Planes to Shape, Secrets to Keep... (Dromus)

(OOC: )

The room you are standing in looks much like you would expect a warehouse office in a bad part of the city to look: the walls are smeared with grime, the floorboards creak when you walk, and there’s an indefinable (but decidedly unwholesome) smell coming from somewhere. The room is only about fifteen feet on a side; the natural wariness of a group of heavily-armed strangers around each other makes it feel even smaller.

Sounds come up to you from an open window to your left, the sounds of a bustling city. They are somewhat muffled, however, as this is not a place near the heart of Dromus. Someone calls from somewhere, indistinctly, an unnaturally raspy voice that sends chills down your spine, and the footfalls of an intrepid messenger can be heard moving down the alleyway below. Most people would be wondering how they got into this mess by now...

The man you have been sent to meet sits at a desk at the far end of the room, crafted of fine Yesheveran wood. The years have not been kind to it, though, and it is little better than junk now. The man who has assembled you here looks little better, his face marked with lines of worry and signs of a great burden. In your brief time here in the city, you have often seen such haggard faces, and you guess that this person also holds some secret knowledge that someone wants, or wants to keep secret.

He looks you over, as if he were expecting you to say something, clutching a staff topped with an innocuous-looking crystal in his hand as though he isn’t entirely sure what to do with it. All you know is that you’ve been offered something more entertaining to do than wandering around the city trying not to get lost. Supposedly, there will be a fair bit of money in it, too, an asset never lost on someone trying to make their way in an unfamiliar land. Where will things go from here?

Narine Valborg, The Luminous Arc, Female Maenad Wilder 8

*Narine entered the room with an imperious sweep of her blue gown, shaking her blonde mane into place, and taking in the squallor with her sapphire eyes. With a flick of her hand, her porter and servant Dros removes the ingenious folding chair she found in the Floating Market today and set it down, covering it with a shining blanket knitted from the wool of radiant sheep. Narine sat down as though she were a queen on her throne, thinking rapidly about the day.*

*Her beloved Proxy had infected her with wanderlust, and she had wandered right out of Kelluna, into Dromus. A more bizarre city she had never seen! Buildings and streets seemed to change behind her back, she got lost so often, and she found three equally large markets practically on top of each other... well, they were on top of each other, half suspended on rope bridges, half floating on magic, the Floating Market was the one thing she had managed to find twice.*

*She had spent the better part of two weeks wandering more-or-less aimlessly, picking up one thing or another as her fancy took her. But it was when she was approached by a scoundrel that she thought to take a job. He was a pretty enough man, with a rakish grin and a silver tongue. He said there was excitement to be had, money to be made, and new things to experience. His words sold her on the job, and he had pointed her down the hallway of this warehouse. Then he had disappeared. Rather inconsiderate of him to do so... I shall have to punish him later, he's been a very naughty boy... she mused idly.*

"So... your name is...? I was promised some excitement and adventure! I have things I could be doing, you know, so this better be good," she says laughingly, wagging a finger at the man. I'm almost positive I could find something to do at least, but he doesn't need to know that, now does he?

Feiran strides into the room and hears the last half of the sentence spoken by a blond woman. This should be interesting. She appears to be playing with her ear. Atop her right shoulder sits a monkey, and there are goggles pushed up onto her head.


Go out and prove yourself worthy, Feiran. Perform a great service, Feiran. Do something out of the ordinary, Feiran. You are Legate-Candidate, Feiran, be proud of your superior station in life. Bah! Now I find myself in a less-than-appealing room awaiting to hear of some some task I can perfom for money and/or the possible recognition of deeds done! Hopefully the Eye of the Orb and the Great Miranda's gaze are fixed somewhere else besides me! But what else is there? I must prove better than the others... Hopefully,Terak and Eron are keeping out of trouble.

*Feiran had heard of an interesting venture from her somewhat friend, Adinal, and decided that it could be the perfect opportunity. She was simply told where to be and when to be there. The Droman society was just ripe for learning and an adventure or two...*

Feiran's eyes dart around alighting on anything and everything hoping to deduce some reason as to why she's here. Her gaze is somewhat contemptuous and curious. Perhaps I should say something...And on that note, maybe I shouldn't be rude. It only leads to trouble, for me that is. One of these days, Feiran, your proclivity for joining risky ventures will only end badly. Learn from Adinal...or better yet, learn from your mistakes.

Feiran says in a formal and respectful tone of voice to the seated man: "I am Feiran Tegras na'Randis Holyfire but I assume you already know this. Perhaps a telling of the purpose of this meeting is in order? I have only the bare bones of the matter."

This had better be worth my time and patience.

"What a wonderful name!" Narine exclaims, and then smiles widely at the newcomer. "Does that lovely little creature on your shoulder have a name too?"

Adinal looks up, very much the picture of a man who feels he bears the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Greetings friend with no name, and greetings Feiran of the long name. I have much of import to discuss with you both, but we must wait a bit longer, I'm afraid. We are not all here yet. In the mean time, I invite you both to have a drink. Our surroundings may not be particularly elegant, but I find that mead is good anywhere. Besides, I need it." He raises his hand, gesturing for someone to bring him a drink without looking (or caring) to see if anyone answers.

Illira Astirel, female human fighter 1 / sorceress 4 / spellsword 3

Illira walked hesitantly in the room. She had some trouble finding the place, because Kestrel was not with her. Where was he, when she needed him the most? He knew, they had this meeting with this Adinal and he was supposed to be there with her. How could he leave her alone in time like this, when he knew she had trouble finding her way in the city?

Here she was, finally. That man over there must be Adinal, but who are these others? Such a beautiful Lady. She's got style. She was instantly feeling even more unsure of herself. Is that a ...monkey on that other woman's shoulder. Funny. That made her feel a bit better, but didn't shake the feeling of being badly out of place. Kestrel, where are you?

Well, more or less, she looked out of place. There she was, a young girl barely past her teens carrying a large sword on her back. Physically, she was a slender pretty enough young woman, but her face did not look like a carefree youngster's - it was so serious and on top of that, she was looking down or her toes or somewhere else almost constantly, as if avoiding eye-contact with anyone. Was she really so shy?

She just stood there at the doorway, what seemed forever - at least to her - but then approached the man he thought was Adinal. She walked very softly and elegantly, almost like a dancer on her tip-toes. Then, she looked up, with dark brown flocks of hair sliding from her face and spoke to Adinal, who instantly noticed the girl had copper eyes, that glowed strangely. "I am Illira," she said with a bright voice, "my companion Kestrel should be here soon. I'm here to," she hesitated, she almost said 'to protect the amulet', but realized it would be much too straight-forward," ...hear about your offer. Sir." Then she just stood there waiting for a reply. Where *are* you, Kestrel?

"Ah, how silly of me. My name is Narine Valborg, the Luminous Arc," she says with an inclination of her head at the other occupants of the room. "And I would adore some good mead, Adinal."

Cagthail walks into the room, his confidence showing with every stride. He looks around at the odd asortment of people in there, and his eyes light up with anticipation.

This must be the where I was asked. Even if it isn't, I wouldn't want to miss where this ends up.

He walks up to Adinal, giving a slight bow and says: "I believe you sent for me? I'm Cagthail Minaesbart."

He turns to the others, and looks them over while giving each an even slighter bow than Adinal got, not much more than a nod really.

"Are we expecting any others?" he then asks Adinal.

As Narine introduces herself, Adinal notices the approach of two more that he has been expecting and waiting for. After introductions are made Adinal says, "Greetings Narine, Illira and Cagthail. Our meeting will commence shortly, but as Illira mentioned, we await one more. At his arrival, I can start to explain. And thank you Narine, for reminding me...I had forgotten that I deeply wish I were drunk right now. BARKEEP!"

You hear a rapid *clop-clop-cop* of a heavy tread coming up the stairs toward you. The warehouse, it seemed doubled as a rather un-hopping bar when you come through the front entrance. You aren't sure why you weren't able to hear the patrons earlier, though they seemed to get Adinal's message just fine.

A moment later, a burly half-orc blunders into the room, almost tripping over Narine and nearly spilling the platter of drinks onto Illira. He obviously didn't expect so many people to be in the room when he got here, and now just as clearly wants to leave in quite a hurry. He quickly hands out the mugs of mead, eyes downcast as though half-expecting to be chastened in some creative and thoroughly unpleasant manner.

The mead is probably intended to be a golden color, but the brewer missed and hit a sort of sickly yellow instead. The main virtue of this drink, from the smell, seems to be that it is very, very alcoholic.

The half-orc waiter/bouncer leaves, obviously not expecting a tip.

(OOC: *scribbles notes furiously*

Only a few posts and we've already converted an old warehouse into a bar and added an unusual marketplace to the city. At this rate, we'll have a gazetteer the size of the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting by the end of the month!