Open Chronicles Piercing the Gates

[Slaine Aylwin]

It began in a tavern, enshrouded in shadow. The low roads of the deep realm held treasures old and wonderful - the Inn of Forgotten Dreams among them. Originally a trading post that connected the both the ancient Dwarven realms and the Drow Empire, now the only thing that remained in the desolate town was the tavern.

It would have to do. Strategically located near the Dwarves fortress-city of Belgrath, Quarro, the Houndmaster, sent two Hounds to investigate. Slaine arrived quietly. Everything she did was quiet, now that her tongue was cut. She let her physicality speak for her. She shoved past a drunken Drow upon entrance and took a position at a small, goblin-filled table. Her eyes swept the bar for her contact - or their prey.

A dwarven merchant with deep pockets and deeper ties to Belgrath. The Hounds quarry. She curled her hand into a fist, veins bulging against the tips of her knuckles with anticipation. How would Slaine communicate without any words?

Nyssiel

 

[Tiff Noomron]

The Inn of Forgotten Dreams smelled of stale fungus ale and the cold, metallic sweat of desperate drow and goblins. It was a tomb of a town, but inside the tavern, the air was probably thick enough to choke a surface-dweller.

In the corner of the establishment was none other than Tiff Noomron.

The Kapmadillo merchant was currently engaged in what appeared to be a high-stakes game of dice with a trio of surly goblins. His purple top hat was pushed back, revealing a brow beaded with moisture, but his grin remained as wide as ever.

To any other observer, he was just another eccentric trader losing coin. However, his true purpose was to acquire a seal for his document forgery activities on the surface. Human Nobles in Vel Anir would pay a handsome sum for a genuine dwarven seal.

Being in such proximity to the Fortress-City filled him with hope that an official might have passed through before the town fell into desertion and inadvertently misplaced theirs. It was simply a question of following up on leads.

Slaine Aylwin

 

[Nyssiel]

Moving in soundlessly seemed to be a theme with Hounds. Beside Slaine was Hound only slightly less stature and bulk. His eyes were more resigned than wary. An expressive silence followed the two. The expression being that anyone approaching without good reason was sure for a swift kick in the teeth.

He had picked up rather quickly that he might have to do a great deal more talking than usual. Made a bit vexing by the fact that Slaine knew much more about what they were looking for. Though there was a sort of equality among the hounds, being that they all tended to be very aware they were all on the bottom rung together, he would normally still have deferred leadership of the mission to her.
Nys gathered he would need to be a bit more of an active participant in this case.

He too gave a bit of a slow look around the bar until his eyes fell on a curious creature. Nyssiel found it immediately charming, who knew little beasts could wear hats? He nudged Slaine and pointed at the purple attired merchant. Even had he not been wearing a mask there would be no smile, but there was certainly an air of amusement in Nyssiel's eyes.

Slaine Aylwin
Tiff Noomron

 

[Slaine Aylwin]

Slaine was silent, now, but still not subtle. She pounded atop the wooden table of the bar with her dark, iron gauntlets, trying to summon the attention of whatever barkeep poured lichen beer here. Her mood was sour - as it always was, since she lost her tongue. The only thing that could lighten it was a flagon.

Her hound companion nudged her, prompting a shove back in response. Her eyes moved to the creature that Nys pointed towards.

Good. Meat. She'd had only moss and moldy hardtack for the last few days - that little bear in the hat looked mighty fleshy. But this was no place for a hunt.

She grabbed Nyssiel by the collar with her right, gesturing wildly with her left to communicate her hunger and to urge her colleague to charge the creature. Whether Nyssiel and Tiff could interpret her flailing hand signals as an intelligible message at all, she did not know.

Tiff Noomron
Nyssiel

 

[Tiff Noomron]

Tiff’s sensitive ears twitched beneath his hat, the rhythmic thud-thud of iron gauntlets against wood vibrating through the floorboards. He didn't look up immediately. Instead, he deftly scooped the dice into his palm, his movements a blur of practiced grace.

"A tragedy, my friends! A literal landslide of misfortune!" Tiff sighed theatrically to the goblins, ignoring their snarling protests as he pocketed the meager pile of copper. "But alas, the winds of opportunity howl, and I must answer."

He turned in his seat, the silver bells on his lapel tinkling a delicate counterpoint to the tavern's grime. His eyes wide, amber, and shimmering with an artificial warmth settled on the two Hounds. He saw the iron, the masks, and the heavy, resigned silence of killers.

With a frantic, rhythmic scuttle, Tiff’s short legs began to increase speed.

He adjusted his purple hat, pulling it low as if it were a cloaking device, and began to edge toward the shadowed periphery of the room. He moved with a theatrical sort of panic, trying to look like a drifting puff of purple smoke rather than a terrified merchant.

Slaine Aylwin Nyssiel

 

[Boudrir Slowstone]

"...but there's nothing quite like the taste of Dwarven mead. Har!"

The door creaked open just as the Kapmadillo collected his winnings, and a small group entered. Two goblins and a drow, each dressed in sellsword's garb -- and one dwarf. But it was the dwarf that drew the most attention. The gold of his many piercings glinted brightly in the dim light of the inn, and the metal rings that held his braided beard in shape clinked softly as he walked. And unlike the dark, rugged gear of his compatriots, the dwarf's clothes were vibrantly colored and almost royal; his blue tunic was ornately patterned and fastened with silver clasps, and over his shoulders was draped a cloak of silk marbled red and purple. This dwarf was named Boudrir Slowstone.

He stepped up to the bar and hoisted himself into an available seat, speaking with his drow companion as the two goblins found their own booth. Ordering a tankard of mead, he gazed around the establishment. It was a shabby thing, Boudrir thought, covered in spots of dirt and grime. Its clientele was no different. Goblins with gnarled faces... orcs slobbering drunk... a menacing duo of drow....

Boudrir would have much preferred a brothel.

 

[Dinien]

The door opened, admitting a tallish, slim, silver-haired drow, who strode in as if it were the most natural thing for a battlemage like him to be patronizing such a seedy dive. Spotting Slaine and Nyssiel, he began weaving his way around the exiting pangolin, some woozy goblins, an orc, giving extra room to a thin, very solitary looking hooded figure in an alcove, and arching a bemused eyebrow at what looked for all the world like a dwendel noble. What an odd slumming destination this fellow has picked! Or perhaps he's an actor?

But, Dinien reminded himself, he was technically on duty, and sure didn't want to risk sliding any further out of favor with command over a mere pique of curiosity. He had landed himself in the doghouse after the new Valsharess's return and triumph. How was he supposed to know that quick little flash of side-eye meant he was supposed to go straight to the matron's chambers? And the Hounds hadn't even issued him a new cloak before suggesting he catch up to the rest of the assigned team post haste.

He approached the pair, removed his helmet, lightly stamped his feet smartly, and introduced himself.

"Battlemage Dinien reporting, Malla Ventash'ma. Jabbuk Quarro thought you might need a bit more support, considering... well, the thing needing considering. Looks like the elixir and those couple spells set you well on the path to recovery, at least."

A glance would confirm that he was the selfsame battlemage who had run up to heal her after the duel.

He gave an acknowledging nod to Nyssiel, then his scarlet eyes dropped expectantly to Slaine's hands, patiently awaiting her reply.

Slaine Aylwin
Nyssiel

 

[Nyssiel]

His eyes followed the skittering purple clad beast as it made a hasty exit. He might have risen to go after it were it not for the group that entered just then.
A dwarf took up a spot at the bar not so far from them. Given their mission it seemed perhaps a lead. Their clothes gave off the air they might be the type easily swayed by coin....not that Nyssiel had any to do swaying with. Still might be worth attempting to figure out if the Dwarf knew anything valuable.
There was an awkward moment in which Nyssiel contemplated how to approach getting such information without involving knives. Belatedly he realized he had been making eye contact.

Nyssiel turned in his seat to return the nod of the additional Hound. Good. He thought, this way he might not have to do all the speaking. He had the sort of appeasing demeanor of someone who hadn't yet had hope beaten out of them. Between the somewhat eager greeting and the fact Nyssiel couldn't really place his face, he guessed that Dinien was fresh to the Hounds.

He looked between Dinien and Slaine, it seemed they had some history. Having a healer of any kind was novel..... they tended to die so easily.

Slaine Aylwin
Boudrir Slowstone
Dinien

 

[Slaine Aylwin]

Slaine watched the bar unfold around the two of them, eyes searching through the dim light for their target. Not in sight. But another dwarf was -

Her eyes moved to regard Dinien. That was the battlemage who had sealed her wounds after her disastrous duel with the Queen, no? Her eyes narrowed with a mix of recognition and a smattering of disdain. She was grateful her life had been saved that day. She was pained that her tongue had not been saved.

Her mind moved to the mission. She patted a fist against Dinien's chest. She raised two fingers two her eyes and pointed to the Dwarf. Watch him. A command attempted without the use of language. Times like this made her wish she had paid attention in their sign language courses at the academy.

To Nyssiel, she pointed again at the Pangolin in the top hat. He was nervous. Could be hiding something. But the pangolin hurried out the room for now, leaving Slaine with more questions than answers...

The two males by her side made their group less and less clandestine by the moment. Three armed and armored Drow rarely spelled good tidings for the rooms they entered. She'd use their strength in numbers to take command of the room.

So, with the pair by her side, she strode towards the bar, grabbed her flagon of lichen-beer, and slammed it on the counter beside Slowstone. She hoped the noise would get his attention - be enough of an introduction for them.

Nyssiel
Boudrir Slowstone
Dinien
Tiff Noomron

 

[Boudrir Slowstone]

"Hounds..."

The mutter from Boudrir's drow companion did not assuage him. A third had just entered the establishment, armed and armored. And, though Boudrir had pretended not to notice, he was certain that the one with the mangled ear had been staring at him for the past minute. He had felt a tinge of concern when he first saw them, but he assumed that they were members of some local militia enjoying their time off. But hounds...

He felt a numbness in his thigh, where he had strapped the satchel of Black Rubies. They grew only in the Underrealm, and Boudrir was certain they would fetch a great price among the Guild Lords of Belgrath... but he most certainly did not get his hands on them legally. A group of mining slaves had sold them to him, in exchange for a Dwarven glyph-stone and some weapons -- something about a slave revolt. It was a small price to pay, and the illicit exchange seemed to have gone off without a hitch. But hounds...

Not good. Not good at all. Hounds were hunters. Not militia sentries off their watch. Not some gaggle of sellswords. If they were here, it was because they were looking for something -- or someone -- and Boudrir had heard many tales of their brutality. He swiveled and stared at his mead for a moment. Black Rubies were part of some drow rites, he knew. They weren't just exported without a second thought. He took a slow sip. Too thin for his taste. Boudrir had plenty of money. If it were mercenaries or militiamen, he could most certainly buy them off. But hounds--

A loud thud made him flinch. He looked to his side. Hounds indeed, and as menacing as the stories had said. Taller than him -- but who wasn't, other than goblins or his fellow dwarves? He turned carefully in his chair to face them. The one that had slammed her flagon onto the counter was the one he had liked the least. Something hateful was burning in her eyes and boring a hole straight into him.

Panic gets you killed. He had to learn what they knew. Taking a long draw from his mead, he pushed his lips into a wide smile. "Hello, my friends. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

Slaine Aylwin
Dinien
Nyssiel

 

[Dinien]

Gold. Ambition. Safety. Those were the concerns Dinien read in the dwarf’s eyes, as though they were some magical marquee. He smiled as deviously as his favorite lower city flour vendor, abruptly seeming even taller and more imposing, his personality somehow more forceful.

“Well now, abban-dwendel; surely you wouldn’t be thinking of beating around the bush. You clearly expected this visit; you just as clearly know what we seek. You surely aren’t thinking of renegotiating the price after we have traveled all this way?”

The smiling drow leaned casually against the bar, in such a way that blocked that vector of egress. An arc of electricity flashed from pinky to thumb back to pinky in a subtle crackle as he nodded invitingly toward Nyssiel to continue.

Nyssiel
Slaine Aylwin
Boudrir Slowstone

 

[Nyssiel]

It seemed despite the sour hand she had been dealt their mission leader was very gracious. He interpreted her pointing as permission to chase after and procure the beast in a hat. The idea that it might have a lead hadn't even occurred to Nyssiel.
Nyssiel's eyes had followed the beast as it fled but even if it was charming it was important to focus on the mission. He turned back to the matter at hand.
Dinien boxed in the Dwarf at the bar. He had to admit that the mage was good at talking. How convenient.

He stood and moved to tower over the dwarf from the other side. His eyes regarding it passively like a amusing curiosity. The dwarf was laden in a cacophony of color and jewels. Nyssiel idly wondered if that was fashionable among their kind or this one just like to wear it's wealth.

Ah, he was being looked at as it were his turn to speak. Nyssiel regarded the dwarf quietly for a moment. Subtle intrigue was not his strong point. Normally when getting information out of someone, he usually asked a lot of very direct questions while the other party screamed. So having a less torture related negotiation was novel.
In the end he gave up on forming an indirect question and resorted to bluntness.
"You do hold the in to Belgrath. Do you not?"

Slaine Aylwin
Boudrir Slowstone
Dinien