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Preliminary Encounters

Page history last edited by PBworks 16 years, 10 months ago

Preliminary Encounters

[This page is a place to roleplay the initial encounters between the heroes. The purpose of which is to determine how our heroes came together to start their adventuring careers. Please feel free to contribute and or edit as you like!]


At the Ghostly Minstrel in Delver's square, Cyan Bloodstar overhears Miasshirra talking about becoming a delver, he especially notices the line, "if I only knew any wizards...".


Cyan, pauses from his awkward dancing, steps over to her and interjects himself into the conversation quite abruptly.


"I know some, girlie." Miasshirra notices Cyan peering in her direction. "In fact [clears throat quite noisily] I am Magi. Just an apprentice, true. To Darsus Nightwish. You need a wizard just to have some intellect walk beside you down the street or you need some actual spell-slinging? Or both?" He stares at her though she is hard-pressed to see his eyes behind his mask through the tiny slits that allow him to see out. He towers over her, standing probably a little too close for her comfort.


Miassharra's ears perk up at Cyan's approach.  She steps back bit to get a better view, and her nose twitches a little as she sizes him up. The smell of Cyan is like fresh dirt...not in the bad way but in the freshly tilled garden way--and somewhat flowery or spiced. "Rreally?  You're a wizard?"  Miasshirra's eyes look down to Cyan's waist, searching for the spell component pouches that typically mark a wizard. His massive cloak, however, covers his entire gangly frame.  Looking back up, she exclaims, "Are you a delver?"  As the next dance starts up, Miassharra grabs Cyan's hand and pulls him over to the bar.  "I'm Miassharra by the way.  I'm going to register with the Delverr's Guild as soon as I can.  I just can't find anybody with a spine to come with me.  I know a th...rrogue, but I can't go with just him.  What do you say?  Do you want a piece of the action?"


Cyan opens his mouth to answer the girl but gets pulled to the bar shutting him up momentarily. He allows her to yank him but stops just shy of the bar, avoiding crashing into it. "Delver? Not yet. Spine I got. But th...rogues?" He shrugs his big shoulders. "Luckily I don't have anything worth stealing."


He signals to the barman. "Water here Pops! Snap Snap! And it would be great if it was actually clear this time."


Miasshirra dismisses Cyan's suggestion with her hands, "No, no, it's not like that.  He doesn't want to get in trrouble anymore; I just heard that he wants to become a delver, too."  As the barman comes around, Miassharra orders a glass of cheap wine.  "So do you know any muscle?  Well, I guess I know some people, but they're a bunch of gutless pigs that aren't worth the gold it takes to feed.  I mean, do you know anyone cut out for delving?  I hear you need three people to go delving - a wizard, a fighter and a scout.  I may not look like much, but trust me, I know how to sneak around."  Miassharra finally pauses for breath, and looks around the bar hungrily to see how the barman's coming with her drink.


Cyan ponders for a short moment then says, "Not really. Not much in the way of brawn in yon wizard's guilds you know." He sips and gargles his water then swallows it with a loud AHHH.


"By the way, the name's Cyan. Maybe if we get lots of good adventures and somehow accumulate more gold soveriegns than we can spend we'll be happy to have met one another. Or maybe there is a decidedly early grave with your name on it somewhere." He shrugs at her look and says, "My grave is waiting for me already. The day of reckoning cometh....." He looks away lost in thought.


Ears drooping a little, and looking askance at Cyan for his gloomy statement, Miassharra nevertheless replies "Well, I'm always hanging around here - at least until I find somebody to go delving with.  I'll let you know if I find some brawn."  With that, Miassharra heads back to the dance floor for the start of the next estampie.


Cyan watches her go and finishes his water, making a mess trying to pour the water through his mask. He seemingly doesn't care for he simply drops the glass upon the bar and launches himself onto the dance floor. His limbs start gesturing wildly and he gyrates with little actual grace or elegance. Watching a 7 ft tall guy that is all elbows and knees dance while wearing a mask and dripping water everywhere could be entertaining to some. Or...not so much.


Cyan stops mid-gyrate and whistles sharply. Through the open door swoops a massive bird of prey shrieking loudly. The noble creature swings towards the gangly human and lands on his outstretched arm. Then Cyan picks up his so-called dance moves with the eagle. The two of them make a remarkably ridiculous pair to behold as they continue dancing, hooting and hollaring.


Cyan's distorted laugh can be heard over the din as he carries on with his friend. When the song ends he moves back to the bar, demands another glass of water and chugs it messily. He looks for the girl but seems to have lost sight of her in the crowd somewhere. He shrugs. He moves to the door reminding himself that through every door lies the unknown. If you never go through the door, nothing good will ever happen. With that thought, he takes a running start and leaps out the door, kicking up a cloud of dust as he hits the street. Qyllion follows more gracefully ascending high into the sky before settling on Cyan's outstretched arm. Cyan looks around and breathes in the air. Something was tickling his mind. A sense of expectation perhaps. He hoped things panned out with Miassharra. He eagerly thought of trading spell for spell and battling toe to toe with her and others like her at his side against foes unknown. His chance to perhaps outgrow his freakish appearance through deeds. He smiled beneath his mask and broke out in song while he walked down the street.



    Jacob Eberstark entered the Ghostly Minstral tentatively.  He was a fairly tall man, dressed in dark green and white, favored colors of his deity.  He wore his longsword on his belt.  Jacob sighed audibly.  While he had been to Midtown before, rarely did Jacob seek out taverns such as these.   Typically, he frequented the theatre and dance halls.  "Why am I here, mother?"  he asked quietly, under his breath.  He turned to the space next him, as if someone was talking to him.

    He spoke aloud next, "So you say, but where am I to find the others you speak of?"  Again, he paused, staring slightly to his left.  "I understand, mother."

    He strode over to the barkeep and ordered a fine vintage of dwarven deepwine, made from pale fruit grown underground.  He sat at the bar, sipping his wine and muttering to no one in particular.


    Against his better judgement, Crow peered out from under the brim of his hat. The Minstrel was busy today, but he'd managed to secure a chair in a corner, put his feet up, and pretend to doze. Well, mostly pretended. But here was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Straightening with a groan, he wove a circuitous path through the dancing crowd, making sure to catch the eyes of a few pretty girls along the way. Emerging from the throng, he pulled up a stool next to the odd man who'd just entered the bar. "True believer, this one," he thought to himself, sizing up the newcomer. Church man, probably, judging from the uncomfortable posture and gaudy colors. Maybe even a paladin. The thought gave him pause.

    "Barkeep," he shouted above the din. "I'll have what he's having," as he pointed to his new neighbor. He turned abruptly, clapped the man on the shoulder and said happily, "Well hello there, Crazy Charlie! Who's your invisible friend?" He glanced around the room quickly, then said, with feigned concern, "I didn't sit on her, did I?"


Jacob cleared his throat and looked a bit sheepish.  He turned to the man and lied, "I'm sorry, friend, but I don't know what you're talking about."  However, he still seemed to be listening to something. 

    The barkeep arrived with a glass of deepwine, setting down next to new arrival.  Jacob continued, "However, I am looking for someone.  Actually, I'm looking for a group of someones.  I was told...," he paused and again his eyes flickered to the empty space next to him.  "I was told they would be here tonight."


Cyan stops in mid-stride and watches the oddly garbed human enter the establishment he and Qyllion just left. What an odd fellow, talking to himself and such. Cyan asks Qyllion what he thinks and the eagle shrieks its reply. "Indeed. I thought the same Q." Cyan starts to take a step and does instead an about-face and heads back to the minstrel. I came down here seeking such peoples regardless of who they talk to or how they dress, he thinks to himself. The next thought is a frequent one; Who am I to pass judgement on anyone with the way I am? Shaking his head to clear that thought, Cyan opens the door he had so abrubtly jumped through mere moments before and steps inside, hoping to spot Miassharra again and this new guy, garishly dressed and a-sword a-wielding. Through the smoke and haze he spots green and white and saunters that way, taking liberty to 'inadvertantly' pinch a few lovely butts along the way.


The tail attached to one of the aforementioned rear ends stiffens and Miassharra glares at the ungainly Litorian.  Intent on giving him a piece of her mind, Miassharra starts to follow him back to the bar... 


Cyan pushes through the crowd which seems to be growing a bit. Apparently this dive has decent entertainment though of which type is indiscernable. He spies the green and white just off to the side and tries rather rudely to edge his way up to the side of the 'gentleman.'  He bullies some other drinkers out of his path and away from the bar, Qyllion nipping one fool who thought to pluck a tail feather, and rests his pointy elbow on the bar, leaning over the seated human. The man is in conversation with another at the moment so Cyan and Qyllion patiently await an opportunity to interject or for the men to notice his presence and invite him in. Qyllion passes the seconds pecking at the wood of Cyan's mask, just above Cyan's right eye, sending little splinters here and there.


Before he can respond to the startled knight, Crow notices a large figure weaving through the crowd. Glancing back at his companion, he says, "No worries, friend. Three's company." He flashes a quick wink. "Well, looks like the big guy's back. I'm looking for someones, too. Maybe we'll both find what we're looking for." He grabs the mug of sweet-smelling liquid and downs it without pausing. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he pauses, and a grimace crosses his face. "Deepwine? Oh Gods, I should have asked first. Terrible stuff." His companion seems to be in conversation with his invisible (imaginary?) friend, and pays him no mind. Stepping around him, he confronts the newcomer. His head only barely reaches above the big... guy's shoulder. "The Minstrel draws the oddest people, don't you think? My kind of place."


The man leans down and sniffs long and hard at the deepwine glass, savoring the aroma of fermented deeppears, the underground fruit utilized to make this particular vintage. He straightens and says, "Whatever do you mean?" He glances sideways a Qyllion and they both shrug in unison. The eagle lets out a caw or two as if chuckling. Cyan glances about as if to notice these odd people and spies Miassharra behind him. "Hello girlie. Couldn't get enough of my dancing eh? Or perhaps you are drawn to this garishly garbed man here? Me too. But he seems busy with some unfinished conversation at the moment and so I was about to introduce myself to this other gentleman here." He turns back to Crow and says, "This petite waif is Miassharra though I don't roll my Rs as well as her to pronounce it the right way." He indicates the gigantic bird perched atop one shoulder and says, "This is Qyllion, and I am Cyan Bloodstar." He edges a bit closer, his eyes peering out from behind a wall of darkwood. "And whom might you be?"


"Whom, indeed?" says Crow, arching an eyebrow. He extends a hand. "Crow, adventuring gumshoe and inquisitive tracker, newly arrived from lands far off and eager for fun and danger. Same thing, really. And this," motioning to the knight," is... well, er. I don't actually know who this is, but he's a great conversationalist, and the two of you seem to share the same dubious taste in liquor. Greetings Cyan." He nods to the bird perched on the shoulder high above. "And greetings Qyllion. It seems I'm the only one who hasn't brought a friend. Perhaps you will do, little one?" He glances around Cyan to Miassharra. Looking back to the big man, he gives a mischievous smile. "It's a good thing you're wearing that mask. Otherwise people might figure you for a Litorian. I mean, who doesn't have a mane these days? They're all the rage in the Nobles Quarter." He strokes his chin. "I myself have a bit of trouble growing one. Might find a mage to help me out with that one of these days."


A rather large wood elf, Darthonion has been eying this exchange and the growing crowd. As usual, he has no idea whether to wait or jump in, so as usual he jumps in and accosts Jason, who looks like a paladin. “Excuse me, warrior, but you look like a warrior for men of the cloth. If so, we have something in common, a hatred of the foul, cursed unliving. If so, we should talk further of joining our swords together. I am Darthonion, a wood elf, new to the city. You seem to have picked up a friend," Darthonion gestures to Crow.  


The abnormally tall wood elf, dressed in studded leather with traveling gear, large falchion and bow and arrow, announces gauchely, "I wish to fight the undead and I need comrades in arms, if have no desire to join the holy warrior, I do. So please state your intentions."


"You, Cyan, seem to possess spellcasting might - very useful. And I hope you, Miassharra, possess unseen talents.” The wood elf is apparently done and awaits replies. He seems oblivious to social etiquette despite his formal talk.


Darthonion's sudden appearance seems to calm Miassharra's increasing agitated look.  (Cyan's comments, and Crow's "little one" each caused Miassharra's already slanted eyes to grow more and more narrow).  Much more at ease around someone closer to her own height, Miassharra moves close to Darthonion, discretely sniffing the air as she does so.  "Looking for excitement, hmm?  Have you heard of the Delver's Guild?  There's more than enough excitement to be had in the undercity.  Of courrse, you'll need someone to watch your back.  Why, I was just talking to our gangly... friend here and we were just lamenting how neither of us knew anyone good with a sword.  What luck to rrun into you here!"


Darthionion replies, “I have heard of the Delver’s Guild and wish to join, but as I said I am new to the city. Too busy fighting wars and the like. I am lost without conflict.”


Cyan runs his fingers through his tangled hair, primping himself to Crow. "You are correct sir, I am a similiar in size to a true Litorian." He glances briefly towards Miassharra then continues changing the subject hastily, "And those damned debutantes desparately trying to be more feline-like, have paid my way through apprentice magi training with their desire to have hair like mine. Luckily for me it grows back quickly." Cyan sniffs towards the rude elf and coughs loudly and with flair. " Lost without conflict eh elfie? Try getting sand in your shorts then. That's a war you won't soon be winning." Qyllion breaks out in raucous bird laughter. Cyan continues oblivious to Qyllion's continued shrieks and the stares of the others. "You wish to fight undead? What for? Got a hankering for mummified flesh do ya? It ain't some necrophilia thing I hope? I think that might be frowned upon around here......." You sense a smirk in Cyan's words though you cannot tell what lies behind his mask.


"Actually, I believe our straightforward friend here is a grudgeholder, like me," says Crow. We rangers can be a bit single-minded when it comes to our quarry. Darthionion, well met. I've heard there's plenty of the lifesuckers in the darker parts of the Dungeons below the city. I'm sure you'll have your fill." He turns to Miassharra. "I've no sword. Will an axe do?" He hefts his battleaxe in his hand, then taps the handaxe at his belt. "Or maybe two? And I have a feeling you'll need someone to watch your front, yes? I'm also quite interested in joining the Delvers." He turns to consider the knight. "I've no issue if you'd like to come, as well. Though your "friend" doesn't get a share of the loot, hear?"

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