Dark Tides, Cold Steel

[Gomez]

Port Verge
Isle of Questor, Lhazaar Principalities
15th Day of Rhaan, 998 YK

The rain had been falling steadily since late last night. The streets were thick with dark mud and people walked along wooden slats laid over the deeper spots. A forest of ship's masts could be seen over some stone and wood buildings to the east. This was Port Verge, the seat of power for the Principality of the Diresharks. Prince Kolberkon's keep over looks the village and harbor from a high hill to the north. Giant blue flags with a silver shark emblazon on them fluttered over the keep.
People hurried along in the rain pulling their cloaks tight about them. The large covered porch to the Kraken's Rest tavern was full of tables crowded with patrons. The fishing fleet had returned the day before and assorted sailors tried to make up for lost time with an ale in one hand and a wench in the other. Grey haired gaffers with scars all over their weather worn bodies puffed on long wooden pipes, clean shaven young men with braided hair laughed and gambled, tavern wenches carrying plates of food and ale danced through the crowded room trying to avoid grasping hands, and tattooed sailors sang songs of the sea. Inside the tavern proper deals and plans are made and proposed in the shadowed corners of the main room. The smell of roasting pork rose from the large fire pit in the center of the room. Pots of bubbling stew hung over the carefully tended fire. Its smoke rose to the covered hole in the ceiling.

OOC: Introduce your characters as they come to the tavern looking for food, drink, work, or something else. It is mid-day. The tavern is a known hot spot for information and those looking for work. The food is pretty darn good too.

 

[Bront]

A half-elf of average build enters the tavern. He pulls the hood off his cloak back and his long black ponytail spills out. He is well dressed, but his clothing is functional for sailing as well as fashionable. His piercing blue eyes are lit with the fire of life, and he sports a warming smile even in the cold rain.

He looks around for anyone he recognizes before he saunters over to the bar. He nods to the bartender and says to him "If you know anyone hiring, let them know Zandrick is in town and looking for a ship to sail on." The Bartender nods to Zandrick and asks him if he'd like anything. Zandrick replies, "Send a plate of pork and a bit of stew over to a my my table. A pint of ale should go with it nicely." The Bartender nods and sends off the order with one of the serving girls while Zandrick finds a nice place to sit, nodding to some of the fellow sailors he's served with before.

Zandrick sits down an empty table near a corner, with his eyes watching the door. The serving girl drops off his food and he promptly pays her. He whispers something into her ear

Spoiler

"If you know of anything interesting, let me know. I'm sure a few coins can find their way into your pocket for a good lead."

before she heads back to serve others. He begins to partake of his food, keeping his eyes on the door for any more interesting entrances.

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

*Entering the Kraken's Rest is a particularly tall and powerfully-built warforged man, his plating particularly thick and heavy, cast in a dull gray, bolted with heavy rivets. His face is set in a scowl, and his eyes glow red from deep pits. A heavy belt spans his waist, and a heavy pick is thrust into it. A steel shield is on his back, covering a slender backpack, and a bow can be seen poking out of either side. The warforged moves a bit uncertainly, as if he's not sure where to go. He sways back and forth for a moment in indecision, then sits down at the bar, a bit gingerly to make sure the seat will take his weight. He waits a bit until the keeper comes down to his end of the bar, then makes his request, in a voice like a rusted hinge.*

"I seek... work. Something... new. If someone needs... a steady hand with a weapon," he grates, and stumbles to a halt.

 

[Gez]

« It seems we'll be many to compete for opportunity, » a young man says. « I'm looking for a good job, too. My last employer was too stingy... »

Clad in a shiny chain shirt, with two scabbards attached to his chest, the blond young man is nonchalantly resting on his chair, drinking mead from a mug.

« The solution would be an employer needing a whole team. »

 

[Verbatim]

~I hate the city…~

It was not the first time Kharos had those thoughts, and while the shifter knew it would not be the last, he also knew that for the time being he would have to deal with it until his next ship set sail.

~Whichever that ship might be…~

A deep rumble in his stomach reminded him that his last meal had been a scant one, and although he could easily buy something from the marketplace that encroached the piers like a creeping vine more and more each season, he knew that lining up work would be easier at one of the taverns that comprised nearly a third of Port Verge.

As the rain began to fall, Kharos removed his cloak and allowed the rain to fall upon him freely. After serving onboard one of the fishing boats, he welcomed any chance to wash the scent of fish from his body, especially when the chance came from Balinor himself.

Making his way to the Kraken's Rest, Kharos pushed the doors open and walked in, his slightly rolling gait marking him as one who had spent almost as much time on the sea as he had on dry land.

While there were some shifters in the crowd, Kharos felt the eyes of the older sailors upon him as he entered the tavern. More than one began mumbling into his drink, or to their companions, about the tattooed druid who was a curse to any who sailed with him. While it had been nearly three years since his first arrival at Port Verge, Kharos could think of no other group of people who held onto superstition as long as sailors did.

~A mountain may crumble into the sea, but it takes years for the wind to chip it apart…~

Doing his best to ignore those he passed, Kharos made his way to the bar and sat down, ignoring the man beside him who spoke of the Kraken not allowing wet dogs in their midst.

”Some ale and stew. Also pass the word along that I’m looking for the next ship sailing from here.”

 

[Gomez]

The crier outside in the street calls out the start of the noon day hour. Walking onto the porch is a tall human wrapped up in a green cloak. He pulls back his hood to reveal a once handsome face marred by a white scar that runs from the middle of his nose and across his left cheek. Ice blue eyes scan the crowd and he turns to talk the group of six hobgoblins behind him. Tallest hobgoblin with a necklace of finger bones nods and they walk up to one of the tables on the porch. Two men who were drinking at the table look up at the scowling hobgoblin and they quickly get up from the table and leave. The man in the green cloak walks into the tavern proper. The crowd stares at the new arrivals for a few moments and conversations become hushed. The tall hobgoblin calls out in common for food and drink. He throws a small sack on the table and the jingle of coins can be heard. The crowd noise and activity returns to normal and a serving wench rush to fill the hobgoblins order.

 

[Gez]

Nil looks at the new company, thinking this must one of those odd days when something happens. Feinting to take on a more relaxed pose, he shifts a bit in order to keep the hobgoblins in his line of sight, in case trouble starts.

 

[Verbatim]

Kharos paused only long enough to sop his bread in the stew as the hobgoblins entered the tavern. He chuckled to himself as the others grew quiet in their presence, much as lesser dogs tuck their tails when wolves enter their midsts. If the hobgoblins wanted to start trouble in the bar, it was none of his concern, but he would not let their arrival interfere with his meal.

~I hate the city...~

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

*The dark-skinned warforged looked at the man out of curiosity, wondering what he was doing with the hobgoblins. Looking for work? Or hiring them? What for? To avenge his scar? Or perhaps to retrieve some great riches? One could never tell. The warforged waited patiently for the barkeeper to answer his question, wondering where he was going tonight.*

 

[Bront]

The jingle of coin draws the attention of Zandrick, who peers around at the hobgoblins carefully*. He moves his chair back a bit so he can jump to attention should something break out. Continuing to eat, he keeps a sublte watch of the movements in the tavern. 'Just what I need, another bar fight' he thinks to himself. 'I've got enough trouble with the house as it is without being accused of riling up the sailors. And I'm sure they'll blame me for it. Always do.'


*OOC:
[sblock]Sense Motive check[/sblock]

 

[Gomez]

Zandrick:
[sblock]The hobgoblins appear to be only interested in food and drink at the moment. Though their leader seems to be keeping an eye out on the patrons of the tavern. [/sblock]


After a few minutes, one of the hobgoblins gets up from the table and he moves over to the bar next to Kharos and he tries to get the bartender's attention by holding up a empty mug. In his waving about he bumps into Kharos and spills his stew on the bar. The hobgoblin lets out a deep laugh at the sight. "You should be more careful with your food." he says. Throwing some copper on the bar he yells at the bartender. "A bone for this one to chew on!"

 

[Bront]

Zandrick doesn't like the direction this is taking. He keeps a keen eye on the shifter and hobgoblin. If possable, he might possition a chair so the Hobgoblin is likely to trip on it if he returns to his table, but otherwise he keeps his wits sharp, and is ready to leap up if trouble should start.*

ooc
[sblock]Ready action to move towards the men/interpose myself between the men and say something. Could be quite entertaining.[/sblock]

 

[Verbatim]

The races of men follow the rules of Balinor, even when they are not aware they do so. Those who feel strong will seek to dominate the weak, those who are weak will cower from the strong, but we must maintain the balance at all time. Do not rise to the pettiness of man, but thrive to master the eternal hunt. That is the way of Balinor, that is the path we must always follow...

Kharos looked at the wasted stew and sighed. While he had assumed one of the hobgoblins would seek someone out to make a show of strength against, why did it have to cost him a portion of his meal?

As the copper hit the table, Kharos brought the final spoonful to his mouth and savored the taste. While the meat had been a little tough, more than likely it was rat being passed off as beef, it had been his first hot meal in nearly three weeks.

"You should be more careful with your arm, lest I mistake it for my meal..."

 

[Gez]

That was a fine repartee, thought Nil. He wondered what would happen next. At least, if a bar brawl happened, he knew which side he'd chose, the shifter had a sense of humor that was sorely lacking in the goblinoid brutes.

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

The nameless warforged watched the exchange with some trepidation. Such things tended to lead to fights, and fights led to violence, and violence led to him getting involved. This was going to be messy.

He moved his heavy pick into easier reach as he waited for the other boot to drip, as the humans said. Or at least that's what he thought they said.

 

[Gomez]

The hobgoblin looks down at Kharos. "I am sorry friend. I just spoke in jest. Let me by you a drink." With that he drops some more copper on the bar. "A ale for my friend."

Zandrick [sblock] You spot the hobgoblin at the bar palming a dagger in his left hand behind his back.[/sblock]

Nil [sblock] You notice the hobgoblins at the table are making wagers amongst themeselves.[/sblock]

 

[Bront]

Zandric shifts his weight and and quietly draws a dager under the table, moving the chari just enough so he can now move without hitting his legs on the table. Zandrick calls out to the Hobgoblin "Too cheap to buy him a real meal then? I'm sure you could use a bone to chew on yourself," Zandrick grins "though it looks like you prefer finger food."


OOC:[sblock]Diplomacy (+12) to anger the Hobgoblin, hoping to draw his ire. Hopefully, this will also get much of the focus on him, making it harder for him to keep the dagger hidden. Meanwhile, Zandrick will be ready to throw the dagger if the Hobgoblin moves to strike the shifter.

And no, this is not the dumb idea I origionaly had. Could still be dumb thought .[/sblock]

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

The nameless warforged looks back at the fight, then turns back to the barkeeper briefly. Most people didn't ignore a warforged of his size and stature.

"I seek work," he repeats in a grating voice, trying to keep one eye on the developing conflict between the hobgoblin and the shifter.

 

[Gomez]

The nameless warforged looks back at the fight, then turns back to the barkeeper briefly. Most people didn't ignore a warforged of his size and stature.

"I seek work," he repeats in a grating voice, trying to keep one eye on the developing conflict between the hobgoblin and the shifter.

The barkeep is also eyeing the potential trouble between the shifter and the hobgoblin. He glances over the warforge. "I might know someone looking for a strong back and a steady hand. Wait a minute." The barkeep moves down the bar infront of Kharos and the hobgoblin. In a loud voice he says. "Hey! I don't want any trouble in my place! If'n your wantin to scap take it ouside." He points to the muddy street.

 

[Gomez]

The hobgoblin at the bar glances over at Zandric and then to the hobgoblins at the table. The lead hobgoblin lets out a deep laugh and yells out. "Turl! What are you doing to do now? Back down like the cur you are?"

The hobgoblin at the bar, Turl snarls and says. "My blade is hungry. Come on then I will take the both of you on!" He stares at Zandric and Kharos. "I am not afraid of the like of you!"

The buzz of the crowd increases as bets start to be made.