, he entered. His wake trailed in a manner of filth and rainwater unwelcoming to an establishment owner. Yet, he persisted and purchased a seat near the hearth, closest to the window. This husk, a black silhouette of what once was, nested his elbows on the edge of dry oak and folded gloved hands into one another. With hallowed eyes gazing blankly at the wooden grains worn smooth by time, patronage, and memory, he sat.

Motionless. Voiceless. Ominous.

His chest heaved yet another deep and labored breath, void of fog in the warmth of the foyer. Dripping wet, the figure let a faint smile crawl across pale lips.

Warmth... It felt... Comforting to him.

[Chopsalot]

From her darkened corner, Cath watched the patrons moving around the Silver Cup. The cadence of multiple voices drowned out the sound of rain, and she finally felt a sense of calm wash over her. The Bard took in some of the more notable employees and guests of the tavern. A cheerful, industrious family seemed to own it. They discussed local affairs, possibly town gossip with a young, brown haired woman sipping water.

Her grey eyes, under heavy lids, then scanned to a tall, thin human or humanoid with his companion. Cath could tell they were not lost, but they were indeed looking for something, and their expectation was not met by the consternation in their faces.

Finally, the High Elf’s gaze fell upon a slightly drenched figure with long, platinum hair. He sat by the window with a pensive countenance. He’d either been to the Silver Cup before, or perhaps the man had been to countless taverns like it. A traveler like Cath, perhaps?

But she knew better to assume anyone’s intentions. Even family can stab you in the back with your favorite dagger. Of course, Cath’s most cherished dagger – a gift given to her five years ago by her former betrothed - was tucked away in the folds of her leather tunic. Occasionally she would rub the jeweled hilt with a thumb for reassurance.

She looked down at her glass of metheglin, surprised to see that she had finished so quickly. The Bard knew she needed to eat something more substantial, but the Silver Cup mead was nearly a panacea for her foul mood, brought upon by either the sudden thunderstorm or just her own thoughts. Hard to tell, but she rose and walked until she stopped in front of the barkeep.

“Another Metheglin please,” Cath said in a voice that signaled a highborn upbringing, but contained just a hint of world weariness that suggested otherwise.

[darkest.desires.]

The night was dark, the climate cold and damp as the maiden walked towards the tavern. The howling of the wind matched the howling of her empty heart. Emptiness, nothing, a deep abyss of nothingness. The soft clicking of her heels against the pavement is what she focused on to keep her going, one foot in front of the other. Step, step, step. The tavern coming into view, the old shutters needed another coat of paint, the shingles on the roof needed replaced and the sign was a bit tattered showing how many seasons it had survived. The faint smell of stale ale and cigar smoke was brought by the storms breeze wrapping around the woman like a cocoon.

"Drink, I need a stiff drink.."

Pushing the tavern door open forcefully it banged against the wall slamming shut behind her as another clap of thunder joined the ruckus she had just made. "Jeez Camille easy on the door.." The man with the impressive mustache chastised her with a look of pity in his eye. Camille simply nodded towards the man heading to the end of the bar, second stool form the wall. Sitting down she peeled off her jacket that now was like a second skin from all the rain that had been dumped on her. William offered her a kind hearted smile along with a clean bar rag to dry off.

"Thanks.."

Nodding he didn't have to ask her what she wanted since she had been coming here for some time now, a bottle of bourbon and a glass set in front of her. Ringing out her golden honey brown locks, wiping the rain droplets that still clung to her rosy cheeks. After she was as dry as she could get she set the rag and five gold coins on the bar for payment. Her dark almost sapphire blue orbs swept across the tavern before she moved to pour herself a drink. Taking the first swig with such greed she closed her eyes savoring the burning sensation as it left a trail of warmth down into her belly. A shaky breath came from her as she gripped the glass tightly pouring herself another drink before downing that one as well. Licking her red plush lips she moaned softly with the satisfaction of the liquor slowly starting to warm her body.

"Slow down Cammy you aren't a fish, girl." Glancing up Camille turned her head slightly at the blonde bar maiden before glaring at her. "Bite me Jozie.." That statement earned her a glare in return William laid a hand on Camille's clenched fist. "Easy Camille it's a bad day but you are here now so lighten up and enjoy your drink.." Nodding she stole a glance at Jozie giving her a soft smile before mouthing sorry.. The small woman smiled in return the tension fizzled out as quickly as it had started to build.

Will is right it is no ones fault that I had a crappy day I just need to shake this feeling and enjoy my drink... The pep talk she was giving herself would hopefully stick because if it didn't every one in the tavern was in for one hell of a night. The storm wouldn't be the only thing raging on tonight.

[Ignis]

The sky was clear, no problems would be seen. However, off in the distance the rain clouds were clearly coming this way. I sighed and shook my head. I was dealing with a man who was blocking the path into the city because his carriage carrying a plethora of goods, and items to be sold in the various markets within the city, had broken down. We had to wait in line to enter this city, and even so because this man decided to break it down right at the gate so no one could feasibly pass. Well, maybe a small framed person could be able to fit through, but honestly, These people were waiting just to be kind. And with the storm coming, many were trying to help. However, fixing it here in the middle of the road was a bad idea.

Moving slowly, I made my way towards the crash, and aided a few seconds. Lifting up a bag of clothing that the man owed, I walked past the wreckage and handed the bag to one of the guards that was trying to get everything together. He nodded his thanks and I moved past. Making my way past many of these other people, I pulled up my hood to cover my face. Moving past multiple people, sliding past the market and trying to find a place to stay. Moving from tavern to tavern, I kept looking for the cheapest inn to stay for the night. However, seeing an urchin, someone who would likely not pay for their services, I just had to find somewhere soon.

Time was not on my side. The clouds slowly began to cover all the light in the area. The waterworks began. And it poured hard. The rain began to pelt the cloth hood I wore. I was soaked in a minute. The semi-cold rain pelted me. It almost slammed upon my head and shoulders. Making the little gear I carried all the more heavier. My entire body was wet. It would take hours to get these clothes dry so I could wear them again. Seeing that all of these people were entering their homes, and coming to various inns, I decided to walk into one as well.

The door opened up with some people here and there. However, the rest of it was empty. Good, I was not one for talking to people. Including the fact that many of these people seemed rather dangerous. I had no clue on what I was going to do. I just walked up to the bar with my squeaky boots after being wet in the rain, and took my seat at one of the stools. Sitting down, I pulled off my hood. Soaked through, my hair was dripping into my lap. Breathing in, I removed the scarf from my face. Barely dry from the portion that was covering my mouth. Running my hand through my hair, it was clearly disheveled and not kept by a barber, and cut by some kind of knife.

I leaned forward, and just tried to appreciate being out of the rain for once. Even if I didn't have a bed.

[Revenant]

Wind spilled from the doorway as it opened yet again, whipping the table lamps into a flickering frenzy. A stocky man quickly slipped through the door, his thick leather cloak spilling nearly as much water on the welcome mat as it would have seen on the stoop outside. Twin points of burning light shone from within his hood like smoldering coals as he scanned the room. Satisfied, he let the door close, cutting off the howling wind and putting the lamps back to relative ease.

William radiated angry annoyance as he made his way to an empty table. He had plenty to choose from. But his frustration seemed directed more at the storm than at anyone in the tavern itself. He hated submitting to the will of anything, including nature, but some things couldn’t be helped. Besides, the full brunt of the storm hadn’t arrived yet, and William would have been a fool to let himself be caught out in it. And, truth be told, the soft light coming from the tavern’s windows had been a welcome sight out in the darkness. Travel be damned.

There was no water left on William by the time he took his seat, a perk of his supernaturally hot physique. He removed his cloak and hung it from a peg which had been set into the wall for just such a purpose, then leaned both the obsidian scythe and the massive dragonbone cleaver up alongside it. He audibly groaned in relief as he rolled his shoulders, letting some of the tension out merely by setting the weighty object aside. Satisfied, he pulled out a thick wooden chair and plopped down.

“Welcome to the Silver Cup Tavern, sir. What can I get for you?” Jozie asked, quickly gliding to take the newcomer’s order.

“Ale, bitter,” William grunted, eyeing Jozie. The woman seemed a little hesitant under the scrutiny of his burning gaze, but her voice was firm and her manner brisk and professional. If she was intimidated by him, William thought that she did a good job hiding it.

“Food?” She inquired.

“Just a bowl of whatever you’ve got stewing in the pot is fine,” William said. He pulled a handful of coins from a pouch and slid them across the table towards Jozie. “Keep the drinks coming as long as the coin lasts.” Nodding, Josie snatched them up, noting the odd warmth that they had to them, then scurried off to fetch the man his order.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor.

Once he was a Tyrant, a King.

Now he was reduced to ember, little more than crumbling ash of his former self.

With the Ixian Knights of old...Lorenor had found the purpose N'Jal denied him. Reformation changed him and altered his destiny. Now he was a man cursed, a broken husk of what he was once. Denied the very connection to N'Jal he once held so dear to his heart. He did terrible things in the name of N'Jal...but they were necessary things. His blue eyes glowed with a certain sadness. For he was cursed with the visions of a burnt future. A future that he did not want. A future he was trying to change. Lorenor wore the markings of the Ixian Knights on his squire's outfit. A simple tunic and pair of pantaloons. He did have a heavy sword on strapped around to him that he wore across his back. The man wore a hooded robe as well, something the Ixian gave him a long time ago. He had signet rings and an amulet that bore the Ixian markings as well, but, it was all from a forgotten time of history. Lorenor's glowing blue eyes narrowed as he spotted the tavern up ahead. He could see people entering the tavern escaping the rain and sudden bad weather. Lorenor closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the sound of the sheets of falling rain.

Every so often thunder cascaded across the sky of Althanas.

It was a loud and glorious sound.

The remnant of the old world felt his boots splashing across the mud as he walked through the township of the promenade. His eyes narrowing when he made his way towards the tavern. Out of habit, he wiped his boots across the welcome mat. He had always been a man of good manners and etiquette. The squire was still learning the ways of The Holy Light, a living mechanic that fueled the paladin's holy arts. However, in a short amount of time he'd grown strong again. He was beginning to unearth the old secrets of the light. As he entered the tavern he noticed several people already gathered in the place. His mind was fractured from Reformation with the Ixian Knights, and thus, he had no memory of any of the gathered. One of the establishments' employees noticed Lorenor enter. Lorenor was removing his gloves and placing them in his packs. He lowered his hood and his glowing blue eyes seemed to add an ambiance to the light in the tavern. The employee addressed Lorenor.

"You have intense eyes..." The lady said.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Lorenor responded with a deep accent. It was a heavy old Radasanth accent. One of the more primitive dialects that were not common any longer in the modern age of Althanas. "It's not safe out there..." Lorenor said calmly. "I suspect the storm will bring in many more folks, them Adventurer types too." Lorenor explained. "I'd like a seat if it's not too much trouble, I'm pretty tired. I been walking for a long time."

"Storms do seem to have that effect on people." She said and guided Lorenor to empty table.

Lorenor sat down and allowed himself the briefest moment to lower his guard in the tavern. He closed his eyes and thought of many things. But mostly the image of the future coursed through his mind. N'Jal's final gift to Lorenor was that of a image of the world she was attempting to create. Lorenor had made it his personal crusade to stop N'Jal at all costs. He knew that in the darkness she lurked, plotting and scheming to corrupt all life. Her vision of Althanas would ultimately prove a terrifying one, and he did not want that. I must endure the coming storm, be it tomorrow...a century...a thousand years from now...I cannot let her win. The immortal sat in silence thinking about what must be done. He had some money to his name and would order food as needed but for now, he needed to plan and think. The storm would provide a moment of respite for himself. That was much needed with the weight of the visions in his head.

He rarely had calm moments those days...

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"Madison, you would think that, because we technically are plantlife, you wouldn't be so eager to get inside and escape the rain."

I shot Hyperion, my companion and confidant, the dirtiest look I could behind a mask of mythril. "Not funny."

"Sorry," she said meekly. "I just thought you could use with a bit of levity, is all."

I shook my head. "It's alright. It's just... I really hate damp clothing, and this storm shows no sign of stopping."

While Hyperion wrapped herself up in bandages like a mummy and threw a cowl and a pair of loose slacks over it them, allowing herself to dry off quickly due to the thin nature of the fabric, I was decked out in my hooded shirt and thick travel pants. The ensemble soaked up the torrential downpour like a sponge, and would take hours to dry out. Hours that I would spend a miserable, soggy mess.

We were racing towards the nearest pub to escape the storm. The signage of The Peaceful Promenade, a tavern that I've visited several times before in my travels.

The storm continued to rage around us as we leaped up the steps and threw open the door with a resounding crash. Several patrons looked up at us as we entered, hopefully seeing two people in foreign religious garb and masks instead of a war criminal and a monster. They looked us up and down for a split second, then went back to their drinks and conversation.

I breathed a sigh of relief as drops of water raced down my mythril mask. The last thing I wanted tonight was an awkward string of questions and a fight.

Hype and I meandered up to the bar and placed our orders. "So," the briarbane asked, "where will we go once the storm abates?"

"Not exactly sure," I said, shifting my mask upwards just enough to take a sip of cold ale. It tasted little better than the rainwater outside, but at least it was something. "I was thinking we could go back to Corone for a couple months. I have some leads on a few pathogens I'd be interested in experimenting with, and--Hype?"

Hyperion was looking over my shoulder, her glowing amber eyes intently focused on someone. Absentmindedly, she was tugging on the shoulder of my shirt. "Madison?" She nodded at a figure outside my view. "Isn't that--?"

[Xakthul]

Didn't it just figure that the first place Jink would wake up in was under attack by a hurricane. It wasn't the rain that bothered him, though. Not at all. He just felt... empty. How'd he get here? Where on the planet was here? He couldn't remember. Had he been drunk? Mugged, maybe? The latter was unlikely, the purple-furred cat mused as he floated through the air. It seemed that he was some sort of magician. Magicians were probably pretty damn hard to mug, right? Right! So he must have been drunk! Shifting into the form of a soft, furry, purple housecat, he hunkered down on a fence and then began to walk along it. His balance was perfect... hmm, he certainly wasn't concussed.

Jink's lack of memory continued to bother him as he walked past a building that seemed to be bustling with people in various stages of intoxication. Many of them probably remembered even less of the day than he did, from the looks of it. Ignoring the looks from the people around him, both drunk and sober, the floating purple cat sat down on a stool and stared unwaveringly at the bartender.

“Whiskey, please. Lots of it.”

[Chopsalot]

Men, women and creatures from all walks of life now entered the Silver Cup to escape the storm, which had increased in magnitude since Cath first arrived. Leaning against the bar, she sipped her mead, feeling almost relaxed her enough to let down her guard.

Almost.

While the High Elf could be shy and reticent, her home over the last five years was with a roving brigand of Orcs. She could curse like a Corone deckhand and spit further than a Gnoll. Face it, Cath, she thought. You've been through much worse. And while the Silver Cup wasn't hostile, the Bard figured it would take a few more rounds to liven this group up.

She approached a man at a table, with two large and rather intimidating weapons within his reach - a scythe and a cleaver. There was a warmth that radiated off of him but it wasn't a kindness, nor was he near any kind of fireplace. Odd, it was almost as though his soul burned with ever-present embers, so much that Cath wondered quizzically what it would take to put the flame out.

His death most likely, though that wasn't on her agenda. Like the man with his bitter ale, the High Elf wanted a bite to eat and the only seat left was next to him. Watching the tavern maid named Jozie scuttle off to get his meal, Cath slid into the seat next to him but faced away from him in that awkward way that people do when they are strangers sharing a space in close proximity. Finally, she turned her head and asked him: "Is the food here any good?"

[Revenant]

William frowned slightly and let his cursed sight linger on the newcomer, watching her wither and fade, noting how best to break through her defenses and destroy her. He could tell she was attractive in her way, but under his gaze she withered and faded. There was no true beauty for the Revenant, such was the price for accepting a blessing from one of the Thayne. Their gifts were always a double-edged sword.

Truth be told, William had no designs on violence tonight, and he broke his assessing stare as soon as he determined that his new associate wasn't a threat. William nodded at her, an accepting gesture. "Wouldn't know, never been here myself. I'm just another body driven in by the storm," he replied, his voice gruff, like bricks of charcoal scraping together in a simulation of speech. William leaned back, settling into a discourse.

Jozie returned with William's ale and stew, then noted that the elven woman with the mead had switched tables. "Anything else I can get for either of you?" she asked, though William could see she was already looking to the other newcomers, eager to finish her rounds.

"Just keep 'em coming," William said, reaching for his tankard and pulling half of it down in one draw. Once Jozie had left he slid his bowl of thick brown stew towards Cath.

"Give it a try, let me know if it's worth getting another."

[Chopsalot]

"Of course," Cath said, eyeing up the man herself. If she should be intimidated, the metheglin - two draughts of it - made it nearly impossible for her to be so. Or perhaps it was the scarification on her forehead that signaled her as property of Corone Orcs that made the High Elf feel so bold. She was a marked woman for all intents and purposes. Even if she was no longer with the Orcs.

The High Elf relaxed into the wooden chair as though it were as comfortable as a feather bed, and turned to the stranger. His voice was raspy and unwelcoming but Cath persevered:

"I'll take a bowl of whatever he's having and another black elderflower mead, please."

Her voice was soft and welcoming, despite her somewhat cold glare.

"Sir, I have a long journey ahead of me, why don't you tell me a story that will stay with me like the gruel the Silver Cup will serve. Something I can recall while I'm on the road. A tale of your life. Something truthful of course," she said with a smirk.

[Ignis]

More people started to flood in. Some wet, and others drying in a few instances as though they controlled heat, or could just purely evaporate the water on their clothing. Considering the steam coming from one man as he dried himself off, I still sat here soaking wet and letting myself drip from the rain as I drank some of my ale. It looked like many of these people were powerful in this "tap" that people called it. Increasingly so the more I could see these people.

Some were hybrids of something, and some were women of the elven race. Even so with the weapons they were carrying. A scythe and even some kind of weapon. Not too sure what it was about. Hell, some of these people carried nothing at all. I just carried a simple iron sword for protection. Looks like it wasn't much. I felt... underwhelmed.

Instead, I shrugged my jacket off. Revealing the wet t-shirt I wore, and let the jacket slap down on the counter next to my drink. I grabbed a portion of the shirt, right in front of my stomach, and wrung it out. Letting the water drip onto the floor, I gave up in the endeavor. I just kept to myself for now. No need to put my neck on the line to talk to anyone. Too shy to do so.

[Revenant]

William grunted at his new companion. He reached over and grabbed his stew bowl and slid it back towards him. No sense in letting the congealed grease go to waste if the elf was ordering her own. He drank half his remaining ale, savoring the dark bitterness as is cooled his parched throat. Part of the curse of having molten fire coursing through one's veins. He then set to his stew with a purpose. He ate in silence, pointedly ignoring the elf until his bowl was nearly empty. Satisfied, he pushed the bowl away and finished his ale just in time to have Jozie bring around another, plus Cath's mead and stew.

"Not bad," he said as Jozie took his empty bowl. "Not the best I've had, but far from the worst." Jozie flashed him a thankful smile with the practiced grace some someone used to dealing with rough, mannerless customers. William turned to Cath as Jozie departed, picking up his second tankard of ale. He eyed her curiously as he drank, thinking.

"You're a curious one, but I've got to admit you've got guts." He admitted. William was perhaps the most dangerous person in the tavern, barring perhaps Madison Freebird. But even so, the young elf had sat quietly, sized everyone up, and then decided she wanted to get to know him better.

"She shows promise," William thought. "As long as her guts don't get her killed."

"Alright," he finally said. "I'll tell you something surprising while you eat." William leaned back and propped is boots on a nearby chair. He took another drink from his bitters and then began.

"Have you every been to Scara Brae City?" William paused and snorted derisively at himself. "Of course you have. We're on Scara Brae Island and that's the only real port of entry. Anyways, if you've spent any time there I'm sure you've seen the pompous stuck up lapdogs of the aristocracy who call themselves the Knights of Brae. Heavily armored sort. Protectors of the realm and so forth. Turn out, through an odd set of circumstances, that I'm one of their commanders.

"Not that I'd ever see myself as such or try to act on it," William shrugged. "Not my type of job." He finished off his ale in a single gulp then signaled Jozie for another when she came back around.

"I saved the queen's life, you see. Time back there was this big to-do from a powerful native shaman. Goblin. He hated the people who'd colonized his island and set a curse to destroy the city, then tried to have the city's leadership killed off to prevent a counterattack. Only during the chaos his people attacked me. I don't take too kindly to that sort of thing."

"So I killed my way across the city, through the goblin's hidden tunnels in the sewers, and into the palace."

"Ended up killing the shaman and absorbing his curse into me, binding it to my soul. I can still feel him squabbling around inside me, filled with hate."

William looked pointedly at Cath as he said the last, judging her reaction.

[Atzar]

Heavy, ominous clouds fulfilled their unspoken promise, saturating the city beneath with cold, pounding rain. A sharp peal of thunder crashed as the residents ran for shelter. In no time, the streets were nearly empty; those caught outside were drenched to the bone, sodden and miserable. All but one. A tall young man strolled down the middle of the street, an island of contentment in a sea of damp discomfort. His long black hair and his outfit, a simple blue tunic and brown pants, remained dry as the falling droplets leaned away before impact. Atzar Kellon grinned. His gifts had caused him plenty of grief in his life, but they had their perks.

A wizard by trade and a wanderer by choice, he came to Scara Brae from Alerar. His smile faded as he recalled the reason for his departure. He was only too happy to put the gray, smelly region and its curt, distrustful people into his past. That part was easy. But her face… it was one he’d not soon forget. He thought of her constantly, her memory a shade that darkened even the sunniest day.

Flaunting his magic had been fun a moment ago. Now, not so much. The hour was late, and Atzar found himself longing for a hot meal and a warm bed. He peered through the pouring rain at the buildings around him, noting a tavern not far away. The Silver Cup. He noted a steady stream of people making their way inside. Good enough. The mage joined them.

As soon as he walked in, the sounds of conversation and the smells of fire and food filled his head. The interior was brightly lit and clean, but for the trails of water and mud that followed the patrons to their seats. Stepping over the growing puddle at the door, Atzar picked his way to an empty table near the middle of the room and sat. The strangers that speckled the tavern were an eclectic group; one elf, several humans, a few who belonged to no race that the wizard could identify. They were nearly all drenched, rain dripping from their skin, hair, and clothes as they huddled over bowls and cups.

“Welcome to the Silver Cup tavern, sir. I’m Jozie.” The voice came from his left, and he turned to see a young blonde woman wearing a blue dress and a pretty smile. Then puzzlement tinged her expression as she quirked an eyebrow at him. “...Didn’t you come in from the storm? You’re… not soaked like everybody else,” she noted.

Atzar’s grin returned. “Magic!” He accompanied the explanation with mystical-looking hand waves. The quizzical expression on her face was one of his favorite parts of being a mage.

“...Right,” Jozie said. “So, can I get you anything?”

“Just water and a bowl of stew, thanks.”

She nodded and walked away. Atzar returned his attention to the other customers, secretly hoping he could spot another of those expressions of confusion and wonder that he loved so much.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor noticed the people that were starting to come in avoiding the storm. Some were familiar and others were probably products of the current generation of Althanas's adventurer folk. Lorenor removed his large weapon from across his back and placed it against the chair. Then he removed a journal from his pack. The paladin had recently taken to writing a chronicle of many of his misadventures. He opened the journal to a blank page and took out his writing equipment. A simple pen. He began to scribble in perfectly inscribed common tongue. His penmanship quite skilled. In another life, he'd written the works of N'Jal and orders that would be filled by her servants. Lorenor was a man of many mysteries. He wrote carefully, chronically the recent adventures of his life. Most importantly, he was trying to jot down the information of the old Ixian Knight's Reformation process. Something he still could not wrap his mind around.

Somehow...Sei Orlouge had given him the purpose he so desperately sought.

Lorenor scribbled down everything he had experienced during Reformation.

It was a long and arduous trial, one that he'd gone through willingly.

All he wanted was loyalty and mayhaps friendship... Lorenor thought of Sei Orlouge a lot those days. The man provided me a purpose. That's a debt I can't ever repay in all the lifetimes across Althanas's history. Whatever may come... He considered the thought very carefully. As he wrote the current entry, he was focusing on his thoughts on Sei Orlouge. His glowing blue eyes held a sadness in them. A sadness of the things he'd done under N'Jal's rule. He wrote for a long time. Paying attention to the patrons of the tavern as they entered from the dangerous storm outside. He decided from the initial start of his entry, that the journal entry would be quite long. He had a lot of time to kill since he never slept. The Paladin paused every so often to collect his thoughts as he wrote them down. His table was situated in one of the livelier portions of the tavern. He was currently by himself, but he would welcome companionship if it came.

And so...he worked on his journal entry until it was ready.

[realize.real.lies]

It was night time and yet I couldn't find myself sleeping, slumber escaped me more than not these days. Pacing back and forth in my small cozy room at the tavern I knew that staying up here wasn't going to do any good for me. Another clap of thunder shook my window pane causing me to jump slightly. I used to sleep so good when it was storming, I thought bitterly to myself. Flopping down on the mattress I couldn't help but wondering should I go get a stiff drink in me or should I stay up here and try to sleep like I have been for the past three hours. "That's it I am gonna take my ass down those stairs and get a drink," murmuring gently to myself I made my way to the bath room area. Running a hand through my long chocolate brown curls that end just at the end of my shoulders I look in the mirror, my cheek bones are sharp and angled my piercing green gem for eyes are a little dull and lifeless. Pursing my lips slightly as I took that trait from my mother, full and plump always tinted crimson.

Pulling on my black skinny jeans, I wiggled a little to get them over my thighs and round butt. My white tank top clung to my waist as I start to tighten my black corset that stops just under my plump breast and toning my already hour glass shaped form. Taking my crimson red jacket that also hugged my form I walked over to my bed sat down and laced up my black heeled boots that stopped just mid shin. Strapping my holster around my left thigh I made my way down the stairs as my nose was invaded with the smell of cooking stew and wood burning in the fire place. Shuffling through the crowd I made my way to the back of the tavern sitting down glancing out the window. The rain softly hitting the window before sliding down leaving small little patterns in its place. A small smile graced my lips as a blonde haired woman scurried over to my table, "my names Jozie what can I get for ya?"

Pursing my lips slightly pondering on what to drink, "Wine please, red." Nodding she hurried away from my table to behind the bar, I let my eyes scan the crowd before landing on the back side of a man that looked too familiar. "Well I'll be damned," I mused a small grin taking place on my lips before Jozie came back with my wine. "Thanks charge it to my room please." Nodding she took off in a flash as I took a small sip letting the slightly fruity yet bitter taste dance on my tongue.

[Rayleigh]

William had been right, of course. Over the next thirty minutes, and in the time that Rayleigh could put away two tall glasses of water, the tavern had filled with patrons. Their differences were many, race, gender, and species among them. The only easily recognized similarity, the mechanic mused, was that each and every person was sopping wet. Like dogs, the men and women shook themselves upon entering, scattering cold drops of rainwater as far as the nearest tables. Fortunately, as everyone had been eager to escape the gusts of wind that also swept through the door, they had selected the tables that stood a good distance from the entrance.

Rayleigh finally put voice to her thoughts. "Your father was right," she commented as Jozie brushed by her perch at the end of the bar.

"Mhmm," the girl answered, gaze combing the row of colorful glass liquor bottles. Her long, lithe fingers brushed along their labels until she was satisfied with her selection, and they then plucked the selection from the shelf. Recognizing that her friend was far too busy for pleasantries, Ray returned to her glass of water, guzzling it with the same fervor that an alcoholic might enjoy an ale. When she finally broke for air, peering over the brim of her glass, she found Jozie's enormous blue eyes staring back at her. "Wanna help?" the girl questioned.

Ray sputtered, nearly choking into her drink in her rush to answer. "No, no, I can't." At the younger woman's arched eyebrow, she spoke again. "I don't know how. I've never worked a job like this."

The excuse was a lame one. Rayleigh knew this, and so did Jozie, judging from her humorless expression. "Gods, Ray," the girl scoffed, "this isn't rocket science. And even if it was, you should be able to handle it, being a mechanic at all. But that's fine. If you don't want to," she waved a dismissive hand before repeating, "that's fine."

The thunder rumbled ominously overhead, a perfect companion to the storm that began to turn in the barmaid's eyes. There was only a moment's hesitation before Ray accepted her fate. "Fine," she conceded on a heavy sigh, her small frame deflating as all fight left her. "You win."

The transformation of the young woman back to her cheerful, perky self was seamless, and nearly instantaneous. "Good!" she half-squealed, leaving Ray to only admire how easily she had been duped. She is one hell of an actress, the Alerian admitted. No wonder she gets into so much trouble. "Go ask those two what they want." She pointed, and when Rayleigh followed the gesture, she immediately tensed. Jozie, however, did not notice the danger. "They look pretty harmless."

"They're wearing masks," Ray countered through grit teeth, hoping that the pair had not noticed that they were being discussed.

"You're a baby. Go." And with that, she was dismissed. There was nothing more to say, as the girl in the blue dress had already scurried off to help another table. She was on her own.

With a sideways glance which located where the nearest knife was, just in case, Ray approached her newly acquired targets. But before she could ask them for their order, a familiar voice met her. The specifics of what they were saying were lost on her, but that tone - she could not forget it.

"Maddy?"

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor had come across many souls in his life time.

A few were even present in the tavern at the same exact moment he happened to be in it.

Irony? Fate, or perhaps something more sinister at work? Lorenor held secrets at his disposal, secrets that would someday change the course of Althanas history. As he sat there writing, he carefully listened to those voices of the gathered. Many he did not recognize. Many were lost with the sound of the storm outside. Plus, Lorenor kept himself busy with his journal entry. There was much that needed to be chronicled. Many parts of his life, and the historical events he'd undergone. He remembered much of it...some were currently lost in the ebb and flow of his mind. Lorenor shook his head. Jozie had brought him a drink of water, clear and reflecting his face. The chalice was a simple one. He drank the water deeply, it refreshed his troubled soul. His eyes took a moment to look away from the scribbled notes in his journal. Sometimes he would do a doodle or a sketch of this or that historical land mark that he'd been to. Part of his Paladin training with the Ixian Knights was a rudimentary education. Lorenor had been brilliant before, and that thirst for knowledge never ceased regardless of his current stage of evolution.

As he sat there, he took a sip of the chalice.

His eyes were narrowed as he took in the scene.

Some of the figures present were familiar...many were not.

He placed the chalice back on the well structured table. Lorenor guessed it was likely oak, or some other similar wood. It had a cherry finish. He began absent mindedly sketching various ideas in his head. He was not a skilled craftsman yet, but he was open to learn. In the meantime, the vast weight of history had developed an over abundant imagination. So he used that to full extent. He sketched various ideas in his head, concepts, ideas and dreams. As he sat there, for the first time since he awoke in the ruins of the Ixian Knight's castle...Lorenor allowed himself to feel whole again. Though he was far from being a complete individual...he was blessed by being an avatar of The Holy Light. He would train his growing skill level to great effect. In the meantime, he had time to ponder his next move and enjoy the companionship of fellow Adventurers. His eyes began to scan the tavern room itself for the various patrons. A few were out of sight, but that was all right. Some folks would prefer to be by themselves. I can understand that. Though Lorenor was an older man, he was still young in the ways of the Paladin's apprentice. Squire. That's what Sei Orlouge's associates had called him.

He found himself constantly thinking of Sei Orlouge.

Is he still out there...? Somewhere...? Lorenor thought to himself as he considered the pondered thought at hand.

[Ignis]

I was I looked up as the two women working the bar were arguing over the job they had. I smiled and shook my head. With this many people here, surely they could find someone else to work here as well. Sitting there, I helped myself to another sip of the ale. Part of me wanted to stand up and talk to the two of them about helping out, but it seemed like they had everything under control. I took a hold of the side of the mug, and decided against it. Keeping in my seat, and taking another dink of the ale. I looked around and saw many people. They were all... different. Turning to the mug again, I looked at my hands, shaking, I kept to myself. Instead, raising a hand for my drink to be refilled.

There was no reason for me to stand. There was no reason for me to extend myself to others. I was just trying to get by. I wasn't here to make friends.

[Chopsalot]

Cath tried not to stare as the stranger ate his dinner. At first she looked elsewhere, listened to an impromptu minstrel strum his lute and sing a mournful ballad, and engaged her gaze to the fireplace whose flames hypnotically flickered.

Eventually, Jozie came back with her meal and drink and another bowl for her companion. She softly smiled at the notion that she “had guts,” her grey eyes twinkling with sprightly mischief in only the way an Elf’s could. But then her face grew serious again as she listened to the stranger’s story of Scara Brae City. She held her spoon like a noblewoman would but slurped it like ill-mannered dwarf.

Riveted to his words, her eyes widened when this Commander of the Knights of Brae got to the end of his story. She barely realized she’d eaten all of the stew until her spoon scraped the bottom of the wooden bowl. While Vorgak and his band of brigands were quite powerful – enough to keep the Bard captive for five years – she was utterly sure they would not be able to defeat a Goblin Shaman.

“Is there a cure for his curse, or will you suffer with his malevolence twisting your soul at every turn?”

[Lye]

Life. People. So much naivety and ignorance.

The blissful path of those whose souls hadn't been consumed.

Shrouded by the shadow of his damp, dark and dripping hood, the stranger's verdant gaze watched. Head hung low and hands folded calmly, they poured in like cattle. Different walks of life, different faces, different motives, but all the same. All with a heart that beat, blood that stained, and futures that could be lost to the tip of a blade.

The figure grinned, and chuckled softly as though reflecting fondly on a better time. Then, he sighed, heavy and deep. In the empty cavern of his chest, he felt the throbbing ache of muscle pump rhythmically. No, not a heart. Something else. Something coiled with a curse and empty of the warmth and compassion of a heart. Yet it still ached, almost painfully so.

Almost.

Until, they entered.

"Why here?" he thought. "Why now?"

The leather about his hands groaned as fingers clenched tightly against one another.

Anger? Pain? Anxiety?

Helplessness. Like an animal caught in a steel trap. Bleeding, devoid of struggle, waiting for the end.

The husk relaxed his grip and broke his hands from one another. He raised a gesture, catching wary eyes from some as well as his intended target. She came, practiced as she wove trough occupied seats.

"Yessir?" the girl he overheard as named Jozie asked. Her rehearsed and refined pleasantries couldn't disguise her assessment of him. Liars, all the like, were common in his trade. He could see her disdain though warm smiles and the faint glimpse to the trail of mud from his entrance with bright, youthful eyes.

"Water, if you would," he asked in deep and hoarse tones, worn ragged by travel.

"Right away," she replied falsely sweet chords.

As she left him, the stranger reached into the folds of his cloak. From it, he produced two objects. One, a small glass vial no bigger than a finger, filled with a thick, blue liquid. The other, a trinket of sorts. It wasn't crafted of gold or precious metal and lacked the sparkle of gems. Instead, it just exuded an aura of balance - something that once held light and dark from one another. A trinket which held the memories of an entire lifetime - a lifetime cut short by not one, but two monsters.

The stranger trailed his eyes from them toward a mask of mithril.

Then he waited. For his drink, or something else entirely.

[Tobias Stalt]

Lightning arced across the firmament as a monsoon swept over Scara Brae. High winds whipped dangerously across the path, and trees creaked as they bent under immense pressure. The deluge sounded more like pebbles slammed against concrete than raindrops, and the report of thunder rolled from one horizon to the other. The hooded figure shifted and glanced skyward, disinterested in the slightest that his head might get soaked.

A shrill cry in the distance quickly drowned beneath another drumbeat of lightning, and the world turned white for an instant. His golden eyes strained to see the raven as it circled over a copse of trees easily a kilometer away. He could see the faint glow of a fire as it burned somewhere at the heart.

Tobias trekked along the dirt road. He could feel ancient anger in the heartbeat of the storm. His fingers absently touched the weapon sealed away at his hip, and it seemed to seethe with every bolt of lightning that streaked the heavens. "You're still afraid, aren't you?" the black wizard crooned as he ran his fingers along the dark scabbard. His youthful features twisted into a smirk. "No. Fear is an unkind word. You're like me."

He gripped the hilt of the weapon tightly as he flowed across the drenched plains toward the tavern that the trees no longer hid. The raven flapped its wings several times as it alighted on his shoulder, and he leaned against a tree as he peered through a murky window. "Do you ever wonder, Namerokth," he asked as he scratched under the bird's beak with a finger, "why insects struggle against nature? Why they scamper and hide from inevitable fate?"

The raven seemed to enjoy this scratching, and did not reply.

"I've always admired the insects," Tobias sighed. "The smallfolk, those who give their lives to protect them- the meek, my friend, and those who seek only to live are the ones who understand what it means to live in this world. The bastards who walk on their backs and break them are a sickness."

He glanced at the bird from the corner of his eye and smiled softly. "You want to be dry, is that it?"

Namerokth tilted his head, then cried out.

Tobias made his way to the door and forced it open, and the familiar sounds of a tavern at play greeted him. Men and aomen conversating at the bar meshed with a bard who strummed his lute in one of the dark corners. Several deep, rumbling laughs rolled through the room, but it stopped for a moment when the hooded man stepped within. The door shut behind him and water sloughed off his cloak.

"Let me take that cloak for you," Jozie hurried over and offered, "and you can get warm by the fire-"

Tobias held up a hand and spoke quietly. "No, that won't be necessary." Namerokth went winging toward the rafters and perched there, eyes keen on the crowd below. "I appreciate the offer, miss...?"

"Jozie," she answered with a bright smile. "If you need anything, just ask."

As she walked away, Tobias remembered a time where he would have spoken much more to a young lass and woven a tangled web with her. His lips parted and he sighed in silence. The Dehlosian took a seat at the bar and reached into his cloak to produce a nicely sized eastern coin. He rolled it between his fingers deftly.

"Something to drink, lad?" Tobias glanced up to the man behind the bar and locked eyes with him for a moment. He considered the ale he once drank, but his thrist for lavish things had dried out. Honeyed wine no longer pleased him, and highborn delights made him sick. "I have all manner of Coronian stock, and a few imports from Raiaera. Unfortunately, due to strains with Alerar and their close ties with Salvar to the north, it's been a bit difficult to get anything else. I hope you understand."

"Apple wine," Tobias answered suddenly. It was a simple pleasure, and something he had not indulged in many years. "Dehlosian apple wine. Do you serve it here?"

The shopkeep looked perplexed, then glanced over at Jozie. "Do we have any apple wine?" he called over to her, since she was the one who always ran to the cellars when an odd request cropped up.

"Well, we certainly don't," she said as she shrugged helplessly, "it's expensive to import, especially with all the current tariffs on foreign domestics. "But I remember you having a cask in your private stock, if you were inclined toward the sale of it."

His expression tightened. "That was a gift for your name day," he explained. "I wouldn't dare sell it."

"I don't mind," Jozie folded her hands and smiled. "On the condition that he let me drink it with him, since it was for my birth-day." Tobias glanced over as she spoke and Jozie leaned in close to him. "Come on, it's the only way he'd ever let me drink on the job," she whispered conspiritorally. "How about it?"

He tossed the golden sovereign onto the bar and nodded slowly. "I'll share a drink with the lass," he said gruffly.

Jozie clapped her hands merrily and skipped off toward the storeroom below. William leaned forward and glared at Tobias beneath his hood. "Don't you get no funny ideas about my daughter, now." He collected the payment and tucked it under the counter. "She's sharing her birthday present with you, but that don't mean she'll be sharing anything else."

Namerokth cackled above, and Tobias nodded his head slightly. The hood slipped down and covered his eyes. "How boring," he muttered to himself.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor noticed as the tavern had grown quite lively at that point.

His face was serious, but completely calm. His glowing blue eyes held a fierce intellect about them. He concluded the journal entry, his eyes observing the gathered. Many of the adventurers appeared to be quite skilled. As Lorenor sat there in silence, he drank of the chalice of water he'd ordered. He never did care for alcoholic beverages. They poisoned the body, and he needed to be strong in his war 'gainst N'Jal. Lorenor closed his journal and replaced it back in his packs. He was hungry. He'd also noticed that the rain continued to downpour outside. Thaynes. That's a serious fucking storm outside. Wonder how long it's gonna last? He thought to himself as he sat there casually observing. His eyes met with the eyes of several patrons. They were simply adventurer folks who were coming in to avoid the storm outside. As Lorenor carefully observed the scene, he closed his eyes. The glow seemed to vanished for a brief moment, casting a shadow on his face.

There were some pretty women present, and Lorenor nodded at a few of them.

One or two...the Paladin wouldn't have minded bedding that night.

Lorenor relaxed against the comfortable chairs, listening to the sound of lively chatter in the tavern.

He also was listening to the sound of the rain on the window. It had a strangely calming effect on his troubled heart. Lorenor signaled for Jozie or whatever her name was to his table. "I'd like some food. What beef do you serve here?" Lorenor didn't really need to eat being Undead, but he wanted something to do. Food was as good a way to pass the time as any other. "I mean what is the house specialty?" Lorenor asked of the girl. He waited for her response and decided he would listen until it was all taken care of. The Paladin had money, gold was never an issue. He'd accumulated a large chunk of it in his adventures across Corone.

[Revenant]

“My soul was twisted long before this one joined me,” William’s lips twisted into a malevolent grin. “And what makes you think I want to get rid of it?”

He closed his eyes, letting the strands of void tied to his soul reach out across the bar. There was magic here, plenty of it. Magic of all varieties. So much magic that it was easy for his cursed nature to caress the edges. Where it did the woven strands loosened, making all the magic in the Silver Cup Tavern more erratic and unstable. Prone to warping in random, chaotic ways or else winking out entirely.

“That poor soul is simply one of the essences bound to me,” William explained. “And it, like all the others, has its perks.”

William sunk further into his seat, relaxing more and watching the tavern room with a renewed interest.

[SpudNotSpuddy]

The door flung open, and a stiff cold breeze blew into the tavern as a hooded man clad in blue stepped inside. He hovered in the doorway, drenched in water as he panted deeply, his breath hanging in air as fog regardless of temperature. His icy blue eyes scanned the room, seeing all sorts of ruffians, villains, and ragamuffins. His hand went to his blade instinctively before his other went to the pouch at his hip.

“Is this a good place for you little friend?” Jack Frost asked, his words leaving his lips as fog.

“Yessir!” A tiny voice chirped as a furry snout poked out of the satchel. “Thanks for the ride, my butt gets all stinky when I get wet.” The frozen butcher of Salvar let out a brief chuckle as a large otter scampered almost impossibly out of the bag at his hip. Spud the otter plopped onto the ground clumsily, and the mercanry passed the satchel to the large otter.

“I have a ship to catch, be careful my furry friend.” With that, Jack Frost vanished back into the rain, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving Spud to look sheepishly at the crowd. He adjusted his bright orange jumper, and shouldered his satchel before taking off towards the bar. Ignoring everyone else, he simply scampered up onto the counter and sat cross legged, tucking his tail in his lap.

“Escuse me.” He said to no one in particular. “What bevvies youse gotz?” He waggled his tail a little and pondered for a moment. “Alzo, do you serves taterz? I have many coins!”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I followed Hyperion's gnarled finger to see who she had spotted in the crowd.

The figure was sitting along the far wall, and was immediately recognizable--and not because the unique shade of his hair and iconic constantly-agitated looks.

Lichensith Ulroke, former master of the Crimson Hands. A man who I have a storied and checkered past with. The one who sent me to Eiskalt to murder thousands for some ill-defined endgame, the reason I'm a twisted husk of vines and bone today. A man who currently wore a ring of vines around his heart to keep him in line, which I honestly forgot I planted there... gosh, how long ago was it?

After usurping control of the Crimson Hands from him, the tiefling Aurelianus Drak'shal--there's another name I haven't thought of in a while--and I imprisoned the silver-haired assassin and forced him to undergo a little re-education and released him a year later.

And here he is.

Had he been hunting me down? Had he been stalking me all this time?

Most people would have run right then and there. However, I felt oddly compelled to sit down at his table and catch up with the old bastard.

Someone called my name and snapped my attention back towards the bar. I recognized the voice--it came from a young woman, not exactly bubbly but otherwise not dull. She stood behind the counter, looking at me inquisitively. Rayleigh Aston. A highly-intelligent little thing, good with machines and well-read. Once, she accidentally found herself in the middle of a biological experiment gone wrong, and we were able to escape the doomed village before our skulls were caved in by the subjects and our brains consumed.

I opened my mouth to reply, and glanced back over at the assassin. He hadn't moved an inch, his steely gaze still fixed on me.

I turned back to Rayleigh. "Um, hi, yes, Rayleigh, it's good to see you again." I awkwardly stumbled over my words, already looking to get away from her. Not that I would have wanted to, of course; she's a charming young thing. It was just that I had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Look," I said. "This is Hyperion, my assistant." The briarbane immediately glanced at me, a confused look in her glowing amber eyes. "I don't think you've met her? Can you keep her company for a bit? I have someone I need to see right now."

I pulled Hype by her shoulder and pushed her into the bar. "I'll be back, I swear!"

Without waiting for a response, I turned and pushed my way through the crowd until I was at Lichensith's table. But now that I was here, what would I do? What would I say? I mean, the man kind of ruined my life and all; but it could be argued that I took away the purpose of his own, what with everything that happened after Eiskalt...

After several moments, I motioned towards an empty chair. "May I?"

[Fez_The_Kid]

Lightning streaks danced to the booms of thunder, coloring a weeping empyrean in a lurid blue stain. Mild winds howled across a gloomy Scara Brae landscape. Between the cobbles that formed the high road, rainwater coursed through uneven grooves, a flowing stream disturbed only by the hooves of Anubis’ mare; its footfall was drowned under the rumbles overhead, but in the youth’s ear they registered with a repeating click. Shifting in his saddle, he guided his mount down the wet cobblestones.

A small figure raced across the road in a hazy dash, before disappearing into the undergrowth. Spooked, the mare reared, neighed its displeasure as it thrust its dark frame into the night sky. “Calm down,” Anubis urged, tracing a rune with his index and middle fingers. The spell traveled like a pale, revolving quarrel that marked the horse's hairy scruff. It then landed back on its forefeet, shook its drenched mane.

The youth pulled at the reins, guiding the beast to a stop. Distant laughter from a nearby establishment faintly surfaced, the sound growing clearer with each stride taken toward its source - a preeminent travelers’ inn. After hitching his horse at a nearby post, Anubis approached the entrance, his body a drenching mess.

A score of travelers had scattered across the room, hunched over tabletops holding tankards brimming with the bitterest Salvic ales; Anubis had just recalled - he’d had been to this tavern before. Ah, yeah, how could I forget... Merka and I'd just out to rescue Siranna.

A fusion of alcohol and stew hung in the air as one tonic bouquet. Cooking instruments and pots clattered together in the kitchen as armed men and women sat in wait, jawing away about local gossip and unfounded canards. They leveled him but a glimpse as he passed, searching for an empty table between the clutter of its occupied brethren.

There, he thought. That one oughta work. Anubis approached one beside the hearth, sat with a heavy thud. That’s traveling with minimal sleep for you, he mused, his mouth wearing a half-smile to none other than himself, then raised a hand for the waitress.

[Lye]

"Please do," his raspy voice replied as an open palm gestured to her seat.

Madison Freebird and Lichensith Ulroke, two individuals with trails of blood rivaling those of the Forgotten Ones. Rumor had it, she had slain one of the latter.

The hallowed human husk kept his lips sealed as she took her seat and pushed the two relics of Kyla Orlouge to the center of the table. He made a quick assessment of the room, and halted on the hulking frame of a man who carried as much burden if not more than his own. A weak, wry grin spread across his lips.

"Small world, I suppose?" he mused, pulling the damp hood from his silvered mane. The flame of the hearth gave light to his features, sunken, pale, and malnourished. Deep arches of bruised tissue hung beneath his eyes, indicating upwards of weeks or months of poor rest. Hair, unkempt and long, clung to his face in rogue strands, knotted and matted to his clothes with rain.

An exposed identity in a public place conflicted with many of his personal motives. On the other hand, even were the guard, the Scara Brae Naval Forces, or even Tobias Stalt fit for a confrontation, they would be signing their own death certificate personally delivered by the two of them.

"How have you been, Freebird?" he asked. The nature of the question was harmless, but the words themselves out of his mouth translated eerily. A get well soon card from the Grim Reaper himself would have been more comforting.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

(Lye, Maddy just giving you guys a chance to try something/do something if you guys are going to. Didn't feel comfortable just having Lorenor outright leaving without you guys intercepting in some way. Anyway, just giving you guys a head's up since we're not supposed to be bunnying here lol.)

At that point, something happened that Lorenor was not expecting.

When he looked up, he saw the fellow named Lichensith Ulroké talking to two women he did not noticed earlier.

One of them seemed strangely familiar to him somehow...like he'd seen them before.

I know I've seen that face somewhere. It's not my business though if we are all together in a neutral establishment. Especially this Thaynes' damned rain. Lorenor took a look at the window pane and saw that sheets of rain were still pouring down from the monsoon like storm outside. Thaynes. That's a serious downpour... Lorenor returned his attention to the platinum haired man. Lichensith Ulroké. The name suddenly resonated in his mind, a memory being pulled out of the abyss like depths of it. Something was starting to add up. The familiar girl he'd noticed earlier took her leave to take care of this or that matter. But the memory of Lichensith was pouring through his brain like a lightning rod. Lorenor narrowed his eyes as he recalled old adventures he once had from a long time ago. A different life time...Could it have been truly him? Lorenor, thanks to his intense knowledge of The Thayne Codex recalled his previous adventures as a Vampire Champion.

He'd once been a solitary soul...in that time period.

A time period when Thayne walked the world of Althanas as plainly as that storm that hammered everything outside.

Lorenor stared at Lichensith Ulroké for a long moment.

Thaynes. It cannot be coincidence he is here...and why does that woman seem familiar? I wish I could hear what they were talking about. Lorenor thought to himself as he observed Lichensith. We were once allies, in another life...another time. That's when he overheard one thing. Lichensith in his profoundly deep voice whispered a name that would haunt the Paladin forever. [i]Freebird. Madison Freebird... Lorenor's face suddenly became extremely angry. The one from Eiskalt...and Lichensith was there too... He shook his head. After eyeing Lichensith and the other Freebird woman for a long moment, the Paladin suddenly realized that none of them in the building were safe. He quickly slammed his fist against the table and that stunned a few of the nearby patrons. Lorenor knew he was not ready to take on the likes of both Madison Freebird, and Lichensith. Ally or no, they were responsible for a lot of deaths at Eiskalt. Mark this day. I will seek vengeance for Eiskalt another time. Lorenor currently lacked the power to defeat two skilled Warriors at the same time. Especially not someone capable of causing as much devastation as Madison Freebird had caused. Lorenor shook his head.

"Waitress." He kept his eyes on Lichensith and the Freebrid woman for a long moment and then summoned the female waitress to his table. "I'd like to pay for my drink. I'm leaving." Lorenor said purposefully loudly. He knew the tavern was not safe any longer, and he would have nothing to do with the two wanted for Eiskalt's genocide. At least not yet. I must train more... Lorenor thought to himself. He stood up after paying for his drinks, and gathered his things. Replacing his hood atop his head, he grabbed his pack and his sword last. Time to go. Now. The others may not get a window like this to escape... However, he did something very peculiar. He unsheathed his sword from it's scabbard and began to glow. His entire body, in warning. He pointed his weapon at Lichensith's general direction but did not strike at the man. He merely kept his attention solely at him.

"Lichensith Ulroke. You have the night tonight...but mark my words. You will pay for Eiskalt." Lorenor threatened, keeping his sword pointing at the man. He walked slowly away from Lichensith, Lorenor's glowing blue eyes shining with ferocity. Lorenor made his way to the door. As long as that bitch doesn't make it back to the main tavern itself...I should be able to safely leave. Lorenor was keeping his eyes locked on the immediate threat...death itself...in case the man decided to attack. His weapon was still at the ready, and The Paladin would defend himself if need be.

Just a few more steps...

[Tobias Stalt]

"Is he really the one you should be hunting?"

Namerokth let out a shrill cry as Tobias spoke to Lorenor. He did not turn from his seat or draw his hood, but the Dehlosian had heard all he needed to hear. Madison and Lichensith were both in this room. Of all the places in the world to go, he had ended in this one. Jozie froze just before she tipped the cask of apple wine to pour Tobias his drink. "Is there a problem?" she whispered uncertainly.

Tobias gestured for her to finish the pour. "That husk who pulled at strings may have caused the war," he spoke in a rasp as he stood and turned, "but the players had their part, and they played them beautifully." All but his mouth was consumed by shadow, and even that betrayed no hint of deeper emotion. He gestured toward Freebird, then himself. "You discount all those present who are responsible in pursuit of a single man? How noble of you."

His fingers plucked the hood from his head and unveiled a jaded golden gaze that scrutinzed the Paladin with their apathy. Tobias had let his hair grow longer and his face no longer wore the happiness of youth. His gaze never left Lorenor though he felt Lye and Madison both stare at him. "People like you are no different from the ones you call your enemies," Tobias chastised. "In the end, you cause more problems than you solve."

He reached back and Jozie stared up at him in bewilderment. She absently passed the glass and he took it between two fingers. "There's no war here, except the one you brought with you."

The girl sucked in a breath and watched the men in silence.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"I've been..." I slowly took my seat, tearing myself away from the building confrontation behind me between Tobias Stalt (another friend I'll have to catch up with later) and some goober I didn't recognize. I thought about it for a moment; thought about completely opening myself up to the assassin. Everything that I've been through since we last saw each other deep within the Seventh Sanctum.

The Red Forest.

Everything with Pode, from receiving her gifts to killing her.

My capture and double execution in Eiskalt, and then the long boat ride to Lornius and my last-second escape from an eternity in Terrinore.

Losing everything in Salvar, only to rebuild my life in the hidden depths of Concordia.

Finding one of Xem'Zund's necromantic archives and beginning to research where others might be held.

"...I've been alright," I said with a nod. "I'm a little surprised you recognized me, actually." I pulled my hood up around my face, preventing anyone else but Lichensith from seeing me as I shifted my mask across my face, so he could see the gnarled monster I've become in the past year or so. The glowing amber eyes, the sharpened bone teeth,

"But I suppose with, um--" I gestured towards his chest, where deep beneath bone and tissue his heart sat wrapped in briars. Briars I placed to keep him in line and to keep him from making moves against me after all I did to him. "--those things, you'll always know when I'm nearby, yeah?"

That's when my mood started to sink. I took a good look at the former Master Hand for the first time in forever. Where once was a proud, vicious fire, only embers remained. He was thinner and more pale since we last met. His eyes were baggy and begging for rest, his demeanor tired with the life he was living. And it was all my fault.

It was me who took his purpose from him when I killed Kyla Orlouge. It was me who spearheaded the coup that deposed him. It was me who locked him up in the Seventh Sanctum, a prisoner in his own palace. It was me who set Aurelianus Drak'shal upon him for a year of... horrible things.

I broke him. I ruined his life. I took away everything he had.

And for the first time since Eiskalt, I felt sorry for him. I pitied him.

I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth to speak; but it felt like minutes before the words poured out.

"Look. I'm terrible at this sort of thing, so I'm just going to say it, and take it however you will." I exhaled deeply, a lump forming in my throat as I tried to force the words out. "I'm sorry. For everything."

[Lye]

"Eiskalt..." he dryly chuckled under the weight of new atmosphere in the tavern. "You have me confused, Ixian."

Did he remember the fellow? Certainly not. However, appearance alone meant little to a man whose life was spent in the comfort of smoke and mirrors. Much like how worldly predators track their prey, scent plays a major factor. Rich soil, the ripe odor of sweat, the faint aroma of pollen, and the musty note of old stone walls told a tale of a warmer region, heavily vegetated. Of those present in Eiskalt, only one faction bore those subtle markers. Not the sharp copper scent of Salvic killers, nor the bitter burn of Alerian oil, and certainly not the faintly sweet yet smoky mark of Eiskalt. No, it was Condordia, the large forest of the island nation of Corone where the Ixian's boasted their castle.

"I am just a wanderer and, like you, a refugee to the storm." Lye washed his sharp, piercing gaze over the faces watching them. He recognized the expression, like deer watching the every movement of a potential threat.

"Sit, eat, drink," Lye suggested as he gestured an open palm to the entirety of room. "Save your heroic vows and bravery for a more ominous day."

As he finished speaking, the husk of past sins looked to another haunting memory, Tobias Stalt. Time was not kind to those naive, ignorant eyes. The boy had become a man, and the man walked the line of a monster. Lye cracked a smile which awkwardly contrasted his ghoulish appearance.

"The tactician," Lye mouthed, "still tactful as ever. Care to join us?"

The ambiance of the Tavern seemed to mellow as the threat of conflict waned. Whispers resumed to low chatter and the veterans to worldly horrors resumed their casual solace of food and drink. Meanwhile, Lye diverted his attentions back to masked figure across from him. Completely silent and removed from the interruption Lorenor stirred, Madison continued. The tone of her voice carried change and a similar dark burden as his own. When she revealed her face, he remained stoic, save for a wry grin.

"Something about an old saying of fighting monsters lest you become one?" Lye jested in poor taste. "Regardless of appearance, there are some things a person cannot hide, and your thorns have been silent for months. They would not betray you. Chance on the other hand... Besides, predators still find their prey even though their eyes might not be able to see them, do they not?"

Another dry, raspy chuckle escaped his lips at the irony of his metaphor. Who really deserved the mark of prey and predator at this table? The role of cat and mouse changed hands far to frequently to tell. One thing remained constant, however, they were all fiends -- monsters told in stories to children to frighten them.

Yet, in light of his ironic amusement, he saw the briarheart's figure slump, mask tilted ever so slightly toward the table with a hung head. Remorse? Then the apology came. It left her like a dog's bark from the maw of a cat. The hallowed husk directed his attention blankly to the rafters with a deep breath. His mind drifted as shadows danced to the crackle and hiss of fire.

"I can accept an apology, but does one really need to be made?" He kept his eyes from her, hands folded in front of him and guard lowered as though in the company of an equal. The threat of the Paladin already long out of his mind.

"You punished a criminal, a madman, and a killer despite letting that man turn you into one yourself. I consider that justified. I'm just another hired blade now. Another life sold to the highest bidder," he droned on. The words left softly, hollow but sincere. He turned to the cold, mithril mask beneath thick robes. His gaze once pierced souls and set the fear of death into warriors and innocents alike. Now, well...

"I have decided to accept a contract from a benefactor based out of Alerar. A protection job. Something constructive for once. I don't know if that gives you any solace."

He looked to the two artifacts on the table.

"Once I take this job, I cannot leave. So these are yours. They don't comfort me any longer. Perhaps they will find some use in your hands."

The poisoned blood of Kylana Marie Orlouge and the most treasured trinket she wore while in life waited patiently on the beer-stained oaken surface.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

(Note: This is my conclusion post, have fun everybody and keep the thread going!)

Ixian... Lorenor had not been called that in some time.

Though he still wore the marks of the Knights proper, he did not still considering himself of their employ...it was strange to see some people still remembered the old ways.

He ignored Tobias all together, not caring for the man's childish attempt at whatever he was doing.

Madison Freebird returned, and made a half assed apology for Eiskalt. Lorenor knew he lacked the power to take them both together. So he rotated his weapon, pointing it away from Lichensith. He sheathed the weapon in it's scabbard and powered down for the time being. He still intended to leave, he was not comfortable eating in the same location with devils like that. They reminded him too much of what he was once. Lorenor shook his head. He would feel a lot better away from those two. Madison...he marked her appearance in his brain. I didn't get to fight them out right in the events that lead to Eiskalt's destruction...but I will someday. Lorenor shook his head again.

"I am afraid it is you who are mistaken. But remember me, Lichensith. As I promised earlier...you two will pay for Eiskalt." Lorenor replaced the hood back on his head, and took his leave. The rain still poured outside and somehow seemed as heavy as his mood currently was. With heavy heart, Lorenor left the establishment but had one critical piece of information at his disposal. Lichensith and Madison Freebird are in Corone. I must make plans now... Lorenor would have their heads some day...but the hour was not then.

Lorenor took his leave and opted to brave the storm.

There would be another time for vengeance.

[Fez_The_Kid]

The tension build-up had just captured Anubis’ attention; a bald-headed stranger stood in dispute, mouthing what, Anubis inferred, seemed like threats to a group of three. The trio, sitting idly in their seats, were indifferent to the bald man’s presence. Or threats. Seem like they know each other after all. His desired person, the waitress - eyeing the action in silence - soon noticed Anubis’ gesture to approach.

She left the countertop, eyeing the center of tension on her way. His face an unceremonious expression, “What’s that about?” he asked, gesturing towards the group.

“Nothing, sir,” she fibbed. “Just a difference of opinions on political matters.”

“Like to know those opinions,” he said bluntly.

The girl held him in an almost contemptful stare, then drew a shallow breath. “It’s about Eiskalt. Apparently, some of our present customers are responsible for the ‘genocide’ that happened.”

“Don’t believe it?”

“No,” the girl scoffed. “I’m not in for the hogwash that’s thrown around these days.”

“Gotta believe something,” Anubis said, turning his gaze to the bald man, then back to her. “Lemme guess. One of them wants to exact revenge, challenge the other in a duel?”

Biting her lip, she gave a slow, curt nod. “Sir, unless you’re done gawking, are you going to tell me why I'm speaking to you?” she questioned, put her fists on her hips in a dithering stance.

“Anubis’s the name.” There was a pause, then, “Not gonna tell me yours?” he smiled.

“Jozie,” was her blunt answer.

“Alright, Jozie. Get me a bottle of something strong.” She narrowed her eyes, her body shifting further into her questioning posture. “Please?” he said, face and tone betraying pure sarcasm. Jozie’s frown bent into an awkward expression, her futile attempts to hide her smile. She then headed off toward the counter.

The Salvarian looked over at the table. The trio gave off a hair-raising vibe, but were in no mood to fight - unlike the hairless warrior. If what she says is true, then they’re responsible for all those deaths on Eiskalt. The ones behind everything I heard. He sat in awe, his gaze unwavering on them.

[Rayleigh]

Rayleigh watched Madison leave, her lips curved with the words that died before she could put voice to them. The familiar face moved away from her, seeming to prefer the company of another; the individual who Maddy sat next to was not someone that Rayleigh recognized. When the brunette finally turned back to the Briarheart's companion, she found that the words now would not come at all. The stranger stared, and Ray only stared back. It was the other woman who spoke first, which both startled and relieved her.

"Hello!" the one Maddy had called Hyperion greeted. Her voice was chipper and upbeat, somehow contradicting the heavy and mysterious robes she wore. "Your name is Rayleigh?"

The mechanic nodded. "Mmhmm. Most people just call me Ray, but I'll answer to about anything."

The tavern was full now, even overwhelmingly so. It was only by mere chance that she glanced over at the same time a young man raised his hand for a refill. Another sweep of the area confirmed that Jozie was otherwise occupied, and it came down to the stand-in waitress to take care of the issue. "Hang on, I'll be back," Ray assured Hyperion, and with a quick wave, she scooted toward the needy patron.

He was a young man, no older than she was, if Ray ventured a guess. His skin was pale, and his black and blue hair was stark against it. He appeared human, but it was always difficult to tell for sure. She mused on this while she plucked the cup from the bar. "Ale?" she asked, but only to be polite; the smell told her just as much as he could. Though lacking the graceful ease with which the more experienced Jozie worked, she was still able to locate the ale, fill the cup, and return it to its owner without incident. She offered it, and a smile, to the stranger.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I tried to ignore the idiot that Tobias stopped. I heard him mumbling something about making Lichensith and myself "pay" for Eiskalt, as if the two of us haven't already paid for our sins in spades.

There's nothing worse than a hero. Someone with delusions that they're some Great, Important Somebody, or the protagonist of a sweeping, world-saving epic. Someone who doesn't know how to operate in the real world. Someone who might be that much more dangerous because of it. Truth be told, the last thing I wanted was another visit to a tavern that ended in senseless bloodshed, so I was relieved when he stormed out.

Not that the ol' Crimson Hand veterans couldn't have taken care of the fool, of course.

I started to relax a bit when I heard the door slam shut. The former Master Hand set two objects on the table, and my blood raced again.

"These are--!"

I recognized them immediately. The dark blue liquid in the glass vial was the poisoned blood of Kyla Orlouge. She was a Mystic, one of the key players of the Ixian Knights. She had traveled to Salvar to meet with Lichensith for some reason, and I assumed that he would do the worst and use her corpse as a step towards inciting war with the rest of the Knights. So, I decided to poison her and spare her from an even worse fate and take from the assassin the one thing he wanted most. The silver bracelet was only important to Kyla, and she wore it for reasons that I couldn't begin to guess at. Sentiment, probably.

But they were on the table, and they were being given to me. Perhaps as a gesture of goodwill, that we were wiping the slate clean.

Or, maybe that he well and truly intended to die in Alerar.

With a briar-knit hand, I reached out for the artifacts. "I... Thanks," was all I could manage. I slid the vial and the bracelet into the pockets of my robes.

"If you're going to Alerar," I said matter-of-factly, "do be careful. I have a feeling that some serious shit is about to go down there." I wanted to tell him about the plot I uncovered while developing bioweapons for the Alerian government, but decided against it while the word were on the tip of my tongue. What happened there was no longer any of my concern--unless I got pulled back into it kicking and screaming, anyway.

I threw the assassin a wink. "And make sure all your shots are updated."

[Rayleigh]

.
Last call! I'll be closing this up if there aren't any further posts.

[Rayleigh]

This thread is complete! Rewards are as follows.

Ray receives 330 EXP and 35 GP.
Shin receives 125 EXP and 15 GP.
Chops receives 405 EXP and 55 GP.
Lye receives 530 EXP and 45 GP.
Darkest receives 80 EXP and 15 GP.
Ignis receives 245 EXP and 35 GP.
Revenant receivs 645 EXP and 45 GP.
Mutant receives 530 EXP and 70 GP.
Black receives 645 EXP and 45 GP.
Xakthul receives 80 EXP and 15 GP.
Atzar receives 110 EXP and 15 GP.
Realize receives 80 EXP and 15 GP.
Tobias receives 280 EXP and 25 GP.
Spud receives 80 EXP and 15 GP.
Fez receives 205 EXP and 25 GP.

[Rayleigh]

All rewards have been given!