The Land of the Seven Realms: Opening Moves

[Badger]

While Moradin had taught Tragus that only the strongest of metals would survive the forge, Tragus had also learned that the All Father never said that all metals would be crafted by dwarven hands alone.

Nodding his head in complete agreement with Sparrow's words, Tragus finished his ale and motioned for another as he turned to face the elvish hunter.

"Ye'll be getting no arguements from me, on that me friend."

Looking the elf in the eyes, Tragus speaks simply to his companion.

"I'm just hopin' the All Father knows what he is doin' takin' us away from our true home."

 

[LazarusLong42]

"Can I get you something, sir?" the barmaid asked.

It was the cloak. It was always the cloak. Kintys was tempted to draw it back, maybe give the girl a bit of a fright, but decided it would be best not to call attention to herself. Not now. Not here. "It's 'ma'am,' dear. Could I get some tea? As piping hot as you can make it. I'm not much of one for strong drink."

As the barmaid left, Kintys scanned the crowd. The locals were easy enough to pick out: They all knew one another, and tmingled as though they had grown up together. She wondered what they would think of having a scarred ex-noble in their midst. But there two who stood out. A tall blonde who could have been her sister, and a shifty-eyed man accompanying her. They both looked as though they'd been through a meat-grinder lately.

But where was Taelmaron?

Kintys leaned in to the others after her tea came. "Those two know something. They may even know Taelmaron. I'm going to go talk with them."

 

[Thordain]

Gwynnwr immediately spots the blonde woman in the cloak marked with the fiery red star as she gets up and heads towards her table.

"Looks like she's with that group", muses Gwyn. "I'll play it cool until I find out what she's about."

Gwyn reflexively rubs her barely healed scars under her mailed gauntlets.

 

[Morwyld]

Turik's Story

Blademasters...

There are many legends about them, of course. The tales are told around many campfires, in the nomad encampments, and the taverns of the cities, of al-Kar.

And elsewhere.

Yet, real facts about them are elusive.

But, you have sought them out, when you've been able, during your travels. Even in your travels in the northern snows, the tales are told, distorted by time and distance.

However, it was not until you returned home that you learned of a text that might provide the answers you seek.

It seems that, just under a century ago, a blademaster appeared in Kythraen, and fought against the Shadowen during the last great Shadow War.

Such a thing is no great surprise, of course. But it appears that this blademaster had several adventuring companions, one of them named Morgan Taelmaron.

Morgan Taelmaron, it is said, kept detailed journals of his adventures.

Those journals may provide some of the answers you seek.

Ian Taelmaron is Morgan's grandson.

So, for the last few weeks, you have been much in Ian's company. To your disappointment, the journals themselves are at Taelmaron Keep, far to the north.

However, Ian was raised on stories of his grandfather's many adventures, and he's been happy enough to share them with you.

You have noted, however, that the young nobleman has been preoccupied recently. Your visits with him have been less frequent.

Several times you have ridden with him to an Inn north of the city, where he appears to be waiting on something, or someone.

Each time, whatever he has been seeking has not appeared. Each time, his preoccupation has grown.

Ian is no coward, of that you are certain. Yet he is worried, as the two of you ride in the gathering twilight along the north road.

His hand rests near the hilt of his longsword, and his eyes search the brushline along the riverbank.

As the Inn appears before you, he looks at you, and says, "I'm afraid there will be foul business this night, my friend. I am sorry that you are likely to get dragged into it."

He dismounts in the Inn courtyard, giving the reins to the stableboy, the worry gone from his face, looking every inch the rich young nobleman, seeking an evening's entertainment at a favorite inn.

 

[Thordain]

Gwynnwr is about to hail the black cloaked stranger approaching her table when the door to the inn is thrust open. Standing in the doorway is a nobleman dressed in finery, accompanied by a wiry and tatooed dangerous looking man.

She lifts her tankard of ale to her mouth to hide any reaction her face might give away. She quickly scans the faces of the group for any clues.

The cloaked stranger that was approaching her table was obviously looking for someone. Perhaps the two new arrivals are that someone?

She continues to observe the faces of those in the inn, while keeping her tankard close to her face to prevent others from doing the same to her.


edit: switching to a more readable color.

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

Taem also observes the entrance of the young nobleman, but he does so from outside, perched on one the roof just above the entrance. The man either didn't notice him or mistook him for an oversized weathercock.

His eyes were half lidded, and it was only a sense of caution that prevented him from closing them entirely, to more fully focus on other sensations. The wind was blowing in from the west, a slight warm breeze. It caught on Taem's slightly baggy garments, and the waved in the breeze.

Enough. I should see if my friends require assistance. Taem breaks off his meditation and lights down from the lowest point of the roof, and pads with bare feet to the door of the inn. About thirty seconds had passed since the entrance of the nobleman.

 

[perivas]

Re: Turik's Story

As the Inn appears before you, he looks at you, and says, "I'm afraid there will be foul business this night, my friend. I am sorry that you are likely to get dragged into it."

"Dearer friends are found among bloodied blades than among sweet meats and tales. That is something understood by men from the North and al'Kar. You have been most kind to share the tales of the father of your father with me. I would loath to not repay this kindness you have shown." Turik pauses for a brief moment to study his companion's change of mood, before saying, "Now, let's us find some fair entertainment and a welcome cup to wash this bit of trail dust from our throats."

He follows Ian's entrance and takes note of the weapons, attire and seeming intent of the inn's occupants.

 

[Uriel]

Sparrow looked about at the sudden influx of strange characters into the Inn. Humans were such funny creatures, so vain in their dress and manner. No matter, though he had fought on the Borderlands since most of these were babes, still did finery and opulance often conceal a Noble Heart. Perhaps some of these folk were of good intent, despite their location in a city rumored to conceal a Foul Cult.
Sparrow eased his blades in and out slowly from their scabbards, making sure that they were both ready should be need them. Satisfied, the Elf sipped at his ale once more, noting that at least one in the Inn had taken particular notice of Tragus <Smiles>.
Whispering behind his alecup, Sparrow addresses the Dwarf 'Well, Tragus, you seem to be attracting a bit of notice. It would seem that the folks at that table find you of interest.'
Sparrow nods with a barely perceptible nod towards Gwyn and Smiles' table.

Anal Spelling Edit

 

[Liminal Syzygy]

After returning from his conversation with the innkeeper, Smiles leans close to Gwyn and whispers "They paid with Kythraen gold and came from the north so it does seem they just arrived in this area. We can probably trust them. Of course it could be an elaborate trap to draw us out."

As he stands from the table Smiles tips his glass and nods back at Sparrow, and then crosses the room to Tragus.

He grins and says to Tragus in Dwarven "My apologies brother, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the innkeeper as I passed. How's the ale? I've been drinking whiskey as I'm used to Dwarven ales, and wasn't sure if the ale here was up to that high standard of quality."

 

[Morwyld]

Taem: As you hop down to follow the nobleman in, you catch a glimpse of shadowy figures, at least three of them, in the brush on the far side of the road from the inn. They are human sized, about one hundred feet away. Other details are impossible to make out in the gathering gloom.

Tragus and Sparrow and Smiles: The innkeep smiles jovially, and places bowls of a very thick beef stew before Tragus and Sparrow, with half loaves of warm bread. "Eat up, masters...tis my wife's speciality." Then he moves away, down the counter, to leave you to your conversation.

Turik: Ian walks in, looks around, and smiles a little. "This may just work out, after all." Then he swiftly crosses the room to a table, the barmaid making a beeline for the obviously wealthy young man. Seating himself, he quickly orders a good wine, and once the woman goes to get it, says, quietly, "So, Turik, which of these adventurers seems like they'd come from Kythraen, to you?"

Note: Both Smiles and Sparrow hear this said, as well, curse their high listen rolls.