The Adventurer's Guild: Team Bravo IC

[Gnorman]

Riversmeet, garden district. Dawn.

You awake to the sound of birds chirping, and the burgeoning light of day. The sun's golden rays are filtered through a sea of green, the legacy of Riversmeet's origins as an elven trade city. Though the city is much more cosmopolitan now, ruled by a council of merchant princes from all races, the tall trees and marble sculptures lining the wide avenues betray the city's historical origins. You've been staying the last few days in a converted manor house, the former property of a murdered minor lordling still said to haunt one of the upper rooms. Thankfully, the innkeeper told you that that particular room was booked for the week, and your sleep has been peaceful and ghost-free.

After a quick breakfast of vanilla-poached peaches and walnut porridge, you make your way past neatly-trimmed hedges and blooming flower gardens, to the brick-red Bridge of Roses. One of four main bridges that traverse the two titular rivers of Riversmeet, the Bridge of Roses is said to be a gathering place for romantics and poets. Just on the other side, perched precariously on the bank, you see your destination - a tall building, painted a bright pink and decorated with marble columns and a wrought iron fence in the shape of curling leaves. The gate opens without a sound. The courtyard is lush and green, with apple trees. Adventurers of all stripes are strolling through the lawn, talking and laughing with one another, or sitting quietly at white wooden tables sipping on the local specialty, a stimulating herbal tea.

But you have a mission to attend to, and no time to take tea and make new friends. You step onto the white marble portico, and through wide double doors. You can smell a hint of lavender perfume, and hear the faint sound of music from a distant room. But the feature that dominates the room is a wide spiral staircase, leading to the upper floors. At the foot of the stairs, a well-dressed orc turns toward you, bowing deeply and showing every tusk with a wide grin.

Welcome, welcome, to the drawing room of the unparalleled Madame Papillon, the orc says, with a posh tone that belies his ancestry. She will attend you shortly, after she has finished taking her breakfast. I am told that you have yet to have the chance to meet one another. As you shall be working together in extremely close quarters, I humbly suggest that you make each other's acquaintance in the few minutes we have available to us now.

[r2d2go]

Athena raises an eyebrow at the delay, but after considering the ramifications, she nods, then surveys the group with piercing silver-gray eyes.
"The flowers of war
Only bloom when blood flows past
Red like passing time."

"Hello, I'm Athena. Bard, poet, warleader, dragon child, whichever you prefer. If you fight with blade or claw, I'll help light your foes aflame."

I'll Inspire Competence (sense motive), to help people understand what I do (in character). Wasteful, but I think it helps me not seem like just a flowery poet :smalltongue:

Also, I'm implying that this lady is intentionally making us wait to establish dominance, and I don't like it.

[Blueiji]

A small but not at all subtle smile spreads across Stigur's face upon hearing Athena's song and subsequent explanation. The barbarian then begins loudly speaking in a deep and jolly tone, not paying much heed to the delicate or refined feel of his surroundings.

"Stigur is very glad to be in the company of a fellow music-maker! And to hear that your songs carry some sort of fiery bewitchment? This is better news still!"

The raggedy-haired hunter, now enthused, turns to address the group and addresses his companions as a whole. This time Stigur spreads his arms wide in a welcoming but also vaguely-taunting gesture, indicating that while he is presenting himself, he also seeks to establish his strength. This specific display may be subconscious for Stigur, but it's not something his conscious mind would object to.

"Stigur is also skilled in performance, but Stigur's true abilities lies in hunting! With these swords and this bow, many great beasts and monsters have been felled. Of course, Stigur would be lying to say that a bit of druidic magic hasn't made its contributions to the task of hunting as well."

Having said his piece, the barbarian lowers his arms to his side and awaits the introductions of his four other companions.

I debated having Stigur speak in third person for a while. Ultimately I decided that the annoyance it provides for me as a writer will probably be outweighed by what it gives Stigur. I hope that his speaking pattern help emphasize Stigur's lack of care for norms and standards (even against his own tribe's way of living) as well as give a sense of an accent over text.

If posts in third person are utterly terrible for you to read, just let me know somehow (OOC thread or PM?) and perhaps your character can help teach the guy the various intricacies of grammar.

[Khosan]

"Morning folks," Mirabella casually strolls past the others and takes a seat on the bottom step of the staircase. "Athena, Stigur. 'Fraid I'm gonna have to break the little trend you've got going - I'm not a musician." She emphasizes that point with a poorly tuned singsong voice. Clearing her throat, she continues, "Professionally, I've been a private investigator, a locksmith, a diplomat, a duelist, and a thief. Don't worry too much about the last one, that was for fun."

"Name's Mirabella. You can call me Mira or Bella or whatever else strikes your fancy." A wry smile on her face, she settles back into the staircase, making herself as comfortable as one can be on solid marble.

[PlumpBardvark]

Chorus, having stood back patiently with his hands behind his nightly vestments, can't help but crack a smile, casting his face down at the ground while the corner of his lips tugs upward into a smirk.

"Well, unfortunately for you, Mira, this bardic theme we're running with is too good to pass up on completely. Have you ever considered a career in theatrical storytelling?" He flashes her a wide, shimmering smile, one that practically seems to glint with a disgustingly facetious sheen. "Why, by the end of all of this, we might make an artist of you yet."

Suddenly pivoting on his heel to turn and address the group, the ribbons keeping his mask tied onto his face, as well as his book bag and the tails of his black, velvet coat flourishing in his wake, he stretches out his pathetically avian arms in a way that sort of mirrors Stigur. He thrusts one foot to the side, balancing on his heel in a silly, dramatic pose.

"Hey there, folks! My name is Chorus Hasou, and boy, am I glad to make your inevitable acquaintance. If you're wondering what I do, boy, is it something! Yes, most certainly something. And that something is...ahem. Well, I certainly have one. To be honest, I've got about all the fire and brimstone of your friendly neighborhood librarian!" As if to illustrate this point, he swivels his hip to fling his book bag into his hands. "Which is to say, all of it! Anything your hungry little eyes could ever hope to learn by the grace of the written word. I also do stage readings and private parties."

[Gnorman]

As the collected adventurers discuss their respective bardic abilities, the well-dressed orc stands silently by, as if listening to something else entirely. Finally, as Chorus finishes flourishing his bags, and steps in the midst of the adventurers, bowing politely.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you'd be so kind as to cease your conversation for a moment. It is my absolute pleasure to announce Madame Papillon.

At the top of the marbled staircase, you see what could charitably be described as a tall, pink puffball, topped with a powdered white wig. Presumably, this puffball is Madame Papillon, wearing a frilled dress with a wide skirt that obscures the bottom half of her body. She glides down the staircase with the elegance of a dancer. She smiles a wide smile, showing small tusks inscribed with gold leaf. A violet butterfly-shaped mask covers the top half of her face, but you can tell that she is obviously of orcish descent. She reaches the bottom of the staircase, stopping just before Mirabella, and curtsies politely.

Greetings, my friends. Please, don't get up on my behalf. I know I've been terribly rude, and I do apologize for making you wait. Can I make the offense up to you somehow? Shall I have Gaston fetch you some tea? Biscuits? Gaston, please fetch our guests some refreshments while I discuss their role in our little organization.

The male orc bows low and disappears into a side corridor. Madame Papillon surveys the group once more, her smile growing particularly bright as she looks at Sigur. You seem to sense a subtle fluttering of eyelashes, but it is hard to tell behind the mask.

My, aren't we just an exciting group. Now, what can I do for you?

[r2d2go]

"Adventurer's Guild business, Madame. Anything you'd like to tell us?" Athena smiles, but her eyes have only a faint hint of friendliness.

[Gnorman]

Madame Papillon chuckles lightly at Athena's comment.

Darling, any Adventurer's Guild business is my business. I am the guildmaster, after all. You don't need to be so tight-lipped with me. Do lighten up a little. Just because we have a working relationship doesn't mean that we can't have some fun with it.

She smiles again and looks at Athena, almost patronizingly. Her eyes linger a second, narrowing slightly, and then she waves her hand and laughs again.

But if you want to be ever so laconic about it, I suppose we don't need to mince words. I have been receiving complaints from some of the local merchants about missing caravans. They're paying me an awful lot of money to have my people look into it. And since you are now my people, I give to you the task of solving this little problem. Do it well, and I'll be sharing quite a bit of that awful lot of money with you. I trust that this arrangement will be to your liking? If there's no objections, please be a group of dears and go see a man by the name of Reynard. He's the head of some merchant guild or another, I never remember which one, perhaps the farriers? Or was it the furriers? Regardless, he's the one who brought this matter to my attention in the first place. I think he was rather upset about one of his men being cut in half or something. I've told him to await your arrival at the Ramshead. Oh, Gaston?

Madame Papillon calls out her servant's name, and his head pops up shortly in the hallway door, carrying a tray of iced tea and chocolate biscuits. He steps into the room, offering the tray to the gathered adventurers for their consumption.

Yes, Madame?

Be a dear and fetch these adventurers their official writs of passage please.

Gatson nods and bows low, disappearing back into the hall, leaving the tray of refreshments on a nearby endtable. He comes back in less than a minute, bearing a rolled-up scroll, sealed by wax stamped in the shape of a butterfly.

This will let Reynard know who you are, and who you represent. If there are any questions, now's the time. If not, well, then I suppose it would be best if you were about our business.

[r2d2go]

Athena continues to smile, a little more intensely. "Thank you, Madame. I'm sure we can pursue more leisurely activities after dealing with whoever is eviscerating merchants. I'd love to host a poetry recital..." She leans back slightly, as if motioning to have others speak.

[Khosan]

Mira hums, looking away from the puffy pink half-orc and scratching her chin, "First thought's bandits. Caravan raids aren't exactly unheard of. Little worried about the man cut in half. I wouldn't put it out of the realm of possibility, it's just...very extreme for your run of the mill roadside brigands. Guess Reynard'll know more about that."

[Blueiji]

Bearing her teeth? Flushing her eyes of any debris? Does this masked woman challenge Stigur?

Shaking himself back into the moment, the barbarian notices that Madame Papillon no longer seems to be making the face, but still decides to mirror her expression. It would be folly to appear weak in the face of an employer, after all.

Catching up to the conversation by listening to his companion's comments, Stigur offers his insight.

"A man chopped in two means either a very strong or very dedicated brigand. There is no way to know until we see the body ourselves, Stigur suggests we go to see Reynard.

[JNAProductions]

A tall woman staggers in, bedraggled and haggard looking, as if she had just woken up. I'm here! I'm here! Sorry, I overslept and was drunk last night and... Yeah... Scarlet's the name. Scarlet Cooper.

[PlumpBardvark]

As the group mingles with their puffy, pink hostess, Chorus's wide eyes are interested solely in her mask, practically salivating with giddy, heavy-breathed fervor at the sight of it. Tightening the wrappings on his own mask, he takes a long, wide stride forward, one foot in front of the other.

"My lovely, be-masked lady, you can be sure that my bardic cohorts and I will ensure a 100% decrease in caravan-stoppings, body-choppings, and overabundant financial droppings. With some time and your blessiest of blessings, there'll be no bees to be found in ANY of your bonnets(or masks)."

"Oh, and, ahem, if you're looking for someone to present that scroll to Reynard, that scroll, its seal, and your good word will be no safer than in my possession." Without turning his head away to face her, still grinning gallantly in her direction(actually her mask's direction, mind you), he reaches into his bag and pops open a nifty scroll case. He holds it out delicately, shooting her a furtive wink. "Scrolls and scroll accessories just so happen to be my deepest passion, right beside tea, biscuits, and fine, fine masks."

If Chorus's mask could wink too, it would.

It probably could.

[r2d2go]

Athena nudges Scarlet with her elbow, stage whispering towards her, Mira and Stigur, "Maybe we should give their masks some time alone together." She smiles brightly, hoping Papillon goes along with it, or at least reveals something in her reaction.

Cure Minor Wounds to help with the hangover :smalltongue:

Also, sense motive, to try and get a better read on Papillon: [roll0]

[JNAProductions]

Athena nudges Scarlet with her elbow, stage whispering towards her, Mira and Stigur, "Maybe we should give their masks some time alone together." She smiles brightly, hoping Papillon goes along with it, or at least reveals something in her reaction.

Cure Minor Wounds to help with the hangover :smalltongue:

Also, sense motive, to try and get a better read on Papillon: [roll0]

Yeah, okay, okay, Scarlet says, finding a seat. Sorry again, guys.

[Gnorman]

Madame Papillon smiles slightly at Chorus' antics.

Of course, my dear. I shall entrust these documents into your care. You certainly seem to be adequately prepared to handle them.

Gaston tenderly deposits the sealed documents into Chorus' scroll case.

Athena:

You get the feeling that Madame Papillon isn't telling you everything about the missing caravans. You don't get the sense that she's lying, but she's definitely using her aristocratic demeanor to hide the fact that she knows more than she lets on. Gaston might know more, but you doubt he'd reveal anything in Papillon's presence.

[PlumpBardvark]

Sealing the case and tossing it into the air, he catches it and pockets it with a curt bow.

"Thank y'kindly, my lady. I hope it wouldn't trouble you too much to ask what or where the Ramshead is? Obviously, I may not be from around these flowery parts, but by failing to prepare, we prepare to fail."

With another discreet wink, this one aimed back at the group(possibly Stigur?), he slides a tiny, leather-bound notebook out of his bag. With a flick of his wrist, a pen finds its way into his hand, possibly from his wrist? It's too quick and fluid to catch right away.

"Of course, it's just easy to get lost in a town like this, with so much beauty to breathe in." He stresses the word "beauty" by raising a brow and looking up at her mask with a dulcet, syrup-sweet accent, leaning forward as if to hear her better while standing right behind the precipice of what might be considered a comfortable distance from her, book and pen in hand.

[r2d2go]

Athena chuckles again, then looks at Gaston. "Definitely need to give them a room. Would you be so kind as to take us to said Ramshead, Gaston?

[Khosan]

Desperately trying to avoid the flirtation literally flying over her head, Mira quietly gets up and shuffles away from the masked lovers-to-be. "Please, Gaston, as quick as you can."

[Blueiji]

Stigur's face contorts in suspicion. It seems that both of the masked folk enjoy sending strange looks Stigur's way. This troubles Stigur.

Starring intently at the back of Chorus' head, the hulking barbarian cranes his neck forward unnaturally, and then slowly winks with both eyes at once. The action seems to carry a great deal of intensity for Stigur, as a number of veins in his forehead and neck bulge during the ocular performance.

Content with his unspoken retort, Stigur returns to his normal posture, and then begins casting furtive glances around his party. The mask conspiracy seems to run deep, and allies must be found. Can Stigur trust any of these folk?

[JNAProductions]

Scarlet whispers to her neighbor now, asking What'd I miss, by the way?