Mark of the Wyrm

[Tharune]

1372 DR, Eleint 1

Scardale Town, Scardale

Change was in the air.

It was more than the slow recovery from the Shaking Plague, or
the whirlwind of rumors surrounding the various states showing
an interest in the town. Khelvos Dermmen, governor of Scardale,
had finally decided to appoint a Lord over the City of Thieves.
Some said it was a masterstroke, heading off the claims of Sculla
Darkhope and the Zhentarim. Others said that it was merely to
get rid of his pious nephew, Ashchenon Dermmen, by putting him
somewhere the young noble could not possibly last. Still others
thought it sent a clear message to the former occupiers of Scardale
Town to stay away. Whatever the reason, Ashchenon's arrival was
the talk of the town; some welcomed the change, the usual syncophants,
the merchants, those who loved discipline. More hated such an
oppressive and pretentious move. This included the town's newer
residents, the thieves, the bandits, those who wanted privacy or
discretion.

Scardale Town was a town feeding upon itself, like rats fighting over
a corpse. The worst of the worst lived in the Labrynth, a series of
narrow alleys and crowded buildings north of the docks. At the
entrance to the Labrynth was the Song and Sheep, an inn that catered
to both the best and the worst of the town's inhabitants. One could
find a group of nobles there as often as a gang of theives planning their
next heist. It was a meeting place as important as the Four Dolphins
Fountain, a place of uneasy truce between society and those who
preyed upon them.

The owner was Polonus, who tonight had his usual place behind
the bar. He seemed more irritable than normal, either because one of
his many rumored money schemes had gone sour, or because most of
his patronage was waiting for the new Lord's arrival in town. "He'll
be around," Polonus kept saying as he cleaned glasses. "If he really
wants to see Scardale Town, he'll have to come by here. But no, they
all have to follow him like lost puppies..."

[OOC: the PC's are all patrons of the Song and Sheep- all of you have
at least a nodding acquantance with one another, whether or not you've
adventured before. Time for introductions!]

 

[FreeXenon]

Grogan (Half-Orc Barbarian and Zhent Hate'a) =)

"Polony... Drink!" the towering brute of a man sitting at the bar bellered as he slammed his fists down. His booming voice was clearly heard across the bar and Polonus wasn't more than 5 feet from him. Even sitting down the half-orc was over 6' tall.

At the warrior's side was perhaps the largest shield ever to be seen on a battlefield. It is really more like a large door with a strap on it and anyone looking upon him would have no doubts that this bear of a man could wield it with vicious efficiency.

Grogan's face was more orc than human. Feral and porcine with a single large tusk-like tooth jutting out from the left side of his mouth that allowed spittle to run down his face at random intervals. He was either not conscious of these moments in his interaction with other civilized folks or he cared not. Most likely he cared not.

***

A human (Ghelt) was trying to skirt the barbarian's attention but the patrons milling about were not going to allow for it. Grogan's arm whipped out and picked the hapless man out of his stride and dropped him brusquely down upon the bar stool next to his. He turned his head to look a the man and said threateningly "Skulk. Talk."

The acrid smell of sweat emanates from Grogan and you can see it glistening upon his arms as his meaty hand leaves you person. You also notice the long and thick white criss-crossing lines of scar tissue that pepper his arms for the first time.

 

[Redclaw]

Garren, Human Ranger
In a distant corner of the room, sitting by himself, was a young man with a dark green, travel-stained cloak. His unkempt hair and untrimmed beard made it clear that he had been without a mirror for some time. He shifted around in his seat almost continuously as he picked at his meal. He seemed very aware of exactly who was in the tavern, especially aware of anyone he didn't recognize from one of his earlier visits to the city. The only person he seemed at all comfortable with was Polonus, with whom he exchanged a few words now and then, slowly getting caught up on the news.

 

[Eryndur]

Ghelt the Shin, Human Rogue

Ghelt's composure melted for a split second before he could replace it.

The Scourge was in town. Fantastic. Had to happen sooner or later.

The Shin's black mutton chop moustache bristled. He raised a finger to the barkeep. "Pol, give me one, and two for my friend here," he said magnanimously, indicating Grogan.

Some of the other patrons snickered behind their hands, seeing Ghelt in this situation. He was fairly well known in the Labyrinth as an independent "operator" and former gang leader, and suspicions abounded that he had ties to the Zhents.

Ghelt turned to face Grogan and clinked his glass of ale in a mock toast against one of the half-orc's. "Brute. You're welcome."

 

[FreeXenon]

Grogan (Half-Orc Barbarian and Zhent Hate'a)

Gragon narrows his eyes as he looks at Ghelt looking for anything snide and then moves his head down so that he may speak more quietly.

The Half-orc makes his best attempt to whisper "Where are they, skulk? Where do they lurk? You know what I seek, dont' you?" He held his hand out on the bar waiting for his drinks to come sliding to his hand while never taking his eyes off the human.

 

[Eryndur]

Ghelt the Shin, Human Rogue

Ghelt knew who "they" were. "They" were probably in a murderous rage after hearing that their precious Darkhope was just passed over by the Dale Governor in a fit of nepotism. Ghelt had actually stopped by the Song and Sheep to a place bets with a few patrons on how long the new Lord would last.

He leaned in to share Grogan's conspiratorial whisper. "Yes, I do, and they're everywhere, so best to keep a low profile." He stared up at the huge beast. "If that's possible."

Ghelt's dusty black raincloak covered most of his lean figure, but Grogan could easily identify the bulk of two sheathed blades on the rogue's hips. "I'm Ghelt, by the way, called the Shin by most 'round these parts. And you're Grogan the Juggernaut, and need no introduction in the Dales. Just keep in mind, friend, that Scardale is NOT one of the idyllic ones that welcomes Zhent-hunters with open arms."

 

[FreeXenon]

Grogan (Half-Orc Barbarian and Zhent Hate'a)

Grogan peered at the human out of sheer loathing at his way of life. He gritted his teeth and set his jaw in anger trying not to loose his anger upon the potentially useful slime for his rather cavalier attitude.

"I know and that is why I am here. You know who they specifically are and you will tell me... before I lose my temper, Shinney. If they have a problem we can discuss it over their dead bodies - got it."

Grogan is getting angrier and starts to growl his sentences as he speaks further "Do you know what I did with the last Zhent I found?

I cut her arms and legs off with a rusty flail and then beat her to death with her own severed extremities. Finally, I fed the rest of her bloody entrails to her wailing children. Any more questions, rat?

Now speak."" He forces an angry smile through his thoroughly gritted teeth trying to be socialable.

 

[Eryndur]

Ghelt the Shin, Human Rogue

Ghelt couldn't believe he was being intimidated. But there it was. He stood up and poked the barbarian in his chest. "Listen close and let it penetrate. I'm not your enemy, and I'm not being coy. I'm laying it out for you: They. Are. Everywhere. Maybe in other places you can call 'em out and lay 'em waste, but I can guarantee you, that tactic will not work in Scarsdale Town. You think a flail and entrails is nasty compared to what Manshoon can dream up? You're kidding yourself."

He sits back down and sighs heavily. "Look. I'm on your side. I work against these bastards all the time. But you've got to do it subtle-like. Play their game. Your shield won't protect you from a knife in the back." Ghelt takes a swig of ale and wipes his moustache with the back of his hand. "No hard feelings, eh? We're both fighting the good fight, and I'd be more than willing to help you in a reasoned, well-planned endeavor to bring those bastards down. You do things your way, and I do things mine. But trust me on this one: my way is better in Scarsdale Town."

 

[Bloodcookie]

Carfal

Carfal briefly glanced over his shoulder at the increasing volume of the exchange taking place at the bar, before deftly scooting his chair around to one side of the adjacent table where he was hunched over a bowl of stew. He sighed.

And here I thought the news of some official authority in Scardale meant it would become safer... He slurped a spoonful of stew, keeping an eye out for any flying bottles or limbs from the direction of the bar.

 

[FreeXenon]

Grogan (Half-Orc Barbarian and Zhent Hate'a)

Grogan looks around at the people that may be taking notice of their conversation and scowls at the den of miscreants he is in. He takes a few moments to think about what Ghelt had to say and some would say they could see the really manly squirrels a'running round in his head as the drool works it way around his protruding tooth, down his chin, and on to the bar.

Grogan mumbles "Manshoon, schmanshoon. I'll rip him apart if I ever see him."

He narrows his eyes and continues in a low voice "Alright, catfoot. What would your suggestion be to get me some Zhentilar to mince? Betray me and I will be the first to kill you with your own blades. Got it, scamp?"