Siege Of Bordrin's Watch

DEFCON 1 · May 11, 2009

"Nothing to go back to, sir . . . just here to help."

Durkik Forgeheart nods in thanks to the elf, and then ushers Jess to keep the cart moving. Throughout the rest of the evening's journey, the captain allows the elf to ride in peace and does not broach any further conversation. After many hours of shouting the city declarations, he's just as well not continue on with additional speaking anyway.

Eventually, the day's duty wraps up as the cart rolls to the gates of the Ministry of War. It is here that Jess hands the reins off to one of the stableboys, and Forgeheart climbs down from the back. He walks over to the tailgate, where Warrick still sits, unsure of what to do with the rest of his night. "End of the line, my friend. I'm sure I'll be seeing you back here in two days. You care in that time."

The ruddy dwarf smiles a bright but tired smile, then turns to go into the Ministry. However, before he can take more than two steps, a figure steps out from the evening's shadows, and Durkik is taken aback.

"Would'ya take an ol' dwarf to the fields 'f battle once more, fer the glory 'f Moradin and fer his own personal salvation?" says the old dwarf before him. Durkik's eyebrows raise in surprise, but then it immediately turns into a guffah and he walks over to his old friend. "Hah ha!!! You wish to join us, Firebelly you old dog? Now that is a proposition that I think we can certainly accept." He continues to laugh and he clasps a hand on the shoulder of Gombar, then turns to face the elf that sits no more than three paces away. "Another one you'll be fighting with, good sir!" he says to Warrick. "You'll all have hundreds of best friends once this battle is through." He guffahs again, and glances back and forth between Warrick and Gombar.

Voda Vosa · May 11, 2009

"Don't mention friends of arms. They don't endure long." The dwarf says with a sad grim. But his face seems to get some light and a spark of happiness "But enough 'f me ol' mumbin'. I'm Gombar Firebelly, Eye of Moradin, as some say, makin' fun 'f me." he points the scar that took his right eye. "'f course Moradin's not missing his eyes, like that other deity. Wha's about a cuple of ales to cheer up tha spirit, ah? Goes on me"

Velmont · May 11, 2009

"Just a moment." tells Chris to the elf. He stand up and walk to the Michelle and Gloomblade. He first speak to the half-orc "Sorry to interrupt." he then turn toward Michelle "I would like to have a few words with you." he then look around, seeing the place getting more crowded. The crowd have start again to speak and the noise start to be louder. Loud enough to not be overheard except by anyone near, in that case, Gloomblade.

Chris look at Gloomblade a moment before speaking. "I heard you were member of the Lost Ones." Chris tells, keeping his voice low. "It's been a month that I'm in this city. I might not be aware of all the unwritten rules, so I wonder what I have done to have these three over my head. If I have done something to your organization, I would like to know, and I would like to know if you are recruiting at the moment."

The Digger · May 11, 2009

Tresa rose from her bleeding knees and clutched her warhammer, now returned to its normal size, close to her breast. Even with her eyes closed as she said a heartfelt prayer of thanks, she could still just make out the dwindling glow of Pelor’s light upon her weapon.

So her God had answered, it was now time to prepare. She gathered up her few belongings and headed for the door. Once she had told Brother Aenir of her decision she could leave him to the few duties which remained to the local priesthood whilst she organised herself once more for battle.

She would need armour. Her own she had long ago given away. And some stout boots! She looked down at her woven sandals and smiled, No, these would never do.

She stood on the steps of the temple and breathed in the aromas of Nine Bells. The smell of filth and decay drifted past her nose. Also the whiff of burning wood and turf, overlain by the various incenses of the temples. The effect was almost overpowering and she almost missed it - the acrid taste on the back of the throat of verdant leaf!

Her eyes darted around the dark of the alleyway and her keen eyes saw them - the halfling dealer and his bald customer.

"In Pelor's name, beggone! Do not peddle your sickening wares in the shadow of Summer's grace!" Tresa waved her hammer at the couple, and the halfling turned and ran up the alley. The priestess strode down to confront the customer but saw at once that he was not what he had seemed at first. He might have been one of the local farmers except that he bore a pendant of Moradin. A pendant of a size and quality that denoted perhaps a man of the cloth.

"It is a bad time for many here, good sir. A bad time for many."

She moved closer, puzzled by something about his appearance. He had the look of a cleric, but also of a fighter …and there was something else…

“I am Sister Tresa, until a few moments ago a priestess of Pelor here in Nine Bells. And now a just another of Pelor’s humble servants, ready to serve His Grace in these current difficulties. There will be fighting and death - I fear much of both - and I hope to be able to bring healing and succour to those striving to save their world from the oncoming darkness.”

“You, Sir, have the look of a seeker about you. But a seeker after what, I wonder? Is there anything I can do to aid you before I take up the task appointed for me?”

WarlockLord · May 12, 2009

Ralak-Nul notices the half-orc disengaging from the druid and beginning to speak to the other half-orc. He continues observing for a bit. However, the bar quickly begins to crowd. As it is difficult to continue observing, he decides to walk up to the unoccupied elf woman. The one with the collar. The one who might be some sort of odd shapeshifter. Having decided on this course of action, he crosses the establishment."Greetings." He sits down, waiting for a response. Let her think him a harmless bar-crawler, perhaps. Unlikely, but it could happen.

EvolutionKB · May 12, 2009

Wendigo was about to speak to the halfling, looks up as the woman scolds him, sending him scurrying away like a rat. As the radiance fades from the woman's warhammer, the shifter contemplates her intently.

Surely a woman of the priesthood, Pelor by the look of her, would not turn away a poor and obviously hungry halfling. Is this what things were like everywhere outside the monastery?

"I am Wendigo but first I must ask you why you turned away the halfling. His ribs could be seen through his sparse clothes. Have you no food to spare for the poor?"

Leaning on his staff, he strokes his beard thoughtfully. His hand wanders down to grasp the symbol of Moradin around his neck.

Kobold Stew · May 12, 2009

"There must be something about me," Gala says to her new table companion. "I wander into a Dwarf village, and I've yet to have a conversation with a dwarf." She laughs to herself, though the laugh is an uncomfortable one, and emerges in short spurts, a series of high-pitched barks, as her lips pull back into something that might be a smile.

As she looks at the half-orcs, standing by the bar, their shoulders pressed against the ceiling beams, she wonders how bad her conversation has to have been. Gala licks the back of her hand, and pulls it past her ear, smoothing her short hair, and begins to speak again.

"I don't know when I've last seen a drow on the surface. What are you doing here? Have you heard anything about the orc advance?" She's trying to be nonchalant, but she's not a great liar, and even the mention of the orcs brings back the burning feelings inside, as she remembers all she has lost, all they have taken from her.

As Gala reaches for her drink, she knocks it over, spilling the dwarven ale over the table, the puddle advancing towards her new companion. "Ach. Sorry," she says, reaching with her hands to try to stop the liquid's advance, unsuccessfully.

She can make the distinction with the half-orcs. That's easy enough, when you know what to smell for. But with the drow it is different. They don't brhave as nature tells them; they choose not to. Gala stares at her new companion, shaking the beer from her hands, but not wiping it on herself. Gala is ready. It wasn't a good bluff, and the dark elf probably sees it for what it is, a sort of test. But she wants to know how he will react.

Jemal · May 12, 2009

Michelle excuses herself from her scarred drinking companion to speak to the other half-orc.

"OH don't ye be worrien 'bout them, handsome, I did'n even recognize them, an if I don't know a thief in this town, 'e aint worth knowin or worryin bout." She crosses her arms and nods her head, obviously a bit drunk, though when she glances over at the drow now speaking to the elven lady with the collar, it appears that she may not be as intoxicated as she appears.

Bringing her eyes back to Chris, she smiles - a smile as intoxicating as anything else being served in Krunk's that night. "Nuff about them, though. Why don't you join Gloomy and I for a drink? That way if'n any more come in wondering what happened to the first, I can 'splain for both you AND Drunkie.. er, Krunkie." She giggles a bit and motions back to where the other half-orc is sitting, but her eyes glance back to the drow once more, and her smile slips for just a moment..

renau1g · May 12, 2009

DEFCON 1 said:
One of the monks is on his way here... a shifter... a member of the Sundered Chain... and a fist of Moradin...

[sblock=Defcon]
Am I to assume he's coming to Tregar's shop, or is he coming to town?
[/sblock]

Insight · May 12, 2009

Velmont said:
Chris look at Gloomblade a moment before speaking. "I heard you were member of the Lost Ones." Chris tells, keeping his voice low. "It's been a month that I'm in this city. I might not be aware of all the unwritten rules, so I wonder what I have done to have these three over my head. If I have done something to your organization, I would like to know, and I would like to know if you are recruiting at the moment."

Overhearing the conversation between Chris and Michelle, the Half-Orc watched both some interest.

It was at that moment that Gloomblade realized that perhaps there was some significance to that strange snake tattoo he'd been given in prison. Or maybe it was nothing at all.