[ToC IC] On the Edge

[Callos_DeTerran]

Ever since the lethal lunar rains began almost a century ago, there have been fewer and fewer true cities that could support a population on the continent of Highpoint. Those that could weather the rain often couldn't survive the ensuing attacks by the lunar monsters that fell with the great chunks of rock, namely the lunar dragons that have become a force of fear and terror throughout Highpoint. However...some cities still survived these trials, such as the slathem city of Glatek or impregnable Chemak, however neither of those cities can truly prepare to Edge, the last true city. Able to weather the rains and chasing off those lunar dragons that insisted upon attacking, the city-built-into-a-cliff is a veritable treasure of the modern day and meeting point for new and old, past and present. And it was in the cliff-side tavern, the oldest in Edge, that a new meeting that had been buzzing on everyone's mind was about to take place.

In the aptly named Hole in the Wall, the usual crowd of minstrels, bards, and wealthy merchants can be seen as they go about their regular business, some seeking to increase their coin while others try to hear the legendary howling from the nearby Howling Halls by pressing their ears up against the southern wall. This day however, a rougher element has come into the Hole in the Wall, rough and ready adventurers, jockeys, and others who want to see what all the fuss is about. Some even consider applying for the job, whatever it may be, without knowing they likely stand very little chance among the more well known professionals among the crowd. In one corner a scruffy looking man with a hat pulled low over his eyes nurses one of several mugs, switching between them seemingly at random while an unusual group of tortogs play an obscure card game while a small portable brazier fills the air around them with purplish smoke. Even normally subterranean races are well represented with a sprinkling of hammer-wielding duergar and deep gnomes about the common room floor and mostly minding their own business. The Hawk clan kabuto, like a giant mechanized beetle that could carry a small village on it's back, had arrived several days ago but had, so far, been unwilling to entertain visitors, possibly out of suspicion of Legion spies that were rumored to have an interest in the find of the Irontooth Clans and firmly stated that details would only be revealed once the set time had come.

...A time that was fast approaching...

[Levyathyn]

Tanner

Light flares in the grimy, smoke-ridden tavern as the door opens. An aged elf, his graying hair repletete with a leather eyepatch, steps inside, ignoring the clientele, who in turn, ignore him. Under all this mindful ignoring, though, the old elf man watches the shadows of the Inn carefully for surprise attack. The elf wears a loose cloth shirt under a short leather jacket, with a backpack jangling behind him as he saunters up to the bar and nods for a single drink. A wooden staff is stuck up under his backpack, portruding from above and below the short elf at odd angles. His quiet slippers make very little noise as he glances around the bar, his single brillaint blue eye scanning the murky populace for some specific.

Spot check:

[roll0]

Disguise check (in case the PM one is broke'd):

[roll1]

[Shades of Gray]

Cyema

A creature seemingly made of rough leather enters the tavern. It's hard to believe that there is a person underneath the jacket and hood. The person's arms sway back and forth lazily as they walk forward. The only thing that would suggest that this was in fact a person was the white hair pouring out from the hood. One hand timidly pulled her hood down, revealing dark a female face and dark gray skin. A dark green scarf was pulled over her face. She looked around the tavern with the disgust that her race was known for demonstrating. The sooner I get out of this place, the better. It reeks of oil and smoke.

[Valgunn]

Valerie Gunn

Speaking of the reek of oil and smoke, almost as soon as the door of the tavern swung shut metal hit wood and a hand pushed it open again. Connected to the metal hand by way of a slight metal arm was Valerie. Behind her, scowling about something, was one of her two assistants - the other was snugly fitted into one of her greatcoats pockets - called Daniel. Slung across both their backs were steam guns (Valerie's bearing glowing blue lines that made it obviously a magical item), and on Daniel's hip was slung a rapier; Valerie also had a melee weapon, a buzzknife, but it was tucked away in a reversed holster on her back. The greatcoat, unlike the steam gun, and gloves she wore were not obviously magical but magical all the same.

Valerie turned around to her ambulatory assistant. "Stay with the monowheel - I'll be fine." She added. Daniel kept scowling but turned around and headed back for their transportation anyway; Valerie just rolled her eyes as she walked into the tavern, knowing enough to try and pick out the person, or persons, she needed to approach.

[Callos_DeTerran]

Time seems to drag as the Hawk emissary takes their sweet old time in arriving, grumbling from those who had come to hear the potential job at their time being wasted between ordering new drinks or food, but there was no mistaking when he did arrive. The door to the Hole in the Wall slams open, courtesy of a large bladed hand as an armed clockwork puppet leans down to squeeze through the doorway, eyes like crimson lamps taking in all present before it stands off to the side to reveal the person it was protecting. A squat dwarven man storms into the inn after the puppet, bald pate covered in old burns and grease as one hand strokes over a mighty impressive soup-catcher that trails down to his chest. Another armed clockwork puppet stands outside on the narrow cliff-side walkway, blocking traffic on both sides to the annoyance of those trying to edge past the clacking and fiercely painted puppet.

The dwarf wears a well worn leather duster that almost drags along the floor beneath him, sharp eyes able to pick out many concealed pockets leading to odd bulges in the coat. As he looks for an empty table, one hand reaches into his coat to pull out a fat stoogie and lift it up so he could chomp down on it. As he lights it, the puppet that came in with him forces it's way through the morass of merchants, mercenaries, and adventurers, clearly exposing the Hawk emblem emblazoned on it's back, to clear a path for the dwarf who saunters after the machine in it's disgruntled wake. While those seeking to take advantage of the Hawk's job offer watch, the burly dwarf plops down at a table and unrolls a long sheet of dirty parchment before fetching a quill and inkpot.

"...Sodding gear-lovin' mech-rats...coke-addled mushroom heads..." little tidbits of the man's conversation with himself float out over the much quieter common room, until finally he looks up with an exasperated expression, "What're ye orc-humpin' grease-monkeys gawkin' at? If yer here ta hear out the Hawk's plan, den get off yer lily-white arses and line up! Ah ain't got all day to dawdle in this p***-hole lookin' fer six recruits!"

The short bark has many prospective employees suddenly looking much more hesitant about queuing up for the chance to enlist, perhaps not expecting such a...down to earth proposal (if it could be called that) from such a gruff figure. Still, those who look far more seasoned when it comes to adventure and rough patches are already forcing their chairs back and straightening their apparel to try and make a good impression on the dwarf. If he was telling the truth about only six spots, then waiting in line just became a much tenser affair...

Edgar:
You recognize the surly dwarf as the pilot of one of the Hawk Clan kabutoshi's, the Emerald Crest. Your latest information from the clan had suggested that he'd been working on some private project for the past couple of months. He values cohesion and solidarity over personal skill, making it far more likely he'll accept a small group instead of hiring six separate people...

[Levyathyn]

Tanner

Warily, Grimhand eyes the crowd, his mind tracing the contours of every face and the arch of every brow for a glint of familiarity. He decides to throw caution at least moderately to the wind, since no one seems to be in a rush to apply. He gauges the gathered mercenaries for those of quality, anyone who would best meet the staunch dwarf's meritous selection methods.

After his quick examination, he approaches the dwarf casually, showing confidence and no rush.

Another Spot check, this time specifically made to single out anyone with a reputation, or identifying signs of baddassery.

[roll0]

[Shades of Gray]

Cyema

The drow's look of disgust persisted as the dwarf spoke, he was clearly not doing much to change her opinion on this tavern. She walked toward the line, squeezing through and around anybody or any obstructions in her way. She didn't touch anything, and avoided contact with anyone. A tan-coloured ferret crawled out of her sleeve and perched itself on her shoulder. She looked around with a mix of nervousness and contempt. She pulled her scarf up more, no doubt to try to block the smell.

[Valgunn]

Valerie Gunn

Valerie made her way slowly, methodically toward the forming line. She slipped herself in somewhere after the fifth person. She kept her eyes glued on the dwarf and the person he was interviewing at the time. She wanted more information before she committed herself to this thing and the best way to do that, sure figured, was to watch and listen to the first few people being interviewed.