Renfield
Explorer
Fib: Prophet of the Three
They walked down a single block before the robed figure made his way into an alley. Everyone from Alias to Petunia kept themselves on guard for betrayal of any sort, after all, how much trust could they put in a cloaked man who comes up to a group of complete strangers who 'happen' to be looking for a mad prophet. The answer of course is not that much. However another question easily answered would be what choice did they have. The same answer for the prior question would suffice for the latter.
They wandered through twists and turns in the alleys, it was approaching eveningfeast and some of the members of the beggars guild were finished for the day and relaxing in the protected back alleys of Koryn, other residents of the alleys were merely drunks who needed a place to sleep it off. Koryn was a pretty good city to be a beggar in, the citizens were surprisingly friendly, and the beggars guild surprisingly efficient, those who wanted to could be finished with begging in little to no time at all with efficient assistance from the guild. The catch however was that anyone caught begging who wasn't a member of the guild was given a simple choice, join the guild, or have one of two options, neither being pleasant and both ranging from simple expulsion from the city or death, to things spawned by rampant imaginations of the cities 'invisible' citizens.
Eventually it was quite obvious that none, not even the impressive mind of Delver, would be able to remember the path they took. Chances were any who left could easily find their way out of the winding maze like system of alleys, but those who did so would stand little chance of backtracking back to the odd makeshift shack that the group stood before now. Joran smirked, Alias scoffed, Delver was silent and Petunia looked around with captive interest. Delver couldn't help but view her as the oddest dwarf he had ever seen, extremely short, yet easily one of the heaviest dwarves he's laid eyes on, who not only worshipped the Earthmother (not uncommon among dwarves who praised both Solar and Gaia with equal fervor) but was a seeker of knowledge, something more commonly attributed to the Solaran faith and their monasteries. The cloaked figure opened the door and motioned for them to enter following in right after Joran and closing the makeshift door behind them.
The shack was simple, made from bits of junk, everything from old discarded doors to breastplates of armor, however it had a surprisingly stable build for such a ramshackle building. Though that wasn't the odd thing about the structure, the trappings were rather... interesting, one would expect a great prophet with as much of a following as Fibs to have better accomodations. However the little stand and makeshift cot in the corner strewn with furs and rages didn't look very posh. The floor was also littered with numerous books, papers, and multi-colored balls and other pieces of junk. The closest thing to order amidst the whole mess was a path leading from the high backed armchair at the back center of the room to the cot.
The man sitting in the chair looked no more than one of the beggars, an old man, likely entering or in his cenile years, with a wrinkled brow and a leathery face that was oddly framed by long thin hair grayed to white. He leaned forward and gave an odd smile to the group that didn't speak greatly of intelligence, Alias lifted a skeptical brow and looked to their guide wondering if this was some elaborate hoax, while Joran furrowed his brow in confusion.
The cloaked figure seemed to bristle at the sight of the old man. "Jerod!" he said throwing back the hood of his cloak to reveal a gaunt faced man with wild stringy hair. The old man got a look of surprise upon seeing the man and shrinked like a scolded child. The guide pointed to the door and Jerod made his way there offering a dumb smile to the assembeled group. Meanwhile the man strode forward with confidence and took a seat crossing one lanky leg over the other and smiling to the group. "As you've likely guessed: I'm Fib." he said simply. Delver could not help but notice his odd tatoos, a design of lines that had arrows pointing to either of his eyes, either of his ears, and either side of his mouth.
Alias scoffed and rolled his eyes "Figured, not too surprised actually." he said and Fib laughed.
"Aye, perhaps not," he then leaned forward his eyes widening as he looked at the sorcerer "but then again I'm not here to surprise you." he said.
Alias sighed as if for all the world this was routine for him, an odd thing considering there have never been too many prophets, mad fools yes, but prophets themselves were quite rare. Fib could only giggle to himself, he was the only true prophet out there that was mad in the fashion he was. Though most prophets tended to develope some eccentricity of one form or another, one could only handle so many visions from the children of the creator before becomming unstable. "Let me guess then, you were expecting us." he said giving Fib a strange look.
The prophet furrowed his brow in thought before grinning "Perhaps... well, I was expecting someone, though not you people specifically..." he said, he then leaned forward gave the group a pleading look as numerous random objects began to lift into the air and start flying around, books randomly slamming into balls, balls slamming into walls, creating a rather annoying ruckus. "I do hope you're a bit more polite than the other fellows." he said before sitting back into his chair with a small smile on his face.
"Others? What others?" Joran said insistantly.
Fib frowned "A very rude bunch," he said before leaning forward again and giving them that odd wide eyed look accompanied by a broad smile "who could have learned twice as much if they had been polite."
They walked down a single block before the robed figure made his way into an alley. Everyone from Alias to Petunia kept themselves on guard for betrayal of any sort, after all, how much trust could they put in a cloaked man who comes up to a group of complete strangers who 'happen' to be looking for a mad prophet. The answer of course is not that much. However another question easily answered would be what choice did they have. The same answer for the prior question would suffice for the latter.
They wandered through twists and turns in the alleys, it was approaching eveningfeast and some of the members of the beggars guild were finished for the day and relaxing in the protected back alleys of Koryn, other residents of the alleys were merely drunks who needed a place to sleep it off. Koryn was a pretty good city to be a beggar in, the citizens were surprisingly friendly, and the beggars guild surprisingly efficient, those who wanted to could be finished with begging in little to no time at all with efficient assistance from the guild. The catch however was that anyone caught begging who wasn't a member of the guild was given a simple choice, join the guild, or have one of two options, neither being pleasant and both ranging from simple expulsion from the city or death, to things spawned by rampant imaginations of the cities 'invisible' citizens.
Eventually it was quite obvious that none, not even the impressive mind of Delver, would be able to remember the path they took. Chances were any who left could easily find their way out of the winding maze like system of alleys, but those who did so would stand little chance of backtracking back to the odd makeshift shack that the group stood before now. Joran smirked, Alias scoffed, Delver was silent and Petunia looked around with captive interest. Delver couldn't help but view her as the oddest dwarf he had ever seen, extremely short, yet easily one of the heaviest dwarves he's laid eyes on, who not only worshipped the Earthmother (not uncommon among dwarves who praised both Solar and Gaia with equal fervor) but was a seeker of knowledge, something more commonly attributed to the Solaran faith and their monasteries. The cloaked figure opened the door and motioned for them to enter following in right after Joran and closing the makeshift door behind them.
The shack was simple, made from bits of junk, everything from old discarded doors to breastplates of armor, however it had a surprisingly stable build for such a ramshackle building. Though that wasn't the odd thing about the structure, the trappings were rather... interesting, one would expect a great prophet with as much of a following as Fibs to have better accomodations. However the little stand and makeshift cot in the corner strewn with furs and rages didn't look very posh. The floor was also littered with numerous books, papers, and multi-colored balls and other pieces of junk. The closest thing to order amidst the whole mess was a path leading from the high backed armchair at the back center of the room to the cot.
The man sitting in the chair looked no more than one of the beggars, an old man, likely entering or in his cenile years, with a wrinkled brow and a leathery face that was oddly framed by long thin hair grayed to white. He leaned forward and gave an odd smile to the group that didn't speak greatly of intelligence, Alias lifted a skeptical brow and looked to their guide wondering if this was some elaborate hoax, while Joran furrowed his brow in confusion.
The cloaked figure seemed to bristle at the sight of the old man. "Jerod!" he said throwing back the hood of his cloak to reveal a gaunt faced man with wild stringy hair. The old man got a look of surprise upon seeing the man and shrinked like a scolded child. The guide pointed to the door and Jerod made his way there offering a dumb smile to the assembeled group. Meanwhile the man strode forward with confidence and took a seat crossing one lanky leg over the other and smiling to the group. "As you've likely guessed: I'm Fib." he said simply. Delver could not help but notice his odd tatoos, a design of lines that had arrows pointing to either of his eyes, either of his ears, and either side of his mouth.
Alias scoffed and rolled his eyes "Figured, not too surprised actually." he said and Fib laughed.
"Aye, perhaps not," he then leaned forward his eyes widening as he looked at the sorcerer "but then again I'm not here to surprise you." he said.
Alias sighed as if for all the world this was routine for him, an odd thing considering there have never been too many prophets, mad fools yes, but prophets themselves were quite rare. Fib could only giggle to himself, he was the only true prophet out there that was mad in the fashion he was. Though most prophets tended to develope some eccentricity of one form or another, one could only handle so many visions from the children of the creator before becomming unstable. "Let me guess then, you were expecting us." he said giving Fib a strange look.
The prophet furrowed his brow in thought before grinning "Perhaps... well, I was expecting someone, though not you people specifically..." he said, he then leaned forward gave the group a pleading look as numerous random objects began to lift into the air and start flying around, books randomly slamming into balls, balls slamming into walls, creating a rather annoying ruckus. "I do hope you're a bit more polite than the other fellows." he said before sitting back into his chair with a small smile on his face.
"Others? What others?" Joran said insistantly.
Fib frowned "A very rude bunch," he said before leaning forward again and giving them that odd wide eyed look accompanied by a broad smile "who could have learned twice as much if they had been polite."
.
