And here I am! Apologies for the sudden absence - I truly should have known better than to trust an innkeeper... Damnantion, it seems I missed all the fun.
Oraculum Member
Perambulans in tenebris
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Now this truly is something intriguing. Consider me interested.
"Did I ever imply I had a mind to kill you? How tactless of me. By any means, I trust these measures you mentioned will not be necessary, if our task is as simple and lucrative as you describe it." Khri'zhatt nodded, or perhaps flexed his neck a few times. This Stride apparently knew what to expect from someone encountered by chance in a tavern. Then again, he had yet to see whether he was just as experienced at wandering in the open lands without. The orc, who had been strangely quiet for one of his race - those he had encountered during his travels would, by this point, have not only joined the conversation, but probably begun flinging furniture about - was seemingly growing ever more restless. Perhaps this was a "civilised" city orc, who began yelling only after he had begun a brawl.
Ah, here were some details on his prospective companions' prowess. Stride claimed to be a mage; though why would a mage need enough weapons to equip a small army? Either it was an attempt at appearing imposing, or, being unable to perform any actual spells, he would use that load as an excuse for his inactivity. Still, it was worth keeping an eye or two on him, just in case he would actually summon something. The orc apparently disposed of some large beast. In all likelihood, the creature would be slow and clumsy, and less dangerous than its rider. An ogre paladin? That was probably some sort of joke. Well, the ogre could probably be relegated to one and the same threat level with Grox's beast.
"My own skills, you ask?" This was a dilemma. If he were to exaggerate his abilities, his companions might be intimidated enough to be dissuaded from making any attempt agains him, and, by inflating his theoretical usefulness, he could lay claim to a greater share of the reward (after all, it was only near limitless...); then again, by concealing some of his skills, surprise would be on his side in a dire extremity. He resolved to adopt a compromise, blurring his words with vagueness. "There is a respectable umber hulk in yonder stable, and I can put it to good use. I can spit out some magic, as well, in more than one way. Ah, and if you need to make someone, say, a witness, disappear, I am the best you can find for the job."
Ah, here were some details on his prospective companions' prowess. Stride claimed to be a mage; though why would a mage need enough weapons to equip a small army? Either it was an attempt at appearing imposing, or, being unable to perform any actual spells, he would use that load as an excuse for his inactivity. Still, it was worth keeping an eye or two on him, just in case he would actually summon something. The orc apparently disposed of some large beast. In all likelihood, the creature would be slow and clumsy, and less dangerous than its rider. An ogre paladin? That was probably some sort of joke. Well, the ogre could probably be relegated to one and the same threat level with Grox's beast.
"My own skills, you ask?" This was a dilemma. If he were to exaggerate his abilities, his companions might be intimidated enough to be dissuaded from making any attempt agains him, and, by inflating his theoretical usefulness, he could lay claim to a greater share of the reward (after all, it was only near limitless...); then again, by concealing some of his skills, surprise would be on his side in a dire extremity. He resolved to adopt a compromise, blurring his words with vagueness. "There is a respectable umber hulk in yonder stable, and I can put it to good use. I can spit out some magic, as well, in more than one way. Ah, and if you need to make someone, say, a witness, disappear, I am the best you can find for the job."
@6slyboy6
And he has a beard. Actually, whether he also has a skull is a curious anatomical quandary. Shall we find out? (No.)
And he has a beard. Actually, whether he also has a skull is a curious anatomical quandary. Shall we find out? (No.)
"Local authorities? Are there still any left?" Khri'zhatt eyed the elf (human? Whatever it was. "Stride" would do for the moment. He did not, after all, drink saliva. Good, good) curiously, his horrid head swaying atop his eel-like glabrous neck similarly to that of a slightly intoxicated snake, "That would do just fine. I have not had any proper breakfast yet. But we could leave that for another time. You mentioned a job, did you?" The large arachnoid's eyes - all of them - glimmered rapaciously. The presence of the words "reward" and "limitless" in a single sentence had, foreseeably, not failed to capture his attention.
He pondered his position. Despite having spent the last week and a half accosting various patrons of the inn offering his services, he did not dispose of any - stock, should we say, just at present, planning as he did to strike up a contract as a provider or, if the customer was gullible enough, obtain a conspicuous advance payment and disappear. However, thus far he had not had any success, and his patience was wearing thin. There was no monster-market to speak of here, and besides there was the constant threat of being spotted by some Neogi caravan, rare though these were, recognised as a rogue and forced to ingest one of their vile breeding brews. In brief, his stay in the city was unprofitable, unproductive and uncomfortable. And there always was the doubt of whether Thrik was being fed well enough. If not else, these purported mercenaries would offer some diversion.
"Who you are does not matter that much as long as this reward you speak of is truly almost limitless." Ah, these words again... Effectively, it did not matter at all who these fellows were, as long as he could be certain he would be able to subdue them were the necessity to arise. The orc did already not seem entirely confident. Excellent. "Consider me interested. What does this assignment you have involve, exactly?"
He pondered his position. Despite having spent the last week and a half accosting various patrons of the inn offering his services, he did not dispose of any - stock, should we say, just at present, planning as he did to strike up a contract as a provider or, if the customer was gullible enough, obtain a conspicuous advance payment and disappear. However, thus far he had not had any success, and his patience was wearing thin. There was no monster-market to speak of here, and besides there was the constant threat of being spotted by some Neogi caravan, rare though these were, recognised as a rogue and forced to ingest one of their vile breeding brews. In brief, his stay in the city was unprofitable, unproductive and uncomfortable. And there always was the doubt of whether Thrik was being fed well enough. If not else, these purported mercenaries would offer some diversion.
"Who you are does not matter that much as long as this reward you speak of is truly almost limitless." Ah, these words again... Effectively, it did not matter at all who these fellows were, as long as he could be certain he would be able to subdue them were the necessity to arise. The orc did already not seem entirely confident. Excellent. "Consider me interested. What does this assignment you have involve, exactly?"
@6slyboy6
But spiders don't have skulls... Usually.
But spiders don't have skulls... Usually.
@Oraculum I wonder how it will work out. Grox hates spiders. Especially the big ones.
Ach, curses. There goes his hope for a good deal, I suppose.
As anyone who has ever attempted to keep an inn, and managed to do so for longer than a week, knows, a cellar is highly practical asset for any establishment of this sort. Though seldom is it employed for such purposes as something as a cellar was originally intended for, such as preserving wine - which is often far too expensive, considering the financial resources of the average inn's patrons, to meet any demand worthy of that name - it can serve a variety of purposes. If there is no suitable dump or scrapyard not yet slavaged by goblins in the environs, it can contain prodigious amounts of refuse without its stench reaching the inn proper for months. It can keep carcasses fresh enough to please a ravenous orc's palate. And, last but not least, it can comfortably house lodgers whose appearance would be highly detrimental for business if exposed too frequently to the public eye.
The most recent of such lodgers having taken up temporary residence at the Red Mug presently gnashed his teeth, stretched his forelimbs and coiled and uncoiled his neck a few times as a loud crash from upstairs awoke him from his daily rest. Ah, new customers were beginning to arrive, it seemed, and energetic ones at that. It was probably already dark, anyway. Good, good. A gnarled, three-fingered claw caught an intact bone lying amid the assorted wreckage upon the cellar's floor and deftly tossed it in the approximate direction of the expectant jaws, which snapped it, sucked it dry of only slightly stale marrow and spat its remains into a corner. Next, eight revolting legs clicked in place, lifing the bloated, hairy abdomen enough for it not to scape the ground, skittered up the damp staircase and, impressively enough, kicked the cellar door open, revealing their burden's full glory to what tatters а the world had the misfoortune of being assembled in that inn.
Khri'zhatt blinked a few times - a sight fearsome enough for the three hobgoblins seated closest to him to hurriedly move to the further end of the room - and surveyed that evening's clientele. Regulars, mostly, veriefiedly uninteresting, suitable, scrawny as they mostly were, for neither business nor consumption, except... Ah, there. Two unfamiliar faces, or nearly, probably responsible for the door's mournful state - a boisterous-looking orc recklessly swallowing ale, or whatever resembled it, and a strange red-garbed figure - elf? Human? Neither, though he resembled both? It was a while since he had had some elf. He might as well try with this one, despite his tankard being full of what seemed to be saliva. Does he actually drink that? Khri'zhatt wondered, as he crawled toward the pair. If they proved less than tolerant of his presence, a sufficiently loud shriek should be sufficient to summon Thrik from the stable - by the bye, he would have to verify the umber hulk was fed well enough. Otherwise, he might consider feeding it the innkeeper next. Ah, well, there would be time enough for this.
"Well met, gentle-monsters" he hissed at the newcomers in his finest Honest John impression, "Are you in need of anything this lous- vely city has to offer? Some fine working-hands, perhaps? Fresh, obedient, cheaper by the dozen. Just say the word."
The most recent of such lodgers having taken up temporary residence at the Red Mug presently gnashed his teeth, stretched his forelimbs and coiled and uncoiled his neck a few times as a loud crash from upstairs awoke him from his daily rest. Ah, new customers were beginning to arrive, it seemed, and energetic ones at that. It was probably already dark, anyway. Good, good. A gnarled, three-fingered claw caught an intact bone lying amid the assorted wreckage upon the cellar's floor and deftly tossed it in the approximate direction of the expectant jaws, which snapped it, sucked it dry of only slightly stale marrow and spat its remains into a corner. Next, eight revolting legs clicked in place, lifing the bloated, hairy abdomen enough for it not to scape the ground, skittered up the damp staircase and, impressively enough, kicked the cellar door open, revealing their burden's full glory to what tatters а the world had the misfoortune of being assembled in that inn.
Khri'zhatt blinked a few times - a sight fearsome enough for the three hobgoblins seated closest to him to hurriedly move to the further end of the room - and surveyed that evening's clientele. Regulars, mostly, veriefiedly uninteresting, suitable, scrawny as they mostly were, for neither business nor consumption, except... Ah, there. Two unfamiliar faces, or nearly, probably responsible for the door's mournful state - a boisterous-looking orc recklessly swallowing ale, or whatever resembled it, and a strange red-garbed figure - elf? Human? Neither, though he resembled both? It was a while since he had had some elf. He might as well try with this one, despite his tankard being full of what seemed to be saliva. Does he actually drink that? Khri'zhatt wondered, as he crawled toward the pair. If they proved less than tolerant of his presence, a sufficiently loud shriek should be sufficient to summon Thrik from the stable - by the bye, he would have to verify the umber hulk was fed well enough. Otherwise, he might consider feeding it the innkeeper next. Ah, well, there would be time enough for this.
"Well met, gentle-monsters" he hissed at the newcomers in his finest Honest John impression, "Are you in need of anything this lous- vely city has to offer? Some fine working-hands, perhaps? Fresh, obedient, cheaper by the dozen. Just say the word."
Rejoice! The much-expected giant spider shall crawl out of the inn's conveniently placed cellar sometime this afternoon!
@KRIEEEG and everyone else.
What do you say of all of them in crescent progression, in the spirit of those good old campaigns?
What do you say of all of them in crescent progression, in the spirit of those good old campaigns?
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