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Dark Days in Sion - Act 3: Scene 2
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<blockquote data-quote="Hillsy7" data-source="post: 6941500" data-attributes="member: 6689191"><p><strong>Burrai Steelborn</strong></p><p></p><p>At the knock of the door Burrai had taken up his axe and shield from their place beside the door and stepped to one side even before he really questioned who was calling on Jabbar. Old soldier habits died hard – clearing a space with the doorway in clear view, corner checked and to his back – and if those habits didn’t embed themselves deeply, something sharp often did. Burrai was too old and experienced for those habits not to have taken hold.</p><p> </p><p>Jabbar seemed unperturbed, as though this night of strange and eclectic visitors was mundane. Expected. He opened the door and welcomed a waif out of the rain and dark. She was an elf, with the long, fragile body and those limbs that seemed thin enough to break in the wind. Like all elves, he supposed. The bow on her back looked well-crafted and cared for – though he worked in steel, he still knew good weaponsmithing regardless of material.</p><p> </p><p>When Aletia defined herself as a messenger, and Jabbar installed her in front of the modesty warmth of the hearth, Burrai relaxed. Clearly there was a natural trust here, and Burrai’s nerves were too dulled from the evening to maintain unneccesary suspicion. He slipped his axe and shield into their clips and leaned back on the wall. He retrieved his pipe from his pouch and began thumbing a ball of fresh tobacco inside.</p><p> </p><p>At the mention of the Black Network, Burrai realised he hadn’t really been listening and jerked upright. Jabbar was flourishing a sheaf of paper, talking of patrons and guests. He scowled, confused, and glanced at Elloral. She scowled too, but in distaste. He stalked over and with and open handed gesture of “may I?” took the paper from Jabbar’s large hands.</p><p> </p><p>He read quickly, scratching at his beard with one scarred hand, pipe jutting unlit from the corner of his mouth. Due to the abundance of capitalisation, this was certainly something regular, renowned enough to have gathered titles for activities and roles. He raised one eyebrow, further creasing the seam of scars running down his face, meeting Jabbar’s eyes and then Bill’s</p><p> </p><p><span style="color: #800000">“Kong again.”</span> He rumbled. <span style="color: #800000">“Didn’t expect to be seeing his name again so soon. And this Koyote, Jabbar – the very same?” </span>The old smuggler nodded, and Burrai looked back at the paper, lips pursed in thought. <span style="color: #800000">“And two of these others are known to you, you say? Hmmmm…….I’m a little confused as to what’s at play here. Mr Burlock we wished to speak to, but how has he become entwined with two members of our…ahem...mutual adversaries to invite them to this ‘challenge’?”</span></p><p><span style="color: #800000"></span> </p><p>He handed the paper back, thoughts tumbling and locking together, pieces on his mental board moving around each other. <span style="color: #800000">“This clearly seems like an opportunity of some kind; a confluence of allies and enemies like this can always be exploited. But I’m afraid to say I’m in the dark as to the setting: This ‘challenge’. What’s at play here?” </span>He glanced between Jabbar and the elf, Aletia, looking for more information. Knowledge was the grease of all great strategic machinery, and rarely could you have too much.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Hillsy7, post: 6941500, member: 6689191"] [b]Burrai Steelborn[/b] At the knock of the door Burrai had taken up his axe and shield from their place beside the door and stepped to one side even before he really questioned who was calling on Jabbar. Old soldier habits died hard – clearing a space with the doorway in clear view, corner checked and to his back – and if those habits didn’t embed themselves deeply, something sharp often did. Burrai was too old and experienced for those habits not to have taken hold. Jabbar seemed unperturbed, as though this night of strange and eclectic visitors was mundane. Expected. He opened the door and welcomed a waif out of the rain and dark. She was an elf, with the long, fragile body and those limbs that seemed thin enough to break in the wind. Like all elves, he supposed. The bow on her back looked well-crafted and cared for – though he worked in steel, he still knew good weaponsmithing regardless of material. When Aletia defined herself as a messenger, and Jabbar installed her in front of the modesty warmth of the hearth, Burrai relaxed. Clearly there was a natural trust here, and Burrai’s nerves were too dulled from the evening to maintain unneccesary suspicion. He slipped his axe and shield into their clips and leaned back on the wall. He retrieved his pipe from his pouch and began thumbing a ball of fresh tobacco inside. At the mention of the Black Network, Burrai realised he hadn’t really been listening and jerked upright. Jabbar was flourishing a sheaf of paper, talking of patrons and guests. He scowled, confused, and glanced at Elloral. She scowled too, but in distaste. He stalked over and with and open handed gesture of “may I?” took the paper from Jabbar’s large hands. He read quickly, scratching at his beard with one scarred hand, pipe jutting unlit from the corner of his mouth. Due to the abundance of capitalisation, this was certainly something regular, renowned enough to have gathered titles for activities and roles. He raised one eyebrow, further creasing the seam of scars running down his face, meeting Jabbar’s eyes and then Bill’s [COLOR=#800000]“Kong again.”[/COLOR] He rumbled. [COLOR=#800000]“Didn’t expect to be seeing his name again so soon. And this Koyote, Jabbar – the very same?” [/COLOR]The old smuggler nodded, and Burrai looked back at the paper, lips pursed in thought. [COLOR=#800000]“And two of these others are known to you, you say? Hmmmm…….I’m a little confused as to what’s at play here. Mr Burlock we wished to speak to, but how has he become entwined with two members of our…ahem...mutual adversaries to invite them to this ‘challenge’?” [/COLOR] He handed the paper back, thoughts tumbling and locking together, pieces on his mental board moving around each other. [COLOR=#800000]“This clearly seems like an opportunity of some kind; a confluence of allies and enemies like this can always be exploited. But I’m afraid to say I’m in the dark as to the setting: This ‘challenge’. What’s at play here?” [/COLOR]He glanced between Jabbar and the elf, Aletia, looking for more information. Knowledge was the grease of all great strategic machinery, and rarely could you have too much. [/QUOTE]
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