The King's Man Pub and Eatery, Morell

[LordAers]

Two men in the all to the red and black uniforms all two familiar to the citizens of Morell sat in front of the fire, an area now reserved only for them and they're comrades. Everyone else avoids the area, including the ni-triad and the brute squad.
"What do you figure he is going to do with it?" said the first man, hands folded contentedly across his stomach and legs stretched out before him, and his hood pulled back to reveal a white mohawk and beard.
The second man leaned forward, elbows on the arms of the chair, and a mug of ale dangling from one hand. Hood still up, the tip of a rather large nose could be seen from the faint light of the fire.
"Your guess is as good as mine, though it does not take a genius to figure out its going to be put somewhere safe. Well, safe for it, dangerous for everyone else. He wont even tell me. Somewhere deep and dark, I imagine, with plenty of monsters around"
The silence that follows lasts. The mohawk man falls asleep, as the other gestures rudely at a waitress.

[Farwalker]

A dark figure in the opposite corner looks on with intrigue. The form is barely noticable but is that of a Illythiri (darkelf) girl. Her birght red eyes peer out from under her hat watching.

[Wired]

Agent Cleo slipped quietly out the back door, wrapping her shawl tightly to ward off the crisp night air. There was little to be done, however, to stay warm in the "standard-issue tavern harlot's garb" required of her assignment.

It had been difficult to get close to the men, and she'd had little idea what they'd talking been about, but the mere fact they'd gathered at the King's Man that night required her to file a report.

The order had come from Section Six unexpectedly on Sunday Morning -- Step up observations of a certain red-and-black-garbed group, keep track of their people, their comings and goings.

Such orders were not entirely unusual, in fact they regularly kept tabs on the activities of all the gangs of Morell, financing a significant payroll of informants, turncoats, agents, double, and triple agents, who fed and were fed fact and fiction along a loosely defined and every-shifting network. But irregular orders about a specific gang were usually precipitated by some sort of incident -- The killing of a civilian, a public execution of a rival crime boss, a surprise inspection by Imperial Adjudicators. The order had been a little unusual in the absence of a specific catalyst, but otherwise she'd thought little of it.

However by Tuesday news, innuendo, wild rumors, fantastical speculation, patent lies about events at the Defense of Lendose had reached Morell, along with the re-appearance of a certain red-and-black-garbed gang. There was no way much of it could be true, Dragon-men? Liches? she'd chided the gossips incredulously.

Somewhere, in the mosaic of noise and information, lay the truth. Her job was not to interpret, but to collect.

Agent Cleo hurried across the town square towards the safety of the Ministry Building.

[Malekyth_Bloodmane]

A cool, Morellian breeze awoke through the tavern, the threshold opened to a series of roughened seamen, laughing and cursing in cuhannan as they stormed through the lounge, pushing lesser individuals aside to reach the bar. One heavy clenched fist slammed against the bar as a dark form leered over to greet the servant-slave tending to a hollow glass, the mans crooked smile greeting her with some measure of cruelty. As if by nature she understood the gaze, the rabble of men behind the much taller instigator nodding violently to the servant as she ceased her activities, gesturing back to another slave who slipped into the back of the tavern and returned producing a large keg of ale for the hosts consumption.

The seventeen strong group cheered and spat, marching to a nearby group of tables, the more imposing individual jabbing a dagger into the stopper on the keg and pulling it with an almost animalistic might, as if his life depended on the consumption of the nectar. His giant hands wrapped around the large keg, which to most men would require a grip on the base and outer surface, and with one silent action he took a swill from the opened hole then passed it to his right, wiping his now ale soaked, black beard with his sleeve growling and laughing. The rest followed suit for sometime as they conversed between eachother, the larger mans attention being drawn to the back of the tavern as if in anticipation.

Some time passed, three kegs opened and a variety of tankards lay strewn on the table, a grand and ancient map rested atop one of the tables for the malady to inspect thouroughly, ale-stained and decrepid, the taller man who obviously served as their leader pointing to several locations on the parchment then marking them with throwing daggers or darts produced from some worn, rotted pouch clinging by a thread onto his belt. The group appeared to agree with where ever their leader pointed, he taking several pauses inbetween his explinations as he peered to the rear of the tavern on intervals, whilst they conversed with eachother again, intoxicated yet merrily discussing these objectives until a small band of red and black decorated individuals of Morellian breed emerged from a curtain behind the bar. The group fell silent, standing on their approach, tentative, hands clasped on their blades until one of the newcomers raised a hand and gestured for them all to seat themselves. They did as guided, the newcomers following suit beside the tall Cuhannan leader.

Some time passed, words exchanged and the Cuhannan, along with the newcomers, stood cautiously. An exchange of hand shakes followed, each individual from each group clasping hands, the smaller Morellians almost shadowed by the foreigners until the Morellians left through the curtain. Silence met the Cuhannans as they exchanged confused glances between eachother, their ales near empty as if something had disturbed them, like the tide had changed to an erratic barrage against the hull of a vessel, akin to a storm brewing. After a burdened wait, one final man emerged, decorated in the similar black and red garbs of their predeccessors yet clad in ornate jewels and rings. The leader stood and nodded in greeting to him, cautiously grasping his rapier, his single eye fixating on the seemingly 'more important' Morellian.

His hands raised to before him, revealing a shedderan box, plain and indistinguishable, as he tossed it to the Cuhannan with a curtious nod before vanishing behind the curtain. The 'click' of a heavy lock echoed through the near silence, the mallady of the busied tavern lulling to a standstill as patrons kept their gaze to their beverages or allies. Suddenly, from the Morellians direction a shout resounded in a heavy accent,

"Bring them in!"

Followed by the tapping of bare feet pounding along the wooden floors, out of sight and out of mind as the patrons ignored the sound through fear. The Cuhannan looked to his men, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eye and a wicked smile playing across his almost concealed mouth. Then, without warning, the men all stood with a great clatter of wooden stools scraping across the wooden floor and as rapidly as the men had entered they were gone and silence fell upon the tavern as abruptly as it was broken. The locals understood what had just occurred though none of them would repeat it, for the rumours in Morell speak that, should one do so, Captain Krall 'Dreadblade' and the crew of the Black Lotus would hunt them down and give them a choice, Death or service aboard their hallowed vessel.

What was not understood, however, was the contents of the box Captain Krall had recieved and what was marked upon the map? But most would not wish to know, nevermind understand, the details of such 'unlawful' dealings and so, no sooner had the men departed, they merely pushed the events to the back of their minds, glancing at the only evidence of their ever being there, a simple note that lay pinned to the wall which merely read,

*Eternal servitude lies in the mists. The Dark Night is near*

All knew the meaning of this. Ten years had passed since the Lotus had docked at Sheppards landing and The Night Of The Damned was upon them.

[Wired]

Nice!

Spacing = Readability. Gimme some carriage returns!

[Malekyth_Bloodmane]

(( Carriage returns? Never heard that one before. What's it mean? *Sounds like a dummy asking*. Oh, and feel free to delete this after asking as it's an ooc question ))

[Alterity]

((Carriage return is a reference to the original typewriters that you hit carriage return to.... return the carriage to the start and push the page up....

In other words, put some spaces between the paragraphs! That way it doesn't look like a wall of text.))

[Malekyth_Bloodmane]

(( Ahh. Thankye' for the explination on that [Editted]))

[Elrith]

Some time later, The King's Man Pub and Eatery again played host to a peculiar visitor.

Being the end of the evening, at a time close to the witching hour, the clouds outside hid themselves in the darkness of the night. While creeping toward the town they swallowed the moon and any stars that would shed light on what the ominous cumulonimbus were up to.

It was during this time that our aforementioned visitor arrived. She entered so silently that the door made nearly no noise. There was only a small draft of wind that circled violently through the tavern. It played havoc with the candles causing them to sputter and flicker till the door closed once more.

The barkeep looked over to the door and was surprised to see not a person, but a large bat nestled into the rafters. 'Had it opened the door itself?' Someone else let out a muffled gasp as they noticed the creature staring down at them with its beady and strikingly intelligent eyes. Just as the barkeep was about to go shoo it outside, a dark hand startled the man snapping its fingers in front of him. It held a few gold coins in his glimpse for a moment and then they vanished.

"Pay attention to me and not some worthless animal and these will be yours."

Her voice snapped at him making the barkeep feel inadequate and almost childlike for not noticing her presence sooner.

"I require a table for one and an empty glass, not a mug."

He hurriedly prepared her demands returning behind his counter afterwards. Realizing he had not been tipped he was about to disturb the dark skinned silver haired stranger, but then noticed the coins that had been in her hand earlier were already in his pocket.

From that time onward she took a seat at her table in one of the far corners of the room, filled her glass with a dark purplish drink, and did nothing but sit and watch the other patrons. The dark elf's attire left little to the imagination;The silky material hugged her form closely while she sipped her mysterious drink.

There she sits watching, waiting, along with the giant flying rodent poised menacingly above the door like the ominous storm brewing outside.

[vastgoten]

Teasing one of the lightly dressed waitresses with a few coins spread out in front of him the priest, at first sight, seemed not to discern the dark elfs entering.
It took very little time for Elrith to notice the dark robed priests light bluff. His pale features were still, but his eyes searched the common room with only a blink of the eye attached to the waitress slender body. Marrent tilted his head and smiled toward the dark elfling, he raised a full cup of red wine in a silent toast admitting this kind of game was her domain rather than his.
Never drinking the fluid he afterward leaned back and allowed the waitress to pick up a coin with the contemptible price of receiving a whisper as she leaned down to grab it.
Father Arghiviusthen continued to watch the guests of the tavern attentive of old and new arrivals.

[Elrith]

It had been quite a while since Elrith had seen the supposedly resurrected priest. There were those who claimed that she had some responsibility for his brutal meeting with the beast in the wild. She never confirmed or denied the stories. Rumors with a little bit of uncertainty help cultivate an aura of danger.

The drow watched as Marrent raised a toast to her, and then whispered something to the waitress. An odd gesture coming from him. 'I wonder what the priest thinks of me after all this time.' She had good reason to wonder. As far as she had heard, Marrent had somewhat been responsible for causing the harbingers to flee from the temple of Culnul in Cear.

A proficient necromancer herself, the drow had spent a good deal of her time helping directly with their ambitions. The priest no doubt knew this. Though she could not fathom why he would be here. Was it pure coincidence, or was the man tracking her?

For now she chose not to move from her table, keeping a close watch upon Marrent and the rest of the patrons present.

[Wired]

[vastgoten]

Having succumbed into the dubious waitress teasing body Marrent reluctantly offers her some coins as a farewell gift. His finely woven silken robe slicks his slender body as he corrects some of the heavy rings putting weight on his white gloves embracing his hands.

“A priest have duties after all.” He offers with an ironic smile as he leaves the table and heads toward the exit.
As he reaches the door he halts. The bat and priest observes each other for a few moments before Marrent whirls around and faces Elriths table. Taking a few steps forward, hands stretched out to ensure his harmless intention. The dark witch was cunning and dangerous. Marrent had no intentions of disturbing her more then necessary. All he needed to do was drop something that might allure to her cravings. She knew he would not approach her to talk about the weather without a hidden purpose - at least that was his own assumption. Closing in on the table he briefly lowers his head in a greeting before he locks eyes with the dark elf.

“My Lady,” he starts “ a true pleasure to rest my eyes on your presence again. Once you have finished whatever cause has brought you to this place I do hope that you have time for a simple priest if only for a moment. I am sure you as so many other seek some sort of understanding and guidance in these troubled times. I believe I might have some answers to this… “ Marrent gesticulates with his right hand as if trying to point at the world outside in general.

“… to this messy state we find our beloved province in these days.” Smiling he allows Elrith to study him if she chooses to before he continues:

“I will withdraw to the temple of Teshalia where you can find me or someone who could deliver a message to me. Other wise I am sure we will bump into each other at some … point.” Shrugging his body states the opposite of the longing in his voice.

Finaly Father Arghivius face turns serious as he draws a circle in the air in front of Elrith and whispers a dark blessing before he prepares to leave her prescence.

[Elrith]

Elrith sat and listened to Arghivius. Her eyes wandered to the glass in her hand. She could easily shatter it into a lethal instrument and stab the man if the need arose. But she would play his little game for now.

"Why not just get to the point and tell me what you really want, Priest?" She demanded after he finished with his incantation, though the tone of her voice intended for the question to be unanswered.

The drow took a small sip of the blood mixture in her glass while she thought of what to do. It originated from a certain creature within the dark places her kind called home. To some among them it might even be considered a form of cannibalism, but those were the lost and misguided ones. She swirled the liquid around with an undulation of her wrist while looking back up at the priest.

"I'll entertain your request. You may go ahead of me. I will be along after I finish my drink."

((Follow up here))

[Farwalker]

Anck Namun’s curiosity again had taken the best of her when she observed another of her kind enter the pub. This cesspool of villainy, better known as Morell, was the best place to find work of her style. More so it was the best place to find entertainment. Her particular kind of entertainment was sowing death.

Anck Namun, being less than a candle flicker of shadow, observed everything she could in the hopes of satisfying her vicious desires. The priest had tried to offer her some sort of “dark glory” at one point. Service to anything but herself was a waste of her time. Damned be Rulers and Gods.

Anck’s one and only weakness as stated before was her curiosity. Seeing one of her, own breed, could not be ignored. Was this priest collecting Illythiri?

The scent of blood and death intrigued her ever more. Even she could not stand to wash away every drop of blood from her pitch black skin. She reveled in murder and took indulgence leaving her victims in horrifically amusing positions. Like the Kalem assassin that she left strung up, inverted on a wall, with his torso open. She was not particularly an artist but, the thought of the horror those that found her victims would experience, amused her.

She watched and would follow the priest and necromancer.