When the fur-clad fop said he was of the Wind of Death, the most death-like thing that came to the old poacher's mind was necromancers. Nothing was more death-like than necromancers. He saw the strange, cheerful fellow before him, and he imagined himself prostrating upon the ground before that peacock only to have his throat slit and his body raised as a minion for the foul necromancer. The warriors behind him... How many were zombies? And it'd be typical of foreigners to align themselves with the raisers of the dead.
It didn't help that the man was dressed in dark clothes. Dark clothes clearly meant he was a necromancer.
Now, Dirk was not a very patriotic man, and the idea of taking flight did occur to him. But he thought of his daughter back home, of his wife and his son, and he wondered, passingly, if they might be one of the necromancer's prey eventually.
And so, Dirk did what any good fellow would do when faced by a pompous necromancer: he raised his bow quick as a snake and loosed two arrows in rapid succession, shouting, "Get the bloody bastards!" as loud as he could. "They've got a necromancer!"
And so the ill-conceived battle began, a battle born of bluffs, counter-bluffs, and misconstrued information. Dirk's arrows flew true toward their target. The first met its mark, smacking the dark wizard in his chest, right where his lung would be. The either was due to find its way into the shocked man's skull-
And then a block of ice burst forth from the ground and blocked the arrow.
"Two wizards?!" cursed the poacher to himself. "That's not even fair!"
I'm kinda confused about the "stranger" thing at the moment? Anybody taking his/her role? I wanted to get a post up, but I've fallen asleep very early in the evening two days in a row, ironically when putting my 1-year-old to sleep.
Since the first poster (Lothair) already RP'd being in the tavern already, assume they're the stranger. That was more to give someone a reason to talk to someone else immediately than anything.
EDIT: Also, I'm going to be posting a Discord link tomorrow, maybe tonight even.
In that case, here's what I'm thinking concerning a Discord, given the opinions voiced thus far:
1) We use Discord, BUT mostly use it for coordination purposes and quick questions. 2) Actual plot and such should be discussed on the OOC thread. 3) Any plot that IS discussed in Discord should be added to the OOC thread in paraphrased form.
First post is up. Please post your characters in the Character tab (in hiders of course), and then post in the In-Character section. Feel free to pursue dialogue with one another, and note what I wrote in the OOC hider and the relevant hider to your character.
I will be taking note of your character's traits, background, flaws, and proficiencies throughout the RP to guide what your character notices, sees, etc. Different characters will get different notes on the same topic sometimes, or pick up on details the others don't. It's up to you to share those details (if you wish to).
As far as Discord goes, I'm going to wait for more opinions on that matter.
So far as capital cities went, Benetia was not very impressive. It was a humbly-sized city nestled between a lake and its merging river waters. Its walls are solid enough, and the bridges leading into the city quite stately, but from outside looking to the city there was just farmland as far as the eye could see. Inside the walls, the architecture could best be described as plain or, in politer terms, "practical" or "functional." In that way, the city was reflective of the wealth and status of the Caernling-ruled realm.
The road to Benetia was a long one from any other major settlement. There was a great need for proper boarding houses and inns in the city. A wealthy merchant might stop at the Blade's Rest, a stately inn with all the fineries and comforts one might ask for, and impeccable service at that. Others might stop at the Princely Pig, whose sign depicted the a fat pig in the garb of the King-Bishop of Lithenia. That place was popular with patriots. The Dancing Flame, Markam's Meadhouse, the House of the Silver Moon, all were respectable places to stop for the night.
All these inns could be found in such strategically placed locations as by the city gates, or overlooking the lakeside, or in the center of the busy market. But if one looked toward the innermost sections of the city, toward the poor district and the sprawl of Caernling-style houses - or, in some cases, huts - one could find a rather different sort of inn. Its faded sign depicted a colorful red boar with a wild eye and a huge grin biting down onto the buttocks of a barmaid. Above the doorway was another sign, old and scratched, on which were carved two words: Bawdy Boar.
It is here that our story begins.
The Bawdy Boar
It was a quiet place so far as inns went, the Bawdy Boar. It was a cold autumn night, and with harvest season in full swing and the gawdy sign outside, one might have suspected a little more business in the Boar. It was, however, fairly quiet that evening, with perhaps eight customers (if you counted the beggarly loiterer napping at the table beneath the stairs) and a lone minstrel playing on a lute in a lazy fashion. The innkeeper - a pale, fat, wormy looking fellow - focused his attention on his mugs, seeming just fine with the quiet air of the place. The barmaid was an older woman of about forty years. She brought the food in a professional, no-nonsense manner. She wasn't polite, either.
The food was of passable fare, though it smelled a little too strongly of spice, and the furnishings were quite plain. There was a faded red rug on the gray wooden floor. A wind coursed outside the building, smacking the sign against the building every now and then. The dining room was a little claustrophobic, with four tables in total and a single bar, and most of them were taken by the regulars. However, they seemed to be giving a certain berth to one of the tables tonight: the one closest to the door. It also happened to be the one furthest from the fireplace, and given how cold it was outside, that might have been reason enough to avoid it.
Of course, they might also have been avoiding it because there were was a stranger occupying the seat. That, or they left the coldest table to the stranger so they could enjoy the warmth in their clannish way.
Word has reached everyone's characters that one Lord Guthbert is hiring mercenaries to do a job of some kind for him. The pay is supposedly pretty damned good, but the details of exactly what he wants have been left unsaid. You don't know precisely what it is you're being asked to do yet, but you do know that you're meant to meet tonight at the Bawdy Boar.
The stranger can be whoever posts first, or whoever wishes to be sitting there already. Lord Guthbert will be entering the scene soon enough. Use the first series of posts to establish your characters in the scene, to show how they'd interact with the world around them. I'll let you control the NPCs in this scene enough to have some simple dialogue with them, such as requesting a drink or having them comment on your character's appearance or the like.
Refer to the hiders below for more details about what, exactly, each character individually notices. I'll be using character-specific hiders throughout the RP. I may also use the ABBR code to convey certain messages. Finally, you'll also notice that I use links to music and ambiance. Feel free to click those, though obviously I won't know if you don't.
When you're done reading your character's hider, feel free to post!
Something feels off about this whole affair. You need the gold, but damn if it doesn't seem unusual: what business would a presumably wealthy lord have meeting you in a seedy place like this? Either the matter at hand isn't something the noble wants known to the general public, or this Guthbert character isn't a lord at all. He could just be a cheapskate, of course.
Some of the folk in this inn look to be the more thuggish type. However, they're not focused on the mercenaries. They're focused on their drinks.
Flint's tactical mind tells him that if a fight broke out the table the mercenaries are sitting out could be knocked over and used as a shield against the patrons. Given how small the room is, that would keep the actual fighting space narrow. Of course, he doubts one will break out, but it's a thought that comes to him nevertheless.
If Kyra tries any of the food, the first thing she'll notice is it's heavily salted. This is a cheap trick used to get people thirsty, which makes them buy more food. The salty flavor is covered up with the spices on the food, but her attention to detail affords her that information.
Kyra also spots the symbol of the Celestial church behind the bar, not to mention a symbol of the local saint. She doesn't remember his name, but she remembers he was tortured by the Aldonians in ancient times in hopes of revealing some secret or another. He was stubborn to the end, and he told them nothing.
Kyra feels uneasy in this place. She could swear that people are watching her. They must be up to something.
Lothair can't help but shake the feeling that someone is watching him as he enters. His entrance garners some attention from the patrons in general, of course; after all, a High Aldonian isn't a common sight. But for some reason he feels like he's uncomfortably under someone's gaze.
Lothair spots symbols of the Celestial Church behind the bar. One of them is probably dedicated to the local saint.
If Riley tries any of the food, the first thing she'll notice is it's heavily salted. This is a cheap trick used to get people thirsty, which makes them buy more food. The salty flavor is covered up with the spices on the food, but her attention to detail affords her that information.
Riley also notices the 'sleeping' man is actually watching the mercenaries as they enter. He's trying to hide it, of course. Others show only mild curiosity in the group and otherwise focus on emptying their mugs. The sleeper very specifically seems to be watching that High Aldonian looking fellow (Lothair).