Curses! A Realm to be Torn. [IC]

[PrivateJunior]

Wearily, you trudge back into Aelzon after two days away from the city. You had been chasing a rumour that another being, cursed like you, had found a cure and explanation for the abnormalities that you suffer. You never found him. He probably didn't exist. It had just seemed so easy, to find the answer to all your problems and find the man made of blue glass. And yet, when you got there that address was vacant except for some angry squatters...

In failure, you decided to return to Aelzon, the city was as good a place as any to find the answers to your questions. Your booted feet clap as they hit the paved road and you reluctantly look up as you reach the invitingly open gates of the city. The two gate towers of sandstone reflect the sun's glare with dazzling brightness, their portcullis never lowered to protect from attack and their arrow slits never manned for war.

Beside the road and to your left, stands a copper statue 30 feet tall of Jatna, his great Book of Wisdom opened out in one arm and an intricate staff of wood in the other palm. His revered smile invites you into one of the great cities in the Taeforian Empire, Aelzon.
Another statue holds the opposite side of the paved road; the figure of Soulri. His armoured form seems dull compared with the crossbow that he holds, pointed out along the road in the defence of Aelzon. The golden crown of the Sun sits atop his head, shining rays of light in patterns on the walls of the city. The patron god of Aelzon is stern and majestic before you, giving the laws of the city divine approval and the walls divine strength. Very few of evil intent could pass Soulri unfazed.

Two watchmen slouch before the gates, leaning against the stonework and talking as you pass them by. They take no notice of you, even with such strange appearances as yours.

Upon passing through the gates, the sound picks up. The main street into the city is a hussling mess of people, travellers stride down the street and branch off into various taverns and alehouses, merchants and peddlers stand by the road, bellowing their wares and carrying trays of pies or pasties, pins or ribbons, strapped over their shoulders. Lesser nobles in carriages, surrounded by mercenaries and watchmen force the lower men from their paths in an attempt to make good time down the street.
Street performers, acrobats, conjurers and illusionists are scattered along the sides of the road, small audiences gathered to watch their spectacles.

Along the street, men and women go about their business. You earn a few odd looks from locals at your looks, but not nearly as many as the few ogres that make their way through the throng. Very few ogres come down from the mountains, and even less could be interested in the chaos of a human city, and people stop to stare as the biggest members of the crowd carefully navigate the sea of bodies, often armed with crude clubs like small trees or swords taller than a man.

Dwarves can also be seen in the crowd or rather, the wide gaps that they make can be seen; their reputation as rather easy-to-annoy gives them ample room to move where others would be crushed in the mass of bodies.

Last time you were here, you had found an inn just off the main street...what was its name again?
Ah! Yes. The Cleric of Birje
If you remember correctly, it should be just up the main street and off to the right.

[Milo v3]

Seán was worried he'd have to hide his arms in his cloak, but the arrival of ogres seemed most lucky.
But then again; whenever something good happens something horrible will soon follow.
He didn't count the failure in locating the Man of Blue Glass as the horrible countermeasure, he was getting used to pointless leads.

As he walked the streets of Aelzon, he gazed at the illusionists. He found the magic much more mundane then the actual mundane performers, magic just did the work for them.

Noting his slowed pace when thinking of the performers, he refocused to heading towards The Cleric.

[Draco-V9]

Jin was tring to keep focused on getting to the Cleric but it was impossible to not be distracted by all the people around him from illustionists to people just walking.

Jin walked to the side to watch some of the musician playing songs on lutes, to get completly fasicinated with them forgetting why they were there.

[PrivateJunior]

You push your way through the crowd, earning looks of disapproval followed by wariness at your deformities and adventuring gear. All in all, though, you make good time through the crowd and reach the mouth of the unnamed street on which the inn can be found. As you begin to walk down this paved path, a hush settles over the main street behind you.

Slow murmering replaces bawdy yelling and the crowd compresses to let through a small procession of cloaked and veiled creatures. All know their type. The black robes and veils indicate Clerics of Morsha and their reanimated corpses. The crowd gives this group plenty of room, fearing to meet the gaze of the single unveiled figure standing upon a platform carried by the corpses, his mutilated face a sickly white in the sun's radiance. The Herald of Morsha.
It is said that if Morsha's Herald ever speaks with mouth or touches foot to unhallowed ground, the souls of all the dead linked to Morsha through him will return and destroy all life in Taefor.

The procession travels at a moderate pace, steadily rounding into the main street and heading for the gates. They will be gone some weeks, praying and conducting rituals at the altar of Morsha to the north.
When the painstakingly slow column of Necromancers has completely left sight, shouts begin to fling halfheartedly about the street by nervous vendors. By the time you've turned away again, the activity behind you has returned to normal.

Before you is a plain, somewhat dark street lined with the cold fronts of buildings; houses and merchant's quarters, storerooms and other unmarked doors. A few faded signs hang from rusting chains declaring stores and proffessions in bold lettering almost lost to the grime.
Standing out in this dead street is the bright, red-and-white sign on gleaming chains proclaiming The Cleric of Birje and depicting a round man in deep azure robes carrying tankards of ale in both out-thrust fists, a cheery smile upon his face.

[Milo v3]

While he did study anatomy, the walking corpses always made Seán uneasy. He tried to not look, but the spectacle was too large to not glance. He was happy once he was out of sight of the priests.

He walked into the establishment after his companion, carefully closing the wooden door. Trying to ensure ash wouldn't be left from his palm.

[PrivateJunior]

OOC: Sorry, Draco, but I can't tell to whom you're speaking...:smalleek:

Entering the inn, you both are able to see at first glance that it is fairly full.
The bar, to your left, is occupied by a young fellow who you don't recognise from your last visit. He is serving a foaming yellow beverage to a rather overweight gnome slumped at the counter, drearily watching the room spin.

Away from the bar, are scattered tables and stools to match. Many are gathered around a single table atop which sits an old man leaning against his staff and telling stories with a glint in his eye. The men around him listen intently, one spilling his drink on the floor in his concentration.

A lady sits at the back of the room, drinking at a mug of ale. In her dress and fine clothing she seems out of place in such a rough setting, especially without the protection of a guard or mercenary. Of course, you know The Cleric of Birje and its reputation; one of the safest places in Aelzon, some say. Home to some of the most dangerous, is also said, but under the watchful gaze of the innkeeper it is one of the safest.

That is because the innkeeper is a certain Torbell Thern. He was born to a giant father and an human woman but, apart from being two feet taller than most other members of the room, it seems nothing adverse came of his creation. Thern has a knack for conversation and an efficiency in breaking up fights that is well known to the occupants of the inn, stopping most brawls before they begin. As you step inside, he is discussing some recent piece of news with a burly, bearded man that seems as a child next to the half-giant, over a pint of ale off to one side of the room.

[Milo v3]

The afflicted druid walked up to the bar, preparing to speak with Torbell. As he waited for the two to finish talking, Seán glaced towards the lady at the back, trying to get a better look.

[Draco-V9]

Jin walked over to the man telling his stories trying to find out what was so great about his story.

[PrivateJunior]

Sean:
The lady at the back of the room seems entirely at ease with her surroundings, unusual indeed but you suppose not entirely surprising considering that she's here at all. She is wearing a dress of deep vermilion, with matching gloves and silk scarf. After a moment, she notices your watchful eye and subconsciously pats her side. In that moment your practiced eye identifies the slight bulge of a concealed knife, half a second at the most before she withdraws her hand, confident of her own protection.
A slip like that could cost your life in some of the lower, more bawdy taverns of Aelzon...it's lucky she's in The Cleric.

Jin:
As you approach the table of the storyteller, the audience shuffles around to let you sit. You identify a few warriors in the group easily, swords or cudgels at their belts and the wary air of a hardened fighter. Probably mercenaries, you think, taking a break from the hired life and enjoyig talk from outside the city, and fanciful stories over a mug of ale.
The storyteller, his eyes childlike despite his age, swiftly adds you into his sweeping gaze as he dramatically concludes his story;
...and so the spirits of the Elves float in their torment even today, a deadly threat only to those brave, or foolish, enough to enter the Great Mists. So is our land protected from the evil creatures.

Ah! Another listener. May Jatna smile upon you my friend. Let me see...have you heard that the Dwarven miners of Rune Quarter have fled their tunnels? Seeing your blank expression, the man continues, now speaking to the small crowd. Yes! You would be aware, of course, that they were digging a shaft underneath the Great Mists, hoping to reach the center and tunnel upward into the heart of mists. They were following the rumour that there is a great treaure there, a relic that was powering the mists, fuelling them and killing any that tried to reach it.
Well, the team from Rune Quarter was a pretty tough bunch, and apparently they were set to complete their tunnel some time in the next season, but just last week...nay, closer to two weeks hence...all work stopped and they are refusing to tell anyone why. It is curious for I have never seen a scared Dwarf, but when I met one of the team he seemed absolutely terrified.
The story teller paused to let that sink in, before with a chuckle he added: That is, I think there was an expression on his face!
That managed to lighten the mood, getting some barking laughs from amongst his audience before he bagan to speak of a time when he met a dwarf of Pick's End.

Both:
Torbell takes his leave from conversation with the bearded man, draining his pitcher and placing the empty container on the bar for the new lad to collect. In two long strides, he bears down upon you, his height and muscle cutting an imposing figure. He appears to think a moment, searching for something in his mind... A wide grin splits his face.
Asheye, isn't it? Who's your friend?

[Milo v3]

Not too foolish of a lady then, though the lack of skill in hiding the weapon means she can't have been doing this for too long.

"That's Jin. Dumb brute, but he's fast and afflicted. So he's useful enough. Anything big happen lately, I've been gone a few days."

[Draco-V9]

Jin turn from hearing his name, and walked over saying "Talking 'bout me?"

[PrivateJunior]

If you want stories, you can listen to old Bol Harsson over there. Full of 'em, he is. But one thing's been said a bit around here, and it concerns you. Howls in the woods. Smoke, lots of it, from the forests. I'll be damned if I know what it all means, but its more than we hear from the little bastards in a year every day.
I got no more for you, everything else I hear is the normal; bandits on the Low Path, bandits on the High Path and by Jatna's Book I'll wager bandits are on the Mountainpaths, too. Bah! It's always like that, but still they complain.

The door swings open to let in a cool breeze before being slammed shut. A dwarf in a heavy coat of furs, a pick at his wrinkled leather belt, stood in the doorway.
Calling over a waitress, Torbell continues;
If you need anything, - food, drink, rooms - give Dess a yell.
He then hastens over to the dwarf to offer him a drink and table.

[Milo v3]

Hmm... Smoke from the forests... Could be a tribe of shifters, lighting bushfires as a form of worship to Falgri. Wonder if they'd know anything about the curse....

We should probably buy a room for the night. Doubt we could find another place to stay.

Asheye turned around to face away from the bar in search of Dess. As he'd rather not "give her a yell".

[Draco-V9]

Yeah we should stay the night and look into the story about the woods tommorow Jin sat down back at the story teller listening to his tales, thinking~I'll get my room later

[PrivateJunior]

A serving girl hastens forward at a gesture from Torbell, skillfully navigating the tables and stools of the inn whilst dropping off two more ales near to the storyteller, Bol Harsson, and catching the flashing silver coins that were flicked into the air in return.

A moment later she is standing before you with a not-quite-genuine smile ready. Anything you need?

[Milo v3]

"We'd appreciate a room for the night miss."

[Draco-V9]

Yes that would be nice thanks

[PrivateJunior]

Looking you both up and down, she seems to ponder for a moment...or perhaps not, she recovers quickly anyhow. Retaining her imperfect smile, Dess motions up to a set of stairs and a corridor to the side of the common room.
"We have rooms available, of course. The price of ten gold will give you a locked room, a bed and a secure chest for your belongings. Meals are provided in the morning, and anything extra that you might need through the night is available in the room. Would you like a separate room each?
In a practiced voice, Dess reels out the details for the rooms available. Noting Jin's presence, she appends the question.

[Draco-V9]

Yes seperate rooms would be profered Jin looked at the women she had a dirty apon that looked a bit scraggy and a long dress that was reaching down to her feet.Here is your gold Jin handed over 10 pieces of gold for the room.

[PrivateJunior]

Accepting the gold coins of both companions with a curtsy, Dess turns her back upon you and hurries over to the stairs to the right of the room, vanishing up the stairs in a flurry of stained and dirtied skirts.

A hand grasps Sean's arm as you make to follow her to your rooms, soot coming away onto the clenched fingers. The reddened, beady eyes of the bar's gnommish inhabitant squint up at you both, a shrewd intelligence barely visible beneath the fog of drunken oblivion.
In a rasping voice, piercing despite the alcohol, he speaks;
"I feel death. It is upon me. It is soon to be upon you. Nothing can stop it - not even the foolish Clerics of Morsha. I have uncovered a great ... truth. It is your truth. Our truth." The gnome's voice falls to a heaving whisper. "Someone has found it, and it is opening. I must find ..."
Before he can finish his sentence, the little round gnome sharply catches his breath and topples off his stool to the hard, wooden floorboards with a muffled crash.

The entire room turns its attention to you, none making a move to help the gnome or get in any way involved with the situation. A few regard you coldly, calculatingly.
The stillness remains unbroken while Torbell and the young barman check the seemingly lifeless figure of the gnome. No one else seems to have noticed the rant of the crazed creature before he lost consciousness.

[Milo v3]

Asheye agressively tore his hand away from Dess and strided to the gnome. His eyes literally smoldering, he desperately attempted to examine the gnome who apparently died in front of him seconds after talking to him.
How long did he wait for us? He said our truth. He must have meant the curse. I need him to not be dead.

Heal Check to examine the gnome: [roll0]

[PrivateJunior]

Between Torbell checking the pulse of the gnome and Asheye's experienced assessment of the body it is confirmed that the gnome, whoever he may have been, no longer lives. His last breath had been the one to disrupt his speech and swallow his revelation before it could be made to the world.

Muttering about lost business and upholding a reputation - having someone die in your inn doesn't help you maintain a reputation for the safety of patrons - Torbell hefts the body over his shoulder like a ragdoll next to his own stature, making his way for a door behind the bar.

[Draco-V9]

Who was that? Jin was concerned about Sean, who seemed to be very desperate about keeping a this Gnome alive.

[Milo v3]

Turning his head, to face his confused companion Seán muttered with a bit of venom on his tongue.
"I have no idea who he was. But he knew us."

[Draco-V9]

Jin raised his eye brows in disbelief and said Wait how does he know us, well how did he know us?

[Milo v3]

Asheye's patience with the repeative questioning was like a match set aflame, growing exponentially shorter.
"I Don't Know. Perhaps we should ask the corpse. Wait, Torbells already took him away. Too bad, I'm sure we could've made him talk."

[Draco-V9]

You don't have to be rude. Jin glared at Sean Maybe Torbell already knows who
Jin walked away from Sean to ask Dess, can we go back there to talk to Torbell?

[PrivateJunior]

"Nobody but Mister Thern and waitresses and the such go out there. Wait for him to return; I'm sure you'll be able to talk to him before the darkhours."
The door in question stands slightly ajar, barely a crack open.

The gathering of men around the storyteller begin to chant. "Song! Song! Song!", calling out popular tavern tunes and the names of bawdy folksongs.
Amidst this, the dwarf pulls from his furred coats a thin metal pipe and begins to clean the ends. Beside him, Bol Harsson shifts through his travelling pack, looking for something at the bottom.

Just then, it strikes you that someone is missing. The lady cannot be seen.

[Milo v3]

She was here mere seconds ago. She must have left during the confusion, but then why leave? She must know something, perhaps she even caused his death.

"Have you ever seen that woman who was wore the vermillion dress before?"

[Draco-V9]

Jin started to spin his head trying to find where she had gone, any sign of her.

Spot check
[roll0]

[PrivateJunior]

No matter how you try, the lady cannot not to be seen in the common room.
Dess, on the other hand, is very obviously getting impatient. "I didn't serve a woman tonight. If I'm not serving them something, I tend to ignore them. Would you like to see your rooms?" She asks with a small frown.

Behind you, the dwarf finishes cleaning the strange metal pipe and blows into one end. A single, shrill note is thrown forth. Bol, on the other hand, withdraws an empty bag from his pack. Carefully, he begins to pull from the bag a large, harp-like stringed instrument with an odd assortment of strings crossing each other to form a web of tightened chords. Slapping it in the centre, a full sound is emitted that hushes the audience.

It is at that moment that Torbell returns through the door he left.

[Draco-V9]

Jin hasterly walked over to Torbrll to ask Torbell, who was that man? did he know us?

[PrivateJunior]

As Torbell navigates around the counter of the bar, you catch the slight jingle of coins and the stronger residual odour of garbage on the towering innkeeper.
"I can't say I really saw what he did with you 'fore he lost it, not enough to tell you if he knew you. He was 'armless, though. I checked 'im out before he got to the drinkin', and he was just another lost fool wantin' to drink a barrel dry and drown in the piss. Didn't figure he was gonna get outta hand."
He glances back at the door he just came through.
"Bloody light for a dead gnome, though. We get the strangest in here, but not many just cark it after an ale."

Elsewhere in the room, Bol taps his foot thrice...gives his strange instrument another slap...then he and the dwarf launch into a music alien to your ears. The audience seems confused at first, but the appeal of the exotic sound slowly dawns on them.

[Milo v3]

"It appears no-one has any knowledge we require. We'll go see our rooms I guess...."
Hopefully we can locate that woman in the morning.

[Draco-V9]

"Yeah why not, may as well get some rest we have alot to do tomorrow" Jin tried to seem calm and ordered but inside he was in chaos. He was distress worring about the man who just died and was swept right away and the Women in the Vermillion Dress. What was her type doing in a place like this.

[PrivateJunior]

Dess leads you away from the strange sounds of Bol and the dwarf, toward your rooms. Each is near identical, side-by-side in the corridor. A sturdy wooden door wrapped with iron bands to reinforce it stands open to reveal the contents of the cell. A single, worn bed - or, more accurately, a wooden pallet covered in rugs and blankets - dominates the tiny space. In the corner opposite, a wooden bucket sits upturned after cleaning and ready for its next use.
A small, barred window is set high into the stone wall behind the bed, allowing nil but a trickle of sunlight into the room, the actual rays catching the side wall in dazzling brilliance compared with the murkiness elsewhere.
A chest sits adjacent to the door, heavy lid standing open to receive valuable contents for the night. A key sits beside it, visibly corresponding to the lock on the front.
The only other noticable feature of each room, is the heavy iron lock and bolt on the outside of the main door, and a bar on the inside.

The resemblance of the rooms to prison cells is uncanny, but such is the price of near-perfect safety.

[Draco-V9]

Jin started to feel ill at ease with this room, if something were to go wrong there would only be one way out, but then again it would not be difficult to rip those bars of the window.
Well I feel safe in here then
"It'll do"