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Metropolis (The World in Waiting) - Chapter One
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<blockquote data-quote="Phoenix" data-source="post: 2349852" data-attributes="member: 16166"><p>Taran quickly flicks through the old paper, searching through the various articles for any information relating to his predicament, but unfortunately there is none. Following up on his next best lead, he looks under the headlines to see:</p><p></p><p><em><strong>The Cryer: Room 18, Floor 6, Ulandian Spyre, The Apartments, Metropolis (No Hawkers)</strong></em></p><p></p><p>It only takes a few more questions from the street people to get a location of the Ulandian Spyre, and within the hour both Taran and Twitchy have wound their way between the bases of the towers towards their goal.</p><p>The Ulandian Spyre looks like any of the other dishevelled buildings, long in need of repair, or demolition. Within the tower the debris of civilization spill out of the rooms into the corridors and stairwells, making progress to the sixth floor harder for one who needs to climb across barriers of broken furniture.</p><p>Room 18 has a small unassuming door with a wooden plaque that seems to have been hand carved, though obviously by someone with no carving skills whatsoever.</p><p></p><p><strong><p style="text-align: center">The Cryer</p></strong></p><p style="text-align: center"><strong>Business Hours: 7</p><p></strong></p><p>Before Taran's hand reaches to knock on the flimsy door it opens swiftly, revealing a small gnome with white hair and twisted spectacles. He sticks his head out into the hall and looks back and forth for a moment, ignoring the small druid and his friend.</p><p></p><p>"Oh dear," he sqeaks, before slamming the door again.</p><p></p><p>From each side of Taran a small group of humanoids stride down the corridor carrying bats, knives, maces and handaxes. One group numbers five half-orcs dressed in tattered black business attire, the other group are five half-elves dressed in blue studded leather armour.</p><p></p><p>"Oi, what you doin' 'ere?" One of the half-orcs calls out.</p><p></p><p>"Are you referring to us? We are here on business." The half-elves respond.</p><p></p><p>"Bremmen tol' us you might try an' stop us!"</p><p></p><p>"Oh? And I suppose he also said that Mr Zimmerman is behind all this?"</p><p></p><p>"Dam righ' 'e did..."</p><p></p><p>The two groups stare each other down for a moment and the tension in the corridor rises. With the exchange of words and the gripping of weapons, Taran and Twichy have been ignored for the moment, buying them time to act...</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Phoenix, post: 2349852, member: 16166"] Taran quickly flicks through the old paper, searching through the various articles for any information relating to his predicament, but unfortunately there is none. Following up on his next best lead, he looks under the headlines to see: [I][B]The Cryer: Room 18, Floor 6, Ulandian Spyre, The Apartments, Metropolis (No Hawkers)[/B][/I] It only takes a few more questions from the street people to get a location of the Ulandian Spyre, and within the hour both Taran and Twitchy have wound their way between the bases of the towers towards their goal. The Ulandian Spyre looks like any of the other dishevelled buildings, long in need of repair, or demolition. Within the tower the debris of civilization spill out of the rooms into the corridors and stairwells, making progress to the sixth floor harder for one who needs to climb across barriers of broken furniture. Room 18 has a small unassuming door with a wooden plaque that seems to have been hand carved, though obviously by someone with no carving skills whatsoever. [B][CENTER]The Cryer Business Hours: 7[/CENTER][/B] Before Taran's hand reaches to knock on the flimsy door it opens swiftly, revealing a small gnome with white hair and twisted spectacles. He sticks his head out into the hall and looks back and forth for a moment, ignoring the small druid and his friend. "Oh dear," he sqeaks, before slamming the door again. From each side of Taran a small group of humanoids stride down the corridor carrying bats, knives, maces and handaxes. One group numbers five half-orcs dressed in tattered black business attire, the other group are five half-elves dressed in blue studded leather armour. "Oi, what you doin' 'ere?" One of the half-orcs calls out. "Are you referring to us? We are here on business." The half-elves respond. "Bremmen tol' us you might try an' stop us!" "Oh? And I suppose he also said that Mr Zimmerman is behind all this?" "Dam righ' 'e did..." The two groups stare each other down for a moment and the tension in the corridor rises. With the exchange of words and the gripping of weapons, Taran and Twichy have been ignored for the moment, buying them time to act... [/QUOTE]
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