The Game of Kings

Once out of earshot, Doral keeps his head down and whispers sarcastically to Vhir, "What now, my master? To a room, perhaps, so I can tell you what just happened?"

When Vhir leads Doral to his room, Doral informs him, "I'm not used to being noticed, but that dwarf has a sharper memory than I assumed. He saw partially through my act, so I'll have to play it up to the hilt if we see him in the future, unless it is no longer convenient to maintain the guise. One of them was thinking that Gaardasci's capture was done in order to bring stability to the region. I wanted them to think that the situation was now more unstable, and you picked up on my clue brillitantly. We gave them a lot to think about and this will help keep the dwarves and the prince off balance. The dwarves are not happy about the capture. However, I don't think they are quite willing to do anything except pass their concers to the prince. We still have a lot of work to do if we are going to succeed. Maybe when we reach port, we can learn where Gaardasci is being held. I'm going to stay here and out of sight of those dwarves. Please inform our companions of our situation."
 
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Vhir bows his slight bow again to the dwarves, and allows them to depart without further interruptions.

~~~

[Vhir & Doral's Room]

In their room, Vhir nods to Doral's statement, and neglects to point out that Doral himself is the cause of his 'servitude'. "I will inform the others when the dwarves are back in their quarters. More aggressive work will need to be done once we reach Port Verge, I agree. Almost always does." With that, Vhir makes his way back to the galley for breakfast.

OOC: Vhir will try to track down the group after the dwarves finish breakfast and fill them in tersely. Otherwise, he will continue his puzzles on the deck, pondering the group's next action.
 

The second day at sea passed with little excitement, until those on deck first caught sight of Port Verge nestled between hills and waves on forward horizon. By early evening, the Thresher had pulled its way out of the choppy open waters and into the sheltered harbor of the city.

The Thresher slipped carefully among the fishing ships and sailboats scattered throughout the harbor. Those unaccustomed to sailing had grown used to the quiet of the empty sea, and their arrival in the city assailed them noise and bustle. Everywhere was the ring of voices calling back and forth to one another, and the massive low creaking of thousands of wooden planks in the frigid water. Seagulls chattered overhead, eternally excited by the water traffic.

The ship’s slow cruising across the harbor towards the Prince’s docks gave everyone on deck a full panorama of Port Verge drifting by. The whole city was wrapped around the harbor in a cresent shape, its inland edge splashing up the bordering hills. Despite the cold wind, Port Verge itself looked warm, a gathering of wooden buildings and worn reddish brick streets.

Immediately before them was the thin strip of wharves and storehouses and shipyards that serviced the local and traveling vessels. With these naturally came the cheap inns and taverns that served the sailors aboard those vessels. There may have seemed to be an inordinate amount of grimy pubs, but they stood as a testament to the city’s history with piracy.

Just inland of these establishments was the southern side of town in which the majority of the citizens of Port Verge resided. It was not the most scenic of places, but looked well lived-in. The tightly-packed clutter of houses and shops were dotted with the occasional small herb garden or laundry line, and barking dogs could be heard throughout the dusty packed-dirt streets.

As the Thresher sailed closer to the northern end of the crescent, the streets became steadily more orderly, and the buildings were composed of more and more brick. The commoners’ housing faded into middle class residences, and eventually gave way to a bustling commercial center with broad streets and rows of shops with large glass windows. Up on the hill above the commercial district sat Prince Kolberkon’s estate, his old-fashioned grey stone manor house and other personal and official buildings encircled by the somewhat lesser mansions of wealthy neighbors.

The ships too were getting nicer; now they were passing more anchored trade ships than local fishing boats. Their cruise past the city led them even beyond these, to the far northern end of the harbor to a private sectioned-off marina for the Prince’s royal fleet. It was in fine neighborhood, with well-maintained wooden shops and inns right at the waterfront, and many flowerboxes lighting the dark brick streets.

The elemental galleon swung boastfully into the royal marina, and maneuvered easily into position alongside a tall dock. The crew began to hastily tie her to the pier, and at the stern the captain soothed the elemental into a peaceful sleep until it was time to sail again. As soon as they had successfully docked in Port Verge, the gangplank was lowered and the dwarves’ luggage began to be carried off. The dwarves themselves gathered on deck, observing the city and thanking the captain for his services.


[sblock="Exerience Points for All"]Now that the first step of the journey has been completed, it seems an appropriate time to award to XP. We’ll give you XP not only for killing foes and completing quests, but also award you with bonus XP for exceptional roleplaying and other acts.

First, everyone deserves some for their cooperative roleplaying and character development. You guys all did great job with this voyage, especially with the banter between yourselves.

Dragen is also to be recognized for his intriguing monologue, and Doral and Vhir both for their leadership and negotiations, which really helped in pulling the group together.

We'll keep track of your actual point tallies, and tell you when you're ready to level. Until then, keep it up, everyone, and welcome to Port Verge.[/sblock]
 

"Ah..." Morika says with a deep breath, "Now this looks like a kind of place I could probably get into some delightful trouble. Where's our fearless leader?" she asks, looking around for Vhir, a heavy touch of sarcasm in her tone.
 

Noticing the arrival at Port Verge, the kobold stands and observes their destination. Hearing Morika's comment, a sneer appears on its face, and it comments, "Those lead who are capable of it." Its sudden seeming annoyance passed, the kobold continues. "We must gather the others and find some place to stay. Someplace worthy; 'negotiators' would not be found amongst society's derelicts. Then we will get a lay of the land." With that, he sets about rousing the others.
 

Towering uncharacteristically over the both of them, Dragen noted the commentary between Morika and the reptile and picked at the worn rags surrounding his bow.

"It's a good thing we're not negotiators then, or have you hung us upon your words to match the prettiness of your undergarments?" he asked quietly, his eyes tracing the finework on his bow and upwards.

"Collect the target, kill everyone who tries to stop us, set some fires to give people other things to worry about other than us, kill some more, drink beer, drink some more, and wait for the next job."

He pursed his lips and flicked a surprisingly manicured nail at an imagined speck of dirt, raising an eyebrow and chewing at some imaginary confection.

"Things are simpler when you don't try to pretend you are anything other than what you are, and I," he looked down at the kobold, "am a killer. I am death's best friend, and when I whisper to him he listens to me."

"Something to think about."

With that comment, Dragen picks up his small amount of belongings and pushes his way quietly through the cargo handlers to wait for the rest to exit the ship.

Land. The thought came out like a prayer.
 

The kobold hardly listens to the bowman's tirade; it had already dismissed him based upon their earlier discussion. Not one to follow. Will need to find a target for that one. Outloud, as the human leaves, the kobold states, "It is not time of the Dragon Below to enter into this. Time enough for the One Between to get its work done. Slaughter and madness will follow if needed, but only if needed. Tonight we hear and see."
 

Next thing you know, Dragen thought, a monkey will stand upright and decide to preach at me on the basis of the value of its petticoats.

Leaning on compliant and quiet cargo containers, Dragen stilled his face and watched imaginary arrows pluck themselves and punge deeply into the throats and eyes of the people around him.

For one so short, I imagine he mostly sees and hears people's behinds. Dragen let loose a chuckle the likes of which made those around him nervous and look over their shoulders.
 

Doral will keep a look out for the dwarves and maintain his act until he is confident they are gone. Keeping with the group as they look for a place to stay, he decides to make an attempt at softening the mood, "Just curious, bowman, but have you ever met anyone who could outshoot you? You seem almost one with your weapon."
 

Dragen considered the question and shrugged indifferently.

"But which is the weapon?" he said, and his eyes were like steel orbs staring down the dawn. "And which is the tool?"

There's probably a bar somewhere around here open even at this hour, with pretty girls, sour beer and a fight to be had. I hope he isn't going to get sweet on me. If I got blood on me this early I'd be all day getting it out properly. Maybe I should strangle him? Except some men vomit when they're being strangled...

The archer frowned, deep in thought.

I'd probably have to go along with it, then kill him later. Blame the kobold, kill the kobold, rescue the prisoner, and then bed the girl before killing her and the rest.

Careful there, Dragen. He sighed. Old habits die hard, don't they?

"I'm sure it's not important."
 
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