Eberron: Requiem of Death

[Paranoia833]

Melchior gives Avram a friendly grin as he falls into stride behind him.

"Perhaps. His constant attempts to remind us whose in charge were tiresome and demeaning, but I can't imagine the Tarkanans would tolerate a leader who wasn't prepared to follow through on his threats. To be honest I'm surprised he didn't seek violent retribution for that stunt you puled with the cigar." Melchior shrugs. If the man is weak it will make dealing with him all the easier. "It is of no real concequence. As to our roles, it sounds like a tiresome bother to me but if accountant is already taken, and are you sure it is? take it from me a changeling can decieve but if he hasn't got the education then the dwarves will be onto us within minutes. The Kundurak may be poseurs when it comes to wine but try to get dodgey accounting past them and they'll have you by the Traveler's greatest gift before you can blink. But I ramble... where was I? Oh yes, I were to choose a position I would be the money. I have a comprehensive knowledge of the nobility of the five kingdoms and can fake my credentials well enough to pass as a minor noble, which should serve to pose as your backer. Truth be told though, I'm a fighter not a lover, I would much rather devote most of my time to the act itself and let you enjoy the company of our new dwarven friends."

While he tries to hide it behind a veneer of indifference, a careful observer would note that Melchior's movements have gotten sharper, more animalistic, he's clearly up to something though what he's doing is anyone's guess.

OOC: Melchior is actually using his Hunter's Sense stance (scent) to sniff out the area and try to figure out if how many hidden guards there are from the mansion's entrance to the Pugio's quarters. Don't worry I'm not going to try and break the game by killing Dormiano this early but Melchior is intending to kill the man one day.

 

[dave_o]

The bespectacled youth sets his mouth, unamused. "I did not spend the better part of my childhood cramped among obscure and dusty counting instruments, ruining my eyes on the crabbed script of the most dry and verbose tutors in existence, so that my abilities could be doubted by," Nix pauses, his features briefly flickering to those of a thin and sickly woman, her throat raggedly split, almost unnoticeable before the youth returns, "such an ogre."

He removes his looking-glasses, wiping them with his tunic.

 

[Autumn]

Jale falls into line, bringing up the rear of the group. He raises an eyebrow at the Dormio's comment on the taste of their clothing, casting an eye from his own impeccable outfit to the ridiculous decor of the man's office. Is this man truly trying to lecture *me* on taste and refinement? he ponders with an amused sneer.

He joins in Avram's mirth with his own snort of amusement. "Indeed, a dangerous character..." he adds as an addendum to Melchior's warning. "The depths of that man's endless verbosity, honed to a razor edge by his terrifying disregard for all the rules of syntax, must surely have been the end of many adversaries more fearsome than ourselves." He gives a small chuckle.

"As for our respective roles in the Consortium, I fear that I have no particular relevant specialty. But if we in any case have an accountant, a backer and a vintner then that should suffice so far as specialists go. I fancy myself as a rich merchant's son, sent to gain some experience in business by promoting one of his ventures. But perhaps a little more interested, for myself, in gaining some experience of Sharn's pleasures and amusements. I will endeavor to be rather charming... and rather easily underestimated."

 

[Hanuman47]

Ooc

OOC: <snip> Don't worry I'm not going to try and break the game by killing Dormiano this early but Melchior is intending to kill the man one day.

And Avram will be right there with Melchior (unless, of course, he gets to the Pugio first!).

Kudos to DralonXitz for already giving us a villain we love to hate! Too bad he's our patron...

 

[DralonXitz]

With the assistant guiding the killers out of the Pugio's office, the door shuts and he stretches back, taking a much needed moment of relaxation. Finding himself in a personal situation never before experienced, he calmly reflects inward, "These men are by far, the most disrespectful, crude, and vile abominations to plague our fair House.". A slight grin becomes his scarred face as he concludes verbally, "I love it."

Finding themselves being led through the black halls of the mansion, Melchior utilizes his refined senses accurately, to detect any hidden sentries within the black void of this citadel. During their five minute trek to the entrance, he senses at least 6 men, and two creatures of some unknown characteristic, whose pungent odor suggests something not native to Breland, or Khorvaire itself for that matter. Indeed, something to be investigated at a later time.

Upon reaching the entrance, the beautiful assistant turns around, but before closing the door behind them, looks at Melchior and silently mouthes to him, "Be careful...". The massive gates closing with a resounding thud of metal and rich wood, the outside noises of Middle Central have died down somewhat, leaving the men in an awkward stillness of the bleak Sharnian night. Before their eyes, the ebony carraige pulls up a few more feet, and a Gnomish driver lets them in, securing the gates and harnesses, before shutting the small side door and remounting his post at the helm. Turning his body round, the curiously peaceful Gnome shouts, "To Upper Central we go!" Kicking off the horses with a ferocious strike, the carriage heaves forward violently, as the gnome charges the coach through the streets of Middle Central with breakneck speed.

Burning through alleyways and turns, every few moments the coach shaking widely from left to right, the wooden chamber suddenly comes to a violent stop, smacking the passengers heads against the walls of the coach. The gnome pulls up to a magic lift, and the arcane pad floats the men upward, a few hundred feat, to the much swankier streets of Upper Central. Stopping at the pad station, the driver adjusts his reins a bit, and kicks off again, nearly running over three pedestrians trying to make their way downward. Twenty violent minutes pass by, with the horses struggling to even stay alive as the whims of their psychopathic master, before he finally finishes the journey in front of a small wooden home, marked empty by the blackened windows and the empty porch in front. Hopping downward to the street, the Gnome walks to the coach and hoists it open, throwing a key at Avram and joyfully remarking, "Fizzy Whinklesteimer, finest driver in Sharn. Welcome to your new home!"

 

[Autumn]

Seemingly unfazed by the somewhat terrifying journey, Jale alights gracefully from the carriage with a quick nod to the driver. He then saunters over and leans against the wall next to the door, waiting for Avram to open it up. "I do hope our charming employer has had the foresight and courtesy to furnish us with some basic supplies," he muses absently aloud as he waits. "If I don't find a drinks cabinet stocked with a halfway-decent brandy, I won't be responsible for my actions."

 

[Paranoia833]

Upon reaching the entrance, the beautiful assistant turns around, but before closing the door behind them, looks at Melchior and silently mouthes to him, "Be careful...".

'Well now, there's an interesting development.' Melchior gives no sign of having seen the receptionist's gesture and truth be told he's not particularly concerned. To be sure, there are a number of possibilities as to what it might indicate, but at this stage it was just one more item to file away along with the strange scents that permeated the manor. For a simple double-cross it looked like it would be tiresomely complicated.

As he enjoys the... spirited ride to their new abode (and privately wishes his mask weren't so frustratingly respectable, having to sit back against the wall without fidgeting overmuch was more tiresome than arranging a murder in his humble opinion), Melchior begins to turn his mind to the more immediate project. His role as backer would allow him to get away without a comprehensive knowledge of wine, but even so it would be wise to spend an afternoon in Morgrave library to memorise a few one liners that could convince the layman he knew what he was doing and the expert that he was a pretentious fop who thought he knew what he was doing. Likewise he wanted to go over his newfound cousin's paperwork. Getting caught out by the Kundurak over something so simple would be humiliating to say the least... though even that might present its own opportunities, should
the dwarves decide they have potential blackmail material.

When the cart comes to its' final, sudden halt Melchior immediately rushes out to inspect the premises. Respectable enough... if somewhat cheap by the standards of the people Dormiano expected them to mingle with, it would get by, though Melchior doubted they'd be hosting any parties any time soon. For someone eager to disbarage their fashion sense Dormiano sure was a cheapskate when it came to his employees.

Melchior turns back to the group and beckons them over with a quick gesture. "Hey... Avram was it? Much as I would like to admire the garden I'd appreciate it if we could get inside before this city decides to grace us with some of its famous rain."

While he waits for Avram to comply, he idely begins searching the bottom floor windows of the house for any obvious security measures and to try and get an idea of how well protected the house is. Security is far from his forte, but there can be no harm in making a personal assessment before relying on more talented but far less trustworthy colleagues.

 

[Hanuman47]

Avram Soloman

Throughout the carriage ride, Avram makes amiable chitchat with his companions if they are willing, but says little of substance. At the ride's end he bows to their driver. "Master Whinklesteimer, you have a touch with your team rarely seen outside the finest torture chambers in Khorvaire. Truly a gift." He flips the gnome a platinum dragon coin and springs to the apartment's door, key in hand.

Avram pauses a moment to regard Melchior, an inscrutable look in his eyes. "Whatever that oaf may have said, for the time being the name is Antonio Sebastian. Please keep that in mind." He throws open the doors with a flourish. "Gentlemen, welcome to the new home of...well, what are we going to call our little venture? An important importing concern such as ourselves should have an equally important name."

 

[dave_o]

During the trip there, Nix, as the accountant youth, is even paler than usual. He clings, white-knuckled, the seat and side of the carriage. All the while his bile-rising face flickers into and out of a mockery of this new persona, all long, tusky teeth becoming ever more blood soaked with each apparently involuntary metamorphosis. When the gnome lurches the team to a stop, Nix all but claws his way out, spending a few moments composing himself -- smoothing his tumble of mousy curls, adjusting the tilt of his spectacles.

Finally together, Nix looks at their property with a tsk, dismissing the gnome absolutely. "It will do, for me, at the least -- the perfect solar for one unconcerned with the trappings and appearances of wealth and merely the manufacture of more," he takes a few steps onto the porch, "we shall need a placard."

"And I'll not count a single copper until Tesh Nettle, Master of Coin graces it." Tesh crosses his arms, impatiently waiting to enter his new office.

 

[DralonXitz]

The gnomish driver eagerly pockets his new found wealth, nodding to Avram with a smile. Remounting his carriage, the driver fidgets a bit, resetting himself into an effective position before kicking off again, leaving them to the dreary silence of the Upper Central suburbs. With the stars glaring above them like a million iridescent tears, Avram slowly walks up and throws open the door, emitting a haze of scarlet light onto the small wooden porch.

With the entrance of the four men, they find themselves standing in a very dark, rich abode, furnished not too bare, but yet incomparable to the opulent decorum of the Tarkanan estate. Some oak and leather chairs and arranged about, with a large pine coffee table in the center, various papers scattered about. A warm fire burns in the main room, adjoined by three bedrooms and a small kitchen, it's hearth glowing as the sole light source in the somber chambers. A long bookcase lines the wall, filled with leather-bound tomes of various colors and sizes.

A few moments after entering, an elderly man appears from the kitchen, clad in simple blue robes, his short white hair highlighting his aged and tired skin. Gazing with dimmed silver eyes, he approaches the newcomers and softly nods to them, speaking "Hello, I presume you all to be the men Lord Dormiano informed be about? I am Yelon Pretorium, your homekeeper for the time being. I have taken the liberty to sort out a few books which may serve useful to your wine operation here in Sharn, and prepared a report as well on the wine-conference as well. You shall find them over there", pointing at the coffee table leading the main room.

Brushing his hand through his hair, he releases a quiet sigh and continues, "If you should need me for anything, I shall be in the farthest bedroom, doing some writing. With a soft bow, he retreats back, stepping into his chambers, and shutting the door.