The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

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Geo_&_Bio
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The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#1 Post by Geo_&_Bio »

The Old Hag:

They call it “The War of the Raptors”, I think. The war as old as the sun, some say. Those falcons at Oakenshall and those Hawkes at Ctunder, always biting and gnawing and burning whatever they feel and ‘tis us who feels the pain of that war. And ‘tis those goblins who mourn the dead, oh yes. For what is war without a symphony? A symphony of discord and greed, the supposed fight between darkness and light in order to feel like anyone is accomplishing anything. Like infighting is bad enough, the whole continent has hit the [censored] when Oakenshall and Ctunder clashed for the crown. Lest we not forget the ravenous Dhakiri men following that silly Sultan and those godless Heathens to the east who wish to spread their blasphemous ways in our land. The world is going to [censored] and I can’t move any further. Now we are in a dead end of the world, and we can only rely on our god’s prophesy to save us.

Mi'thinks, Greed will descend upon the land, the Lustful demons will harvest the souls of the plenty and the sinner will rise on 'er throne and mount the world in 'er wake. Oh, but who listens to a rambling old hag anyhow? You, mayhaps, but you’ll only listen to my words, without really knowing why. For the Curse of life is the Curse of want.
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Oaknvall, King of Oakenshall:

Oakenshield, a large and ancient structure built on the premise of gold and pride, sits prettily upon a nice cozy plateau. A Bridge extends to another plateau, only slightly smaller and closer to the ground. You can see houses popping out of the walls and extending over the battlements. The tallest tower looking house is the home of the King of Oakenshall. The building was fluid and beautiful, and had leaves sprouting from the top of the building, showing the gracefulness and artistic side of the Oakenvall family.

Nearing the top of the keep lays the war room. The room consists of the King himself, all dressed in red scale armor which made his firm face and white hair also the more intimidating, with plenty of advisors for the war, in addition the King of Espada and Florence as well. The Kings of Espada and Florence recognizes Oakenvall as the true descendant to the Throne of Welvo, and it gives them an excuse to attack Windsoar and Agustkiin. “This rain is not letting up, some have said that Sol is weeping for our sins at this war.” The steward of the Oakenshall proclaimed. “Bah, ‘tis a well needed break from the war. This had been going on for two centuries and the bloody C’tunder Family has yet to yield.” The Marshal of Oakenshall stated. “They are very sound in their military, those Ctunderians, but to last this long based on a simple warrior’s ethos is far too worrisome.” The King of Oakenshall stroked his white beard. “We needed to change are battle plans. My father drove our end of the war downhill with his constant spending. We were lucky to get back up. This rain is indeed our much needed break. With Espada’s navy, Florence’s cavalry and my money, we will be able to crush the Ctunder and her allies once and for all.”
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C’Tunder, King of Ctunder:

Castle Ctunder was a rather simple, but effective fortification. It was nothing fancy, but it was built to last. One would say that walking near the walls would make one eerily comfortable and safe. An asylum for the family for many years. The keep was nothing fancy; it upheld a brutalistic architecture that possess strength for the castle. The war room was located in their Hall where they would feast to be comfortable while discussing plans. The king of Ctunder, a large man, gruff face and missing an eye, looked upon his advisors. The kings of other countries have not come, for they are preparing to strike against their enemies, once the rain has let up. They have detailed their plans through messengers in order to keep their true descendant to the throne informed.

“The rain has yet to lift. Lucky for us, we have been coordinating our strategy while they hide in their cozy fires. The Falcon pampers itself too much, while the Hawk continues to hunt its prey.” Lord Dorgut, vanguard of the Ctunder army, stated in a haughty attitude. “Careful now, a healthy Flacon will tear a sick Hawk into pieces. While we still stand firm, they can overpower us with their large amounts of money. The last king was foolish. He drove the enemy kingdom to ruins and that gave us the advantage. His son is not so foolish. While we will dominate the battlefield, the war will continue to be against our favor. All we can do is continue at winning the war, lest we be destroyed entirely.” The King of Ctunder stated. “This rain is giving us the time to prepare, indefinitely.”
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Killasandra

The small, yet fortified, town of Gilora is a safe haven for all mercenaries looking for work. Despite the fact that the town is split into the two factions of Oakenshall and Ctunder, Everyone in the town is relatively peaceful, for no-one here wishes to fight for idealism or for crowns or for some inbred family’s glory. When it all boils down, they are here for one thing, money. However, this week wasn’t a very busy week for the mercenaries. It was nothing but downpour and the dukes and kings and lord and whatnot all agreed that today was not a day of fighting.
Killasandra rode up to the gates of Gilora after a long ride through the storm. She wanted to get information from the lords of Oakenshall about the upcoming plans for the future. As stated by each lord, they are unsure if the fight can continue, but they will allow a few days to dry up before they will begin their battle with Ctunder. Another lord stated that the weather may last for a few more days before it clears up. It was all she needed as of now.
“G’day ma’am. You look a great deal wet.” Stated the Doorkeeper of the town, all nice and dry inside a part of the wall. “Wet would be an understatement, I am simply drowning out here.” The doorkeeper laughed. “Alright, alright. Ya goin’ to the Grapes o’ Wrath, I know. I’ll let ya in as soon as possible. Ya know the stable’s right?” He asked as he waved the gatesmen to open the doors. “I do. Hopefully, my horse stays dry.” Killasandra responded. “You and a lot of horsemen, ma’am. This rain has yet to cease. They say it be goblin tears to ward off the fight so that we may mourn the dead. Crazy, huh?” Kilasandra simply nodded off the rumor. “I suppose there are many reasons for the rain. Anyhow, thank you once again.” Killasandra passed the doorkeeper and trotted along the town where she found the Grapes of Wrath inn, aside of it is a nice stable for the horse.

Inside the inn was filled with many mercenaries of different kinds. Of course, like any inn, there is nothing but rumors flying around. Some true, some false, all unable to discerned which is true and which is false. The Barkeeper stood in his area at the opposite side of the main door and the fireplace. In between him and the door was littered with tables and stools for people to sit and enjoy. At the far right hand of the building entering, there was a few bards playing music and singing tales for enjoyment. Nearing the barkeeper was a set of stairs that lead up to the rooms. Finally, haunting the tavern was a dwarf named Goff as he limped across table to table serving beer.

“Hey, did you here?” a man whispered in the corner near a fire place to his lads. “There is a band called the Dwarven Battlers made entirely out of dwarves.” Another man simply scoffed at the idea. “Don’t be stupid, Dwarves are all cowardly monsters who’s only good for makin’ those special swords and bein’ servants. Like Goff here.” The man kicked the small dwarven servant to the ground. “Goff, Goff, virk nah la. Virk nah la.” It cried and coward in the corner. “Hey, don’t kick my worker, or I’ll kick you out.” The barkeeper cried out. The first man retaliated, insulted that his friend doesn’t trust him. “No, man. These dwarves were brutal. They carried axes and they charge in hoards to demolish their enemies.” The man still scoffed at the idea. “Yeah, sure. Next you’ll tell me of Elves kill’n people.”

“Well, I heard the Ctunder are going to be hiring Hawkeye Tora and her band of longbowmen.” One girl across the way stated, the man she was talking too didn’t seem to budge. “What? No. Hawkeye is smart, she’ll go after Oakenshall. Oakenshall would pay more than whatever Ctunder could bring.” The entire hall began discussing who will be with who when the day finally comes.

(You are currently in the Grapes of Wrath inn. You may begin here by beginning to communicate with your fellow mercenary buddies, discussing rumors, listening to the music, and learn about personal interests and whatever. Rumors can be about anything really. It could even be about a flying purple people eater for all I care. Sorry it is a sloppy Opening Post and I am sorry for lying about the date. I got entirely distracted.)
The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.

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Stryder221
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#2 Post by Stryder221 »

In the corner of the tavern, near the fireplace where the rumors of a band of killer dwarves happened to be floating around, a young man, a mercenary sitting not too far away from the group of men discussing that particular rumor, lowered a book he happened to be reading, eying them with disdain as he witnessed one kick the dwarven servant.
"It's no surprise." He muttered to himself perhaps a tad too loudly, referring to the rumors. "Everything has it's breaking point; Keep kicking the things and they'll get fed up with it."

Shaking his head once, he raised his book, a thick, untitled tome of an unknown subject, to his face, becoming more or less oblivious to his surroundings as he resumed reading. The only sign there was that he was paying attention at all was the fact that one could see that he would occasionally break away from his book for a few seconds to observe his surroundings, before shrugging and continuing to read in silence.
E͎͖̯̱̻͡r̲͇r͢҉͈͚ò͈̹̰̩̺͓̝̘̟̕r̨̡̺̥̲̰͕̭̬:̵͙̦̟̮̖̯̞́͢ ̴̛̞̙͙̠̲̝̟S̵͎̼̖̜̯͕̺͔̀i̶͉̟̝̻͕̺g̢̤͕n̴͈̩̝͓͖̹͕̟͢a͕̺̱͞ț̸̛͓u̢̥̣̣̰̪ͅr̨̠͙̯̣̣̘̠ḛ̡̨̟̗̥̰̱̻ͅ ̻̮̼̥͕̼͉͎u͏͔̳n͏͔͈̭̭͟a̮͕͖̲͕͙͔ͅv̺̦̼̥̭͙a͏҉̦̺̫̯i̝̙̳̜l̴̡̳̥͠a̢̘̬͈͢ͅb̶̶̦͉͙́ḷ̸̙̙̳̩̥́e͔̪̳̦̫͚̪̹ͅ.͖̠̗͔̖̞ͅ

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MrFlyingAmoeba
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#3 Post by MrFlyingAmoeba »

Thump, thump, thump, thump, went Jack's leather boots against the dirt-smeared wood of the inn's floor as she sat at the closest table to the rather underwhelming entertaining troupe, tapping a pattern completely unlike that of the song. Her cloak, mask, and necklace were all absent from her person, a light blush placed to hide albino-white skin. She ignored the conversations around her, humming to her own patterns.

Several seconds of dissonance passed, then Jack paced over to the side of the nearest bard. His inquisitive gaze was met with a brief grin and a more influential flash of silver held in smooth hands. A quiet request and exchange of coin later, the troupe picked up a livelier tune. Tossing both grin and silver at their feet, Jack began to dance a merry jig, unhindered by her flexible leathers. Rather than stay in the small clearing between performers and tables, she slipped her way through the gathered mercenaries to the barkeeper, giving the man much the same as she had the bards, waving a hand at the beleaguered dwarvish servant.

Another transaction complete, she danced her way to Goff and removed him of his burdens after slipping a coin into his work-worn palms. Keeping the mugs of frothing ale steady, Jack began working around the room, trailed by a relieved Goff who alerted her to the drink's destinations.

"Drinks, served by a pretty girl rather than a dwarf!" She exclaimed, mirth shining from both tone and warm brown eyes. Her serving unaffected by her energetic jig, Jack's gaze swept the room, pausing briefly to openly admire a white spider larger than her doubled fists as she swept by its owner's table. "Watch your hands, mind! I'd much rather not break them for a pinch!" She glanced back at the creature. "Spiders and other familiars don't count!"

(OOC: No need to ask me to have Jack bring something to you, she'll be serving unless something bigger happens. Feel free to engage her in conversation[One liner or otherwise], just PM me.)
Red Mage Statscoski wrote:That is not how we do things around here, buddy. First we have to argue incessantly over semantics.

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Twippit
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#4 Post by Twippit »

Keetara sat alone at a table not quite in the corner, slowly imbibing a mead. His pet spider, Goral, rested curled on the table, drifting off to sleep. Keetara petted the creature absently, his eyes drifting over the room in a slow, lazy fashion. The fancy drinks, the loud songs, the wild rumors, they could dance their little dance... Nothing broke his cold scaly demeanor. He seemed to be remembering a time long gone -but those who knew him knew it was so much more to him than that. It was a lifestyle, a period of dress and demeanor, a place untouched by cowardice. There was so much of that time he missed.

For what it was worth, he appreciated his travelling companions. They gave him a sounding board for these reveries -and helped to keep him in touch with the changing times. This business was changing far too quickly for his tastes. Used to be that all it took to make it a month was two contracts and a few strong branches for a dozen arrows. Now it seems everyone is using that fancy "black powder" and any country bumpkin who can't tell the east wind from the west can take out a target three hills away, driving down contract prices and flooding the market.

Keetara shuddered. Black powder. Must be some strange human magic. It still didn't make any sense to him that sand could be flammable, much less explosive. He shook his head. Blood magic made sense. Blood is the closest tie to life force, outside of the soul itself. Every living creature has a life force, and it can be manipulated. It just requires a sacrifice. To tie two life forces together, both must give -and once done, the process is dominated by the more knowledgable. Fortunately, not too many knew about blood magic. Not enough were willing to sacrifice.

Perhaps that was what Keetara didn't understand about this black powder. There was no sacrifice to be made. Simply set the damn stuff on fire and presto, you have an explosion. What was given? How is this fair? Anyone could pick up the stuff with no training and blow a target to smithereens, there's no essense in that.

He grunted in disgust. He supposed that's why he acquired Kristoph, the human engineer, a few towns back. He was young and spry; he understood the ways of man. He had been of some use to Keetara's little group. His explosives and small machines had their uses, even if they were a bit strange. Keetara had grown to have a grudging respect for the young man, even if he did tease him about being still wet behind the ears. Kristoph didn't understand the basili ways like Keetara's other long-time companion, Fez-Zel, did, but that was okay. Kristoph served a purpose, and was a good friend in the meantime.

Erik Fez-Zel, on the other hand, understood. He was more than a few seasons younger than Keetara, but he was a basili, like Keetara, and he knew the meaning of sacrifice. He knew how the world once worked. He knew. He understood. That was about as much consolation as Keetara got these days. At the very least, even if they couldn't do anything about it, they both knew it helped to have a drinking buddy who understood.

Goral chittered happily in his sleep. He was very cat-like, Keetara decided. He hadn't had the creature long, and it was an interesting change of pace to keep a creature alive instead of the other way around. Goral mostly took care of himself, but Keetara found his occasional companionship was... Nice.

Keetara finished his mead and set the stien down carefully, as not to wake the dozing spider. He raised his hand to get the attention of the new barmaid, a lithe human with short brown hair who -according to Kristoph's backwards standards- was supposedly quite attractive. Keetara didn't see it. "Another," he called.
Hey. Been a while. I'm on discord at Twippit#9645. See ya around sometime, maybe.

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the red soldier
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#5 Post by the red soldier »

Near one of the fire places of the inn, on the western most wall, three peddlers were having a merry laugh near the dying fire together as they threw some dice. The three of them was odd to look at to say the least.

One man wore nothing but furs roughly stitched together, a musket slung on his back and a jug in his hand, he was laughing the hardest in the bunch and making the most noise. One could easily see that he was a fur trader, trading furs that he caught and made himself. The one next to him, a scrawny figure all in greenish silk, wearing a paler green scarf around his neck frowned deeply, muttering under his breath over the dices he had just rolled, 4 sixes and one five. In any other game he would be glad for the role but he knew his adversary all to well.

The third, and strangest of the three, was a colorful Avean, in his early teens by all accounts. Bronze like feathers covering his head with sky blue going all the long of his arms. His top hat made for a rather comical sight. It was the young Aveans turn to throw the dice it seemed. Throwing the dice, time seemed to stop for small Rikklin, the dice slowly hitting the table, bouncing and turning as if taunting the young Avean. Finally, coming to a rest, the dice showed 5 sixes. The big man in fur roared a laugh that could fill the inn. "I tell ye Zoramunt! Yung Rikk ere cant be beat at dices!" He roared another laugh and gulped down his jug in his hand, calling for another while still having a mouth full.

The silk clothed man cursed again but calmed down while taking a few breaths. "My brother has warned me about you. "The child with the moons luck!" he said. Should have believed him! Well, a bet is a bet and Zoramunt always keeps his word." Tossing a small pouch at the Avean, Rikklin opened it and took a deep breath, a small pouch full of cinnamon, a priceless spice in these lands. "I always wanted to try some cinnamon buns! I wonder if the innkeep knows how to make some..."
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DarkTheImmortal
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#6 Post by DarkTheImmortal »

Avis was sitting at a table not too far from the fireplace. The white feathers that covered her were shimmering in the light of the fire. Her bow was leaning against the table, and her quiver hanging off the back of the chair.

She had just finished a glass of ale, and wasn't planning on getting another. She listened around the room, mostly listening for rumors, which none of them had anything that she needed to know. She couldn't help at smiling at the people in the inn enjoying themselves, especially the avean boy who had just won a game. She leaned back in her chair to relax and enjoy the music that was playing. This was the first inn she's been in for at least a month and wanted to relax as much as she could. She heard someone say that bows were out dated and ineffective. She slightly looked at the man who said it, but it didn't look like he paid any attention to her. It was their choice to use something that works off explosions. She returned to her relaxation, paying attention to every sound in the inn. If a needle dropped, she would hear it at this point.

She was awakened from her trance when she heard the chair on the opposite side of the table move. She looked toward it and saw a man sitting down. He smiled at her and spoke. "What a nice bow you have there. I've never seen such beautiful craftsmanship. How much do you want for it?" She frowned at the man. "It's not for sale." The man understood and left. Her bow was to oldest thing she had, and was made by her own hands. She was never going to sell it.

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Myperson54
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#7 Post by Myperson54 »

Erik walked down the steps from the inn's rooms to the bar silently, counting as he went.
10, 11, 12... Ground. Twelve steps.
These little things were the sorts of details he made careful note of; Kind of like the smells in the room: Humans, far too many to count by smell alone, plenty of alcohol, the tinge of stale urine, livestock, and.... Avean? One, by the smell of it, and of course the faint scent of Keetara, Erik's Basili companion. Thank the gods there was another like him to travel with. Not that he didn't like humans, but Erik was yet unfamiliar with the nuances of their culture (And for a good part, their language). Kristoph, their trio's other member, was a good example. Erik liked him, but he could only understand half the things he said, and although his mechanical contraptions were interesting, Erik could only grasp so much of what he saw. As far as he was concerned, his caplock pistols were complex enough.

Following Keetara's scent, he located the Basili at the far end of the bar, and began to walk over. He pulled a coin out of the recesses of his cloak and twirled it through his fingers, bending the light around it so it appeared to float in midair, then placed it (with his other hand, no less) on Keetara's table.

<Moin, Keetara. Ich hoffe, Sie einen besseren Schlaf als ich hatte,> he complained in Basili. Scanned the room, his eyes came to rest upon Jack (whom Keetara seemed to be eyeing with some confusion), and called for a drink. "Mead, please!" he rasped in Common. At least he could say that properly.
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Tyendinaga
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#8 Post by Tyendinaga »

(I fear my skills are rusty)

The sky outside was perhaps as dark as it was rainy. Coming down with little care for those who lived beneath it. Many would run from the rain, hide from it, and detest its very existance. Though there were perhaps the few that found themselves to revelle in it, to love the rains electrifying cool touch, and the many kisses it gave to those who wished to stand beneath it and accept it for what it was, for many it was the simple absence of heat, and for others it was the crops it let grow and the prosperity it encouraged.

'Beautiful, isn't it?'

Upon one face a simple smirk crept, flourishing into a full out smile. "It is indeed." He spoke, opening his eyes as he rasied his ginger bearded face to the sky. Of course, Only a faint grey light dared to peer down through the clouds. Yet, despite the rain, nary a drop seemed to land on him. Not his face, not the goggles atop his head, nor the brown cloak that concealed the rest of his body from view. It was like being blessed by the sky, or perhaps hated by it. Closing his eyes briefly, he took the moment to take in a deep, slow, breath, allowing the sickly sweet air to flood his lungs, and soon after let it out, opening his eyes once again.

Soon though, his vision drifted to the town down below, his hands shifting around his cloak as he slid himself back every so slightly from the straw roof's edge. Slowly, his sight drifted about, from the walls, to the blacksmiths, to houses, and to streets. Gilora they called it. An Interesting little place where Mercenaries of all kinds seemed to to come, to seek others and find works, and perhaps eventually kill one another. Strange Wasn't it? The Possibility of meeting a friend only to have to kill them a few days later because they just happened to work for the 'wrong' side, whichever side was 'wrong' seemed to vary from person to person. For Some it was Ctunder, for others it was Oakenwhatever they called themselves. Of course, the all mighty gold coin had a nice way of swaying people one way or another as well.

"Perhaps it was better when Armies were faceless and didn't know who the hell the other guy was." He spoke with a sigh. With that, his focus seemed to falter, and the droplets of whatever that once seemed to avoid him, came crashing down unimpeded. A metal left arm seemed to emerge from inside his cloak, palm pointed up. The Rain that crashed down, seemed to change directions onces again, even going so far as to wring right out of his cloak as hundreds of thousands of tiny droplets began coming together and coaslescing into an ever growing sphere of water within his palm, held together, floating and rippling about with unseen forces.

"Of course, I guess I'm right in the middle of it myself. Keetara. Erik. Whoever else I might happen to encounter too." He spoke with a slight twitch in his face. Though he was arguably friends with the two, and they typically got along well enough, They hadn't really done him wrong. though the unease of being around them still existed, after all he had roughly been picked up by them a couple of weeks prior. He let out a simple shrug. There was no need to overthink things.

Drifting down, his eyes centered on the water balled up floating within his palm, the thing had grown to the size of a cantalope. Slowly, the air around it changed, pressing, releasing, over and over, Slowly a cold vapour began to pour out, the surface of the balled water slowly turning white as the heat from within was sapped away, within a scant minute he was left with a sizeable slightly misshapen ball of ice hovering in his hand. And then, it cracked, a chunk sliding off and falling off the roof, And soon piece after piece followed, bits casually falling to the roof as the engineer looked on in simple boredom. Soon enough, he wasn't holding a ball of ice, but rather a thick and relatively oversized tankard of gleaming white ice, a soft steam emanating off its surface. The thing was damn heavy though, at least enough to cave in someones skull if you tried.

Taking hold of the tankard, he turned it around, overlooking his handywork for a few moments before finally rising to his feet. There wasn't much a reason to stay outdoors any longer, Or so he supposed. As he began his trek across the roof and to the other side, a lengthy pole of ice quickly grew within his other not so metal hand, quickly growing to large proportions. And once he neared the edge, he simply raised it up, and put it down, letting the length slide down through his hand, where it found itself embedded within the mud, another section of ice seemed to grow off the length, anchoring itself into the roof. And with a step forward he flung out and back around to the pole, deftly wrapping legs around it as he slid from the roof three stories high, and to the ground down below, the entrance to the Inn on his left.

"How much easier the rain makes my job." He spoke with a chuckle as he turned himself around and headed up the stairs and into the inn, leaving the ice he road down upon to slowly melt away in the rain. With a simple turn of a knob and a step forward, the door creaked open. And inside he found himself, much toastier and warmer than the cool rain outside. A few steps in that took him off to the side and away from the door, he quickly surveyed the area around, though mainly looking for his companions, it didn't help to take a peak at a few others.

A Woman seemed to go around serving drinks as one would expect, a dwaf, Another lady, another seemingly bulkier fellow. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Though, A few Aveans among the pack did seem to catch his eye, one who used a bow much like himself, though probably much better at it than he. Overall not much else seemed to catch his eye, until he found himself looking dead at the pair of companions he was working with. Erik, who was just sitting down as he saw them, along with Keetara. He smiled a bit.

With a few steps the cloaked man worked his way through the people, and over towards the table that the two Basili folks were at this point sitting at. "Howdy you two. " He switched his head between the two of them, before settling on Keetara. "Mind if I join you?" He queried, remaining the polite man he was. The tankard of ice held down at his side.

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Hotep the psychic
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#9 Post by Hotep the psychic »

Trevor sat in a table close to avis and turned to watch the entirety of the inn. His cloak hid his face from view, his large bag next to him close to grab. Trevors eyes watched the entire tavern of people as he fletched a black shaft for a new arrow. He smiled at what happened around him. "Just like most taverns, low troubles, food and drink, and enough people to see for info or to watch and remember" trevor thought before checking his work. He was silent for some time untill the man tried for Avis's bow, seeing no deal he watched the man go. He looked at Avis from under his hood and cloak. "He does have a point you know miss, that is a lovely bow. Mind if i ask what wood was used to make it?" Trevor asked continuing to finish his arrow shaft before reaching into his cloak to remove a leaf shaped arrow head that seemed twisted slightly. As he moved his hood stood still and unchanging even as he moved his head under neath watching another man join keetaras area
As an engineer for war, a thief for hire, and a regular guy, one finds similarities to all these occupations in time.

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y7h65
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#10 Post by y7h65 »

Staring out at the inn, Maskerad's muffled sigh could be heard from under the always present accessory. So far, his method of gathering rumor for their next big gig was turning out to be less than potent. Of all the places that hanging back and trying to look nonchalant to fail would fail, it had to be a mercenary bar that was a miss. Seriously, this was the type of stuff that she expected from small village inns or pubs, not an mercenary city's watering hole. Of course, the fact that he was lugging all his gear on him might be a reason. It wasn't like they wanted to carry the decently weighed bag along. It was just that inns such as this 'Grapes of Wrath' were shady at best and there were just too many valuable items and parts in her backpack for them to lose. Better to suck it up and carry the extra weight than to risk having it stolen.

Pushing off the wall as they processed this, Maskerad couldn't help but realize the humor in a thief being concerned with their thieving tools being stolen. Still, there was no time for standing around being idle. Despite the negatives, three ears and eyes working the floor were better than one. While this decision to just hang back and be reactive had failed to bring in new information, they could still choose to be active. This was not a missed opportunity but a chance to try to use new plans and strategies. It had been a while since they had practiced just prowling for new information and in a bar such as this, there was no better time to work on eavesdropping in a busy location. It was slightly less boring but it was certainly better than standing next to the wall for the night.

'or I could just go somewhere more lively~'

No, that was a stupid idea. Shaking the rogue thought out of their head they continued on with the hunt for information, making sure to bump into Jack to pawn off a folded note to her while simultaneously grabbing a glass of water off of the serving tray. Aside from that one small interaction, things generally failed to pick at his attention until he spied an Avean talking with some man by the fireplace. From what they can recall, that Avean had declined some previous offer or the other to buy her bow. This new man seemed to be more interested in the bow itself, not in the act of purchasing. There was the also that odd group of two Basilis and a human but, in all honesty, she was more interested in the archers. After all, they qualified as archers themselves; if only because of the hand life had dealt him. It was a conversation that they could understand, that they could get into. Unlike the Basilis and the human, there was common ground here and where there was common ground, there could be a connection to gain information from without making it too overt that that was the goal he was aiming for.

Decision made, Maskerad made her way over to the fireplace, grabbing an empty chair from nearby as they did, before seating herself at the table while placing their heavy backpack on the ground next to them, an interested glint in their light purple eyes. "Like the hooded man said," Maskerad started, their voice notably lacking inflection and emotion, an effect to their voice that definitely was not caused by the fact that it was muffled and softened by the heavy mask on their face. "The weapon is made well. May I ask who the craftsman was?"
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Stryder221
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#11 Post by Stryder221 »

For some time, there was only a certain amount of silence in a certain mercenary's corner of the room, despite all the music and commotion. But, that momentary silence wouldn't last.

*RRRRIIIIP!*

A loud tearing noise was heard as the man tore out a page of the book he was reading, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like "Complete lunacy. Witchcraft, my f-.".
Without another word, he tossed the torn page, now crumpled up into a ball, into the nearby fireplace.

A few more seconds passed until a loud *THUD!* was heard as he slammed the book shut, looking very much displeased. It was then that he noticed the more interesting groups around him.
Oh why the hell not... I could get one of them to tag along if I'm lucky. He thought as he stood, moving over to the group consisting of an Avean and two humans (Including the masked... thing.).

"More people like you two start showing up and someone might get the wrong idea; You don't exactly look friendly when covering your faces." He commented as he pulled up a seat to their table.
As if realizing his mistake, the man immediately lowered his hood, revealing what was (In his biased opinion) a roguishly handsome face, smiling pleasantly.
"Go on, just... pretend I'm not here. I'll catch onto what we're talking about in a bit, no doubt."

He then brought that heavy tome from earlier up to his face, continuing to read a little ways after the point he left off.
E͎͖̯̱̻͡r̲͇r͢҉͈͚ò͈̹̰̩̺͓̝̘̟̕r̨̡̺̥̲̰͕̭̬:̵͙̦̟̮̖̯̞́͢ ̴̛̞̙͙̠̲̝̟S̵͎̼̖̜̯͕̺͔̀i̶͉̟̝̻͕̺g̢̤͕n̴͈̩̝͓͖̹͕̟͢a͕̺̱͞ț̸̛͓u̢̥̣̣̰̪ͅr̨̠͙̯̣̣̘̠ḛ̡̨̟̗̥̰̱̻ͅ ̻̮̼̥͕̼͉͎u͏͔̳n͏͔͈̭̭͟a̮͕͖̲͕͙͔ͅv̺̦̼̥̭͙a͏҉̦̺̫̯i̝̙̳̜l̴̡̳̥͠a̢̘̬͈͢ͅb̶̶̦͉͙́ḷ̸̙̙̳̩̥́e͔̪̳̦̫͚̪̹ͅ.͖̠̗͔̖̞ͅ

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DarkTheImmortal
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#12 Post by DarkTheImmortal »

Avis was shock at the group of humans now focused on her and her longbow. Two asked questions on the bow, and one seemed to just want to be a part of the group. "I crafted this bow out of oak." She said to answer both questions in one sentence. "It's the oldest thing I own and made." She added as a slight background to it. She didn't get to the markings she had added to the bow, since she didn't know how they would react to her keeping count of her kills. " My name is Avis, by the way." She waited for the others' introductions.

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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#13 Post by triman95 »

Vladimir slowly rose up from the bed. The nose from down below in the main room of the tavern was making it hard for him to nap. The rain hitting the window didn't help much, but just bought back memories of the freezing rain storms of home. Leaving the room with only his hand axe and buckler hanging from his sash and making his five daily prayers for his people gods and kissing each coin that hang from his neck after each pray.

As he reach the top of the stairs he was hit with the noise of the Welvian people. These people and the lands themselves were nothing but a mystery and strange to him. To the people of these lands he was even more of a outsider than those of races of Aveans and Basili to his own kind.

Descending down the stairs his footsteps kept making a loud noise with each step with the people near the steps moving away. This wasn't new to him, his people created this fear and need to avoid him and he knew it pretty well. Slowly making his way over to the tavern counter he could hear the whispers and talk about him, "Its that savage from the North. I heard that they don't worship the belief of Solism and were punish to live in a land of ice and snow. Someone I once knew someone who try to head North into those lands and never returned, they said they killed him." Couple more people moved away from the counter. Hey barkeep. Give me a mead. I think I'm going to need it," as he said as he grabbed one of the seats that were left. Gazing across the room as he waited for his drink seeing the crowd that gather today. "Welvo people, humph."

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Hotep the psychic
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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#14 Post by Hotep the psychic »

Trevor nodded as he grabbed his quiver and set he arrow inside.my name is trevor. I am an archer as well, i always respect other archers" trevor said approvingly as he grabbed his long bow. Its black wood shone a more evil black in the firelight. "i crafted mine as well with my father, its a hardened dark willow" trevor said looking to the other who had joined. He also caught onto the markings etched into Avis's bow, his curiosity ran through possibilities and landed onto memorys or kills. He then grabbed a small cloth and began wiping his bow and the detached bowstring.
As an engineer for war, a thief for hire, and a regular guy, one finds similarities to all these occupations in time.

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Re: The Everlasting Symphony: IC.

#15 Post by Lief »

The soft pitter-patter of rain on the window was a pleasant sound, but John couldn't afford to focus on it. He shifted in his seat, leaning on the table that he shared with his hat, an empty tankard, and the cheap candle that served as a centerpiece. His pack and rifle leaned against the wall to his side, within arm's reach. Amusingly, the table only had the one chair. Maybe because people don't like window seats in taverns. John didn't mind them, since he liked to see what was going on outside.

Not that what was going on outside mattered at the moment. He had to be focused on what was happening inside. Lots of inconsequential people talking about inconsequential things. A few interesting conversations, but none of any real importance. There was one group that attracted his attention, however, and that was the gambling merchants. The colorful Avean especially. Definitely a Person of Interest. There was some other interesting folks as well, which included the two newcomers. First a woman who stood out a fair bit, being both taller than average and wearing unique armor. It was a soldier's uniform. Again, a Person of Interest. A man with red hair entered a few moments after, stepping to the side, appearing to be looking for someone. After a moment he headed over to a table with two Basili, apparently having found who he was looking for. Aside from the red hair and the goggles, not much stood out about the man. Maybe an engineer. Hard to say.

John scratched out a quick note on a scrap of paper, palming it and waiting.

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