The tavern at best can only described as seedy and even that is generous. Located in one of the poorer sections of the Captial of the Republic, the Faded Spwarrow" is indeed faded. The stench of unwashed bodies and tracked in dung only adds to the misery of poor ciculation on this hot and humid night of high summer. The heat both inside and out is oppressive making tempers short and people surley. The common room is usually large measuring some 50 by 100 feet with several obvious side door. Several flights of stairs run upwards to an encirling balcony upon which patrons also sit at tables or stand lining the balcony itself looking down into the common pit.
Indivudals come and go at will with no discernable pattern. The missive found in your purse at lunchtime simply had the name "Faded Sparrow" with an enclosed gold piece. Curiosity having gotten the best of you, you deiced against your better nature to make the trek here and see what it is all about.
Once arrived you find no one to meet you as you had expected. Making the best of the long walk here you decide to enjoy the bounty of the strange missive and with such drink as is offered.
A handsome, young aristocrat frowns upon finding nobody to meet him at the Sparrow. The man's clothes are rich and in good repair, and a finely crafted longsword hangs from his tooled belt. While he certainly looked out of place in the poor tavern, in truth Braxton felt quite comfortable. He frequented seedy dives like this place often...not only were they a goldmine of information, but it was usually an easy task for him to take a few coins off the locals with a couple of rounds of cards or dice.
With little else to do, Braxton approaches the bar and flags down the barkeep. "A pint of stout, if you please," he says, his voice rich, with a hint of the accent so common among the nobility. "In a clean mug, mind you."
As he receives his drink, he turns his attention back the common room, looking for anyone else that might stand out in this crowd.
__________________ -Rhun
"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge - myth is more potent than history - dreams are more powerful than facts - hope always triumphs over experience - laughter is the cure for grief - love is stronger than death." -Robert Fulghum
Last edited by Rhun; 31st August 2009 at 03:28 AM..
A man with dipped dreadlocks, and a robe enters. As you catch his back you note a double sided sword of blue crystal. his face sombre at best, he wears a gaze that incites mournful thoughts. he scans the crowd before his eyes again sink down to the ground. he removes his overcoat and throws it over a chair as he sits at the bar. his gaunt frame and sword make him look like an exotic warrior. he smiles to himself as he hides his face with his hair, looking down.
"A wine sir. I've been wandering for some time from my family manor. Looking for work, as it will."
He looks around the bar sizing fighters up. Scanning for symbols of Nerull. He then returns to the bartender as he waits his drink.
A large, broad-shouldered man enters the Sparrow. He looks like a fairly standard caravan-guard type: morninstar hanging from his hip, shield slung on his back. But the apparent absence of any armor, and the silver symbol of St. Pelor hanging from his neck speak to something else.
Donovan sits back in a corner near the entrance, ordering himself a mild drink and taking in the scene.
Binding Check for Naberius for today, DC 15. Roll: 28. So, no need for sign or influence today.
A young, slightly chubby man wearing a loose robe of white cloth and cloth cap of the same color stumbles in through the door, leaning slightly on a stout staff. He takes the cap off and wipes perspiration from his forehead, mussing his light blond hair both when he takes it off and replaces it. He coughs a little to clear his throat of the dust and heat from outside, then walks up to the bar. He takes a seat on a stool, leaning his staff against the bar nearby.
He says plainly, though to no one in particular, "Terrible day out there..." His eyes glaze over for a second, then snap back into focus as he calls the barman over and orders a mug of pale ale.
While waiting for the drink, Orion takes a moment to breathe. Once it arrives, he sips it slowly and looks around the inside of the place. An easy smile remains on his face, though his eyes seem to glaze over a bit...
Location: columbia, missouri, u.s. of north america, terra, sol III, Milky way, third demension
Posts: 4,843
A human of a hard to deturmine age enters the Inn, hard due to the lack of hair. there is a well weathered face thaat shows the work he has done in the outside and the completely shaved head. His black robe is plain as his sash around his waist, only a couple of pouches and a set of prayer beads adorn him as well as a holy symbol of the siant ------ about his neck show any form of affiliation. his head is covered by a plain black cloth scull cap.
He approaches the bar and asks for a simple beer. He then looks about for an empty table.
Entering the tavern with the slip of paper still in one hand and the coin in the other Frigin walks up to the bar and waits to get the barkeeps attention. His bald head shows sweat from the hot day and he stands with a slight stoop leaning near the bar. The sword on his back looks small for such a large man, and his armor looks almost new and unused.
"Is this this place?" he asks showing the barkeep the paper. "If it is I want to thank you for this." he adds holding up the coin.
Netzach moves over to the clerical one in black. Seeing the prayer beads and holy symbol, he asks the man slowly.
"Do you find that your prayers work better than a sword? Have you ever wanted to test that philosophy?"
He grins from the corner of his mouth as he shows a neat row of teeth, a few filed down to points, the dental work looks painful but skillfully done.
"Well father? Want to test the weight of you soul to my blade?"
"Is this this place?" he asks showing the barkeep the paper. "If it is I want to thank you for this." he adds holding up the coin.
Still standing nearby at the bar, Braxton can't help but notice the hulking barbarian with the note in hand, so similar to the one that he had himself received. He smiles at the man. "You've got the right place, my large friend." The young aristocrat holds his hand out in greeting. "I am Braxton Hague. Well met."
__________________ -Rhun
"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge - myth is more potent than history - dreams are more powerful than facts - hope always triumphs over experience - laughter is the cure for grief - love is stronger than death." -Robert Fulghum
Netzach moves over to the clerical one in black. Seeing the prayer beads and holy symbol, he asks the man slowly.
"Do you find that your prayers work better than a sword? Have you ever wanted to test that philosophy?"
He grins from the corner of his mouth as he shows a neat row of teeth, a few filed down to points, the dental work looks painful but skillfully done.
"Well father? Want to test the weight of you soul to my blade?"
Donovan stands as the man in dreadlocks seems interested in picking a fight with the monk.
"The Light doesn't need to prove itself against a man's blade," Donovan says, hand hovering over his own morningstar, "But its clerics aren't afraid to defend the faithful."
"Then it is you I needs to thank." Frigin says accepting the nobleman's hand. Frigin trys to remember everything he has learned working for nobles in the past.
Clasp hands(but not to hard), bow (which he does while still clasping the man's hand limply) oh and knuckle your forehead(Frigin takes his other hand and knuckles his forehead while bowing while shaking the man's hand limply).
"So is this," he asks idicating the gold coin in his hand on his forehead, "for a job I've done or need to do?"
The door opens again and a heavily cloaked figure enters the tavern, without lifting his cloak the figure looks around the room, scanning the comers and goers, dark green eyes visible in the glint of the lamplight gleaming with intesity. He settles on each group for a moment and nods to himself. A lute hangs across his back, the dark, weather-beaten wood have various notches and scratches in the construction.
Walking confidently up to the bar, the stranger removes his hood and the salt-and-pepper hair is well kempt and close cropped. A fully gray van dyke beard is visible on his face, where a large scar runs from the hairline down to just below his checkbone on the right side of his face.
As he waits for the bartenders attention, the instrument is unslung and the man's fingers move with expert skill, causing the music to float up and over the din of the large room, its captivating haunting melody drew attention to the man who still leaned casually against the bar while he focused on his craft.
After a few minutes of expert playing, the man turned to the barkeep, "Good day kind sir, I appear to be in need of something strong to drink, what do you recommend?" he says, flipping a gold coin in the air, before catching it and dropping it down on the bar.
In the Sparrow doorway stands a tall well built man wearing a nondescript gray cloak beneath which can be glimpsed black leather armor. At his side are a fine set of axes. Still standing in the doorway, The man carefully looks the room over, noticing as he does so number of strangers who definitely don't belong.
Once he has completed his scan, he enters the bar. As he enters, the room becomes quieter as some of the locals recognise the watchman they call Stalker. However, the noise level is soon back to its previously level as they can see he is civies and therefore off duty. A few of the braver souls even go so far as to wave.
Smiling wryly, Stalker moves to a part of the bar well away from the strangers and orders an ale. However, a particularly observant person would notice that after an initial sip he does not actually touch it. Standing there apparently minding his own business, Stalker is actually listening to the conversations going on around him, while at the same time watching the strangers.
grinning at the cleric.
"I like your style holyman. My name is Netzach... Netzach Maccabi. your name?"
the man shifts his robe and leans back in the chair. you can see a vein in his temple slightly expand in tension. it seems he's uneasy when he isn't sure if a fight is about to happen or not. just one more clue that he feels most at peace when fighting.
[color=darkorange]Clasp hands(but not to hard), bow (which he does while still clasping the man's hand limply) oh and knuckle your forehead(Frigin takes his other hand and knuckles his forehead while bowing while shaking the man's hand limply).
"So is this," he asks idicating the gold coin in his hand on his forehead, "for a job I've done or need to do?"
Braxton chuckles at the large warrior's actions. "No need for all that show," he says. "And you don't owe me at all. I received a note similar to yours." The young man shrugs and takes a drink from his mug. "As to what the gold is for, I am not yet sure. I assume we will find out soon enough."
__________________ -Rhun
"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge - myth is more potent than history - dreams are more powerful than facts - hope always triumphs over experience - laughter is the cure for grief - love is stronger than death." -Robert Fulghum
grinning at the cleric.
"I like your style holyman. My name is Netzach... Netzach Maccabi. your name?"
the man shifts his robe and leans back in the chair. you can see a vein in his temple slightly expand in tension. it seems he's uneasy when he isn't sure if a fight is about to happen or not. just one more clue that he feels most at peace when fighting.
The priest raises an eyebrow, pausing a moment before responding.
"Brother Donovan Tepari," he says, bowing his head without taking his eyes off Netzach. "Now that we're introduced, maybe we could drink rather than fight. Never had a problem breaking skulls when needed, but I prefer spilling wine to spilling blood."
Smiling broadly Frigin looks to the note in his hand. "If we both got a note... then maybe we are to work together, Lord Braxton!" he says with a jolly laugh.
Slapping the coin on the bar Frigin bellows "A cold an ale as you have barkeep!"
ooc
i tried to find a live shot of my character but couldn't get it all i could find close was minsc and boo lol
Last edited by HolyMan; 1st September 2009 at 03:50 PM..
The priest raises an eyebrow, pausing a moment before responding.
"Brother Donovan Tepari," he says, bowing his head without taking his eyes off Netzach. "Now that we're introduced, maybe we could drink rather than fight. Never had a problem breaking skulls when needed, but I prefer spilling wine to spilling blood."
Netzach grins in his pretentious clever little manner that he does. He always seems to have a sort of mix of class and superority with his mannerisms. He speaks softly this time. "Father you should know as well as any, some people feel that blood and wine go great together. I propose a toast father. To the warriors I've fell and to my comming pentinence." The word pentinence comes off sarcastically but it would seem that this man of no faith, has no problem poking fun at the faithful. "Surely father you know I jest. I'm glad some have G-ds, at least I've sent some men to a happier place. As for me, I've come here on accord with serendipity. A coin and note has found its way into my robes. To come here. However if nothing should happen, I've found a man of class to enjoy a toast with."
"Surely father you know I jest. I'm glad some have G-ds, at least I've sent some men to a happier place. As for me, I've come here on accord with serendipity. A coin and note has found its way into my robes. To come here. However if nothing should happen, I've found a man of class to enjoy a toast with."
Donovan seems about to object to the talk of godlessness, but he stops as Netzach mentions a coin and a note. The priest pulls out a note of his own as he sits at table.
"A note and a coin? I received one of those, myself. Do you know who's behind this?"
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