Watermark's Shackled City

[Watermark12]

OOC: The following is the opening scene. It requires us to assume that all of the characters are out on the streets of Cauldron on a rainy autumn evening, but hey....the party's got to get together somehow. Please take the opportunity to role-play a little bit so we know why your PC is out and about in the inclement weather...it could be that he/she is just arriving in town, etc.


IC:

Steady drizzle falls from the ash-gray sky. The crowded, rain-slicked buildings seem especially bleak and frightful this evening, hunched together beneath the tireless rain. A few lights burn in their eyes, but mostly their shutters have been closed for the night. The scent of chimney smoke fills the air, and you hear the din of water trundling from the rooftops, splashing into dark alleys, and turning street gutters into rivulets.

A sudden, plaintive cry for help splits the evening air! It seems to come from somewhere behind you.

Actions?

 

[Tarlonniel]

A solitary figure drifts along the curved paths of the city, stepping playfully through puddles, humming to the tune of running water, and seemingly oblivious to both the wet and the general dreariness. She finds Cauldron a fascinating place; here the roads turn upon themselves, nowhere ending, everywhere beginning. After helping the merchants set up their little booths this morning she had taken to wandering the city, smiling at the thousand metaphors which any philosopher of Fharlanghn worth his salt could draw from them. Now that it has grown dark she retraces her steps back towards the caravan grounds and a good night’s sleep (plus 2 hours of guard duty) in one of the wagons.

But…. What was that? In a flash Meg has turned and, quite serious now, is moving quietly through the darkness towards the sounds of distress.

 

[CoolHand]

Binkle

After nearly a year on the surface, Binkle questions whether he will ever fully acclimate himself to the ever-changing world around him. The rain falling about him now, while still a wonder, grows cold. A part of him longs to return to the consistency of his underdwelling home, but he quickly shakes the thought away. His quest has led him here, to the surface city of Cauldron. The city itself seems a bit short of gnomes for Binkle's comfort, but his father told him the best sources of information would likely be found within the human settlements. Humans it seems, being short-lived, impatient creatures, are always searching for sources of power. Strangely, he has found the best stories abound where strong drink is served.

As Binkle makes his way through the dampened streets this evening on his way to the pub, a strange cry attracts his attention. He turns toward the noise, looking around for other, perhaps larger and more intimidating folks, who might be heading to the call, but few others were on the street this night.

"Mildew's luck," Binkle lamented as he hurried across the rain-slicked street towards the sound of the cry.

 

[Mimic]

"These humans, always so willing to huddle together like cattle, afraid of a little rain." This thought is followed by another like a whisper from the past. "Don't be so quick to look down on others, just because they don't do things the way we do. It doesn't make them wrong, just different." With a slight smile Eldar nods to himself, his former master is correct, as usual.

Having arrived in the city only a few hours ago, Eldar has spent it wandering and getting a feel for this strange place, so different then what he is used to, but then again its for that reason he is here. To find new and different things, to expand his knowledge and gain life experience.

A cry for help snaps him out of his thoughts, with a frown he heads towards the source. "The strong always prays on the weak, perhaps he will be able to change that this time."

 

[Vigwyn the Unruly]

Brokkus Cronin: Dwarf Clr1 of Obad-Hai

After his evening devotions at the temple, Brokkus wanders the streets of the city instead of heading immediately back to the inn. Though he has been here for two days, this is the first time he has been out in the evening.

Unlike most of his kin, this is one dwarf who enjoys the rain. Given his fascination with the interplay between earth and air, how can he not love the rain—the very clouds themselves reaching out to the soil below?

As he walks, he pushes back the hood of his green cloak, allowing the raindrops to strike his bald head and run down into the multitudinous deep brown braids of his beard.

Suddenly he hears a cry from out of the dark night. "Damn!" he hisses to himself and wishes that he was wearing his armor, which now sits neatly tucked away at the inn. Luckily, he still carries his axe (what dwarf would go without?). Gripping his simple wooden holy symbol, he thinks to himself that he will just have to trust in Obad-Hai.

With his eyes peeled, he turns and runs toward the direction of the cry, hoping he’ll be in time to help any there that might need healing.



Note: Current AC without armor: 11 (Touch: 11, FF: 10)

 

[Two-Gun Kid]

As the steady drizzle of rain began to fall, Toskar propped open the door of the Tipped Tankard and placed his stool under the overhang in front of the bar. Looking around at sparse traffic on the street, Toskar felt that besides the regulars who had already claimed their stools next to the scarred and pitted wood bar, business was going to be light today.

'And light business means only a few coppers for me work...'

Leaning back on the stool and resting his back against the wall, Toskar knew that he shouldn't complain about his work. The Tankard wasn't the best bar in Cauldron, far from it, but after he had "talked" to the few trouble makers who had formerly visited his workplace, the Tankard was possibly the easiest to work at. Meals, room and a few coppers, sometimes a silver if the place had a bard for the night, for sitting on his stool and making his rounds inside from time to time wasn't a bad deal all in all.

'Although me da would shave his beard if he knew what I was doing...'

Forcing his thoughts away from that path, Toskar was turning his head to look back inside the bar when a muffled scream, registered in his mind. Standing up quickly and grabbing his club from beside the stool, Toskar looked all around trying to get an idea of where the scream came from. A few seconds later, Toskar's searching was rewarded as he saw a bald dwarf running down a side alley near the bar, the dwarf's axe drawn and ready for use.

Stepping inside for a second, Toskar called out to the barkeep Shamus.

"Be right back...trouble in the alley..."

Heading to the alley where he saw the dwarf enter, Toskar wondered what was going on and how much it would affect the crowd tonight.

 

[Watermark12]

The sounds of some cursing and perhaps a scuffle (slightly muffled by the rainfall) lead to the mouth of a mist-shrouded alley, wherein you see three figures assaulting a fourth, who lies face down on the wet cobblestones. One of the attackers lifts the victim by the hood of his cloak and thrusts him against a wall as another growls, "Stay away from the orphanage, you got that?"

The third attacker is keeping a look out, and he spies the assembly of curious onlookers at the mouth of the alleyway. Drawing a short sword, he yells threateningly, "Hey! Bugger off! None o' yer business here!"

Actions?

 

[Tarlonniel]

"What's done on a public street is public business," Meg replies calmly. "But we need not quarrel. You have made your point; leave now and injure him no more."

 

[CoolHand]

Binkle

Turning cautiously into the alleyway, Binkle stops at the scene before him and sneaks back around the corner. Thankfully, another has arrived and it sounds as though more are on their way. Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, the gnome is struck with an idea. He reaches into his component pouch and pulls forth a lump of wax and a small bit of wool.

"They went this way, into the alley," he cries. Then, closing his eyes, he utters more quietly, "Imnish arish magish," as he rolls the wax and wool together and tosses it into the air.

(ooc: casts Ghost Sound)

The sound of marching feet echoes towards the alley. "Let's get 'em, boys," a harsh voice orders. Other voices, rough and angry, laugh excitedly as they follow. The ring of drawn steel rolls through the mist.

 

[Mimic]

"What's done on a public street is public business," Meg replies calmly. "But we need not quarrel. You have made your point; leave now and injure him no more."

Eldar turns his head and regards the woman strangely, he doubts that her words are going to make the men leave but it was worth a shot. When he hears the "noise" he will stand closer to the wall attempting to hide himself in the shadows

(hide +7)