As five of you step forth and present yourselves, one remains. An awkward silence continues for almost a minute until the sharp-eyed one speaks.
"An eclectic bunch; a mixed bag if ever there was one."
Tarvoden nods and replies.
"Their disparate backgrounds would serve us well in this venture, my lord. Each brings a skill and a virtue to the equation."
The lord casually looks you up and down once more, his legs crossed in an almost defensive position, away from you, his chin in his hands. He grimaced and looked at each of you in turn, before stating a question in quickfire succession.
"M'faro of Tenh, you say, from the Flames of Tenh, eh? I have heard of them..."
He adjusts himself in the chair a little before continuing, brushing off a few unseen hairs.
"...I also heard that many abandoned their posts... you boldly state that you come from their ranks, proudly even, I would ask why you are still not with them and why you are here seeking employment with me? Further, if you abandoned them, what garuantee do I have that you won't abandon me?"
He said this without any seeming pity or emotion whatsoever and, in fact, without stopping for more than a breath, continued on to his next victim.
"Bor of Perrenland. I seem to recall your... Voorman, is it? Signed a pact of non-aggression with Iuz. That would make it seem to me that you believe the Old One to be a friend. How do I know you're not a spy or a turncoat?"
And then, tilting his head to get a better stare at Manzanita, he continued.
"Ahh, an elven maiden who claims to be from... where was it again? Fax I believe you said to our friend here. How very interesting. I seem to recall... no, wait, who am I telling? You, of course you would know just when the Hordes of Turrosh Mak overran your city and ate every elf they found..."
After trailing off the sentence, he lowered his eyes and allowed himself a little grin before continuing.
"And Grenier... poor, poor Grenier who states he comes from Geoff despite its apparent occupation by giant-kin. You aren't the least bit embarrassed or embittered about that, are you? Perhaps the noble stock of that region has been watered down so much you would rather carry your dishonour like a badge that you were at least once something more than a vagabond."
Without actually stopping for a breath, he poured a glass of the brandy for himself and offered none to anyone else.
"And then we have Clete. How very interesting that you have served as a guard and scout on so many journeys... care to name a few merchant caravans and their quartermasters? I ask this because it is so obvious that you are a liar as I know Tarvoden to be one of the most honest men in the Flanaess and he assured me before coming here that none of you knew anything in the least about the Phoenix Guard, seeing as he, and my good friend, the Mayor of Gorsend, Lord Montaigne sitting next to me and Tarvoden are the only ones to know anything whatsoever about them until you entered just now and Tarvoden mentioned them."
Finishing the brandy like a shot, he placed it carefully on the table before continuing.
"Lastly, but by no means leastly, we have some roguish westerner, probably from the barbarian lands of Ket who can't even hold his tongue in polite company and shows me, the Viscount of the March, the Lord of these lands, less respect than any peasant would show a rat!"
At this, Lord Derwent pulled on his vest and gave a proud smile before crossing his legs and arms and speaking again before anyone could get a word in.
"I would answer wisely if I were you... I do not give out five-hundred sheafs to just any ragamuffin. For that sort of money I could hire a dozen mercenaries for half a dozen years. Why then do you think, after playing such infantile games with me and being proud of failure, that you are each worth such a hefty sum for such a short term of service, hmm? If am to employ all six of you, I want to know exactly what my three-thousand wheatsheafs are paying for!"
During the speech he had become quite animated, almost deigning to get out of his seat. But after finishing, and making the Lord Montaigne shrink even further into the plush armchair, and Tarvoden wince, he sat back, adjusted his cuffs and looked quite proud of himself.
"Well? Has the Old One stolen your tongue and used it as an entree? Speak up!"
OOC: Manzanita, you were a little overwhelmed and shocked by the Lord's performance and so you weren't really able to determine just what he was up to. However, at a punt in the dark, you'd say he was indignant, arrogant, and a downright scrooge!
"An eclectic bunch; a mixed bag if ever there was one."
Tarvoden nods and replies.
"Their disparate backgrounds would serve us well in this venture, my lord. Each brings a skill and a virtue to the equation."
The lord casually looks you up and down once more, his legs crossed in an almost defensive position, away from you, his chin in his hands. He grimaced and looked at each of you in turn, before stating a question in quickfire succession.
"M'faro of Tenh, you say, from the Flames of Tenh, eh? I have heard of them..."
He adjusts himself in the chair a little before continuing, brushing off a few unseen hairs.
"...I also heard that many abandoned their posts... you boldly state that you come from their ranks, proudly even, I would ask why you are still not with them and why you are here seeking employment with me? Further, if you abandoned them, what garuantee do I have that you won't abandon me?"
He said this without any seeming pity or emotion whatsoever and, in fact, without stopping for more than a breath, continued on to his next victim.
"Bor of Perrenland. I seem to recall your... Voorman, is it? Signed a pact of non-aggression with Iuz. That would make it seem to me that you believe the Old One to be a friend. How do I know you're not a spy or a turncoat?"
And then, tilting his head to get a better stare at Manzanita, he continued.
"Ahh, an elven maiden who claims to be from... where was it again? Fax I believe you said to our friend here. How very interesting. I seem to recall... no, wait, who am I telling? You, of course you would know just when the Hordes of Turrosh Mak overran your city and ate every elf they found..."
After trailing off the sentence, he lowered his eyes and allowed himself a little grin before continuing.
"And Grenier... poor, poor Grenier who states he comes from Geoff despite its apparent occupation by giant-kin. You aren't the least bit embarrassed or embittered about that, are you? Perhaps the noble stock of that region has been watered down so much you would rather carry your dishonour like a badge that you were at least once something more than a vagabond."
Without actually stopping for a breath, he poured a glass of the brandy for himself and offered none to anyone else.
"And then we have Clete. How very interesting that you have served as a guard and scout on so many journeys... care to name a few merchant caravans and their quartermasters? I ask this because it is so obvious that you are a liar as I know Tarvoden to be one of the most honest men in the Flanaess and he assured me before coming here that none of you knew anything in the least about the Phoenix Guard, seeing as he, and my good friend, the Mayor of Gorsend, Lord Montaigne sitting next to me and Tarvoden are the only ones to know anything whatsoever about them until you entered just now and Tarvoden mentioned them."
Finishing the brandy like a shot, he placed it carefully on the table before continuing.
"Lastly, but by no means leastly, we have some roguish westerner, probably from the barbarian lands of Ket who can't even hold his tongue in polite company and shows me, the Viscount of the March, the Lord of these lands, less respect than any peasant would show a rat!"
At this, Lord Derwent pulled on his vest and gave a proud smile before crossing his legs and arms and speaking again before anyone could get a word in.
"I would answer wisely if I were you... I do not give out five-hundred sheafs to just any ragamuffin. For that sort of money I could hire a dozen mercenaries for half a dozen years. Why then do you think, after playing such infantile games with me and being proud of failure, that you are each worth such a hefty sum for such a short term of service, hmm? If am to employ all six of you, I want to know exactly what my three-thousand wheatsheafs are paying for!"
During the speech he had become quite animated, almost deigning to get out of his seat. But after finishing, and making the Lord Montaigne shrink even further into the plush armchair, and Tarvoden wince, he sat back, adjusted his cuffs and looked quite proud of himself.
"Well? Has the Old One stolen your tongue and used it as an entree? Speak up!"
OOC: Manzanita, you were a little overwhelmed and shocked by the Lord's performance and so you weren't really able to determine just what he was up to. However, at a punt in the dark, you'd say he was indignant, arrogant, and a downright scrooge!
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