Legacy of the Silver Dragon: Chapter 1 (Chickens, Demons, and a Missing Girl)

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The door to the back is open. When you look inside, you see the main wall (as described in the previous paragraph) from the back of the house (so the burned through section is to your left). This room looks to have been something of a store room, with burned barrels, and the scorched remains of what looks to have been food. To your right there's a wall that divides the back half of the house in two, with a closed door set in it. To the left you see something flutter due to the breeze that comes through the house with the opening of the doors - something dark blue, a scrap of fabric most likely.

"There's something back here," Bosco calls out, checking to make sure the door appears safe, and then opening it and heading to the cloth. "Cloth from a victim or something."

 

[gambler1650]

"I - I am not sure that I quite follow, my lady... A treasurer," he adds just to be sure, "is one who manages the finances of a Company..?" A slight tilt of the head, as a thought occurs to him, "Or are you, perhaps, suggesting we will not be able to help anybody?" And that, therefore, there will be no wealth to manage? (Which is just the sort of thing he feared they would say -- and yet he feels a little... lost nonetheless, as if suddenly told the Winter Tide celebrations were all somehow of his own imaginings...)


The young elf is just letting the current shoot him forward now: "I am guessing he has many a project already afoot, already set to accomplish this worthy end?" A glance at the banks of his metaphorical rapids...

OOC: i.e. Antares glances at the salon's windows, specifically in the hopes of catching sight of Stellan peeking in... Does he?

OOC: Re the Tea, can he identify any of the herbs by taste? Or at least the dominant one? No sweat on the delay thing, Gambler, we're all here to enjoy ourselves after all.

"Oh, perhaps you might need a treasurer. I'm just recalling other such attempts to garner fame and fortune by young ones such as yourself. More often than not, it seems, they merely joined the ranks of those that mine or cut wood. May your endeavors turn out to be more lucrative." Lady Mirelle's tone doesn't seem wholly sincere, but not really sarcastic either, more as if trying to soften what she believes to be the truth.

Stellan can be seen through the window, an amused expression on his face as he glances, from across the street, at the building that the elf has been accosted in.

The lady says, "Many projects yes, though I prefer to let him speak of them directly - as he plans to do to the public. I would hate to be misunderstood. Her attentions turn towards the cup that the elf holds, "And what do you think of the tea?"

OOC: On some thought by Antares, the taste is reminiscent of a herb that grows with regularity around the outskirts of the town. Antares knows that most humans find it mild and inoffensive, but elves tend to dislike it due to the sourness that they taste in it. Odd that someone who claims to express interest in the affairs of the other races, wouldn't know that - especially if making a tea she hopes will be something they would like.

One of the older women looks over at Lady Mirelle and murmurs, We have much to do before you open for the afternoon...

 

[gambler1650]

At the Burned House: Muzdim, Myst, Bosco

[sblock=Muzdim: Detect Magic]There's no magic emanating from anywhere in the room, or the part of the room through the collapsed wall that you can see.[/sblock]

As Bosco steps into the room, and his eyes adjust to the change in light, he notices that the debris that covers the floor (a couple of beams from the roof, and other pieces) almost near the left wall (from his vantage point), appears to be over a hole in the floor. Next to the debris is a trap door that likely leads to the cellar of the house. The scrap of fabric is wedged between two pieces of wood more in the center of the room, likely a scrap from someone's clothing, maybe a few inches long.

 

[Toric_Arthendain]

At the sound of Bosco's voice from the rear of the building, Myst sighs and shakes his head. The cleric nods to Muzdim and then moves in the direction he believes the halfling to be, heading for the ruined door in the wall dividing front and back. He picks his way carefully across the room, on the lookout for weak spots in the floor.

 

[Voda Vosa]

"I sense no magic in action in this place, for now at least." The dwarf shares his secret with Myst. He follows the priest, stepping where he steps, or attempting to, with his limited gape range.

 

[Binder Fred]

"Many projects yes, though I prefer to let him speak of them directly - as he plans to do to the public."

Truly? slowly blinks Antares when she pauses. He forces a further sip of the sour tisane. He was expecting... enthused descriptions, perhaps? Predictions of heavenly outcomes for all?

"I would hate to be misunderstood," furnishes the lady before he can fully shape his query, as if she perceived his surprise.

"Entirely understandable," lies the young mage, while simultaneously feeling that he is missing something... something intangible... something important? "Perhaps one could overhear one of the great man's speeches on his next public appearance?" he softly queries. (Knowledge, once glimpse, is a difficult quest to abandon.)

As if on cue, the long-maintained spell finally fades from his mind's control and dies to silence. He cannot help but mourn its passing -- the lair of the man from Grenadel, *his dam's shop!* left un-inspected this day...

<Response lady Mirelle?>

Somewhat terrifyingly for her victim, her attentions turn towards the cup that the elf holds, "And what do you think of the tea?"

There it is. He swallows minimally, tilts his head to the side as he considers bright porcelain and creamy green content... Two sips have taught him much, but... Perhaps treating it like he would one of Teacher Dysare's potions?

"Firstly I sensed an herbal smell -uhum- Herbal and milk smell, my lady, with the underlying acidity of... rose hips?"

<Response lady Mirelle?>

"Then, as I sipped, a sweet honey taste overlain... Sugar quickly faded on the tongue, while rose hip taste coated down," a distracted gesture down the throat, followed by a twirl up and out the nose, "and radiated up... Then lingered a while. No noticeable effects."- Ack, that was right out of the potion tasting ceremony! - He tries to cover: "Other than -ah- a certain bracing sensation?" As if to prepare you for the next blow...

OOC: Antares is trying to deflect the question with description rather than his true opinion...

<Response lady Mirelle?>

One of the older women looks over at Lady Mirelle and murmurs, We have much to do before you open for the afternoon...

"I would not wish to detain you," confirms Antares, muscles tensing to spring. He remains seated though, if suddenly longing for the lady's quick dismissal...

 

[gambler1650]

Burned Down House: Bosco, Muzdim, Myst

Enough light comes into the room to easily spot the charred and crumbling portion of the floor to the right of Muzdim and Myst. However, the floor does creak alarmingly at one point when Muzdim follows Myst. It holds, for the moment. Through a large gap in the floorboards to the right, the cellar can be seen. More debris, one of the beams from the floor is mostly intact but quite charred.

 

[gambler1650]

Truly? slowly blinks Antares when she pauses. He forces a further sip of the sour tisane. He was expecting... enthused descriptions, perhaps? Predictions of heavenly outcomes for all?

"I would hate to be misunderstood," furnishes the lady before he can fully shape his query, as if she perceived his surprise.

"Entirely understandable," lies the young mage, while simultaneously feeling that he is missing something... something intangible... something important? "Perhaps one could overhear one of the great man's speeches on his next public appearance?" he softly queries. (Knowledge, once glimpse, is a difficult quest to abandon.)

Lady Mirelle's expression, and cant of head, turns bird like again but perhaps a touch more like a hawk's eyeing a rabbit, at the last words spoken by Antares. But whatever in his words that caused the change in body language is unspoken and she merely says, "Perhaps, indeed. He will likely speak in the main hall, along with some of the other... and here she pauses to diplomatically choose the right words, "Hopefuls for the position. One week from today actually."

As if on cue, the long-maintained spell finally fades from his mind's control and dies to silence. He cannot help but mourn its passing -- the lair of the man from Grenadel, *his dam's shop!* left un-inspected this day...


There it is. He swallows minimally, tilts his head to the side as he considers bright porcelain and creamy green content... Two sips have taught him much, but... Perhaps treating it like he would one of Teacher Dysare's potions?

"Firstly I sensed an herbal smell -uhum- Herbal and milk smell, my lady, with the underlying acidity of... rose hips?"

<Response lady Mirelle?>

"Then, as I sipped, a sweet honey taste overlain... Sugar quickly faded on the tongue, while rose hip taste coated down," a distracted gesture down the throat, followed by a twirl up and out the nose, "and radiated up... Then lingered a while. No noticeable effects."- Ack, that was right out of the potion tasting ceremony! - He tries to cover: "Other than -ah- a certain bracing sensation?" As if to prepare you for the next blow...

OOC: Antares is trying to deflect the question with description rather than his true opinion...

<Response lady Mirelle?>


"I would not wish to detain you," confirms Antares, muscles tensing to spring. He remains seated though, if suddenly longing for the lady's quick dismissal...

The women listen to Antares' description of the tea, and the older one to Lady Mirelle's left says, "Hmm. And here I would have just said 'Mild, creamy and delicious. Elf senses must be sharper than mine. Lady Mirelle herself, oddly perhaps, seems less interested in the reply, and simply nods, "Complex then, at least to an elf. And yes, young master. Rose hips are the primary herb." Then she adds, "Thank you for the pleasant interruption, but Misiere is right. We do have some matters to attend to. Drink up before you leave though, it's always a shame to waste tea."

 

[Binder Fred]

Lady Mirelle's expression, and cant of head, turns bird like again but perhaps a touch more like a hawk's eyeing a rabbit, at the last words spoken by Antares. But whatever in his words that caused the change in body language is unspoken and she merely says, "Perhaps, indeed. He will likely speak in the main hall, along with some of the other... and here she pauses to diplomatically choose the right words, "Hopefuls for the position. One week from today actually."

"I believe I just may. Thank you, my lady." Perhaps 'great man' was too strong? He tries to act properly chastened, hoping to pacify, equally non-verbally.

Lady Mirelle herself, oddly perhaps, seems less interested in the reply, and simply nods, "Complex then, at least to an elf. And yes, young master. Rose hips are the primary herb."

Don't ask for an opinion. Don't ask for an opinion. *Don't* ask-

Then she adds, "Thank you for the pleasant interruption, but Misiere is right. We do have some matters to attend to. Drink up before you leave though, it's always a shame to waste tea."

Antares' eyes snap to hers, growing wider, showing more of his brilliant green irises. She knows! "As- As would gulping down such a careful blending of tastes, my lady..." Then, hopefully: "Perhaps I could take it with me?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

At the Burned House: Muzdim, Myst, Bosco

As Bosco steps into the room, and his eyes adjust to the change in light, he notices that the debris that covers the floor (a couple of beams from the roof, and other pieces) almost near the left wall (from his vantage point), appears to be over a hole in the floor. Next to the debris is a trap door that likely leads to the cellar of the house. The scrap of fabric is wedged between two pieces of wood more in the center of the room, likely a scrap from someone's clothing, maybe a few inches long.

Bosco carefully slips forward across the floor, squatting down to examine -- but not tug free -- the fabric. What does it look like? What larger whole is it a part of?

And while he's there, Bosco leans over to listen at the trap door.