Malvoisin's Council of Thieves, Act I - The Bastards of Erebus [IC]

[Malvoisin]

As the last of the invitees (and Marcus) enter the tavern, Janiven casts one more glance out onto the street, as though looking for someone else. But, seeing no one, the lithe woman shrugs and pulls the door closed.

Addressing all within, Janiven gestures toward the food set upon the central table. "Well, don't be shy, help yourselves while we wait for everyone to arrive. The ale's warm, sorry." Taking her own advice, the meeting's hostess pulls up a chair and pops a healthy sized chunk of cheese into her mouth, then begins cutting herself a generous slice of bread. With her mouth full, Janiven turns to Mero. "You might as well tell him the truth now," she says, jerking a thumb toward Marcus. "He's already seen too much. We'll just have to take drastic measures if he decides to go running to the authorities. But, something tells me he won't," she concludes with a wink at the well-dressed young man. Janiven falls silent as she lays into the repast with abandon, leaving her guests to serve themselves and make conversation.

 

[Maidhc O Casain]

Slip

At Janiven's invitation, Slip dives into the food with the single minded determination of one who typically doesn't know when her next meal will be arriving. She surreptitiously slips the puppy at her feet a few scraps as well.

As she eats, she observes the others but keeps her thoughts to herself for the time being. Hmmm. Something odd about the girl who got the drop on me (for one thing, she got the drop on me). I can't quite put my finger on it. And the Amazon . . . she could be OK. I get a good feeling about her, but I just don't know. It would be good to have friends. Boy, this food is good; I haven't eaten this well in a while!

 

[CanadienneBacon]

At Janivan's invitation, Quinne avails herself of a second cup of ale, offering a wan smile. "Warm beer's better than no beer. At least in this heat." Quaffing her cup in one blow, Quinne restrains herself from a third by putting her cup upside down on the table--the Wiscrani way of signaling done.

"Food's nice, Janivan, but let's get to it. What'd you want with us, and what'd you have to tempt us to aid and abett your call?"

 

[SelcSilverhand]

Mero grimaces at having his ruse exposed, but with the practiced ease of a politician, quickly begins to disassemble. "Yes, well, like I said earlier, this is an employment opportunity. Not at some bar mind you, but a chance to join in a campaign to, well, make everything better. This city is rotting. From the top down, if you catch my meaning. It may sound like heresy, but just look around you. This city was once the jewel of the continent, and Chelaxians were known throughout the world for their great works. That was, of course, before Aroden up and got him(her?)self killed. Things have been rocky ever since. All this worship of the one I won't name here, you know who. Prince of the Pit. Lord of Darkness. All around un-nice entity.
But that's all far down the road right now. You see, the people are in trouble. Poverty, starvation, homelessness. Now I understand that you have that in any fair sized city, but Westcrown is worse off than normal. Now to add to our troubles we have the creatures of darkness roaming the streets killing anyone unlucky enough to be out and about.
So, our host here has asked us here, individuals who have all seen different facets of city life and who all still hold to the ideal that things can be better. Her goal is to rally the people together, get them to start helping each other, and maybe one day we will restore our nation to its former glory.
Thus you now understand the nature of our dilemma. The last thing she wants is for the dottari to catch a sniff of this and throw us all in jail for treason, when all she wants is to help the people, not a violent government overthrow."
Mero turns back to Janiven and says, "I think that covers the basics at any rate, the appetizer as it were. Now I think we're ready for the main course." He snatches up another mouthful of fruit.

 

[Mark Chance]

OOC: Sorry for the delay. Been in a bit of an "I've been unemployed for more than a month even though I've applied for over a 100 different positions" funk.

[imager]http://www.wizards.com/leaving.asp?url=/dnd/images/pc_portraits/200102_274_7.jpg&origin=dnd_pc_20010403g[/imager]

The door bangs open and shut as a hooded figure in a brown homespun robe enters the tavern. He grips an iron crowbar in one fist and the neck of a lute in the other. He leans against the door, slips the crowbar into his rope belt, and pulls his hood back.

"Sorry I'm late. Thought I was being followed, so I doubled-back a few times. Can't be too careful, eh?"

The half-orc grins, causing two pointed teeth to slide over his upper lip. He steps forward and bows slightly.

"Janiven! I trust I've not missed anything except the beginning of supper. Ah, but my manners. Greetings, all. I am Rolf."

 

[Scott DeWar]

As the last of the invitees (and Marcus) enter the tavern, Janiven casts one more glance out onto the street, as though looking for someone else. But, seeing no one, the lithe woman shrugs and pulls the door closed.

Addressing all within, Janiven gestures toward the food set upon the central table. "Well, don't be shy, help yourselves while we wait for everyone to arrive. The ale's warm, sorry." Taking her own advice, the meeting's hostess pulls up a chair and pops a healthy sized chunk of cheese into her mouth, then begins cutting herself a generous slice of bread. With her mouth full, Janiven turns to Mero. "You might as well tell him the truth now," she says, jerking a thumb toward Marcus. "He's already seen too much. We'll just have to take drastic measures if he decides to go running to the authorities. But, something tells me he won't," she concludes with a wink at the well-dressed young man. Janiven falls silent as she lays into the repast with abandon, leaving her guests to serve themselves and make conversation.

"seen too much?' thinks marcus, 'what have i found?'

his question to himself is quickly answered, almost as if his thoughts were read.

Mero grimaces at having his ruse exposed, but with the practiced ease of a politician, quickly begins to disassemble. "Yes, well, like I said earlier, this is an employment opportunity. Not at some bar mind you, but a chance to join in a campaign to, well, make everything better. This city is rotting. From the top down, if you catch my meaning. It may sound like heresy, but just look around you. This city was once the jewel of the continent, and Chelaxians were known throughout the world for their great works. That was, of course, before Aroden up and got him(her?)self killed. edit edit edit

The door bangs open and shut as a hooded figure in a brown homespun robe enters the tavern. He grips an iron crowbar in one fist and the neck of a lute in the other. He leans against the door, slips the crowbar into his rope belt, and pulls his hood back.

"Sorry I'm late. Thought I was being followed, so I doubled-back a few times. Can't be too careful, eh?"

The half-orc grins, causing two pointed teeth to slide over his upper lip. He steps forward and bows slightly.

"Janiven! I trust I've not missed anything except the beginning of supper. Ah, but my manners. Greetings, all. I am Rolf."

He jumps with a start when the door opens suddenly, then shudders at the sight of a half orc grinning.

he finally settles on some bread and ham, drinking a cup of the ale to wash it down.

"I am marcus dubois, and yes I have noticed the degridation of society in this once fair city. rumors and such are abounding about, none are confirmed and some are spoken in barely a whisper of volume when told.

 

[Malvoisin]

"Food's nice, Janivan, but let's get to it. What'd you want with us, and what'd you have to tempt us to aid and abett your call?"

Janiven's eyes had drifted toward the door, perhaps with a hint of unease. But Quinne's question draws her attention back again. "Patience, good lady. Not all those expected this afternoon are as punctual...or as forthright...as you." The slightest hint of a grin at the corner of Janiven's eyes shows that no insult is intended in her last remark.

Mero turns back to Janiven and says, "I think that covers the basics at any rate, the appetizer as it were. Now I think we're ready for the main course." He snatches up another mouthful of fruit.

Janiven gives a short nod in response to Mero's lengthy speech. "Your words hit the target, friend, or near enough as makes little difference. But there may just be someone arriving soon who can do you one better. Or at the least, use less breath."

The door bangs open and shut as a hooded figure in a brown homespun robe enters the tavern. He grips an iron crowbar in one fist and the neck of a lute in the other. He leans against the door, slips the crowbar into his rope belt, and pulls his hood back.

"Sorry I'm late. Thought I was being followed, so I doubled-back a few times. Can't be too careful, eh?"

The half-orc grins, causing two pointed teeth to slide over his upper lip. He steps forward and bows slightly.

"Janiven! I trust I've not missed anything except the beginning of supper. Ah, but my manners. Greetings, all. I am Rolf."

Janiven, who keeps looking over toward the tavern entrance, begins to rise from her chair quickly as the door opens. "Ah, at last, you're..." but her words quickly trail off as she realizes the identity of the newcomer. Although Rolf is clearly not who Janiven was expecting, she regains her footing quickly. "...you're the last of those I invited to meet here, of course. Be welcome, please...sit and join us in a meal while we wait." Janiven motions for Rolf to pull up a chair and join the others, even as her gaze continues to linger on the door.

"I am marcus dubois, and yes I have noticed the degridation of society in this once fair city. rumors and such are abounding about, none are confirmed and some are spoken in barely a whisper of volume when told."

"Ah, well then, it seems you're in the right tavern after all, Mr. Dubois. You are welcome to stay."

 

[Scott DeWar]

Marcus refills his mug form the flagon of ale and removes some of the fruit. he then sits quietly awaiting the hostes's next act. he notices and catalogs mentally the halted expectation of the lady, wondering who whe is hoping to come through the door.

OOC: quick question: what time of the day is it?

 

[Maidhc O Casain]

Slip

Belly full of good food, Slip pushes her chair back a little and relaxes into the wait, watching the others interact.

[sblock=Scott]I think the meeting was set for 4:00, so it would be late afternoon/early evening.[/sblock]

 

[Shayuri]

As the others take their seats, Thorn hangs back long enough to see where everyone's going to be. Then, before she can sit, the gnome goes off with his torrent of gobbledygook; a freshet running so pure and so amazing that she almost finds herself buying it.

With a snort she picks a seat beside the swordwoman. The elf seemed a bit too...jumpy to be a safe bet.

"So...is that why you're here too?" she asks Quinne quietly as she grabs for a bun and some fruit.