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Message: <blockquote data-quote="CanadienneBacon" data-source="post: 2819734" data-attributes="member: 11146">Hael walks up and reads the notice a second time, the normally cold eyes of the duergar glint at the prospect of gold. Speaking in dwarven he curtly asks the blood spattered dwarf if he heard any more about Maerimydra or its fall.Lyssa, the little Gloaming, flutters out of Laduergar's Lap weaving somewhat. She has been drinking and seeking inspriation. The crowded stinking hole that is Szith Morcane is growing stale for her. Her pouch is light and she feels a sense of wanderlust. The dwarf and his notice attracts her attention. She flutters up reading over the shoulder of the cold eyed duergar. She shakes her head trying to think as she listens to the dwarven conversation and adds, "Any news of the Golden Blades, a mercenary company in Maerimydra?"   K'yorl, finding that the stench was beginning to bother her, quit the Barracks in favor of the Undercity's Bazaar, the crowds only slightly less to her liking. K'yorl wasn't used to having to press her way through - normally a path would have opened for her, the badges of her office instilling a pleasant degree of fear in the faceless members of the teeming throng. But here she didn't dare wear them. Here she sought only to blend in, to disappear. And she had managed to do it, despite the difficulties and the thousand little insults to her pride. When the time came, and she was finally able to twist the knife in her sister's back this would all have been worth it - this and much, much worse - but in the meantime... In the meantime the whole thing was starting to wear her down.Normally she would have paid no attention to the grubby little dwarf and his sign, but some clumsy oaf, not watching where he was going, forced her to dive out of his way. She nearly had to grab the meat-stained stump just to keep from falling into the filth. Catching herself, she looked up, about to say something cutting, and the words he was posting bored their way into her brain: "MAERIMYDRA HAS FALLEN!"."Fallen? Fallen!?!? What the... Fallen to what? What in the devil is the meaning of this?!?" K'yorl rounds on the dwarf, her face a mask of fury, a thousand kinds of murder swirling in her eyes.       Prixo walks towards the Lap, hoping that some ale will help lift his foul mood. He openly carries weapons, a large sword and a composite bow. He has a chain shirt over his traveller's outfit, and a black cap on his head.  A voice ahead gets his attention. Fallen?  Prixo sees a priestess, a gloaming and a couple of dwarves crowded around a sign on the wall and considers turning away. Could the priestess be here to slay me?  Thinking it unlikely, Prixo focuses on what those gathered are looking at. The one that is sent to slay me, I wouldn't see in advance. Besides, my face is disguised, thanks to this magic hat.  Still at a discrete distance, Prixo peers closer at the gathering and the announcement being tacked up outside the Lap before approaching a bit closer to the assembled group.  How could the city have fallen? Well, this could be a good opportunity to make some gold.  When the priestess wheels on the blood-spattered duergar to pepper the dwarf with questions, Prixo remains silent.Zarra, observing somewhere nearby, perked up her ears and listened intently to the questions being put to the small grey dwarf.  Perhaps these are the ones?A swath through the thick crowds is quickly cut for the impending figure of a minotaur hulking down the Bazaar's crowded byway.  Long before Blite the minotaur reaches Laduergar's Lap, the little grey dwarf--the Lap's cook by the look of him--whispers something softly to the other duergar looking at the announcement.  Fluttering in sudden fear, the cook abruptly breaks off the pair's conversation in favor of fleeing to safety inside the inner depths of the tavern.  With naught but a dark look cast at the drow priestess and a muttered oath at the drunken gloaming, the cook skitters away.</blockquote>

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