[Iron Kingdoms] The Age of Rust.

[Shadowfane]

Dark follows the others in a daze, his thoughts beginning to descend once more into their internal conflict. As the companions enter the bordello, Dark's eyes widen with amazement. Never before has he seen such a thing as this, and the whirling, dancing movement of colours and intoxicating scents befuddle his senses, making him forget, momentarily, the Thing That Burns in the Dark Place.

As Eyvind and Kneecap leave, Dark turns his gaze upon Tyra.

"I am tired and the Eyes that Burn, stare elsewhere....I...I must rest Tyra."

He rolls the word soundlessly on his tongue, Tyra, a name of power, its attendant thread bright and strong - yet all that stands will one day burn, even this vibrant life. The shadows descend and Dark staggers, stumbling forward.

 

[DJ_Colossus]

Kneecap

Kneecap

Eg feeling seek.

"Is it me, or did Eyvind watch that group in the corner for too long? Willya get a load o that! My, my. Creative bunch those are. That'd be enough to make me seasick too!"

Kneecap watches the Caspian saunter off with a saucy maid and smiles with approval. Looking up at Tyra, Kneecap whispers,

"Ah, fickle the hearts of --"

Kneecap stammers for a second, as a buxom Gobber wench wiggles past him, her skin flushing a bright pink as she passes him. An obvious Gobber come-on.

"Rooms, right. Definitely rooms."

Keeping one eye on the passing Gobber wench, Kneecap meets with the desk clerk to procure their rooms. He sends Eyvind on his way up and gives Dark and Tyra keys to their rooms.

"Now, where'd that lass run off to?"

 

[Dirigible]

All:

The next morning...

On by one, you emerge from your rooms into the empty main hall of the bordello after a restful night (though some morerestful than others).

Eyvind is the first out, knuckling his spine to get rid of the kinks from a night on the too-soft, too-small bed. Nutten liik sleepin oon de grund at huum.

Gavyn is the next up, stepping out of his room and patting down his coat, making sure the buttons done up tidily, and wishing not for the first time he smoked. It just seems oddly appropriate.

Dark and Tyra come down shortly after (not together, of course), and finally Kneecap emerges, dabbing with a bit of rag at what looks like a bite mark, just under his collar.

Baring other buisness you wish to take care of, it seems you have an appointment with a sewer grate in the Industrial bourg...



OOC: Everyone who was wounded is refreshed to full health. Hrm, Eyvind's erxent ees hurder to doo dan E theort.

 

[darkbard]

gavyn dundrake

gavyn snickers as the gobber joins the others. "played a bit rough, did the goblin wench, eh?"

he runs a hand over the stubble of his jawline. "too bad this bordello lacks many of the more basic creature comforts: a fine vintage instead of this swill they call wine, a hot bath and a comely attendant with a delicate touch with a razor. ah well," he sighs. "i suppose 'twould all go for naught if we're to be mucking about in the sewers, anyway. speaking of which, i'm growing all boxy in this hole. should we not be about the business of relic recovery?"

 

[KaintheSeeker]

Tyra looks to Gavyn with an arched eyebrow. "Yer full of yerself this morning, to hear you talk it would seem you were more suited about with the high folk than muckin wiht us in the the down below." Her words have a teasing tone to them as the Gun Mage checks her gear (particularly Lady Rose) and waits for the group to depart.

 

[Shadowfane]

Dark barely glances at his companions, and his lank hair and dishevelled clothes seem even more so this morning. At Gavyn's words, Dark utters a high-pitched snort.

"Come, come, the fires burn brightly today. Needs must, needs must. Into the Dark we must go, t'would be better we do it sooner than later, or then we may arrive in the same but not at a time of 'our' choosing. Ummmm. Yes. Yes. Quickly now!"

His insane ravings tail of into unintelligible whisperings as he darts furtive glares around the brothel.

 

[linnorm]

Eyvind

Eyvind

*Eyvind scowls at the activities in the room while continuing to streach the kinks out of his back and neck.*

"Ja, vee need ta get gooing. Hoo doo vee get oot ov here, Neekaap?"

 

[darkbard]

gavyn dundrake

Tyra looks to Gavyn with an arched eyebrow. "Yer full of yerself this morning, to hear you talk it would seem you were more suited about with the high folk than muckin wiht us in the the down below." Her words have a teasing tone to them as the Gun Mage checks her gear (particularly Lady Rose) and waits for the group to depart.

gavyn arches his own eyebrow in reply. "and i'll remind you, madame, that you are speaking with captain gavyn dundrake of caspia. a gentleman ... or one of the 'high folk' as you so quaintly put it. it just happens that my skills are varied and profound and not limited to the dance halls and court balls. and i've run out of bloody coin...." his voice trails off lightly.

 

[KaintheSeeker]

"Sorry Guv'ner'" Tyra says with a sausy smirk and salute. "Not used to the Gentry willing to do the scutwork." chuckles as she looks to the others. "Right.. let's get going along now eh?" Looks to Dark but says nothing to him.

 

[Dirigible]

All:

As always,the Black river has thrown up a blnake tof fog over Corvis. Making your way through the precipitous streets, you must fight your way through a real pea souper, with Tyra and Gavyn in the front ranks having to fend off the occassional walker that bumps into you.

It's still early in the morning when you reach the Industrial 'bourg, the tangled mass of steam engines, water wheels and treadmills churning out the City of Ghosts' famed mechanika components. En route, you pass through the Waterfront, already bustling at this hour as barges shift cargo to and fro, with longshoremen and their mechankial aides unloading them onto the docks. You all have to scatter to the side of the street as a chain of wagons passes by, pulled by a clanking 'jack.

You all gather around a hefty iron grille, fitted with a suspiciously new and shiny padlock, set into the cobbles in a small, round courtyard between a cluster of abandoned tenements that have become makeshift warehouses that tower up three storeys on all sides, badly whitewashed with brown half-timbre showng through. An old man, wearing a brown leather cowl and with dull eyes sits on a short set of stone stairs, just in front of a doorway with a wooden dorr hanging broken off brass hinges.

Through that grille lies the ladder down into the sewers, where adventure (and, probably, effluent) await.