RP Log

Submit a Backstory

You may submit a background story detailing things like your characters history, personality, skills weaknesses and any other information you feel may be useful.

The staff will then let you know as to whether this has been approved and it may be possible that your attributes or skills are adjusted further based on the information provided.

Be aware that if your character differs significantly from the 'norm' it is compulsory for a background story to be submitted and approved prior to the character entering roleplay. For example, the following things would need a background submitted and approved prior to playing (some of these may also have an additional roleplay point cost or requirement):

- a noble character

- a non-human race

- a character with multiple personalities

- a well-known hero/heroine

- a character with prior experience or knowledge of the darkness/demons

- an atheist

Things that will automatically get turned down:

- characters from other worlds

- characters who do not fit into our mythos (ie, dwarf)

- "super" characters (characters who are good at everything)

You can submit the background via the form on the website or direct by email to: mina@shadowsiege.com or cernunnos@shadowsiege.com

Following is an example backstory which can be used as a guidelines to see what we expect:

Character: Thense
Account: Boondogle
Email: Boondogle@bob.net
Age: 25

Thense Porric was born into the quiet world of a wine-maker's family who dwelled in a great, stone house within sight of the walls of Yarsin. The vineyards did well enough, and Thense's young life could be considered comfortable: money enough for a descent -- but not extravagant -- education; two older siblings to play and fight with; trips on the wine-wagon up the great, wide road up the side of the mountain, into the riotous Yarsin market.

Thense himself had little interest in math and the sciences, or in the long, boring excursions his teachers would take him into the worlds of literature and poetry. Unless, of course, the subject was one of battles, or soldiers, or war. He loved to hear of such things, to sit and imagine himself in columns with his comrades, marching out against the exotic armies of the Tyeni Empire, or the petty kingdoms in the west, or camps of Tir bandits to the east. He would dress himself in shining mail emblazoned with the banner of Yarsin-on-the-Mountain, and return, victorious, to cheering crowds, like those in the market.

Though the romantics of his dreams faded with age, the desire to be a professional soldier did not. At sixteen, he enrolled in the Yarsin Regular Guard, took his oaths, and left the vineyards for training barracks. His parents were, of course, proud. Their worries about Yarsin's decaying relationship with the mighty Kingdom of Viroth to the north, they kept to themselves.

Thense seemed built for soldiering. For his age, he was tall and fair, agile and strong -- if perhaps a little dense. Orders were taken easily, confident that his highers knew better than he. After all, they had seen battles, had known the weight of hundreds of lives (maybe thousands) in their hands. Surely, generals knew best, and chose only the finest captains. So he did what he was told, and even enjoyed much of the harshness of his training with the sword and shield. Long marches and short nights strengthened his constitution, and he learned to cook for himself simple meals, to make simple repairs to his own uniform and equipment.

Soon enough, Under-Sergeant Porric was twenty, and patrolling the trade routes that ran between the major cities in the old but pacified Tyeni Empire, Viroth, Yarsin, and those places far to the west -- places he would hear of from traders, but never see. The first man he had ever killed, two years ago, was a bandit, a raider. Thense was surprised to find rather mixed emotions just afterwards, when the heat of combat wore off. He wasn't good at putting things like that into words, so he never really tried. He was glad to do his duty, glad to protect, and decided that that was all. A few such men had died by his sword since, and he himself had been bitten by steel a few times, though never critically.

With the Cataclysm, everything changed as one would expect; Thense heard news of Yarsin's sudden obliteration, and was rife with woe. Though worry for his family, his loved ones was suffocating, he suppressed the instinct to run home directly, instead submitting himself to the organization of the army. The order to return to Yarsin, of course, did not take long to come.

What was not destroyed was in chaos, burned and looted. Eventually, the Yarsin Regulars were disbanded, all hope of recovery lost, and each man was ordered to return to his family, to lead them through the plains north, towards Viroth, and away from the terrible Darkness. Thus, the Porric family (all of whom gracefully survived) fled their home for northern lands.

Surely, Thense thought, Viroth would need soldiers, too. They would be merciful, and forget the recent troubles with Yarsin. They would need the help.

Example Background

Character: Thense
Account: Boondogle
Email: Boondogle@bob.net
Age: 25

Thense Porric was born into the quiet world of a wine-maker's family who dwelled in a great, stone house within sight of the walls of Yarsin. The vineyards did well enough, and Thense's young life could be considered comfortable: money enough for a descent -- but not extravagant -- education; two older siblings to play and fight with; trips on the wine-wagon up the great, wide road up the side of the mountain, into the riotous Yarsin market.

Thense himself had little interest in math and the sciences, or in the long, boring excursions his teachers would take him into the worlds of literature and poetry. Unless, of course, the subject was one of battles, or soldiers, or war. He loved to hear of such things, to sit and imagine himself in columns with his comrades, marching out against the exotic armies of the Tyeni Empire, or the petty kingdoms in the west, or camps of Tir bandits to the east. He would dress himself in shining mail emblazoned with the banner of Yarsin-on-the-Mountain, and return, victorious, to cheering crowds, like those in the market.

Though the romantics of his dreams faded with age, the desire to be a professional soldier did not. At sixteen, he enrolled in the Yarsin Regular Guard, took his oaths, and left the vineyards for training barracks. His parents were, of course, proud. Their worries about Yarsin's decaying relationship with the mighty Kingdom of Viroth to the north, they kept to themselves.

Thense seemed built for soldiering. For his age, he was tall and fair, agile and strong -- if perhaps a little dense. Orders were taken easily, confident that his highers knew better than he. After all, they had seen battles, had known the weight of hundreds of lives (maybe thousands) in their hands. Surely, generals knew best, and chose only the finest captains. So he did what he was told, and even enjoyed much of the harshness of his training with the sword and shield. Long marches and short nights strengthened his constitution, and he learned to cook for himself simple meals, to make simple repairs to his own uniform and equipment.

Soon enough, Under-Sergeant Porric was twenty, and patrolling the trade routes that ran between the major cities in the old but pacified Tyeni Empire, Viroth, Yarsin, and those places far to the west -- places he would hear of from traders, but never see. The first man he had ever killed, two years ago, was a bandit, a raider. Thense was surprised to find rather mixed emotions just afterwards, when the heat of combat wore off. He wasn't good at putting things like that into words, so he never really tried. He was glad to do his duty, glad to protect, and decided that that was all. A few such men had died by his sword since, and he himself had been bitten by steel a few times, though never critically.

With the Cataclysm, everything changed as one would expect; Thense heard news of Yarsin's sudden obliteration, and was rife with woe. Though worry for his family, his loved ones was suffocating, he suppressed the instinct to run home directly, instead submitting himself to the organization of the army. The order to return to Yarsin, of course, did not take long to come.

What was not destroyed was in chaos, burned and looted. Eventually, the Yarsin Regulars were disbanded, all hope of recovery lost, and each man was ordered to return to his family, to lead them through the plains north, towards Viroth, and away from the terrible Darkness. Thus, the Porric family (all of whom gracefully survived) fled their home for northern lands.

Surely, Thense thought, Viroth would need soldiers, too. They would be merciful, and forget the recent troubles with Yarsin. They would need the help.

Annoymous Backstory

My beginnings, secret as they are for reasons obvious and not, I have designed to reveal to you. Why? I, myself, am unsure. Perhaps it is as simple as the desire to tell a story which has not been told for centuries, lest it leave my own memory, like an article lost in a cluttered drawer.

So let us open the drawer:

The exact year of my birth - my first birth - I cannot tell you. There is no record of it to rely on. Indeed, much the story I have pieced together from varying sources: annals and historians, village tales and bards'. I can tell you that it occurred in the dead of winter, in the last decades of the 15th century, in the hills of Shining, now called Eshek, in Uol. What brought my Idoean mother to such a distant land at that particular period of history can never be declared with any real accuracy. But I have theories, based on what I know of my father. His name was Arill of the Red Hand, a minor footnote in Circe's brief history of man, noted for a particular event which becomes the backdrop for my life.

]]> According to Circe, there was rare interaction between the intelligencia of Idos and the petty human kings of the West through the Tyen Empire at its earliest stages. The Tyen Imperial Consul Dhesle had in his court an Elven concubine - unnamed by Circe, but noted for her skill in the arcane arts. She traveled with him to Eshek the previous summer on a diplomatic mission, an exchange of knowledge. There was a murder in the house of Arill, and (naturally) the Tyen was blamed. A deal was cut: Dhesle was allowed to withdraw to Llyaue to prepare his case with the consulate there in exchange for a hostage, his Elven wife - a common practice amongst the Skrel'eth and Humans at the time. My theory is that the exotic beauty of the Idoean proved too tempting to Arill, and I was conceived. The repercussions would have been disastrous, so Dhesle was delayed until the spring, months after my birth, the case was dropped, and my mother was sent back. I cannot give you by birth name, having sworn against speaking or writing it; it shall remain in that drawer, but it is not forgotten.

I know nothing in person of my father, having been raised at a distance from him in the house of his steward. Seari were, of course, unheard of; my salvation lay in my physique. I was easily passed off has a human boy, if not an eccentric one. I was raised amongst four siblings, all much older than myself. I grew up knowing whom my father was.

Arill, five years later, was lost to war with the Skrel'eth. He drowned with his broken ship, and was never recovered, nor properly buried. Due wrath, I think, for his atrocities. Circe agrees. I and my adopted family were lost to the beurocracy of the civil strife that followed, a hostage myself in the houses of rival lords and Skrel'reth until I was ten. I can recall very little from that time but a great feeling of instability. That ended when my brilliance was acknowledged by one lord or another, and I was sent to the Ferim, an academy for upcoming generals and statesmen. My life was absorbed by study: history, philosophy and law, and all things martial. Began I also my infatuation with magic, at that time. I was brilliant, but lonely. And violently ambitious. Cunning became my solution to my lack of size. I remember being terribly feared by pupils and teachers alike, thanks to a series of threats and pranks. I had powerful patrons, and could not be touched. I had no interest in the opposite sex, until my Sire.

I completed my studies and became an aid to a particular consulate-general on the southern coast of Aartiru, then the frontier, in lew of a seat on the Senate. It was there that I participated in my first battle; an uprising of slaves. I won rank and medals, sat in seats of judgment, even at the green age of eighteen.

One of the criminals brought before me was of (how can I say it?) the most terrible beauty I have yet to still see. It was a dangerous, ominous beauty, devoid of all decency, all ethics, and terrible to look upon. I was, of course, captured, bound with chains that I admit can never be broken. So was her design, her plan.

The name she used then is unimportant; it was an alias, discarded like dirty clothes after an age. I would learn to do the same. Her true name is also not important; my Sire was lost to history and lives on only in my mind. Thus I feel possessive of it, and will not share. What is of import is that she was Kindred, but rogue, having lost the respect of her Clan. Even at war with them, and all Kindred, whom she felt had lost their way. She was a Prophet, and I inherited her separatist mantle. It happened thus:

While awaiting her sentence for her part in the revolt, she escaped into the wilderness. Bound was I already, and I followed. I told myself that I was hunting her, that I would bring her to justice. Even then I knew why I left: she had marked me, somehow, called me, and like a dog I searched for
my Master in the wooded hills. My siring came quickly, followed by my renaming, and my True Education. Now, I the War Bringer - not Consul-Aid, but Priest of the Hunters, Immortal Angel of Destruction. I was a god, and deity ran in my veins - perhaps a false god, but one none the less.

The Mystery of our kind was pounded into my soul; she shaped me like a blade (I was to be her blade) with fire and pressure - and love. A most selfish love, cruel and consuming. Two centuries of history passed. In much of it were we involved, shaping the world of mortals to our design. And a secret history of the Kindred rolled on, also, like a scroll. Until I was ready. Until she had determined I was ready.

I was bound by her commands.

On the peak of Mount Zarsibus, overlooking all of Viroth, she made me swear an Oath: to never use my birthname, fealty to all her ideals, loyalty to the True Faith, to consider myself holy and reject the comforts of mortality, and other things I cannot mention. When I was done, she knelt before me, and bade me kill her.

I refused. She commanded me with all her power, and the choice was no longer mine. I have no clearer memory than her demise, her parts flying below me, off the cliff, through the wet wind. So was her intent. Her blood became cement that still I cannot break, a web I am yet entangled in, though I have made it my home.

It was an evil trick, and effective. Her head was still smiling as it was lost in the fog.

Time moves slowly for me, now: a kind of senility, I think. The mind still grows old, even if the body does not. We were not meant to be immortal, these bodies, and the years pile on like lead. Many more things occurred between then and now, of course, more toying with mortal history, more wars amongst the Kindred over ideology - all my secret accomplishments, as I said, whispers in the subterranean dark. Ask me about some of them, and I will tell you; most shall remain secrets, though, to touch only on immortal ears.

Althea's Arrival

The Common Room of The Dragon's Head Inn
What was once the Northern half of the common room of this Inn is now the main room, the Southern part now 'outside' and littered with debris. The inner room doesn't fare too much better, though a roof and four walls still protects it from the elements. The couches and chairs still are gathered about the fireplace, though looking considerably worse for wear. Gashes and stains of blood distributed across the fabric. The first step of the stair case is missing, though it is still traversable to lead up to the floors above. Several of the tapestries still remain on the wall, hanging oft times at a lopsided angle and only by one nail. A single solitary lantern hangs from the side of an upright post providing, along with the fire, the illumination for the room.
[ Exits: south up ]
A burgundy couch covered with foot long rips and spots of dried blood.
A large, roaring fire sends sparks up the chimney in this hearth.
A man of average height sits at the bar.
A burly man with a shiny, bald head is standing here.

A rosy-cheeked lass walks down the steps and into the room, stretching as she does so and looking around.

"Barkeep; another ale." a man of average height murmurs, his tone almost flat - an echo of brooding melancholy hidden behind his words. Before a burly man with a shiny, bald head has managed to pour his order, a man of average height has already spilt some coins onto the counter, apparently uncaring whether the amount is correct or over the required sum.

"Good day, sirs" a rosy-cheeked lass says cautiously, smoothing her skirt with a nervous hand. Her tongue flicks out to lick her lips nervously. "I hope I don't disturb you?"

A man of average height doesn't turn to regard the newcomer, and it is unsure if he actually heard her words. However, he reacts to the subtle scrape of a tankard being set against the hardwood bar, reaching out to wrap a hand around its middle as a burly man with a shiny, bald head sweeps the scattering of coins from the surface and into a pouch at the front of his apron. He nods in a rosy-cheeked lass's direction.

]]> A rosy-cheeked lass looks at the couch in disbelief, running nervous fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to smooth its wild curls. She begins to speak, and then closes her mouth, folding her hands in her lap and entwining her fingers together.

A rosy-cheeked lass watches the feather with surprise. "Oh, what was that? Are there birds about? Chickens, perhaps, to be tended?"

A burly man with a shiny, bald head steps away from a man of average height, along the bar until he stands nearer a rosy-cheeked lass before replying: "'ello Miss, nay, no chicken's about these parts - not fer a good ol' while.. Can I get ye anythin'?"

A rosy-cheeked lass takes the tankard of ale from the bald headed man and stares into it without making any motion to drink it. "Thank you, sir. No chickens, you say? Perhaps then there are dishes to wash? Or floors to be scrubbed? Something that could be done to earn room and board?"

A man of average height's gaze slowly tilts to the side until he faces a rosy-cheeked lass, though his hood - worn low over his brow - casts pitch shadows over the top half of his face, concealing the majority of his features. After a moment, he asks: "You're new here, then?" Though his tone implies more of a statement than question.

Studying her ale instead of looking up, a rosy-cheeked lass nods and then says in a quiet, nervous voice. "Yes, sir. I am just come... though, well, from what and for what reason I couldn't say. But from the looks of this place, a washerwoman wouldn't be long out of work."

A burly man with a shiny, bald head leans back slightly, his weight shifting as he brings his arms up to cross over his chest, giving a rosy-cheeked lass an appraising look. After a time, he replies: "Well, Miss, ye ain' too far off right, with yer observation. It be true as we need some'un ta tend tha tables, and clear up after tha more.. Boisterous o' our patrons. But truth be told, as I'd nay lie to a lass, coin is in short supply, 'specially with 'aving to repair the front o' the inn an' all.. If'n I did offer ye a wage, it wouldn' be very much, I'm afraid." He seems genuinely sorry as he relates the dire situation.

A rosy-cheeked lass turns her attention briefly to the brawny young man who comes down the stairs, and then back to the man of average height and the bald-headed, with an anxious look on her face. "Surely it could not hurt this place to have a good cleaning, and my back is strong and my fingers quick." a rosy-cheeked lass gestures towards the blood-stained couch. "A good scrubbing won't fix all that's wrong, but it wouldn't hurt. As for coin, if you can give me a room to stay in and enough to keep myself fed, I'll be grateful for it."

Turning back to face forward, a man of average height lifts his tankard, draining a mouthful of the contents before setting it back upon the bar. It seems some time before he finally swallows the ale, when he does the sound of it is clear enough for any near to hear. "Not heard your voice before. And you speak with the enthusiasm of one who's not been here long enough to let the city siphon it all away.." He observes at last.

A rosy-cheeked lass turns from the bald-headed man towards the man of average height, and gently puts up a hand in front of her face, waving it back and forth, and watches him closely.

A burly man with a shiny, bald head draws a long breath, which he seems to hold as if the fullness of his lungs somehow helped him consider the offer. Finally, he begins to release the breath and nods his head, once, decisively. "Well, I thin' we can do tha' aye. I only 'ave guest rooms above - but, if'n ye give me a day er so, I'll speak to tha smith an' ave a new key fashioned, an' get a better lock on one o' the doors. Ye can stay 'ere, then. I'm sure I can 'ford enough coin fer ye to keep fed and watered." He says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

A man of average height's reaction is less than slight, that is to say, he doesn't react at all to the waving of a rosy-cheeked lass's hand. His regard seems to shift, the tip of his hood indicating the new direction of his 'stare', now set upon a burly man with a shiny, bald head as he speaks. Again he takes a mouthful of ale from his tankard.

A little too loudly and carefully, a rosy-cheeked lass says "I am Althea, and I can see from the state of things that indeed this place could drain a person. Thank you, sir, for the chance to earn board and keep. The toughest of times are always eased a small bit by knowing where ones next bite of bread is coming from, and having a safe place to sleep at night."

You say, 'If you'll tell me where to find a bucket and a brush, I'll set to work right away. And perhaps, if you don't mind, you can tell me how it is things are in this state to begin with?"'

A burly man with a shiny, bald head unfolds his arms and plants his hands on the inside lip of the bar, letting his weight lean forward, though there is no great significance to the movement, simply an idle shift of position. "Right'o, I'll speak to that smith come tha morn-" He pauses, thinking for a moment before nodding to a rosy-cheeked lass's words and begins to walk to the far southern end of the bar and stoops, grumbling lightly about the mess and difficulty of finding things.

"Most of it, in here at least, is the result of arguments that spill over into fights - some with bloody conclusions." a man of average height murmurs, head not turning. "The destruction of the room to the south, at least the broken wall, is the result of one of the tainted -- plague victims, whose condition had been allowed to reach its final stage. The thing almost killed four people, walked through the wall like it was paper.. Took nigh on twelve guards, and all the patrons to end its tortured existence." He adds, his tone tired, as if remembering the occurrence and feeling drained as a result.

Turning to look at the hooded man, confusion and fear creeping into her voice, a rosy-cheeked lass says "The plague, you say? Then I find myself in a plague city?" She stands, if a bit unsteadily, and walks towards the bald-headed man, her hands outstretched to take whatever cleaning utensils he has found.

A burly man with a shiny, bald head comes to a stand, bucket and brush in hand. He casts his gaze over a man of average height as the man relates the story, his own brow becoming heavily creased. Once the man has finished he speaks. "Aye, tha's about tha' sum of it.. It's 'ard to remember them things were ever men an' women like us. 'least ways till they die, an' their bodies melt away until only tha' original flesh is left--- Damn 'ard to know 'ow to deal with it afterwards." He hands the utensils over to a rosy-cheeked lass.

"Some are more fortunate. Some don't have to look upon the bodies left afterwards... But, in answer to your question; yes, you find yourself in a plagued city, the plagued city, the only city left as far as anyone can tell. Though this long after Twilight, it's unlikely there are other communities left intact, that they haven't found us or us them is a sure sign that we alone survived the cataclysm." a man of average height relates, his head dipping forward as if he now looks into his half full tankard.

A rosy-cheeked lass takes the bucket carefully, but still sloshes water over the front of her dress. She seems not to notice, or at least not to mind, as she takes the brush from the bald-headed man. "It sounds ghastly! It took the wall right out, you say? The plague can do that to a man?" a rosy-cheeked lass drops to her hands and knees, scrubbing at a blood stain on the floor near the bar. "How can it be prevented? I mean, is there a way to keep from catching it?"

A burly man with a shiny, bald head leans over the bar to peer down at a rosy-cheeked lass as she speaks. "Not unless ye get yer 'ands on some o' the cure - but them nobles guard it greedily. Not much of it you see, and them that were sent visions o' the cure didn' manage to make much, 'fer the guards ceased the recipe -- Least ways, that's 'ow the story goes.. Maybe just rumour, but them nobles sure seem naturally free o' it, if'n ye ask me." He replies.

"I heard it was that crimson haired fellow, Lunin? Luman? Something of the sort.. I recall tell that he was the one who was responsible for stealing the recipe.. Apparently befriended one of the healer girls working on it, stole it from her while she slept in his bed.. No one saw her after that, well, I certainly didn't.. But.. Anyway, maybe rumour, but he isn't a very trust inspiring chap, that Lumen -- Ahh, yes, that's it, Lumen." a man of average height says, before taking a triumphant swig of ale, apparently pleased at remembering the name.

Scrubbing as hard as she can, her brow wrinkled in concentration, a rosy-cheeked lass muses "But surely it doesn't do them any good to keep it secret for themselves, if they have the formula. Couldn't something that could go through THIS wall go just as easily through a wall in their fancy homes?" She tucks a stray tendril behind her ear and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "Why should they kill off those who could heal the plague, even if they were safe from it? Haven't they always lived on the sweat of simple folk? It makes no sense to me, then, to let the simple folk become monstrous, or to kill them."

A burly man with a shiny, bald head furrows his brow, his eyes narrowing slightly in the manner of one chasing after a fleeting memory. At last he simply shrugs his shoulders and replies to a man of average height: "I'd not 'ered of that, meself. Mind, the way them guard are these days - not much would surprise me, not one good man among them, saves Tal'.. Least 'e still as a good 'eart in 'is chest. Much like 'is Da, Cymur bless 'is soul... Aye, Tal's a good lad," He glances back to a rosy-cheeked lass before continuing, now addressing her. "The nobles are scared, tha's 'ow I see it. Scared o' the dark, scared o' the common folk even more -- see, 'for the dark they were secure in their 'omes, but before tha dark, they are just as powerless as peasants. They don' much like tha' so try to cling onto their power any way they can, sometimes by makin' the weak even weaker."

A rosy-cheeked lass wipes her hands on her skirt and then ties her long braid into a not at the back of her neck, getting out of her way. "What a strange place this is... What is this darkness you speak of, the Twilight, is it? And, well, why don't I know what you're talking about. It seems as if I should, but..." Her voice trails off, and she throws herself with even more vigour into her task.

A man of average height's head tips gently to one side, listening to a rosy-cheeked lass's words before finally offering her a reply, his tone perhaps gentle. "To be honest, lass, it sounds likely that you recently returned from the mists-- Many come here that way. I don't mean to sound blunt, and it may feel surreal to hear this - but you likely fell during the first wave of demons as the Darkness spread out from Yarsin, nigh on three years ago now. The mists have been slow to return the fallen." He pauses for a moment, then continues: "You should seek to speak with Taliesin, the captain of the guard, he would likely know better how to deal with such a- delicate situation."

Wet the armpits with dirty wash water and red-faced from her efforts, a rosy-cheeked lass looks from one man to another and then sits down hard on the floor, laughing until tears stream from her eyes. She tries to speak several times, but chokes on her own mirth until finally she manages to get out "Oh, thank goodness! I was just thinking that this made no sense, unless I was dead." She chuckles again, wiping away the tears that stream down her face. "But I thought I wasn't, so I must be mad. It's such a relief! I can't think of nothing worse than loosing your mind. Dead, is it?" Her laughter echoes off the walls of the tavern. "That's much better!"

A burly man with a shiny, bald head turns to glance worriedly at a man of average height for a moment in reaction to a rosy-cheeked lass's hysterics, he seems unsure for a moment, then glancing back to the woman he says: "Per'aps, Althea -- Ye don' mind if'n I call ye tha', aye? 'twould become difficult to draw yer attention with miss if'n the room were full o' folk.." He pauses, grins, slightly, then continues. "Per'aps ye could simple collect the tankards from tha tables fer now, no need to work so 'ard jus' yet. If'n ye 'ave only just returned from tha mists."

Pulling herself together, but still smiling broadly, a rosy-cheeked lass returns to her scrubbing. "You'd have to pry this brush from my cold dead fingers" she giggles "if you want me to serve folks in this room. Death and plague are all beyond me, but that's no reason to sit in filth and gore. No, really, I'm fine. If this is what is, there isn't any changing that. But I can make this floor a mite cleaner, and that's something." She scrubs in broad circles, a small smile lingering on her lips. "Unless there is something about only having just arrived that makes you not want me around?"

A burly man with a shiny, bald head chuckles slightly, some confidence returning and replacing the worry as he shakes his head, saying in a reassuring tone: "Nay lass, jus' concerned ye will over work yerself - the affects o' returnin' can be fairly disorientatin', though brief.. But if'n ye are sure, carry on." He grins down at a rosy-cheeked lass before finally leaning back and glancing to a man of average height, asking him: "Ye wan' fer me to refill yer tankard?"

Moving closer the fireplace, a rosy-cheeked lass scrubs at the soot and grime that has accumulated there, humming quietly to herself. "Oh, and of course you may call me Althea. Its a comfort to hear my name, at least, when nothing else is familiar to me." She smiles up at the bald-headed name. "Have you a name as well?"

A burly man with a shiny, bald head grins even broader as he idly reaches for a worn leather rag with which he begins to wipe the bar. "Aye, though I dun tell folk much, from experience if'n ye tell 'em yer name they thin' they are ye mate an' 'ave a right to free drink." He chuckles warmly, before continuing: "Name's Taris."

A rosy-cheeked lass leaves a dark line of soot across her brow as she wipes away a few stray hairs that fall into her eyes. "It's a pleasure to work for you, Taris, and I assure you I won't be expecting a free drink. No, in fact, I intend to earn every bit of my keep." She smiles and gestures to the couch. "Once we get these floors cleaned, you'll have to let me repair that. I haven't got a needle and thread, but I'm sure I can come up with something. Your patrons might fight less if the place didn't look so much like a battlefield." She chuckles, and stands, carrying the bucket. "This water is too dirty to be any use now. I'll dump it. Where is the pump?"

A man of average height Speaking again, after being quiet for so long it carries the suddenness as if he'd shouted. "The pump.. The fountain just outside will have to do, though it seems somehow odd to use Cymur's fountain for that - though if you feel the need to go elsewhere, the bath-house is just next door, to the east, plenty of water there too.." He finishes off his tankard in one long swallow before slowly dismounting from the barstool backwards. His movements betray a limberness that suggest he is not quite as old in years as his words might suggest. He reaches for a cane which had until now been hidden from sight.

A burly man with a shiny, bald head nods to the words of a man of average height, glancing then to a rosy-cheeked lass. "Aye, ye can fill the bucket at the fountain lass - I need ta be gettin' on with thin's can I leave ye to yer work? I'll be 'ere, jus' busy, right?" He asks casually, already beginning to busy himself.

A rosy-cheeked lass nods, and stands, then looks a bit uncertain of herself. "Actually, I see what you mean about feeling a bit out of sorts. It seems that being dead does something to weaken the body a bit." She chuckles, but not quite as sincerely as she had laughed before. "Would you mind if I took that room now, and lay down for a bit?" She stretches and yawns.

A burly man with a shiny, bald head nods, offering a rosy-cheeked lass a sympathetic smile before saying: "Aye lass, let me get ye a key - it won' 'ave as much privacy as ye may wish yet though, I'll get a unique key an' lock fitted soon though. But fer now ye can rest a bit in though southern room." As he speaks he pulls a key from one of his many pockets and hands it over to the woman.

The Death of Eliss Mao

A couple of cloaked figures sitting at a shadowed table near the entrance to the Inn lean in close. Exchanging quiet words with each other, the taller of the pair passing a shaded glance over towards the bar area.

Crossing his arms over his chest, a tall dark-headed man begins to make his way to the bar, sitting upon an empty stool. He faces the rest of the room, eyes still peering around curiously, though he doesn't speak or acknowledge anyone else's presence.

A crimson-haired human continues to watch the bar carefully, his eyes gazing over every part of it from his vantage point in the south-western corner. His arms remain crossed for a moment or two, before one of them drops down idly to his weapon, the hand lying there idly on the pommel.

]]> A bronzed muscular man sighs and takes another sip of his ale. He clenches and unclenches his calloused hands.

A slim, young woman seems to come out of her reverie a little, looking more curiously around at the patrons now. Her eyes rest for a minute on a crimson-haired human sword, and she smiles a little, as if to reassure her self that she is safe here. Taking in some newcomers to the inn a little more fully, she smiles softly at a bronzed muscular man.

Eventually, the taller man pushes his stool sharply away from the table at which he sits, a drunken nudge given to his companion before he heads over to a slim, young woman. "Hey missy. How bout showin' a lonely boy a bit of a good time hmm? I've got a fair amount of gold ... "

Glancing out the corner of his eye, a bronzed muscular man notices the slim young woman's smile.

"How about you watch your mouth, sir?" a slim, young woman speaks, her voice measured and polite, but her hand noticeably hovering near her ankle sheath.

His upper lip curling a bit, a crimson-haired human haunches down slightly as he watches the taller man approach a slim, young woman. He doesn't make a move to stop him, but he does switch hands on the pommel of his weapon, now prepared to draw the sword. He remains silent save for the noise he makes as he takes a step forward.

A lean woman turns a hard gaze on the man approaching a slim, young woman. "I hope you're not bothering Mistress Arlena, my friend," she murmurs, voice just loud enough to carry her words. "It would be a shame if you were interrupting the young lady from her thoughts or planned on causing trouble."

A tall dark-headed man watches the tall man as he moves across the bar, though he is too far to hear the words that are being exchanged.

A bronzed muscular man lifts his left leg and pushes the nearest chair on his left away from the table. He nods to the woman and asks "Would you care to sit down and join me?".

"Offering to wash my mouth out with your tongue? Why thank ye- miss. I accept. But really, ye've got such pretty eyes.. want to fuck?" At this the man laughs uproarishly at his own joke, the others in the room ignored.

She rises from her seat near the fire, grabbing her bag. Smiling gratefully at the lean woman for her support, she turns to the a bronzed muscular man, saying relievedly, "I thank you sir." Hearing the mans brash comment, a slim, young woman blushes furiously, stumbling a little on her way to the bronzed mans table, but saying nothing.

A crimson-haired human watches a slim, young woman and the man attempting to solicit her services very intently, though he does glance at the table from which the tall man came from every now and then to check on his partner.

A bronzed muscular man stands up as the young woman comes over to his table. He nods his head, "it seems like you need a drink, my treat, what would you like?"

"Ahh, the lady prefers the more subtle approach. Come -here- miss. Sit at -my- table. Then can we fuck..?" He pauses, again to laugh at his own joke, seeming to find himself horrendously funny.

A lean woman rises fluidly from her seat, taking two steps to put herself face-to-face with the tall man. "I said, it would be a -real-shame if you were bothering our young friend." Her tone is all sweetness, but her eyes are hard. "Spend your coin elsewhere. Maybe you could find a little mint leaf to take care of your breath, hey?"

Edging her way carefully past the loud mans table, a slim, young woman answers the bronzed man, "Most kind sir - wine, if you please."

Sighing a bronzed muscular man beckons the young lady to sit. "Ignore him ma'am, he isn't worth it, bartender, wine for the fine young lady".

Having slidden a few feet closer from the bar, a tall dark-headed man now hears the words the man says. He shakes his head a few times, a somewhat disgusted look coming over his face, "What else can ye 'spect in this 'ellhole of a city?" he grumbles to himself.

"Oh sorry miss.. but you're really not my type. I like myself at least a little bit of class..." The tall man turns his head to the side, looking around the lean woman to eye the back of the slim, young woman, "And a bit of ass.."

A crimson-haired human keeps himself at the ready, his weapon still fully sheathed, however. He remains silent as he watches the exchange, generating a bit of tension into the room.

A slim, young woman smiles thankfully at a lean woman, but her eyes show a hint of fear, suppressed in a practised and calculated way. She pauses on her way to the a bronzed muscular man mans table. Turning to eye the tall man she says, "And affronts like that are the only way you can get it hmm? I show no surprise." Her lip curls back.

Glancing over at the drunk once more, a bronzed muscular man walks over to his table and says " the lady obviously isn't interested friend."

"That's all right, I like my men with a little brains," a lean woman replies easily, "and a little less hideous, for that matter. Go back to your table. Maybe your companion'll keep you company for the night if you pay -him-. I doubt anyone would for less than your weight in gold, but it's worth a try." She eyes the shorter of the two men with as much contempt and distaste as she viewed his partner.

Upon hearing the woman's response his banter, a bronzed muscular man grins. And walks back to his table.

A slim, young woman stares levelly at the man, before saying in a low voice. "Before the guard I say this - touch me, and feel my knife between your ribs. Fair warning."

"I'd rather a front like yours..." The tall man leers, his right hand coming up to draw his thumb and forefinger along the line of his moustache. Midway through this piece of grooming, a flash of silver flies through the room, the point of which lands dead in the middle of his forehead. He falls to the ground. Dead.

A bronzed muscular man gestures to the woman, "Please have a seat ma'am, I could use some company".

A slim, young woman screams as the tall man slumps to the floor before her.

A lean woman whips around to find the source of the flying knife, as she simultaneously bends to grasp the hilt of her own dagger, sheathed on her right ankle.

A bronzed muscular man gasps as the man falls over onto the floor. Saying a quick prayer to the gods, he knees down near the body.

A tall dark-headed man crosses his arms over his chest, watching the man fall dead, a smirk comes across his face, a sort of amused look taking hold of his facial expressions.

"By Cymur!" a crimson-haired human says softly as the weapon lands in the solicitor's forehead. He glances around furtively for the source of the blade, his sword easily sliding out of its sheath. "Everybody get to cover! Whoever threw that, show yourself!" He shouts over the screams from the various patrons.

A bronzed muscular man backs away, nervously glancing around the room.

Nothing can be seen in the room, not a flicker amongst the shadows nor any weapons drawn amongst the patrons. A few give the body a weary look though apparently such deaths happen often enough here so as to not draw /too/ much attention.

A slim, young woman looks to be in a sheer panic, as the mans blood seeps around her boots. She is crying openly now, the stress of her day showing in her shaking sobs.

A tall dark-headed man sits back down upon his stool, casually looking around the bar, examining the dark corners and the southern doorway.

Upon seeing the young woman's distress, a bronzed muscular man gently guides her to his table.

A lean woman pulls the dagger free, gripping it firmly in her left hand. Unable to find anything that could qualify as a threat, she expels a long breath and relaxes slightly, right forefinger stroking the length of the blade.

A crimson-haired human takes two long bounding steps and is over the body, and subsequently near a slim, young woman. He bends down slightly, whispering to a slim, young woman. "It's all right, yah aren't in danger." He continues to spin around, grimacing as he does so. "Ah say again, show yerself, -now-!" He raises his voice again, his features hardening.

A youthful female Seari steps through a couple of the patrons, her form becoming visible again as she moves from behind where a crowd had been gathered. She approaches the body of the man, kicking it idly with the side of her knee high boots. "Not good."

A slim, young woman takes a seat beside a bronzed muscular man, removing her dagger protectively from its sheath and wielding it in her hand. She smiles gratefully at a bronzed muscular man and a crimson-haired human.

A lightly skinned, gangly fellow cackles insanely about the death of the moustached man as he leaves south.

A bronzed muscular man Sits down beside the young woman and slides the wine over to her. "I think the worst is over now, lets leave this mess, to the guards."

Trying to calm the young woman down, a bronzed muscular man tries some small talk "My name is Kang and I'm an apprentice blacksmith, nice to meet you. What is your name?".

"A noble. Heh, quite a prominent one too. Dying on your watch Lumen, there likely will be questions asked. Particularly considering the number of you muckraking them earlier." a youthful female Seari says, calmly and evenly. She stares down towards the vacant eyes of the corpse.

A slim, young woman wipes feebly at her tears, her eyes darting paranoidly into every corner in the room. "I am Arlena." The absence of title and family name is noticeable and purposeful, her tone suggesting that perhaps this is a small test for a bronzed muscular man.

A lean woman glances at a youthful female Seari, dagger still in her hand. "And who'd suggest that, face to face, I was able to throw a knife into the middle of his bleeding forehead? That thing missed the back of my head by inches."

"Yah." is the only response a crimson-haired human gives to a youthful female Seari, his body visibly tensing further. He leans over towards her form and whispers into one of her ears, his eyes blazing intensely. Afterwards, he straightens and says a bit more loudly. "Yah, just great."

Lumen whispers to Zarika, 'Is he here?'

"And yet now, you wield a weapon..." a youthful female Seari drops her eyes down to the tip of the blade a lean woman holds. "Not planning murderous intent there are you?"

"Mah job, madam, mah job." a crimson-haired human says to a youthful female Seari as he straightens fully. He takes in a deep breath as he looks around the inn again. "Ah think we'll just 'aveta get 'is body ovah to 'is family, an' Ah'll 'ave ta file a report on it to..."

"So you'd be suggesting it, then," a lean woman replies, not answering her question. "And in a place like this, you'd need precious little evidence to convict a refugee, wouldn't you, Officer Lumen?" Her eyes never leave a youthful female Seari, even while addressing a crimson-haired human, nor does her grip on her dagger slacken.

"Nice to meet you Arlena." a bronzed muscular man glances at the dead body again and sighs. "Well, how long have you been in this fair city? I've been here almost two years, but rarely get out. My master over at the smithy has been working me quite hard. He thinks I show some promise one day in weapon making." Blushing at his ranting, he scratches the back of his head with his right hand."

A youthful female Seari withdraws sharply back from the whispered words of a crimson-haired human. The shock of his words enough to distract her from any further jibe she was going to give a lean woman. "Elbahn... do you really think this is _his_ style? Gods." Then several pauses between words: "No. He. Is. Not. Here."

The sound of armour clad boots thumping against the floorboards of the southern room announce the entrance of two guards, one a tall, and equally broad man in a white tabard with a silver crest, the other a shorter man, though senior in years as well as rank; a Sergeant. They quickly glance around the room before the sergeant turns to address the other guard present, the crimson-haired human. "What's 'appenin'? We 'ere a screa-- Bloody 'ell! Is tha' Eliss Mao?" He asks.

A slim, young woman "I have been here but a few days; a refugee like many..." Her introduction is cut short by the sudden entrance of the guards.

As the guards enter a lean woman steps a few paces back from the body and from a youthful female Seari, though she still refuses to take her eyes from the woman, even as she bends to replace her drawn weapon.

A lightly skinned, gangly fellow takes a seat at the couch.

A slim, young woman seems to feel safer with the entrance of the guards, sheathing her dagger and dabbing away the last of her tears with the back of her hand.

"Really why, what happened. Like I said I don't get out much, so I barely hear any gossip. My master is a hard man to get into a conversation." At the guards entrance a bronzed muscular man visibly relaxes. "Thank the gods, finally order is here."

A crimson-haired human looks up quickly at the approach of the other guards. "Ah, a murder. Noble." The man steps over the body to approach the two guards, walking over to the one that wears the same tabard as him, the one that spoke. "'e was attemptin' to solicit that woman's, ah, services" He gestures to a slim, young woman "when a dagger came from nowhere an' struck 'im in tha 'ead. Nothin' Ah coulda done ta stop it." The man purses his lips slightly as he finally remembers there was another part to the guard's words. He glances over his shoulder.

The taller of the two guards who now all but block the exit to the south eyes the lean woman as she slips her dagger away. He then starts to approach the corpse, glancing down at the hilt protruding from the centre of his brow.

A youthful female Seari nods once, a wayward curl falling from behind the right of her long elongated ears. She smoothly slides a dagger out of it's sheath and using her foot, rolls the back onto his stomach. She plants the heel of her boot upon the small of his back and leans down. A quick flick of her blade tearing the shirt - and with enough skill it is only the shirt that tears - to reveal the prominent tattoo of a styled rose that runs up the centre of his back.

A slim, young woman smiles softly at a bronzed muscular man, watching the guards with a nervous curiosity, hearing her name. Regaining her usual composure she takes a clam sip of wine.

"Eliss Mao. His family will be grieved. Three children. One just a babe in the mothers arms." a youthful female Seari says, her words lowering in tone to show a hint of perhaps, sadness? Her eyes suitable drop down to the ground.

A sharp intake of air is audible from a lean woman as a youthful female Seari identifies the body. Her eyes, still fastened on the other woman, are slitted with suspicion and bemusement.

A bronzed muscular man returns the young woman's smile. "Looks like this mystery is still unclear. I wish I knew what that tattoo meant. I think I remember hearing about that name. Maybe he was one of my masters customers, but it is hard to remember with everything suddenly going on.

About to intervene as the seari takes her dagger to the corpse's back, the tall guard suddenly realises her intent, and calling back to the two sergeants he says. "Aye, as she says, Eliss Mao, no mistakin' 'is mark, I say, no mistakin' 'is mark... There'll be 'ell over this an' no mistake.".. Hearing this the sergeant who entered only recently spits a foul curse before snapping toward the crimson-haired man. "Right so ye let 'im die then, right in front o' ye? Bloody oath - fine, where's tha body o' the murderer?? Least tha' may quell any calls fer yer 'ide from 'is family." He says, as he starts peering around for a second corpse.

A crimson-haired human takes in a deep breath, raising his chin and sticking his chest out slightly. "Ah could not apprehend a murderer." is all he says, as he swallows harshly.

A bronzed muscular man listens intently to the guard as he talks. Remembering he is just a stranger still after so long , he concentrates on the young woman and his drink which he continues to sip.

"Of course, it is obvious who did it." a youthful female Seari muses, her slim leather clad body drawing gently down into a crouch. Her movements retaining the grace of her fae ancestors. If she notices the attempted approach of the guards, she makes no indication of such.

"So....ma'am, why and what were you fleeing from. If you need to get something off your chest, you have my ear." a bronzed muscular man smiles warmly to the young woman

Glancing down nervously a bronzed muscular man says "I am sorry for all the questions, but when I get nervous I tend to talk and rant."

A slim, young woman raises an eyebrow at the female seari, awaiting further comment. Turning to the bronzed man she replies, "I do not wish to seem ungrateful for your kindness, but until such time as I deem otherwise, my business is my own." Her voice holds no malice, just a friendly warning.

Realizing he was fast approaching crossing the line a bronzed muscular man takes a long swig of ale. "Sorry about that maam, like I said it's just how it is. I completely understand, and I won't ask anymore."

Brushing a few strands of hair out of her dark green eyes, a lean woman's interest shifts over to a crimson-haired human's predicament. For once, a youthful female Seari is going unheeded.

Attempting to change the subject a bronzed muscular man says "Nice weather, huh? Looks like it might rain soon."

The look of angered disbelief on the sergeants face is so acute it is almost as if someone had carved the look into his features with a chisel and hammer. "YE BLOODY USELESS ARSE OF A MAN.." He bellows, and appears to be restraining himself from striking at the crimson-haired man. "So ye say ye din' 'ave the murderer, yet ye were over the bloody body, leavin' this exit open fer anyone ta vanish frum.. Yer reputation for bein' a skirt chasin' fool dun nearly do ye credit.. Get out o' me bloody sight an' pray tha Captain' is in a good mood when 'e finds out or ye'll be the corpse 'anging from tha gallows fer this.. Now get out." With that the sergeant steps away from the door, dismissing the crimson haired man as much by the way he turns from him as with his words.

A slim, young woman face softens. "I do not wish to seem rude. I am a cook and a craftswoman in this city. I am unmarried, and I am usually not quite so defensive. It has been a hard day..."

A crimson-haired human takes the tirade with a hardened face, though he does not stand at attention as the two are of equal rank. Without responding, he nods once to the sergeant, and leaves.

"One of the three." a youthful female Seari states, though it seems that no one is longer paying attention to her. "My uncle.. such a kind hearted soul. Was like a father too me.. really.. Sure, he chased the ladies a bit, but it was all fun for him.. he never actually did anything, just saw it as a laugh." A long and depressed sounding sigh is released.

"I am sorry for your loss." a slim, young woman says softly to a youthful seari. "I am sorry it ended like that...I had no intention or wish for this to happen..." Her eyes softly search the female seari, for any sign of anger.

A bronzed muscular man says "I completely understand ma'am. Sometimes my tongues waggles before my brain catches up. I should be the one to apologize, I sometimes come across to strong. Please forgive me and don't worry any more about it."

A bronzed muscular man says "So your a cook, well if your looking for a job, maybe I could see if my master can ask around."

Clearly still enraged, the sergeant turns his attention to the private, scowling as he snaps: "Well? Go get sum sorta sheet frum upstairs an' we'll use it as a stretcher to carry the corpse out o' ere." The private snaps to attention, nods and without even consulting the barman he quickly makes his way to and up the stairs.

A slim, young woman smiles sweetly at a bronzed muscular man. "Let us just forget it and start afresh." Off his comment, she adds "I am not a cook by trade, but it is what I will do here - for now. You master has connections in this town?"

"Right, none of you lot are actually interested in WHO did it?!" a youthful female Seari raises her voice, her tone having a hysterical edge to it, the comforting words of a slim, young woman seeming to have had little or no effect.

A slim, young woman rises from her table to place a light hand upon a female seari's shoulder. She says nothing, seemingly thinking there is nothing more to be said. However, her eyes seem to echo the woman's sentiment.

A lean woman turns again to face a youthful female Seari, still silent, still doing her best not to call attention to herself. One of her hands is clenching and unclenching slowly.

Walking further from the door toward the female seari, the sergeant states flatly: "If'n ye 'ave any clue then I'd be willin' to 'ear it. Did ye see tha' one who threw the dagger?" He glances fleetingly about the room, before commenting: "No 'opes 'e'd still be 'ere mind.. Not if'n 'e 'as any wits about 'im at all."

Looking at the seari, a bronzed muscular man says "I'm just a simple apprentice. As you notice I'm not even armed. I didn't see anyone as my back was turned. I do with I could be more help, but I'm a foreigner in this strange land."

A flaxen-haired male seari Vendir hesitates at the entrance to the common room. Hearing the hustle and bustle of the patrons therin he decides to stand for a moment to listen. A hand travels habitually to his chin which strokes his thin goatee for a moment before moving back down to drape on his rapier pommel.

A youthful female Seari 's shoulder muscles tense, before slowly starting to relax, her upper body slumping a bit as she says, "It was the three.. you know of the Nine right? I mean, who in their right mine would not. The destruction of them brought about by the war between the Nine and Mao is not unheard of in the right circles.. well, three members.. three of the elite members broke off and swore revenge. All this week this has been happening. My older brother - Thein, died three days ago."

A bronzed muscular man Seeing that this seems to be more than a simple murder. He turns slightly towards the Seari woman.

A slim, young woman still says nothing. She returns to her seat, her gaze resting on a lean woman who had so valiantly supported her. She gives a thankful smile.

A flaxen-haired male seari just now noticing the body of an obviously murdered man to the north. He shrugs his shoulders and reaffirms his grip on the rapier pommel straightening his posture and lifting his chin up as if preparing for the theatre.

The private returns from above with some bedding folded over his arm. The sergeant doesn't notice however, his attention lies fully on the seari woman as she speaks. After a moment he asks: "Ye saw any o' em? Clear enough to identify the murderer?" He sounds hopeful.

A lean woman catches a slim, young woman's smile and flashes a reassuring one of her own back at the girl. Her eyes flick for a moment to a bronzed muscular man and back, and gives a slim, young woman a tiny wink before her attention returns to the body and a youthful female Seari's story.

"No.. but everyone knows what is going on. Head out of your office for a couple of hours and into the underground. You'd find out sure enough..." a youthful female Seari releases a second long sigh, her eyes pressing closed for a moment, "He had a babe.. three kids and one of them was jus' a wee babe. And poor Alishille... If you will excuse me, I need to bring word to his family."

Smiling at the young woman, a bronzed muscular man says "I do thank you for your company, miss. But unfortunately I should be going. I have to get up early and get some orders done for my master. I hope everything works out for you. I hope to see you again. If you are bored come by and visit me sometime, I will be one of the smithy's."

A slim, young woman smiles happily. "I would be glad to, sir."

A bronzed muscular man reaches into his pockets and puts some coins on the table. Nodding towards the young woman "Remember my offer for an ear and friendship if you ever want it. My pa always used to say you can never have too many friends."

A slim, young woman nods briefly, seeming a little distant. "Thank you for your company, it was much appreciated."

A flaxen-haired male seari is carried in from the south on a calculated and long gait. His posture is proud and rigid and his left his is affixed to the pommel of his gleaming weapon. He takes a moment to view the scene before him, not making any reactions towards the realm of surprise, but more careful consideration. He glances around for a moment at the occupants taking in each face as if attempt to divulge their level of guilt in this crime. "What of this?" He says in a grave, calm tone. "What's happened here?"

A bronzed muscular man smiles, "I am glad miss, have a nice night, and see you soon. Anytime miss, anytime. "He waves good-bye.

The sergeant sight, frustration clear. He beckons for the private to come closer as he says: "Aye, right then.. Best clean this up, then go report it to tha captain." The pair waste little time laying the rolled bedclothes on the floor and lifting the corpse up and onto them.

A youthful female Seari passes a brief glance over a flaxen-haired male seari on her way towards the entrance of the Inn, her gaze glaring as usual as it meets the form of the Seari. She does not slow her steps heading out the door and promptly onto the street.

A slim, young woman removes her boots, examining sadly the bloodstains upon them from her previous unfortunate stance beside the deceased.

Having placed the body on the bedclothes, the two guards grip each corner firmly, before hoisting the whole mass up and slowly making their way backward, toward the exit, and beyond.

A flaxen-haired male seari gives a visible and almost forlorn sigh as Zarika passes him by. Noticing then the guards here a flaxen-haired male seari puts on a scowl. He passes up the entirety of the crowd not giving much more then a glance to the body before coming to the bar, without more then that a burly man with a shiny, bald head understands to place three short-glasses filled with brown liquid right in front of him.

Shambling Hydra

A tall and tattooed man sits at a table close to the fire, idly drinking an ale and relaxing.

A groggy a flaxen-haired male seari descends the stairs with an unstable swaying gait, as if he'd been drinking for the past several days. He's naked from the waste up and a rough linen bandage covers his chest, two bright splotches of crimson colour creeping through.

A pale gentleman sits down upon the couch, glancing over his shoulder at the tables nearby the couch. His eyes are drawn to the source of the sound of steps on the stairs, staring at a flaxen-haired male seari for a moment, curiosity in his eyes. Finally, it gets the better of him: "Had a little trouble recently?"

A tall and tattooed man looks up the steps at the seari, he raises his mug and gives a little cheer, "Vendir! My good friend, I see you finally woke up. Ya lazy bum," he says happily.

]]> A pale gentleman quirks an eyebrow at the seari, and can't help but smirk as he comments, "Just woke up eh? It looks like he woke up and someone decided to beat the crap out of him."

A tall and tattooed man chuckles, "Or vice versa. Oh, and Vendir, please keep the shirt. You've ruined it anyway," he says with a wink.

A freckled young woman slides her hand down the banister, skirts held in one hand to avoid tripping. She glances from one face to another, smiling softly at a flaxen-haired male seari. "So you've awaken."

A tall and tattooed man points a finger at the freckled young woman, "And there's the girl you should thank for being able to walk again so soon. If it weren't for her, I don't know if you'd be here, boy."

A flaxen-haired male seari nods at a pale gentleman a tight-lipped pained look on his face. He himself looking quite pale a weak but sarcastic voice responds "What tipped you off?" He passes him up to approach a tall and tattooed man saying "Yes, just. I feel like I've been thrashed by a demon." He lies a hand on his chest just below his wounds and still gives a wince.

A freckled young woman shakes her head and stops at the bottom of the stairs, a small hand laying on the last post. She looks upwards, then back to a tall and tattooed man, "I tell you, sir, that you've not me to thank."

A pale gentleman continues to lightly smirk, and chuckles to himself as he leans back against the couch, resting his bones. He yawns, mouth opening wide as he covers it with a hand. "Seems I always miss the interesting parts of life. Pity."

A tall and tattooed man nods his head, "You looked it when you stumbled in here, my friend. Baldy, bring a glass of wine for my good friend. Drinking wine makes the body build more blood, I hear, and you could certainly use it." He hands the bald man a few coins in exchange for a glass which is set in front of the flaxen-haired seari.

A flaxen-haired male seari Bowing his head slightly toward the direction of a freckled young woman, hands clasped together in a prayer like faction. "Whatever you did, I thank you." His startled looking doe-eyes glance to the floor for a moment before returning to her face. "I was having terrible nightmares, you see. And I felt them leave when that glow came into me. You've done me a greater service then any man...uhh.. *rubs the back of his neck* woman has done for me before."

With slightly wobbling knees a flaxen-haired male seari walks towards the bar, and sits down, taking the glass filled with an opaque white wine and sips from it slowly.

A freckled young woman "It was Ylessa's light, I only was a medium to give it to you." She crosses to a flaxen-haired male seari, her smile bright. "Though, I wouldn't drink too much wine. You lost plenty of blood, and it'll make you easy to become foolish," she glances at the glass with disdain.

A pale gentleman cocks his head to the side slightly as he listens to the flaxen-haired male seari's words, and he can't help but chuckle a little bit as he shakes his head. He slides his backpack off, rubbing the shoulder that was carrying most of the weight.

A tall and tattooed man scoffs at the remark, "Drink up my friend, old Than will keep an eye on you."

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman enters through the doorway quietly. She lifts her hands to remove the hood from over her face, the material falling heavily with moisture to her back. With a small smile on her face, she glances quietly around the room before moving farther.

A flaxen-haired male seari's head lowers in embarrassment. "Yes I've been known to drink too much, and foolish is certainly the word for intoxication." He offers, going on to say "And thanks to Than, I'm sure he did all he could to help. My only true friend in all of Aagos." He takes another small sip of the wine despite the encouragements of a tall and tattooed man.

A tall and tattooed man chuckles and raises his mug to the flaxen-haired seari in acknowledgement.

A pale gentleman slides his backpack off the couch cushion, onto the ground and dragging it so it rests in front of him, between his legs. He leans back into the couch once again and crosses his arms beneath his chest, eyes half-closed as he stares ahead at an upward angle, head tilted back to rest upon the cushion as well.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman lifts her right hand up to her forehead, brushing a few damp bits of hair from her eyes in an attempt to make them stay behind her ear. As she lowers her hand she brushes her fingers lightly over her horn, uncovering it from a bit of hair. Having done so, and with a seemingly content expression, a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman makes her way across the room in the direction of the bar.

A flaxen-haired male seari "You've got to forgive me however, I was barely coherent when I came in and I forget all after my collapse. What happened?" He says, his face looking dark and staring into the floorboards as he speaks, giving quick nervous glances to a stained spot on the floor at the threshold of the inn entrance.

Tapping a boot lightly on the ground, a pale gentleman idly listens as best as he can to the conversations around him, head turning this way and that whenever he catches little snippets of conversation that interest him.

Approaching the bar, a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman raises her hands to swiftly untie the cords holding her cloak about her neck. She allows it to slide gently into one of her arms and turns to lean with her left elbow against the bar as she murmurs some thing quietly to a burly man with a shiny, bald head.

A tall and tattooed man turns to look towards the seari and speaks lowly, casting his deep voice in his direction to reach his ears but not tell the tale to the entire inn, "Woulda stitched you up, but there weren't no thread to be had. Me and Anya did all we could to comfort you and clean ya up but I'm no healer and neither was she. You should know that the crazy Tyen tried a healing spell on you, he did his best, but it weren't no good..." he raises his mug to take a long drink.

A freckled young woman blinks at a tall and tattooed man's words. She steps forward, "I should like to call myself a healer."

A tall and tattooed man blinks. "Sorry my lady, I meant another girl, my deepest apologies. You are a great healer indeed."

A flaxen-haired male seari gives a slow solemn nod to a tall and tattooed man in response pausing for a moment before a scowl creeps onto his face and beings to say "Its a wonder he didn't attempt to strike me down while I was weak, for all the hate he speaks about my kind." He goes to tap the pommel of his rapier seems startled by the fact it isn't there.

You say, 'Too much ale... hehe'

A pale gentleman perks up in interest, turning his head as he catches a few words that interest him. He nods slowly as he listens to a few townsfolk talk at a table that's a bit away from the bar, and he smirks lightly as he leans to the side against the arm of the couch.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman fingers the glass in her hand lightly. She rotates it once and watches the contents swirl and then settle before lifting it to drink for the first time.

"Before too long, that spiteful seari Zarika Mao came along, and wouldn't lift a finger to help ya. Thought we should put you out of your misery. She suggested the hospital but I don't have my bearings here yet, there was no way I was gonna lift you up on my shoulder and carry you around Telantha looking for the hospital in your condition. Lucky for you that Anya came along when she did. Your wounds just kinda closed up and you started smiling and sleepin'' like a baby," he laughs softly and takes another drink of his ale.

A flaxen-haired male seari says, 'Again, my lady...Anya was it. I thank you. I owe you much.'

A freckled young woman shakes her head and brushes her hair back from her face. "Zarika claims me as her cousin, and I claim her as my friend. Do not speak ill of her. All of us have wounds to be healed. Unfortunately, hers run deeper than the flesh." Her eyes turn a bright green, staring at a tall and tattooed man. "You've had your moments of cruelty, for that I'm sure. We all have."

A hand comes up to lightly scratch at a smooth cheek, and a pale gentleman yawns again, losing interest in the words of the townsfolk that he was straining to listen to. He yawns again and stretches in place, accidentally knocking over his backpack. He widens his eyes, quickly leaning forward and straightening it up. "Crap..." He opens his backpack, mumbling to himself as he looks through its contents.

"Well, my apologies Anya, but I'll not forget the way she acted as my friend Vendir lay not 10 steps from here bleeding the life out of himself. I put ya in my bed after the healin'' were done. Baldy says he's chagrin' me for the ruined sheets, and don't you think I'm gonna be payin' that!" a tall and tattooed man says gruffly but with a smile in his eyes.

A freckled young woman shakes her head. "I'll pay it, if you plan on bothering Zarika for the money. She's enough heartbreak now." She turns to a flaxen-haired male seari, "Tell me that you'll not fight whatever creature caused such damage again?"

A flaxen-haired male seari shakes his head at a tall and tattooed man saying "Its ok, I'd not expect anything less from her." Gives a once, twice, nod of the head before responding to a freckled young woman in a grave tone. "Tis wise of you to say such. We all have our demons. Although mine and Zarika Mao's demons seem to like to clash."

A tall and tattooed man shakes his head. "I wouldn't take a coin of Zarika's to save my life, the way things stand now."

A pale gentleman peers about suspiciously as he repacks his backpack, pulling out a bag and a bottle filled with a strange yellow liquid. He grumbles as he places them back in his pack, rearranging them and closing it up. He presses his legs inward a little more firmly, acting like a clamp so that it won't move again so easily. He sighs and leans into the back of the couch again.

A flaxen-haired male seari flexes his sword hand saying "Now, I feel much stronger now...Thanks to the wine." He stands on slightly stronger legs, a serious look in his face as he does so. "I must depart, now. There is an item of great value to me that I've lost and must retrieve. I thank you both, Anya, Than and bid you farewell."

A tall and tattooed man looks at the flaxen-haired seari sternly, "Hold on there, where do you plan on going like that?"

A flaxen-haired male seari Gives a defiant look at a tall and tattooed man. "I'm going where I must."

A pale gentleman glances over his shoulder at the flaxen-haired seari, an eyebrow slightly raised as he stares at him for a moment. He hmmmms to himself, leaning forward and looking back down at his backpack. He grasps the straps for it and stands, lifting it and slinging it over his shoulder with a light grunt.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman shifts her weight to her left foot and turns back again to face a burly man with a shiny, bald head, her brow furrowed a little in thought.

"You shouldn't go out so soon. Those wounds are quick to reopen." a freckled young woman warns. "If it is raining, you're more likely to catch a cold. Your body is stressed and exhausted, though you might feel renewed passion at the thought of regaining your items."

A tall and tattooed man scoffs and pushes back on his chair, placing his hands on his knees and groaning as he rises to his feet, "Not alone, you aren't."

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman shakes her head and turns her attention instead to her backpack. Rummaging through it for a brief moment, she withdraws a couple rolls.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman leans back against the bar, setting her wine to the side as she munches quietly on the bread. Her eyes remain casually watching those in the room as she appears to be relaxed and rather content.

A tall dark-headed man walks down the stairs, his booted feet lightly thudding with each step taken upon the wooden planks. Upon making his descent, he pauses, eyeing the large crowd over a few times. He then makes his way towards the bar, gliding quietly through the crowd of people.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman looks over from her place against the bar in the direction of a tall dark-headed man. She nods once in a small greeting before turning her attention again to the bread in her hand.

A freckled young woman glances towards a tall dark-headed man and gives a smile. She smoothes her skirts, then directs her words back to a flaxen-haired male seari. "If you must, take your companion with you. But do not overstress yourself, or you'll find yourself under my hands once again, and the Lady might not be as willing to help a fool."

A flaxen-haired male seari gives a pale gentleman a suspicious look before turning his attention to a freckled young woman then says. "This item is my life. If it isn't recovered soon it may be stolen. I don't care how weak I am, as long as I am conscious and don't have it at my side I am without life." A steely gaze sets into his grey eyes as he takes a step forward.

A tall dark-headed man looks up upon his arrival at the bar, a faint smile coming across his bearded face. He nods his head, politely in return, a somewhat melancholy demeanour is present upon his very being.

A flaxen-haired male seari says, 'If it comes to that my Lady Anya, then so be it. And I thank you in advance in case I am laid out again.'

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman turns her eyes in the direction of a flaxen-haired male seari, seemingly following the conversation though she offers no comment of her own.

A bit of humour returning to him a flaxen-haired male seari gives a freckled young woman a smirk.

A pale gentleman sighs lightly, as with a hint of irritation, as he steps away from the couch, towards the flaxen-haired male seari and the others around him. "Seems like you may a little... assistance, yes?" He smiles lightly at the group, and his hands clasp each other for a moment, squeezing before releasing.

A tall and tattooed man stretches his arms up into the air, a tiny groan escaping him. He places his hands on either side of his head and give a quick jerk to the left, then the right, each sharp movement producing an audible cracking sound. "I guess it's gonna be dangerous wherever we're going eh? I better run upstairs and get somethin'' first then. I'll be right back." He pauses and eyes the pale gentleman, then turns and looks to the flaxen-haired seari and waits for a response.

A flaxen-haired male seari raises an eyebrow at a pale gentleman looking him up and down briefly. "How could you assist US? Where we are going there is almost sure chance of battle." He gives a devilish smirk. "I could use a weapon, however, if you have one I could borrow."

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman shifts her weight again to her right foot, her head turning in the direction of the southern door as she seems to focus on something beyond it without any noticeable change of expression.

A flaxen-haired male seari glances at a tall and tattooed man giving a curt nod in response. "Very well, but hurry. The longer we wait..." His voice trails off.

A tall and tattooed man nods in understanding and continues towards the stairs, trotting up them quickly.

A tall and tattooed man goes to his room and retrieves his halberd, which he tucks under his trench coat as best he can, as little as possible sticking out at the bottom.

A tall and tattooed man returns with a curious bulge under his trench coat. He stands by the doorway with the bulge facing away from the crowd as much as possible. "Did ya find that vial I left by the bed for ya? I think it might help to return your strength. I've got another that our friend left for you if you need it," he says to Vendir.

A tall and tattooed man watches the guard go upstairs nervously. "We uh, better be going, soon."

A tall dark-headed man sits down on a barstool, propping his elbows up on the counter, then rests his chin in the palms of his hands, his eyes idly scanning the wall in front of him.

Raises a hand to his chin to stroke a tidy goatee, a flaxen-haired male seari pauses for a moment before nodding once, saying to a pale gentleman. "Very well. I accept your offer. And I thank you." He indicates a tall and tattooed man with his sword hand, pointing while saying "This is my friend Than, and I am Vendir. What shall we call you?"

A tall and tattooed man eyes the pale gentleman with distrust.

A flaxen-haired male seari shakes his head. "The vial is gone."

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman rolls her shoulders back in a small stretch as she turns back to the bar to retrieve her wine glass. Though her back is turned to most present, she maintains the impression of one listening to those behind her.

Without warning a sudden thunderous raw rips through the common room from the south, the vibrations enough to rattle several bottles from the shelf behind the bar. Moments later the sound of falling roof-tiles hitting the street can be heard through the southern exit.

A flaxen-haired male seari says, 'Demons blood!'

A pale gentleman nods slowly to the tall and tattooed man, returning the suspicion stare with a glare. "A pleasure. Really." he says quietly and coldly. He looks back to the flaxen-haired male seari with a slight, faint smile. "Mordrid. That will do." He blinks as his head quickly turns and stares southward, at attention now.

"What in the name of Cymur!" a tall and tattooed man exclaims.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman raises her head abruptly, her eyes again turning southward. She lowers her glass until it rests upon the bartop, once again unattended.

A tall and tattooed man Hurries towards the southern side of the common room. "I'm gonna see what that was about."

A flaxen-haired male seari, being weak at the knees to begin with is jolted enough by the rumble to be thrown to one knee. "What in the darkness is going on here!?" He pulls himself back onto two feet by anchoring himself on the forearm of a tall and tattooed man.

A freckled young woman jumps at the commotion. Her hands clutch her cloak, her face paste white. her mouth murmuring prayers to her goddess for protection.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman pushes herself back fully upon both feet, lifting her cloak once more to fasten it about her shoulders.

A flaxen-haired male seari stops short at the doorway, seeing a tall and tattooed man return. "What is it!"

A pale gentleman raises an arm above his head, expecting something to fall upon his head. "Huh... I as well. Seems that the lightning likes to strike the ground these days, eh?" He gives the flaxen-haired man male seari an ironic smirk.

The distinct smell of ozone was heavy in the air as you left the inn, it tickles your nose and lingers even now.

A tall and tattooed man returns looking puzzled, "The smell of ozone, smells like lightning, just like our friend Mordrid suggested"

A tall and tattooed man scratches his head, "A sign from the gods?"

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman turns her attention as well toward a tall and tattooed man, pausing in her movements briefly. She watches him intently, her eyes giving the impression of intense curiosity though the rest of her face remains rather complacent.

A flaxen-haired male seari not having considered lightning looks a little red in the face. "Y...yes, I'm a bit jumpy is all. For a moment I thought we'd been invaded."

A pale gentleman laughs quietly, "Could be... could be a bad sign, could be good as well." He shrugs his shoulders lightly, "But I'm not one for knowing... such things. Perhaps we have, Vendir." He gives him a side-long glance. "Perhaps we've been invaded by lightning!"

"The simple answer is rarely the correct one," a freckled young woman whispers, glancing towards a pale gentleman. "I should put off your quest for your item," she says, looking at a flaxen-haired male seari.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman shrugs her shoulders gently and turns again to the bar, retrieving her wineglass once more. She makes no move to remove her cloak again, though leans most of her weight casually on her left foot as she remains standing by the bar.

A tall and tattooed man looks again to Vendir, a sincere look in his eyes. Speaking softly to the flaxen-haired seari, he says, "I know that blade is important to you boy, its up to you whether we go now or not, I'm with ya either way."

A flaxen-haired male seari absently flexes his sword hand. "Enough jesting. Than and I are going. Are you with us or not?"

A pale gentleman chuckles lightly, "Hmm hmm... but there's no need to complicate matters. That's the problem with the mind: it makes things... more complicated than they need be at times." His eyes keep peering southward, however, towards the direction of the thunderous boom. "It seems... interesting enough. Where did you lose it at?"

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman fingers the small roll in her hand before moving to eat it.

"Honestly I'm not sure. I have only brief memories of the incident." a flaxen-haired male seari begins to make his way towards the southern exit. "Where the bats are." He looks back at a freckled young woman for a moment before stepping over the threshold.

A tall dark-headed man turns around in his seat, looking over the room, his eyes narrowing slightly as they focus. His gaze stops on the fireplace, he stares emptily into the dancing flames which illuminate his mis-matched eyes.

A pale gentleman lightly scratches his chin as he slides his backpack off of his shoulder, holding it up with one arm as he opens it and rummages through it for something. "Hmmm... where the bats are? Could be down in the sewers, I remember seeing a few bats here and there when I, err, stumbled upon it."

A flaxen-haired male seari says, 'To the sewers then.'

A flaxen-haired male seari leaves south.
You follow a flaxen-haired male seari.

A Short Path
This short path barely extends more than a dozen feet in either the South or North direction before hitting the Temple Street to the South, or the City Square to the North. Two large willow like trees have been planted on either side of the street, providing it with a good amount of shade, and during the autumn months, the yellow and brown leaves pile up amongst the roots of the trees and the side of the cobbled path. Two wooden benches with wrought iron arm rests sit beneath each of the trees. The thick branches of the trees above providing shelter from drizzling rain and light wind, but not the harsher weather of the winter months.
[ Exits: north south (down) ]

Having travelled far enough from the inn, a tall and tattooed man looks to Vendir, "Got a blade, Vendir? I've got a fine short sword you can borrow if you need it."

The sun reaches it's highest point in the sky.

A pale gentleman glances over at the tall and tattooed man, then over at the flaxen-haired male seari. "Perchance could you two wait here for me for a moment? There is something I wish to take care of really quick before I go down there."

A flaxen-haired male seari says, 'No. I don't have a weapon. But I am most skilled with a rapier.'

A pale gentleman nods slowly to the two before he heads down the street, muttering to himself as he arches his back, a few pops faintly heard.

Boots plodding on the ground as he walks, a pale gentleman is seen walking back towards the flaxen-haired male seari and the tall and tattooed man, readjusting his backpack so it rests upon his shoulder more comfortably. "Ah, so you two waited for me: good. Excellent."

A tall and tattooed man nods quietly, keeping his eyes on the pale gentleman.

A flaxen-haired male seari Nods at a pale gentleman in greeting. "What sort of weapon can you lend me?"

A pale gentleman quirks an eyebrow at the flaxen-haired male seari. "Weapon? I only carry a dagger, myself. I'm not one for using a sword or some polearm." He smiles very faintly as he scratches a smooth cheek with his fingers.

A flaxen-haired male seari frowns. "A dagger does well enough."

A tall and tattooed man draws a beautiful steel short sword from under his coat, the blade sparkling where the sun touches it between the shadows of the willow trees. "I think this'll be of some use to you then, Vendir," he says, holding out the blade in both hands.

A flaxen-haired male seari nods solemnly.

A pale gentleman nods in agreement to the tall and tattooed man, "Yes, that would suit you much better, surely." He turns towards the grate that blocks entrance to the sewers down below, rubbing his hands together and clasping them.

Coming up behind a pale gentleman a flaxen-haired male seari pushes past, he grasps the handle of a creaking iron-hinged door and pulls it open slowly. He then descends into the torch light created shadows, brandishing his weapon outright in front.

A flaxen-haired male seari opens the grill.
A flaxen-haired male seari leaves down.
A pale gentleman leaves down.
You follow a flaxen-haired male seari.

The Sewers

The floor slopes inward towards a trough that has been constructed in the middle of the room. The trough is filled with a murky foul smelling water that is flowing slowly to the south. The floor, walls, and ceiling are all made of the same cut stone. The walls have a slight slope to them as the taper into the ceiling forming an arch that supports the weight of the city upon it. To the north the tunnel bends making it nearly impossible to see what lies ahead. The darkness that lurks about the tunnels seems to control the south.
[ Exits: north up ]

A small engraved key lies here.
A large, tanned leather backpack is here.
A black leather jacket lies on the ground.
A leather sheath dyed a charcoal grey lies here.
A pile of rocks and rubble block one of the passages here.
The corpse of Vendir is lying here.

A small, dirty black rat scampers about here.
A colossal lizard with a set of spines down it's back stands here.

Your armour deflects some of a colossal lizard's attack but sustains damage.

A tall and tattooed man immediately throws back his trench coat to reveal a huge halberd of whitened steel which he wields with excellent skill.

A flaxen-haired male seari gives the last deadly blow to the colossal lizard with Than's short sword, it is a grievous wound to its head that topples the creature instantly, the cracked skull of the beast now leaking a visceral bloody gore.

A tall and tattooed man looks around at the scattered equipment. "This looks like your stuff, Vendir."

A tall and tattooed man looks relieves that there's no need to venture further into the dark, dank sewers.

A flaxen-haired male seari Nods idly, caring about no thing but his lost rapier. He approaches a corpse, although largely decayed still resembles himself. He peers down on the remains of his body two large raking wounds in its chest and a pool of now dried, caked blood beneath.

The scene laid out behind the slain creature is one of chaos. Blood and lumps of flesh litter the ground around several corpses, however there is a certain order to certain elements of the disarray. Specifically, some items have been removed from the corpse of the flaxen-haired male, moved in such a way that suggests a search - some items discarded, a backpack left open, it's contents slowly spilling onto the ground.

A pale gentleman nods slowly at the pieces of equipment strewn about on the ground, "Yes, it does look like that a great deal is all here." He peers northward down the dark corridor, interest in his eyes as he lightly rubs his chin in thought.

Suddenly a flaxen-haired male seari begins to breathe heavily as he stares into his own dead face. His chest heaves and his hands wrench up to his head to grasp each of his temples. An immensely pained face that mimics the one he must've made as the horror of death set in. He drops to his knees before the backpack, and bellows a scream that vibrates into the darkness.

A tall and tattooed man frowns in the gloom of the sewers. He rests his tall halberd on the ground, the weapon standing nearly equal to his own massive height. "Do you see your rapier, Vendir?" he asks in his deep voice that carries in the sewers despite the softness of his tone.

As if answering the cry, or perhaps disturbed by it, a distant but immediate and powerful roar echoes back along the corridors.

A pale gentleman glances down at the mess of a corpse, frowning a little bit at the sight before turning his head away. He keeps staring down the dark passage northward. "... It seems that we have some company." He takes a few steps back, the arm that has the dagger in hand retracted and ready to thrust forward. "Some large company, by the sounds of it."

A tall and tattooed man hefts his huge halberd in his hands and stares into the darkness looking extremely alarmed. "What the hell?"

A tall and tattooed man looks to Vendir questioningly, "Did you run into that last time you were here?"

Again, closer, a roar of such ominous power that the ground vibrates subtly as if shivering in fright. A crash echoes from the distance, and another followed by a long scraping rasp, as if some giant mass were entirely filling one of the corridors as it moved along it - brushing hard against the slick, stone walls.

A flaxen-haired male seari snaps out of his trance, his lungs working hard to regain focus. He turns round to look at a tall and tattooed man and a pale gentleman, a blasted look on his red face. He manages to pant out a few words, attempting to explain to them what happened. "I saw, my death." Realizing that most sound like madness to the two, he waves it away and turns his attention to the roar moving closer.

A flaxen-haired male seari says, 'Make ready!'

A tall and tattooed man swallows past a lump in his throat and stares into the darkness, "I fear no man with a halberd in my hand, but perhaps it would be smarter to flee, my friends? I stand by you either way but choose soon before the choice is made force!"

A flaxen-haired male seari reaches his hand into this backpack to procure his weapon.

A pale gentleman backs up a little further, feet splashing in the water as he gets a little behind the flaxen-haired male seari and the tall and tattooed man, "Make ready, but don't be foolish, make a break for it if needs be, eh?" He lowers his dagger and haphazardly tosses it into his backpack, raising his hands and clenching them, a knuckle popping silently.

A dark, stormy look passes over the face of a tall and tattooed man to match the darkness outside. "Be ready then, when you strike, strike like the lightning and then get out of its way. Vendir, you're quick so keep it distracted, that rapier may not pierce its hide if its as big as it sounds."

Something moves through the darkness, another lizard - huge, dwarfing the previous one. It scurries rapidly toward the group, it's huge belly dragging on the ground. However something in its movement is queer, and then it dawns that this colossal behemoth is not charging to attack, but fleeing itself. Too slowly, though. Another movement, this time fast, a silhouette painted against a shadow strikes from around the corner - a limb, or so it seems, reaching out to grasp the lizard's tail. It releases a shriek before being pulled with such impossible force backward that a few scraps of flesh almost follow in the vacuum of it's wake. The hideous roar that follows is only punctuated as copious amounts of blood and gore are sprayed from the gloom, coating the walls of the passage to the agonised music of the lizards mortal cries.

A pale gentleman widens at the sight as the gigantic lizard is pulled back into the darkness, hands coming up to cover his ears at the shrieks and cries coming from the massive creature. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, staring at the gore that is splattered upon the walls of the passage. Finally, he says quietly, "I think we should go." With that, his footsteps are heard splashing in the water as he heads briskly towards the ladder.

Nodding at a tall and tattooed man a flaxen-haired male seari moves into an elegant hawk-like stance, blade arm stretched out before him, other hand, open palmed and stretched out behind him. His legs are widely stanced and he faces the direction of the threat in with a sideways position. A dark jaw-clenched look on his face.

A tall and tattooed man gasps sharply and takes several quick steps backwards, nearly tripping over one of the corpses from the earlier battle. "Gods preserve us... Cymur be with us I implore you.." he stammers under his breath. "Well men, this will either be a tale for the inn when we get back, or.." he cuts off, his meaning surely taken.

A flaxen-haired male seari says, 'Quiet! Make ready for our enemy!'

Silence follows, as if the shadows were muting any sound beyond a few feet in front of the group. The absolute lack of sound, even bats, singing, is utterly unnerving, and then finally - as if it had paused for dramatic affect, a long, shuddering hiss is issued from the darkness, and something begins to approach out of the gloom.

A tall and tattooed man hears the pale gentleman flee and growls despite being in complete agreement with him. He holds his halberd out in front of him and plants his feet firmly into the ground preparing for whatever comes next.

A large, many-headed creature arrives from the north.

What appears to be a serpents body runs through the core of this mass, from it's tail to it's multiple heads it appears to measure in the realms of three meters, though the girth of the middle section causes it to appear more like a giant leech than a snake. The central body is scaled, though the scales are coloured a fleshy, off-pink tone. The multitude of awkward limbs which function as legs for this creature are of the same colour, though touched by cancerous blotches and in places a foul decayed appearance; It is clear that these limbs were not originally part of the creatures body- but where this tangled mass of scavenged body-parts make contact the flesh seems to have fused and the creature seems to have some control over the movements of its many limbs- be they hands, feet, or even in some cases entire twisted torsos.

But surprisingly one of the most disturbing features of this creatures body are it's heads; Human, Tir, Tyen and an array of horrific merged variations of the three- all the same fleshy off-pink colour, each supported by thin, elongated serpentine necks; though unlike the limbs it appears these heads are indeed original parts of the creatures body- the stark white hair growing from the crown of each flowing a short way along the scaly neck to create a main of hair, though much of it is clumped together by blood and other liquids- likely acquired while the heads are busy feeding off its pray.

A tall and tattooed man gasps sharply, looking at the creature in awe, recovering he says softly "Well, well, well. So you're the one that's been making all that noise?" He checks his companion with a quick sidelong glance, "Vendir..." he says, drawing out the name, "you take me to the nicest places."

A flaxen-haired male seari, stands, stoned in place. He drops out of his stance and stares at the immense beast before him, his weapon hand hangs limp, and he responds to a tall and tattooed man by saying in a quiet tone. "I think it be best we flee now."

A pale gentleman stares at the large, many-headed creature for a moment, and hisses himself, a few feet from the ladder as his arms reach out half-way, wiggling his fingers. "Hmmm. I expected something worse... but the mind does tend to complicate things further. But... best to be careful, no need to be foolish.. hmm... if I..." He talks with himself quietly for a few more moments, eyes locked onto the vision of horror, eyes a little wide as his mind makes calculations.

Being closest to the beast a flaxen-haired male seari back peddles slowly, watching for a response in the beast. "You are a gifted man if you can envision worse!" He calls out to a pale gentleman, slowly picking up the pace toward the ladder but keep his eyes and sword in front of him.

A large, many-headed creature half slithers, half saunters on its decayed limbs toward the group. Each of it's four heads weaving, dancing amongst each other, each hissing, forked tongues slick with dark blood slithering between their lips. It's slow advance bringing it only feet away from striking distance of a flaxen-haired male seari.

A tall and tattooed man shakes his head, "Vendir, we can't leave it here beneath Telantha, who knows what trouble it could cause? What other demons it might draw by its very presence here?" Athanasios begins slowly circling to the left side of the beast, raising his halberd in front of him, every muscle tensed and ready for action.

A large, many-headed creature shambles closer, it's heads almost smirking as they hiss. As it draws it's huge body between the apparently immobile prey, two heads focus on each a flaxen-haired male seari and a tall and tattooed man. Coiling back with a suddenness that belies it's massive strength, they dart out and strike.

A pale gentleman finishes doing some mental calculations inside of his head, calling out, "Gentlemen... perhaps we should get help? This thing is restrained to the sewers, and if we immediate get some others... then we'll be able to hunt this thing down and kill it before next dawn." He doesn't wait for an answer, already starting to climb up the ladder to leave.

Hearing the words of a tall and tattooed man a flaxen-haired male seari gets a defiant look and says, "Yes your right, We can't allow this monster to enter the city!"

A large, many-headed creature bites your body very hard.
Your armour deflects some of a large, many-headed creature's attack but sustains damage.
A large, many-headed creature bites your body with formidable strength. Blood splatters over you.
A large, many-headed creature bites a flaxen-haired male seari's body with formidable strength. Blood splatters over them both.

A flaxen-haired male seari takes up a fine looking rapier whispering. "Odai, protect me." The creature's attacks then descend upon him, two powerful many-teethed maws rip at his body the impact of the blows sending him sprawling to the ground and leave huge bleeding and debilitating wounds.

A tall and tattooed man takes the first strike heroically, shaking off the bite and looking for an opening to swing his mighty halberd. The second bite, however, goes cleanly through his leggings and blood begins pouring through the gruesome wound in his left leg.

A large, many-headed creature draws its heads back, blood dribbling grotesquely from it's tooth filled maws. It's tongues snaking out to capture every drop as its constant droning hiss continues, the lips spread out into a collection of vile, wicked grins as it contemplates the affect of its attack.

A pulsing, brilliant, blue glow emanates from a flaxen-haired male seari's backpack.

A tall and tattooed man is momentarily distracted by the glow, as the creature withdraws he turns to Vendir and yells out over the awful noise of the beast, "W-What's that? Vendir, you should run, I'll hold it off as best I can."

A flaxen-haired male seari struggles to stand, firm grip still on the rapier. His fiery eyes stare at the curse before him and he calls to a tall and tattooed man "Are you alive!?" The blue light pulsates and enlightens all of the shadows in the room. He nods to a tall and tattooed man in response. "Agreed, I'll be there to help you up!"

A large, many-headed creature seems similarly distracted by the glow, it's serpentine eyes squinting as if unaccustomed, or perhaps pained by the luminance of the backpack. Its hissing growing angry, and frustrated. It's heads almost move to shield one another's gaze, all save one, which lashes out without warning - aiming to bite a flaxen-haired male seari's sword arm.

A large, many-headed creature bites a flaxen-haired male seari's arms very firmly.

A pale gentleman arrives from above.
A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman arrives from above.

A tall and tattooed man takes the opportunity to strike at the exposed, undefended head.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman drops down from the small opening above. Landing gracefully, she slides back in the direction of the wall, her eyes wide as they observe all before her in utmost detail.

A pale gentleman stares at a large, many-headed creature and utters the words, 'acid burst'.

a large, many-headed creature swiftly dodges your attack, leaving you off balance!

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman shrugs her shoulders almost carelessly and lunges into the midst of it.

Jumping from her kneeling position, a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman grips her dagger tightly as she goes for a lower part of an abnormally large rat, her eyes narrowed in determination.

A tall and tattooed man turns to the slender Tyen with startled amazement, "To hell with the rat! Worry about the demon, woman!"

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman barely scratches a large, many-headed creature's legs as she stabs it.
A flaxen-haired male seari is hit with another devastating attack he's sent to his back and the crystal is knocked loose from the backpack, it is sent sliding across the stone floor and comes to rest next to the foot of a tall and tattooed man. "The crystal Than! He groans, stands, and moves towards the exit gesturing to a pale gentleman and a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman to move back up the ladder.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman tries to move off to the side as she looks back at a large, many-headed creature, a frown forming on her face as she looks at a flaxen-haired male seari. She glances next up at the exit as if in debate.

A tall dark-headed man arrives from above.

A tall dark-headed man lands at the bottom of the ladder, steel sword drawn and in hand, he looks the scene over once, then immediately heads towards the crowd, rearing his sword back.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman rocks back on her heels, her eyes turning back to a large, many-headed creature. She glances between it and a tall dark-headed man briefly.

A tall and tattooed man watches the crystal slide across the ground and is encouraged by his downed companion's words, he ducks into a roll and grabs the crystal, then comes up again hold the shining jewel in front of him like a shield.

A large, many-headed creature releases a ferocious cacophony of hisses and snarls as more people arrive from above, the open grate casting a stark beam of light down into the gloom - it retreats, a fraction, it's massive bulk faltering as a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman slashes at one of the supporting limbs. However, rather than fall, it simply snaps three of it's heads out, bracing it's weight against the walls, leaving one to retaliate against the woman.

His blade drawn back, a tall dark-headed man charges towards the large creature, swinging his blade violently, aiming for the middle of its body.

A large, many-headed creature OBLITERATES a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman's arms with its deadly bite!!

A tall dark-headed man slashes an abnormally large rat's body firmly.
An abnormally large rat bites a tall dark-headed man's body firmly.
A tall dark-headed man slashes an abnormally large rat's body firmly.
An abnormally large rat bites a tall dark-headed man's head very hard.
A tall dark-headed man slashes an abnormally large rat's body firmly.

Falls violently back away from a large, many-headed creature, her face contorted in a painful expression . Struggling to her feet, a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman tries to back further away, her eyes remaining fixedly on a large, many-headed creature.

Finding strength enough to attack a flaxen-haired male seari rushes close to the creature. He stops in mid-dash rears up on one leg in a swan-looking stance, sword arm is pulled into his chest and the other is up to balance himself. He then completes the technique by thrusting upward at the right-most head.

A large, many-headed creature swiftly dodges a flaxen-haired male seari's attack, leaving his off balance.

With his polearm in one hand and the brilliant, pulsating crystal held above his head in the other, a tall and tattooed man advances slowly on the creature till its just within range of his long halberd. With a furious battle cry, he swings the halberd towards the monster's mid-section.

You impale a large, many-headed creature's body with formidable strength. Blood splatters over you.

A crimson-haired human arrives from above.

A pale gentleman growls in frustration, backing up slowly as he gestures with his hands, mumbling softly, "Let this creature realize the weight of the world, and feel that weight grow upon his shoulders and weaken its frail body..." He finishes the spell, pointing a finger at a large, many-headed creature.

A pale gentleman stares at a large, many-headed creature and utters the words, 'atrophy'.

Blood, a deep red, almost black, spurts from the creatures multiple wounds, coating wall, floor, and enemy alike in its thick, sticky form - a scent reminiscent of rotting fruit filling the air.

Coming in close once more, a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman grips her dagger tightly by the hilt, in a stabbing position, as she moves first to the side. Watching the creature through narrowed eyes, she cuts again to the right. Coming around, she leaps forward off the balls of her feet as she aims for its middle section.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman just manages to stabs a large, many-headed creature's body.

A tall dark-headed man raises his blade, rearing back for a strike, then lunges forward, sending the blade jabbing for a large, many-headed creature's middle section, focusing the lot of his strength into the blow.
A tall dark-headed man barely scratches a large, many-headed creature's body as he slashes it.

A crimson-haired human drops down the manhole, blade already drawn and a scowl on his face. "Bloody dark spawn, Ah'll send yah back from whence yah came!" He charges through whomever may stand in his way to getting towards the beast, but doesn't attempt to mess up their current attacks. He lunges straight at the body of the creature, attempting to stick his blade as deep in it as possible.

A crimson-haired human pierces a large, many-headed creature's body very firmly.
A large, many-headed creature is stunned, but will probably regain consciousness again.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman looks at a large, many-headed creature.

It's free head rearing back, already preparing to strike at a tall dark-headed man, distracted thus it doesn't notice the sudden appearance of the latest combatant, and by the time it does - it's belly has been cleanly opened by the man's slice. A tide of mushy organs, intestines, half digested corpses and all manner of gore and filth are ejected from the core of the beast by the pressure of it's taught hide .. The entire mess flooding over and knocking a crimson-haired human to the ground before the remainder of the creatures mass topples to one side, almost pinning a slender, dark-skinned Tyen beneath one of it's thick necks as its slayer is now pinned beneath a steaming pile of organs and blood.

Its head's twitching, the huge creature appears to suffer as it awaits the final blow.

A flaxen-haired male seari limps toward the creature holding a massive wound at his side. Torchlight glints off his weapon as he approaches it. He stands before and takes a clean swipe at the creature's remaining head eviscerating the existence of this curse from the realm of Aagos.

A large, many-headed creature swiftly dodges a flaxen-haired male seari's attack, leaving his off balance.
A flaxen-haired male seari OBLITERATES a large, many-headed creature's head with his deadly pierce!!
A large, many-headed creature is dead!.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman mutters distastefully as she works her way out from underneath one of the large necks. Shaking herself completely free, she shakes both her arms to the side in a gesture of disgust.

A pale gentleman sighs in relief as the creature is finally slain, letting his arms fall down to his sides. He steps closer to the slain monster, eyes squinting a little bit as he stares at the massive, bloated body and the mass of organs that have poured out of it. "... Finally dead!"

A tall dark-headed man walks over to where a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman was pinned underneath part of the beast, extending a hand outwards to help her up off the ground, giving a disgusted look at the corpse of the beast.

A crimson-haired human begins to clean off the disgusting slew of organs and other slimy grossness of his body, clenching his teeth as he tries to keep from vomiting. "It always 'as ta explode on me..." He says with contempt. He pulls himself to a standing condition and looks at the rest of the combatants with a quick glance. "'o need ta go to tha 'ospital? Ah'm uninjured, so Ah can take yah there with no problems."

Covered in the dark, putrid blood of the demon, a tall and tattooed man limps over to stand by Vendir, favouring his torn left leg. He holds the crystal in his hand, still pulsing softly with its pure light. "This crystal was our salvation.." he says softly. "I believe this belongs to you, though." He holds the hand containing the crystal out to Vendir, palm up.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman turns toward a tall dark-headed man, her expression still one of frustration and extreme distaste as she nods gratefully in his direction, taking his hand to help support her as she tries to stand back on her feet completely.

A pale gentleman taps a finger on a smooth cheek, and he glances at the other combatants, pursing his lips in thought. "Hmmm...we have injured here. Hold on... I can help some."

You say, 'Vendir, him first, Mordrid.'

A tall dark-headed man pulls a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman up to her feet, not letting go of her hand until he's sure she's steady on her feet, "Need any 'ealin?" he asks, looking her over, but not able to tell what blood is hers, and what is the slimy mess created by the beast.

A crimson-haired human attempts to wipe his rapier off on his tabard, but only succeeds in moving the slime around on his body. "Try ta keep it out o' yer wounds. It could 'ave tha plague." He says idly as he awaits an answer to his question.

A flaxen-haired male seari takes the crystal with a degree reluctance. It pulsates that same soft glow and he returns it to his backpack where it's light is snuffed out. "Thank you friend." a flaxen-haired male seari sheaths his weapon and begins to walk toward the ladder.

A pale gentleman nods slowly as he approaches the flaxen-haired male seari, sliding his backpack off his shoulder and holding it up with one arm as he rummages for something with the other, "Hold for a moment then... hmmm..." He kneels down beside the seari, frowning in disgust at the putrid black blood on his person. He slips his backpack back on, and gestures at the injured seari, whispering, "Seal this man's wounds and sooth the pain... let the healing process be quickened, so to avoid Death."

A pale gentleman stares at a flaxen-haired male seari and utters the words, 'remedy'.

A pale gentleman looks at a flaxen-haired male seari.

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman stands somewhat unstably on her feet with the help of a tall dark-headed man. Most of her weight seems to be on her right leg, though its her arms she turns her attention to. She winces as she tries to move them a bit and clenches her teeth stubbornly. With a small nod toward a tall dark-headed man she says somewhat bitterly, "It seems he managed to tear my arms up pretty well..."

A flaxen-haired male seari sheathes a fine, silver bladed rapier with a swept wire guard in a leather sword-sheath dyed a charcoal grey.

A flaxen-haired male seari puts a fragile, blue pulsating crystal in a large, tanned leather-backpack.

A tall and tattooed man looks at himself, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Aye, time to go. I could use a bath. Best put this halberd away before I go to any hospital though."

A tall and tattooed man walks over to the ladder and stops to examine Vendir. "You fit to climb?"

A pale gentleman slides off his backpack again, reaching into it and pulling out a bottle filled with a strange, swirling-yellow liquid and holding it out to the flaxen-haired male seari, "Here... drink this, should make you feel a little better, and ease the pain."

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman looks down at the dagger which is barely held onto by her right hand. Wincing again as she moves, she gingerly lowers her upper body just enough to get the dagger back into its sheath. A small hiss escapes through her clenched teeth as her hand releases the dagger, apparently pained by such a small movement.

A flaxen-haired male seari Gives a soft gasp as the wavering light washes over him. He gives a quick nod to a tall and tattooed man. "Yes, I can climb."

A tall dark-headed man slings his blade over his shoulder, then reaches his hand out once more towards a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman "Lets get ye to a 'ospital." he says, motioning towards the ladder.

A flaxen-haired male seari quaffs the potions.

"Well, if no one needs 'elp, Ah'll watch the rest o' tha tunnels ta make sure y'all can make it out all right." a crimson-haired human says as he makes his way over the massive corps towards the northern tunnels. He keeps his blade at the ready, his eyes darting back and forth across the northern field. As he sees the rat, he attempts to kill it with little mercy.
A tall and tattooed man sits at a table close to the fire, idly drinking an ale and relaxing.

A tall and tattooed man looks up the steps at the seari, he raises his mug and gives a little cheer, "Vendir! My good friend, I see you finally woke up. Ya lazy bum," he says happily.

A pale gentleman quirks an eyebrow at the seari, and can't help but smirk as he comments, "Just woke up eh? It looks like he woke up and someone decided to beat the crap out of him."

A tall and tattooed man chuckles, "Or vice versa. Oh, and Vendir, please keep the shirt. You've ruined it anyway," he says with a wink.

With slightly wobbling knees a flaxen-haired male seari walks towards the bar, and sits down, taking the glass filled with an opaque white wine and sips from it slowly.

A tall and tattooed man scoffs at the remark, "Drink up my friend, old Than will keep an eye on you."

A tall and tattooed man chuckles and raises his mug to the flaxen-haired seari in acknowledgement.

Approaching the bar, a slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman raises her hands to swiftly untie the cords holding her cloak about her neck. She allows it to slide gently into one of her arms and turns to lean with her left elbow against the bar as she murmurs something quietly to a burly man with a shiny, bald head.

A freckled young woman blinks at a tall and tattooed man's words. She steps forward, "I should like to call myself a healer."

A tall and tattooed man blinks. "Sorry my lady, I meant another girl, my deepest apologies. You are a great healer indeed."

You say, 'Too much ale.. hehe'

A slender, dark-skinned Tyen woman fingers the glass in her hand lightly. She rotates it once and watches the contents swirl and then settle before lifting it to drink for the first time.

"Before too long, that spiteful seari Zarika Mao came along, and wouldn't lift a finger to help ya. Thought we should put you out of your misery. She suggested the hospital but I don't have my bearings here yet, there was no way I was gonna lift you up on my shoulder and carry you around Telantha looking for the hospital in your condition. Lucky for you that Anya came along when she did. Your wounds just kinda closed up and you started smiling and sleepin' like a baby," he laughs softly and takes another drink of his ale.

A flaxen-haired male seari says, 'Again, my lady...Anya was it. I thank you. I owe you much.'

"Well, my apologies Anya, but I'll not forget the way she acted as my friend Vendir lay not 10 steps from here bleeding the life out of himself. I put ya in my bed after the healin' were done. Baldy says he's chagrin' me for the ruined sheets, and don't you think I'm gonna be payin' that!" a tall and tattooed man says gruffly but with a smile in his eyes.