Open Chronicles The Town of Osteriam (The Buried City Thread 1)

[Gella Rerra]

The town of Osteriam wasn't a place you'd normally go out of your way to visit; It could barely be considered a town being as it was tucked so far out of the way from most of Arethil's major settlements, and the only way in and out of the village was an old path through a tall, menacing rock formation, which surrounded the sparse few buildings it did have aside from the large building at it's heart, the once humble tavern that was now more akin to a fortress known as The Hag's Head.

Originally, Osteriam was populated primarily by miners who were eager to explore the vast cave system that ran deep beneath the surface of the town. Rare resources and minerals were often found when one traveled far enough down into the tunnels, and if you were able to make it back up into town, that meant good money. Of course, not everybody made it out of those caves, and Osteriam had garnered a reputation of swallowing up brave adventurers looking to get rich into the depths that lie below it.

It's well hidden location and lack of a governing body made it a criminal's paradise, however. As years passed, Osteriam became more and more steeped in darkness, and now it holds a much more sinister reputation. The entire city is for the most part run by a group of criminals calling themselves the Jagged Emeralds, operating out of the Hag's Head tavern. On a daily basis, they extort, abuse, and rob the peaceful remnants of Osteriam's hardworking population. There's little they can do to alleviate their oppression; The leader of the Emeralds, Gella Rerra, intercepts any mail or messages that leave the city and discards pleas for help or offers of reward for mercenary or hero.

It appears hopeless for the small town coated in fog and nestled against cavernous maws into the deepest depths of the land. However it is those very caves that have now offered them a shining ray of hope. Rumors are abound that something has been found buried deep beneath the city, a man left alone in the darkness of the caves as punishment by the Jagged Emeralds had emerged miraculously, making claims that he'd found solace, safety beneath the rocks:

Buildings.

More than buildings, a city. An entire city lost to time and abandoned was claimed to rest beneath their feet, untouched for ages. Many relics of the past were actively sought out either by scholar or crook, but the isolated nature of their town had preserved an archeological gold mine that had only just been discovered, if this man was to be believed. Of course, once Gella caught word of this the fellow was silenced, but the damage had been done, and word had begun to spread. There was no stopping it from leaving the city this time, and soon every city across Arethil had whispers about ancient ruins ripe for the picking underneath a mysterious little village south-east of Belgrath.

Now, it's the calm before the storm. Travelers from all over Arethil are converging on Osteriam in hopes to gain riches or power that might lie beneath. The Jagged Emeralds are readying all of their forces, preparing to seize this rumored 'Buried City' by force.

All the while, the citizens of Osteriam are resting their hopes on a somebody arriving who can liberate them from the plague of evil that taints their city, they have re-opened business and services long closed in attempt to attract a hero: The blacksmith has begun forging new weapons and armor out of the remaining ores and metals stockpiled from the town's glory days. The long abandoned library has opened it's musty doors, home to many forgotten or overlooked tomes. The Marketplace, having long only served for the townspeople to sell unwanted goods and pitiable crops, now hosts an array of valuables from the miners, looking to sell their trinkets and collectibles to aid anybody with a chance at standing up for them.

And looming over it all, seeming to challenge the bold and foolish with it's overpowering aura of danger is The Hag's Head. Formerly Osteriam's only tavern, it now serves as the Jagged Emerald's stronghold, where all manner of illicit activities take place. One can still enter and order drinks, at their own risk. The other, less legitimate services this place serves are available to all as well, for the right price.

The gate to the town of Osteriam has been opened, and it's rumored the fight for the Caverns, and perhaps the entire town, begins in only a scant few days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"...Which is why I'm not going to tolerate a poor showing, do you understand me?"

Two figures emerge from the large oak doors of the Hag's Head and out into the brittle air of Osteriam at midday. The speaking one was a thin, young half-elf sporting short brown hair and unusually piercing eyes that seemed to stare daggers into the much taller Orc walking beside him, who only nodded slightly. "If we lose whatever that moron found down there that let him survive for so long without any light or water, I'm going to personally feed you to a Devourer, and your son is going to watch, you do understand that, don't you Oalrig?"

Another nod. The half-elf rolled his eyes, Oalrig was as strong as they came but he was also as dumb as a bag of stone, the young man thought. Still, he was satisfied with the affirmations provided for now. Nobody dared make a move on him even without a heavily armored Orc at his side. He was Gella Rerra, after all. He was the most important man in this town and everybody knew it. If they didn't, he taught them.

Gella spins to stand in front of the orc, peering up at him with a smug little grin as he brings his gloved hand underneath the orc's chin to scratch at it like he was some kind of animal. "That's a good dumb boy. Now listen, I want you out looking for wanna be heroes and adventurers. I'm sure we'll start getting tourists in today, and I either want them disposed of or sent to me, whichever they prefer." He bites down on his tongue, always excited at the prospect of fresh new Emeralds. "Bring me a fun one and I'll double your pay for the season, how's that sound?" He purrs, bringing his hands down to tighten his leather jacket around himself before departing back into the Hag's Head with a pompous saunter.

Oalrig's eyes burned at the thought of getting that much extra, and all he had to do was bring home a meat sack for Gella to play with? He could stand the degradation he suffered for the coin it earned him as an Emerald. Gella was a prick, but he paid well. He shifts in his armor, clutching his hammer tightly as he descends from the hill the Hag sat on, heading into the Market place.​

 

[Roan Dorn]

Osteriam, what a shithole.

Whether it was pure happenstance or the rumors of Buried City escaping this place that brought him here Roan Dorn had come to this town.

He wore his chainmail like a fitted shirt, truthfully he was accustomed to sleeping in it now. A Gladius was sheathed over his left hip, the hilt bound in leather so that it offered a stiffer hold and the blade sharpened like a razor. There was also a large shield fastened to his back out of convenience which he could shrug off if the needed arose.

Since leaving the Reach and entering the Spine months back his equipment had picked up several new nicks and dents after more than one heated encounter. Roan kept it in order but he could only do so much. A Blacksmith with a working forge appealed to his sensibilities.

Unfortunately the Marketplace was as far as he got before it happened, he stepped in a big pile of shit...

"Piss."

...some animal had obviously relieved itself in the street and Roan was just the unlucky soul to have stepped in it. As he attempted to kick off the dung he'd quickly become aware of a large shadow looming over him. Turning his head he'd have seen the Half-Orc behind him and their conversation was a quick one consisting of some back and forth like...

"Am I an Adventurer? Who wants to know?"

...and...

"The Hag's Head? The fuck do I wanna go there for?"

...but Roan, a bit short on patience today due to the long days of travel would finally relent and be on his way. The Hag's Head wasn't hard to find at least.

He'd walk up the hill towards the Hag's Head, noting that several eyes followed him the closer he came in his peripherals. When he finally made it to the Hag's Head he'd have pressed one of the oaken doors wide with his forearm before disappearing inside. Once inside he'd move up to the bar and set a heavy hand down across the counter hoping to get the attention of whomever was acting as barkeep...

"A Tankard, largest you've got."

...Roan had the sense that he was being watched and that the people inside the Hag's Head weren't the friendliest but it wasn't the first time the Mercenary had to fight his way out of a building. Hopefully he could finish his drink before anything went south, if it went south.

Gella Rerra​

 

[Samara Asenta]

Location: Still a ways off along the road leading to Osteriam in a covered wagon.

The steel reinforced wheels of the wagon bounced and rocked as the carriage was pulled steadily along the lone 'trade' route to the isolated city of Osteriam. It was far from the most well-tended of passageways, but then it was only of late anyone cared. One of its passengers found the covered bed the one saving grace of the transportation charted for the journey.

Tucked in the furthest corner of the covered wagon sat a figure wrapped in a cloak with the hood drawn low across their face. Articles that kept her crimson and black leather attire out of sight, along with the short sword and whip along her waist, to dissuade sticky fingers. Whether the figure was awake or asleep was another factor any would-be thieves or assassins would be forced to contemplate; for even if they peeked under the edge of the cowl they'd find an ivory mask of a fox with red markings covering most of their face.

At that very moment, the Elven Vampire was trying to slumber. A blindfold was secured over her eyes, which precipitated the mask to hide that fact. Unlike most other Vampire she'd learned of, Samara didn't combust in sunlight, but that hardly made it a pleasant experience to be out and about in it. Piercing light sought to stab its way into the depth of her soul even with her eyes closed; and the oppressive heat pressed upon the surface of the realm by the tyrannical orb above sapped Samara of strength. Even the small blessing over a covered wagon did little but to make being outdoors midday bearable.

Thankfully that which drew her to this remote community further along the road was underground. Or so the rumors said. Samara had grown far more comfortable crawling about the deep and dark places of the realm. Which was probably more than she'd expect of the other souls in a hurry to arrive. A boon seeing how a healthy, vampiric woman needed to feed. Who better to sample than lost souls in the bowels of the unknown reaches? Something the Elf would need to take advantage of as soon as she could. The prolonged time on the road was wearing on her composure.

 

[Urberus]

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A wizened orc hobbled up the road, clutching a walking staff as if his life depended upon it. A strange monkey perched upon one hunched shoulder and it squawked viciously at a passerby.

"Now now, Chime, please do behave yourself," wheezed the old orc.

He was not alone. Four figures accompanied him, each so different than the last that they might've been considered a group of traveling jesters had they not all worn grim, mud-stained cloaks and born grim, death-stained expressions. Moreover, each bore claim to titles and eponyms of some ignominy. There was The Ox, a barrel-chested dwarf from Belgrath, who was quite obviously missing half an ear from his shaven head. Alongside him strode a tattooed elf, Cathair the Rake, whose pinched and haughty expression spoke of a capacity for disdain, while the rapier at his belt with a hilt worn smooth by use spoke of a capacity for violence. And behind both of them loomed Siege, his face shrouded by a hood, for who would want to see the visage of a man who was no longer a man, but a hollow suit of enchanted plate?

"Does he bite?" asked the shortest of the companions, Rob Yew, a goblin with bulbous yellow eyes and a falchion strapped to his waist that bore a vulture skull pommel.

Urberus looked from Rob to the monkey.

"Only sometimes..."

Ah, what a collection of miscreants he had gathered. The Thronebreakers as they called themselves. Once a free company of mercenaries, now little more than an Allirian street gang. Still, each had their talents. Urberus hoped he could make good use of it here.

After all, this was an interesting town, this Osteriam. So very intriguing. Mmm.

They made their way to the tavern called the Hag's Head. As good a place as any to start, no?

An orc standing outside the establishment took a step toward them and opened his mouth as if to speak, then seemed to take them each in individually, from the way Rob Yew was picking a tooth with his dagger, to the looming figure of the hooded Siege. The orc's mouth snapped closed and he turned away.

Ah well.

"Siege, would you be so kind as to open the door for an old professor?"

"Of course, Maester Urberus," replied the not-man, with a voice that sounded as if it came from within a metal box.

The oak door creaked wide and the five companions shuffled inside.

 

[Azlat Ushus]

The eldest of the high priests had gotten rather old in years, and his health fell into peril in bouts that grew more frequent and lengthy. The elder’s failing health had spurred an unseen flurry of activity from the draconic priesthood; some of the high priests tended to the challenge of maintaining his health, while others began the preparations for appointing a successor. Those priests not of the highest position were even busier still, for many were making preparations of their own in Thagretis to ensure they would earn the appointment.

She too had preparations of her own, far too determined to allow this opportunity to go unseized. While there was much to do in Thagretis, there were many priests to undertake it. Azlat would not be one of them, for she knew few would dare to venture out into the newly known continent. Should she return with something suitable for the city, the act itself would bring honour suitable for her own ambitions.

Everywhere she went she had gotten strange looks from these odd people dwelling in these formerly unknown lands, as if she were the weird one. The fools that filled this land had at least one ounce of wisdom; they too greatly valued gold as the treasure it was. Yet it was a scant ounce they held, as they’d often hoard the material in one place as if a dragon’s hoard. All she needed was to find one such collection of wealth that was guarded by little else than these foreigners themselves; Thagretis would deploy forces to do the rest, and then she could return home with her promotion to high priestess all but guaranteed the moment a position opened.

And by her very luck, she had chanced upon mention of one of these hoards which they were so undeserving of. Thagretis would be delighted to take it off their hands. Now glad that she had deigned to endure conversation with the source of the news, she considered the information a blessing. No doubt the great dragon god smiled upon her for her efforts in exploration.

She had set off towards the rumoured source; the travel had taken further arduous days, but the priestess soon founder herself descending upon her destination. Only to be accosted by these strange folk yet again. With a scowl on her face, she prepared herself for the foolish questions she had grown weary of being peppered with.

“Azlat.” She responded to the first with unchanging expression. While she had been fielded all manner of questions, the next one took her by surprise.

“An adventurer? Why do you ask that?” It wasn't as stupid as any of the other questions she'd received– which was precisely what made it more concerning. There must be a right answer and a wrong answer to this one, and she wasn't about to give one in error after the great effort it took to arrive.

“Well yes; those rumours are the reason for my arrival. Not to 'cause trouble', as it were.” She retorted, indignant in expression and tone. As she had learned, an 'adventurer' was the correct thing to present oneself as. An honest statement, not that she cared to dispense truth to these foul thugs; that she didn't care about them or their business was true statement.

“And why would I want to step into that decrepit dwelling?” She gave her reply, scowl steadily furrowing as her patience began to wane. The other statements may not have been foolish, but this certainly was. She simply wanted the gold, not to keep these louts company.

“I see. I'll head straight over.” She replied, having changed her mind upon their forceful diplomacy. Of no matter; if these rumours were correct and the hidden hoard of gold truth, their order of soldiers would have their heads on pikes soon. All turned towards the road of course, so that they may watch her haul away their precious wealth.

With indignance and reluctance Azlat continued forth, opening the door and letting herself in without the slightest bit of enthusiasm.

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

The world was shrouded tightly in a misty coat, the ground seemed to ooze the thick stuff like a volcanic plume incessantly reminding the world that it was alive. That's what the fog seemed. Alive. It didn't help he was certain that there were mist spirits in these trails. Those ghostly apparitions that sing such haunting melodies to lure out the undetermined, the inexperienced, and worst of all... the curious. Of these three things, Farzad was the latter.

And was late.​

It wasn't his fault he swore. There was a call to adventure in these foggy mountains. Who knew what was hiding beneath every unturned rock and crevice. Maybe a path into an unexplored dungeon, a long-rested skeleton in need of revenge. Farzad wasn't to know, and Farzad was struggling to find out. He was stuck in duality. On one hand, he had headed here on the call to adventure. In fact, he had a little bit of a headstart. At least on the College...

See, Farzad was a wily man. Clever and better yet, looked like a wizard. So when a messenger came to the college and Farzad, the definition of a wizard to some an accident to others and to one particular individual, an imbecile. And when a certain messenger asked if he could give this letter to the Archwizards. Who was he to say no? And... Who was he to not? Musty Libraries? Unfounded cities? A mystery? Well, this had Farzad written all over it. And the College wizards were never that good at the job. The low constitution and all that. Always complaining about magic and the whatnot. Not made for this line of work. But Farzad? Well, he was.

But.. He was still late?
​

Or at least, a trifle behind schedule. He swore those fog spirits were almost as wily as him. Calling him off the ventured path, upturning rocks. He was at least two days slower than arriving than he wanted, though it was hard to tell, the sun in this thicket of fog was no different to the moon. Barely a light source, he relied on his body and his hanging lantern to give him an idea of the time. In fact, he was so offbeat to the path that he heard a cricket and groan behind him as he stumbled back on a pathway.

It was a caravan, heading the opposite direction to which Farzad was heading. The Caravan master was a little thrown off by seeing him. This was a place of thuggery and scum, of bandits and highwayman and walking through the blanket of fog, illuminated and sheltered by a loosely hanging lantern... Was color. And not just one color, not even three, but an effervescent rainbow of soft glows and mismatched fabric bedecked and coiled to the skin of what one might assume was human behind a porcelain mask. It was as Farzad turned actually that he realized that he was heading the wrong way, the town was behind him and in his mismatched pace and loose adventuring must have somehow evaded the town and headed off to the wrong direction before on a twist of the heel, he turned around, the Caravan master a little slumped of the face as his oxen dragged the caravan past a man in the wrong place.

"Mornin'" Farzad simply stated as he started to head in the now correct direction, unfurling a sliver of linen and letting loose a soft maelstrom of glows and colours, runes familiar etched into the paper as his speed was almost uncontrollable.

He was late, afterall.​

 

[Charity Briarthorne]

Charity had heard rumors from the merchants in Alliria of an underground city haven been discovered in a little mining town. She had of course, promptly packed her bag, grabbed her accomplice, and set out for the town. What kind of self-respecting master thief wouldn't be drawn to a newly discovered ancient city? It had to be full to bursting with unclaimed loot!

As she neared Osteriam, she began to hear whispered rumors of a organization calling themselves "The Jagged Emeralds." Charity knew a thing or two about organized crime, and decided that joining them would be the perfect cover to get her into the underground city.

Upon arriving in town, a "friendly" orc had demanded to know if she was an adventurer. He told her that she could attend a meeting at The Hag's Head, or she could be "disposed" of. Well... When a giant orc gives you those options, there's really only one choice.

---

"Read 'em and weep boys! Looks like I win again!" Charity exclaimed gleefully, putting her cards down on the table and pulling the pile of coins towards her. A large hand roughly grabbed her wrist. "Ya wouldn't be cheatin' us now, would ya missy?" Of course she had. And honestly it surprised her that it took them so long to notice. A fake look of shocked indignation slowly spread across her face. "WHAT?!? How DARE you accuse an upstanding young lady like myself of cheating?! You should be ashamed of yourselves!" Charity yanked her hand out of the man's grip, stuffed the coins into a pouch, and stormed off to sit at the bar.

"Hey. You." she called out to the man behind the bar. "A mug of your strongest ale." Charity looked around the Hag's Head as she sipped her drink. Still no sign of him... Where the hell did that kid go off to?

Urchin

 

[Gella Rerra]

Osteriam
---------------

The first travelers had begun to arrive, and the people had taken notice. New faces young and old had begun to find their way to the marketplace. A weathered soldier, a mysterious priestess, a mischievous eyed girl, and an aging orc with an entire cadre of companions had all passed through the gates of the cursed town. Such unique and interesting people didn't show up every day in Osteriam, and whispers quickly turned to murmurs. Would one of these new arrivals be their salvation, or were they here only for the hidden prize beneath their feet? There hadn't been a chance to ask them, because as quickly as they came, Gella's muscle was on the scene ushering them towards the Hag's Head.

Oalrig was satisfied that he'd done his job well. Four souls had already ventured towards the Hag's Head, and he doubted the day would end without more new faces showing up. Power and riches were a powerful lure, and the Orc snorted in satisfaction as his hulking frame lumbered away from the compacted snowy streets of the marketplace. Those peddling their wares paid good mind to hide themselves from the armored brute, his reputation for brutally punishing those who crossed him was well known across Osteriam, the last fellow who'd said something to make him cross was left as little more than a stain on the cold stone walkway of the market.

Midday was quickly turning to dusk, the sky overhead dimming to an orange glow. Osteriam's gate stood open, awaiting more eager hands seeking to grasp glory. While the town itself was surrounded by a natural wall of tall mountain rock, the gate was constructed as two tall stone structures on either side of the well-hidden path that led to the settlement. With as narrow as the path was, the two towers of stone were close enough together that a simple bridge connected them safely, overlooking the road ahead for some way. This made it an ideal location for lookouts, and that's exactly what stood atop the gateway; two men, human and clad in expensive looking leather watched from on high for new arrivals. They didn't look like the typical occupants of a mining city, their skin was clean, hands un-calloused. Indeed, the two Jagged Emerald scouts had been a pair of wealthy brothers before growing tired with their privileged life and falling into a more debaucherous life.

The elder, with fair skin and long brown hair covering his face, grumbled under his breath as he leaned against the edge of their post. 'Two coming in, looks like. A wagon and... one guy on foot?" Who in the hell was batty enough to come all this way on foot? He couldn't see him too clearly from this distance, but he looked to be dressed in robes. A wizard, maybe? The elder brother turns to his sibling, who was much more concerned with sharpening his knife with a smooth stone. "We should report it to the boss."

"Chicken-shit."

The younger baby-faced man only let out the swear in response, garnering a confused look from his older brother. "What?" he asked incredulously. The younger one pocketed his knife and shot his brother a seething glare. "Last time I talked to Rerra, he called me a chicken-shit. Can you believe that? What does that even mean?" A loud groan escaped the elder's throat. "Lord man, are you still hung up over that? He's a prick to everybody, not just you." Thus began another argument between the two constantly bickering brothers, their spat heated enough to draw their attention away from the approaching visitors. Gella wouldn't know about these new arrivals, and if he did, it would be too late to prevent them from going where they pleased.

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The Hag's Head
-----------------------

Gella gnawed idly on a gloved index finger as he stomped down the stairs that led down to the bar from his personal quarters. This place had gotten bigger since he'd taken over; It had been built up and improved upon thanks to the extra revenue that came with being the only place for alcohol in town. Even so, he could hear the ruckus from the tavern room below even from his room a floor above. They had company, and that meant Oalrig had done his job. It made his skin grow goosebumps to think of what fresh faces he had waiting for him to poke and prod at this time.

As the young half-elf stepped out from the room behind the bar, his mouth released his finger, forming a little opened mouth grin at the sight that waited for him. Eight people he'd never seen before were making themselves quite comfortable indeed. Near the door was a mysterious looking woman with black paint adorning her face and a group of five of the most odd looking creatures the young Gella had ever laid eyes upon. They were only just shuffling their way in to his dimly lit little den of misbehavior, but some had made themselves quite at home.

In particular, the two who sat right in front of him in front of the bar.

Oh, they struck his fancy. The bright haired girl that his bartender Seilas was pouring a tall glass of ale for had a look in her eyes that hit him in all the right places. She was sneaky. He could see the ambition behind her gaze, disproportionate to her innocent appearance. It brought Gella's tongue to rest behind his lower lip as he wondered how many wallets she'd emptied. Judging by the table of his men that were shooting her looks sharp enough to cut iron, he'd say she'd added to the number very recently.

Then there was the man who sat a few seats down from her, sipping on his own tankard. When Gella finally tore his eyes from the woman, he could only narrow them in suspicion of that rugged fellow. He usually wasn't picky with who joined the Emeralds, as long as they could follow his directions and produce results. There were certain types though, people who had seen too much, who had experience beyond the norm that Gella always had trouble putting his 'faith' in.

The kind of people who would fight back if he decided to get rid of them. The creases of disgruntlement on the man's face made him wonder if maybe he was one of those types.

Clapping his hands together, the slim elven figure cheerily offered the young woman and rugged man at the bar his most sincere greetings, the most exorbitant of grins plastered on his face. It was questionable how much candor was actually in the leader of the Emeralds, however. "Welcome to the Hag's Head! You two are the first new faces I've seen at my humble little bar in quite some time!" He steps over to the bartender as he speaks, placing a hand on his back as he wiped a glass. "Stop for a moment, Seilas." He muttered, taking the mug from him before continuing. "I assume you two are both here for the same reason, no? Crazy rumors going around huh?" He was more humoring himself than anything else right now; everybody here had likely heard of what this place was home to. Or who, rather. "Hold on a moment, while I get everybody else's attention."

The sound of shattering glass and a pained howl rang out through the room as Gella violently swung the mug at Seilas' head, breaking it over the bartender's skull and sending him to the floor clutching at his face.

Gella stood over him, broken mug handle clutched tightly in his hand as he scowled down at the pained old man. The half-elf's tongue ran across his lips as he caught heavy breaths in his chest. Seilas thought his boss wouldn't notice a shortage of ale, like he didn't pay attention to those things. Gella didn't tolerate people who stole from him, and he would make an excellent example.

"Listen up, loyal customers! I've got a hot little deal for you all!"


​

 

[Samara Asenta]

Samara peered at the stone gate over the driver's shoulder. The jagged and unyielding surroundings that stabbed into the sky formed an inescapable and formidable valley for the city to find refuge had long since caught her eye. Now it was the matter of sentries and entry that occupied her thoughts. She could understand why this remote place had gone undisturbed. Many mortals preferred greener pastures that spoke of life and riches. Though a few enterprising souls knew how to bleed the rocks for coin.

Slowly, her gloved hand set a small bag in the driver's lap from around his right side. "Your fee."

The man laughed as he kept a secure hold on the reigns. "Much obliged, my Lady. If ever you need my services, why you have only but to ask."

The wagon rolled by the stone pillars unaccosted -- a pleasant surprise to be sure. The cowled fox mask turned away from the last visage of the towers that passed from sight and toward the buildings ahead. "I hope these merchants appreciate your wares as I have your company." More the lack of it. Before she'd become a thing, Samara would have said any unbidden mental or spiritual influence on another was a crime. Now it was just another tool ensuring her survival. Best not to become too comfortable pressing her will on others; it had been enough she'd dissuaded too many questions by using the ability.

"Oh, there's no doubt there. No doubt. Why, I don't remember the last time these people had a proper caravan of goods." Opportunity for a merchant if ever there were one. The man was all too happy to exchange what he had for the riches these folk did.

On the other hand, Samara's blue eyes slowly passed over the faces and attire of those the wagon passed as it neared the market. It was late, but not late enough for people to be afraid of shadows that moved of their own accord. Dim lighting from the sheltering crowns of the mountains did not make the Elf's job any more difficult; after all, a Vampire saw best in the darkness. What she saw, however, caused a slight narrowing of the eyes and thinning of the lips. Their appearance was not of a town drowning in riches able to weather being cut off from the world as Samara's own home had been. These people were barely scratching a living off the rock.

When the wagon came to a stop, Samara gently touched the man's shoulder to bid her departure. The cloaked figured slipped out the back of the wagon, and dropped to the ground. Well-worn boots and pants were visible as the cloak billowed in the air.

Being so near the marketplace already, Samara turned to venture closer to the stalls. Perhaps there'd be something useful there. Even if she had become ageless -- immune to death by natural causes -- Samara knew she wasn't immortal. Venturing into the deep places of the realm unprepared could get her maimed or left a feral beast in search of blood herself. Plus, she might learn more of the people in the town. Curiosity killed cats, of which species she was not.

 

[Azlat Ushus]

Giving a cursory glance around the tavern returned strange looks from those others who had noted her entrance. At least the attention was not entirely hers, a strange band of travelers had earned their fare share of looks. It was easy to see why, the group of five was a varied sort, contrasting amongst themselves as much as they did their environment. One of which was old wizard who would have appeared rather unremarkable, were it not for the fact that he was an Orc. One who spoke and acted in a manner unbefitting his brutal race; strange that this greenskin seemed almost palatable company by his manner of speech.

One last scan across the bar revealed no one she cared to speak to, nor anyone of authority who invited it. Why was she even instructed to be here then, she wondered. Waiting in this dismal place was both awkward and unnerving; there was potential piles of gold waiting below, and the time spent waiting could have been put to better use searching for it.

Despite her annoyance, there was little else to do but wait. And if she was beholden to do so, she may as well make herself inconspicuous; at least, as much as she was able. Treading further in, she kept relative proximity to the band of five misfits. An odd lot of people they were, but she was well aware these foreigners regarded her with the same sentiment. Perhaps implied association might stave away the inane questions she had grown so weary of.

Still, the odd looks given her way lingered in mind. Regarded as an oddity, and by the very sort whom elected to play silly tavern games with their gold. Despite her love of coin, she did not desire to play in the slightest. Besides, one of them was clearly better than the rest, and she stood accused of foul play.

Was she cheating? Probably; it’s what Azlat would have done were she the sort to sit with such churlish company and gamble away her coin. And of course, there was no need to even get caught in the act of cheating for accusations to come forth, for they were quite open that it was delivered blindly. Why didn’t they simply slay her and retrieve their gold from the girl’s corpse, Azlat wondered. Law and order had left these lands some distance ago, but clearly control had not; the witnessed events hinted that someone held it, and their grip on it must be firm.

A deal? Was this whole thing some sort of salesman’s trick? Was he taking advantage of the given news of riches lying in wait, only as a lure to deliver some sort of sales pitch en masse? It was the first she’d seen anything of the sort, and she was already convinced that the types to resort to such means well deserved to be strung up.

Whether it was the case or not, she seemed beholden to give her attention to the speaking wretch. She’d already given their authority one unwitting challenge, and was well aware of the particular brand of diplomacy they employed.

With a sour and unchanging expression, she turned her gaze to the speaking one. She gave neither verbal nor gestured response to it, but merely watched on stone-faced in waiting for whatever words would follow.

 

[Urchin]

Yes, Oalrig the orc had certainly done his job well tonight. He'd sent many new and interesting faces in the direction of the Hag's Head tavern and all of whom had either been so intimidated or intrigued that they had headed there without a fuss. Yes, with an orc that size, when given the option between the "easy way" and the "hard way", there were precious few who would be stupid enough to opt for the hard way... Tonight though, it looked like he'd found one such idiot.

Rather than being directed to the doors of the Hag's Head as the other current patrons had been, Urchin was physically thrown through those doors, flying several feet above the air before crashing into a table, overturning it and scattering several cards and coins to the ground in the process. "Ow," he groaned as he painfully rubbed the back of his neck. He'd have some nasty bruises in the morning.

As the orc started heading towards him, Urchin held his hands up in a feeble attempt to protect his face, should the orc decide to make his point more clear. "Listen, I told ya, I weren't spyin'! I were scoutin'! Is a difference! Little guy like me comes ta a new place, 'e gotta scout the area, get the lay o' the land an' all that. Just wanted ta know the ins an' outs o' the place is all, so I'd 'ave somewhere ta run to if I got m'self in any trouble... Not that I came 'ere lookin' fer trouble or nuthin', I didn't!" he said, desperately attempting to smooth things over, and only seeming to make them worse.

As his eyes roamed desperately around the tavern for any help, his heart leapt when his eyes fell on his partner in crime. "Charity!" he called desperately to his bright haired, blue eyed friend. "Charity, please tell the nice orc that I ain't no spy!" Poor Charity. She couldn't leave the boy alone for five minutes without him getting into trouble. How she had the patience to deal with his antics, Urchin would never know.

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

The mist thickened.
A fog formed.
A rainbow emerged.
​

That was as he found, the best description for himself. A rainbow. And given the meteorological state of this downtrodden and miseries town, he figured it was about time something nice shined into this town With his footfall matching what one might call a rapid place the town grew in size, slowly it grew looming and forboding drowning out the upper skies as he reached the walls. He hadn't passed a single wandering soul so far, the mist spirits probably got them.

He came to the gates, they hanged open, only the guards standing at the gate as Farzad in halfway to a blur of motion gave them a nod, a tip of his spiraled hat. He could only imagine it was strange, the words, Mornin' followed by a tear of colour, a haunting light of a half-dozen soft-spoken runes splattered in it all for good measure leaving only steps. That was about the only human thing it left behind was the human footprints. And realizing this...

Farzad was pretty quick to find what he needed. A stopping point, but not one in the middle of town, those things get messy. What explaining yourself, magic the crowds. Really an ordeal and he wasn't about to assume these people were magic lovers. After all their library had only just re-opened. He couldn't imagine this high in the mountains and this far away from decent civilization would be all too thrilled by magic. They never were.

An alleyway.
​

It was perfect, dank, deep and nobody ever wandered into an alleyway. So as Farzad came to a stop, it felt as if reality was catching up, his bedecked rags and snags of clothing slowed down and snapped forward as a makeshift whip, before settling down next to him with pendulous motion, Farzad taking a seat on one of the crates to simply admire the... stone building in front of him. It was drab it stunk and he was quickly realizing it was residential and that at least two people were looking through peepholes. He gave an awkward smile and a wide handed wave. "Ah... I thought this... was industrial..." Farzad mused to himself, ruining his melancholic mood as he took back to the streets. If he was to guess this was the outer limits of the town, the gate was still within view, even if it was a little obscured by the thick condensation that latched to the town like a babe to a mother. Of course, the strange part was the guards that seemed to wander in large patrols around here.

Stranger was they headed his way...​

 

[Yffry]

The road was narrow. The rock formations made it perfect for an ambush.

Humans always assumed that every elf had to be hundreds of years old. That was not true. The world was a dangerous place and even making a full century could be a challenge.

Desmene wasn't old by elven standards. Her father, the great swordmaster, was a venerable elf. She was over three hundred and fifty years old, which was heading distinctly into middle aged and almost rare.

She had not survived this time, exploring ruins alone, by being ignorant of bandits and such simple dangers of the road.

Desmene rode a horse that was quick over short distances. Horses were expensive and many bandits ambushed on foot. A bit of distance was often enough to put them off. It came down to luck if you got caught by a pack of men with fully wound crossbows. She'd found that out the hard way.

A few times Desmene had thought she'd heard wagons as the wind changed. She wondered if bandits would try and take on a caravan for the reward, or a lone female rider for less risk.

The two stone towers might not have caught her attention as they loomed ahead, but the rope bridge between then and the silhouettes of guards definitely did.

 

[Roan Dorn]

A Tankard filled with ale, a frothy head spilling out over rim was thrust into his waiting hand and Roan without any hesitation would lift it to his mouth, press it to his lips and take a long pull from the vessel until the ale it contained started running down his chin. When he finally lowered the tankard its contents were almost emptied...

"Another."

...he'd have have side after wiping his mouth with his free hand. It was at this time that others would have entered the tavern as well. Roan had looked back over his shoulder noting an interesting ensemble coming inside. Urberus and the group of four that accompanied him. Roan had killed plenty of Orcs since he started venturing through the Spine but something about this Orc and the band he traveled with was different...

"This town might be more interesting than I thought."

...he stayed at the bar, waiting for his next tankard when the sound of Charity Briarthorne's voice as she denied accusations of cheating at a nearby table before moving to the bar and ordering the strongest ale the establishment offered. He'd chuckle briefly, turning his head towards her as she sat down from him at the bar and was prompted to make the offhand comment after hearing what she'd said loudly prior...

"No one upstanding drinks the strongest ale a place like this offers."

...a simple observation assisted by years of experience. Roan had seen a lot in his travels.

When the Elven figure, Gella Rerra his cheerful greeting Roan's posture straightened so that he could look at the man more closely. Narrowing his eyes briefly he'd have raised the tankard, emptying it of the remaining ale before leaving it on the bar while the Elf questioned them pleasantly about what brought them here...

"Rumors?"

...Roan might have heard something but he couldn't remember, most of the people he met on the road weren't keen for conversation with a stranger and he couldn't blame them. He could have went on and explained that he was just passing through but when the Elf called out to gain the attention of the others in the Hag's Head Roan remained silent, if there was money to be made here then he was willing to hear this man out.

 

[Charity Briarthorne]

Charity didn't bother to look up as a young man appeared from a room behind the bar. She didn't feel threatened by him in the slightest, but still something in the back of her mind kept insisting that he was dangerous and couldn't be trusted. Taking a long drink of her ale, Charity continued to ignore him as he greeted them.

The loud smashing of a glass that followed a few moments later caused her to glance up. The barkeeper was down on the floor holding his head, while the young man held the remains of the glass. "There's all the proof I need." she thought.

Suddenly, a familiar figure crashed through the front door followed by the large orc. Charity stifled a giggle as Urchin fearfully began to ramble on about how he wasn't a spy. "Serves him right." Charity laughed to herself. Had he learned nothing since they had begun working together? Still, she felt she had an obligation to help the poor boy.

Charity silently got up from her seat at the bar, and walked over to Urchin. "He's not lying. He really isn't a spy." she said to the orc as she hoisted the boy up by the collar. "We're nothin' but a couple of wanderers on our way through town." Dragging Urchin behind her, Charity returned to her seat and sat the boy next to her. She shot him a warning look that clearly said "Don't fuck this up." as she pushed what remained of her drink over to him.

 

[Urberus]

Hag's Head

​

Glass shattered in a sudden display of vicious violence.

"Oh my," tutted Urberus, looking from the barkeep laying on the floor to Gella Rerra who towered over him.

"Nice," said Rob Yew, the goblin. Then he spat a wad of phlegm onto the floor.

The others appeared unaffected. Cathair stared on with a look of perpetual boredom, while the Ox crossed thick arms and furrowed his dwarven brows. And Siege. Well Siege couldn't make expressions on account of being a walking magical construct.

Urberus' attention drifted as the doors burst open and a young boy's body tumbled in, which caused both the old orc's brows to lift. The boy started babbling about not being a spy.

"Classic spy talk," remarked Rob.

"Oh dear," sighed Urberus.

 

[Gella Rerra]

Osteriam Gates

Desmene
----------------------------

The pair of guards had already displayed their ineptitude in allowing the caravan and the robed male through the gates without any trouble, their constant brotherly bickering having distracted them quite fully from the duties which they'd been assigned. The argument had since simmered though, and the both of them now looked vigilantly down at the gates for any sign of further movement.

"Look! There's some lady on horseback coming right underneath us!" The younger one, Kleiton, was already far too eager to cause some trouble, his freshly sharpened knife tucked away in it's sheath and ready to be drawn against some new flesh. His brother held up a hand to him in warning. "Stop it. Look closer, she's armed too. Besides, our orders are to report arrivals to Gella, not attack them."

The younger human groaned, rolling his eyes at the constant buzzkill that was his older brother. Maybe Tyrion wanted to be a bootlicker for that wackjob of a boss, but Kleiton was sick of Gella's constant insults and threats. "No, to hell with that. I've been standing up here all day, and I've earned a bit of fun. You can twiddle your thumbs if you like, but I'm going for it."

Kleiton didn' t wait for his brother's response, reaching out and grasping one of the ropes they'd ran down the lengths of each tower for rapid descent, sliding down quickly towards the ground to meet the horse-mounted elf. He was followed close behind by Tyrion, seemingly unwilling to let his younger sibling throw himself into danger alone.

The two of them drew their weapons, one with anticipation and one with reluctance as they stood in the way of the approaching outsider.

"Sorry missy. No one's allowed in right now, what with all hubbub going on in town. How about you turn around and my brother and I don't cut you into little ribbons? Or maybe you have something to convince us to step aside."

Tyrion closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. Kleiton's intimidation tactics were near zero. It was no wonder he was assigned gate duty.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Osteriam Marketplace

Samara Asenta
-----------------------------

Suspicious eyes met the wagon entering Osteriam in short order, the already weary and uneased occupants of the city hadn't seen a caravan in one piece since Gella took de facto power of the town. Goods coming into the city would mean revenue and money that wasn't controlled by the Emeralds, and when the gang had their way, all the money in the city eventually found it's way to the Emeralds. Even so, the unkempt at best, malnourished and beaten at worst townspeople could not afford to stop selling what they were able to offer. The selling of personal wares was one of the few things that remained somewhat unrestricted and free by the oppressive group that loomed over them.

It almost seemed as though there was a period of delay between Samara entering the row of stalls and any pitches being made to her. The men running stalls transfixed by the mysterious allure of what little flawless skin could be seen with the cloak and worn clothing that she was garbed in. The women were suspicious of anybody wielding such beauty coming to a place like Osteriam of their own free will.

Then the dam broke, and voices from all sides would call to her, vying for her attention and business. More than a few of the stalls ran by men had little more than precious ore and iron tools. The stalls run by women carried what little crops could be grown in the harsh environment of The Spine. There were a few exceptions of course. One particularly well maintained and sleekly designed stall of smooth stone seemed to hold antiques and jewelry that shimmered with even the slightest bit of light, with a charming elf scanning through a book and making little attempt to catcall Samara to his wares behind it. Another outlier was a portly human woman, scooping colorful concoctions out of various large containers and into glass bottles atop her stall, which was really more of a table.

Finally, the loudest voice of all seemed to be from a Dwarven fellow near the back, standing atop the roof of his stall and holding up a sword. Except as he swung it too and thro, it seemed to bend...? Truly, there were strange and rare things to be found here, if one looked in the right place.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Alleyway

Farzad Oldsummer

-------------------------------

Perhaps none had drawn more attention to themselves than the eccentric Farzad Oldsummer. Unlike anybody else who had arrived in Osteriam that day, none could even make guess of his intent. Indeed, one might wonder if even Oldsummer himself knew what he was doing in the cursed mining town. Curious and confused gazes had followed him as he'd all but blazed past the Market, seemingly on a mission all his own and unknown to any but him.

Needless to say, having the man staring so intensely at the home of the local blacksmith served to make them all consider him possibly quite mad. The blacksmith's wife and daughter, gazing at him through the hole in the door, probably would have used more colorful terminology to describe the colorfully garbed fellow standing outside of their demesne.

However, it wasn't his odd behavior that the two men approaching him had taken notice of. Nor were they aiming to drag him to the Emeralds. No, these two figures, a man and a woman, wore armor on their bodies reminiscent of a local militia or security force. It wasn't the expensive material that Gella afforded his Emeralds, certainly.

"Excuse us, sir." The woman stepped forward, pulling the hood over her head down to let auburn locks free as she bowed her head respectfully. "Those clothes you wear... we were wondering if maybe you practiced magic? We've been hoping somebody proficient in the arcane would come to this town and help us..."


---Hag's Head Update coming after I take a nap soon--​

 

[Samara Asenta]

Samara slowly closed in on the marketplace and moved between the stalls even as most openly stared and contemplated her place among them. That their politics had left to question the fate of goods or transaction with the outside did not weigh upon her thoughts; for she was not presently aware of such. Though their lack of zeal at a new face said enough. After all, it was not a bustling center of activity for locals so they desired outsiders, but they didn't know quite what to do with them -- or, more to the point, they were deciding if she was one they sought for some purpose.

Mayhap it was merely her physical appearance. Samara slowly lifted a gloved hand to push the cowl back until it fell to her shoulders. The pointed ears of Elfkin immediately prominent among fine, brushed strands of hair. With the blindfold removed to better see this town, and her mask secured over a breast beneath her cloak, Samara's blue eyes regarded those momentarily stunned faces.

The people of this town were not ugly by any measure. Though it would be too kind to call their rugged beauty attractive. A few Humans would consider handsome or beautiful, no doubt. From their complexion, however, Samara questioned their over all health. While not skin and bones, they weren't gorging them selves on the finest or greatest quantity of foods.

All at once they seemed to break from a spell and began crying for her attention to barter or buy whatever was on display. Most of it was related to mining or harvest, both of which Samara had little value. Especially the latter. The people should see to their own needs with food as that only served Samara's need to feed upon healthy creatures. Malnutrition and disease tainted the blood.

Not all was for naught. A few stalls or vendors present were of note, and their wares might be of value. The one that drew the pale-dark skinned Elf in first was that of the book-reading jeweler. With everyone calling for attention they were the only one not only silent, but seemingly uninterested in whether someone stepped up to their table or not. The book also suggested a certain level of education.

"Fei'ir vee'ther lueth vesdrac," (fair weather and spirits) Samara said in a dark elven tongue to announce herself to the book-reading Elf. "How fares the town of late? I saw signs many like myself have come, though I cannot say I have seen them on the streets. Have they run off to the deep places of the realm already? A costly mistake to overlook what you have to offer, yes?" A smile graced her dark lips. Her eyes slid across the items on display curious if any would stand out as being more than a shiny bauble. Something magical, perhaps? A stone that could shine brightly with only a little light would be of value to others; though Samara wouldn't dismiss it out of hand. There were times she traveled in good company, and not all of them were creatures of darkness.

Gella Rerra

 

[Cantor]

Desmene was not the only traveler headed to Osteriam. Nor was she the only one who had noticed how well suited the pass was to an ambush. She did travel on a horse, which was useful in parts this remote, but also a show of wealth. Horses were expensive not only to acquire, but to feed and shoe after all. Such made her a target for any bandit with drunken ambition.

"I'm not sure that's necessary good sir." Cantor yelled at one Kleiton (Gella Rerra) as he tried to harass the elvish woman. He expected something like this. Cantor was a 'Broker of Aerin', a paladin for a goddess who took contracts from other gods, and some minor god of, well, mining had taken offense to some bandit beating a devout follow in the town of Ostriam. Or so Cantor had reasoned from his prayers.

"You see, the lady and I do have means of payment." He said as he drew closer to the gate as he drew something from his bag. He suspected the lady could handle herself, but he also knew the value of goodwill and a favor. His hand trembled a little and those with magical training would recognize he'd done something. In his hand appeared a ruby perhaps as wide a child's knuckle. Not an extravagant display in his hometown of Alliria, but quite a statement in the remote parts of Arethil.

Those with magical sight or means to dispel illusions however, would know the ruby was a simple rock. Those without such means would also recognize it as a rock in about thirty minutes. It was a gamble to be sure, but Cantor had pulled it off more than once talking with small-time bandits terrorizing the remote hundred-man towns he'd passed through before.

"I trust this will be sufficient for our passage, and your discretion?" He said, attempting to buy the men's silence as well. Taking down bandit troupes was far simpler when you could start from the top. Cantor found that killing leaders scared and disbanded the common rabble, but killing the common rabble only served to piss off the higher ups.

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

There was a pause to Farzad, the only motion for a second was the bead of sweat that was rapidly developing in the cool mist. And as it mad its first creeping motion downwards so too was Farzad a fluster of motion, quickly barreling his quarterstaff behind his back as he adopted the 'innocent' posture. He was simply glad he had his porcelain mask on and couldn't be called out by any debt collectors. At least, as far as he thought. He was rather distinct by any measurement. Most wizards weren't so garish, most peasants weren't so well-spoken and most rainbows had a sense of order about themselves. And of all those things. Most didn't tend to glow magic. Not magically. That was the distinction.

"I'm innocent. And it was my evil twin Steven you are looking for."
​

He was rather quick on the draw in his rebuttal, hands quickly flashing back and forth as the lass pulled up their hood and explained a little more, thankfully ignoring Farzad's reply. "Oh. Well then good. You have found the best in the business." He was rather boastful, he had a certain swagger most Wizards didn't regard, bombastic energy that the stickups and studious lacked, and as Farzad took a half turn on a heel, his Quarterstaff dropping for a half-second before he picked it up with a flourish and started to walk with it as naturally as a bird to fly and a fish to swim he proved at the very least, to have what most people lacked.

Style
​

Or at the very least confidence. He started to move with a puppeteer's motion. When his left leg moved forward, so too did his left arm. And with his right side the same. It was lame. It was terrible and overall it was disarming to see. "Also wanna say. If this is me getting robbed. Loving it~" He continued on with an almost melodic tune, "So polite. Don't get that anymore with bandits, thieves, and Neerdowell. Too often going straight for the throat." He stopped in his step, an awkward pang to his voice, "Uh... Where are you taking me?"

 

[Yffry]

Cantor Gella Rerra

Desmene had her left hand at her belt when another man came up behind them. She always had two purses. A small one on the left, opposite side to her sword, and the larger one well out of sight. Looking at the two guards ahead of her she had suspected that a few coppers would have done the trick.

She hadn't inhereted her father's ability to look down his nose at humans. Sometimes she was forced to wonder why.

Her gaze turned to the obviously illusionary ruby. A handful of silvers likely would have been more than the two guards had ever been paid and he was offering a rock equal in value to a small fiefdom.

It seemed brash and over the top and she had to wonder how long the spell would last. Still, the guards might just have been stupid enough to fall for it.

 

[Gella Rerra]

The Hag's Head

Charity Briarthorne
Urchin
Azlat Ushus
Roan Dorn
Urberus

-------------------------------------

Gella stood over the cowering bartender who'd taken the brunt of his frustration for the day, tilting his head down at the bleeding old man as he clutched the wound on the side of his head. There was no remorse in Gella's eyes, only satisfaction as he watched Seilas squirm and try to hide from him. This is what he lived for, being above another man, to watch them writhe beneath him like sad little worms. Gods, it made his blood feel like it had been set aflame. The thin half elf shivers at the sensation, before delivering a swift kick to the already wounded man. "You really think I wouldn't notice you taking home ale? You know what I do to people who steal from me, Seilas..." He all but purred down at him as he lifted his boot to bring it down on him again, standing with one foot on his chest as he turns to his new found audience.

He watched as Oalrig chased in another new face, some scrawny runt that seemed to know the blond girl with the scheming eyes. How interesting... He seemed nothing but a little coward, but he saw potential in the woman. With a sly smile, he crooned over at Charity with a playful lithe to his voice. "He's with you, sneak-hand?" He addressed her as such in agreement with the other fellow at the bar's assessment of her, before nodding towards Oalrig. "You're dismissed, Oalrig. I'll deal with the runt of the litter myself."

He shot Urchin a menacing little grin before hopping up on top of the bar, his boots thudding against the surface. All eyes on him, just the way he liked it. "Allow me to introduce myself formally to you all. My name is Gella Rerra, owner of the Hag's Head and leader of our little family here, The Jagged Emeralds." He took a small, dramatic bow before continuing...

"Now, to business! I assume most of you are here because you've heard the rumblings, right?" He spoke as he hopped off the bar to the other side, grabbing a chair and dragging it to a table to sit and put his boots up, leaning back in the chair until it rested on it's back legs. "This little shithole of a town is built on top of some massive caverns, and maybe, just maybe, you've been told there's something real worthwhile down there. Some people have been making noise, claiming they've found an abandoned civilization or something of the sort. Now, I don't know anything about that..." He shrugs his shoulders, playing coy. "But hey, maybe there is! Maybe there's an entire city down there, just waiting to be explored and plundered. I'm just as curious as all of yo, really! That's why I've had you sent to me, I'd like to offer you a place within my happy little family."

That seemed to catch the attention of the other Emeralds in the room, as well as Oalrig. Mumbles began to spread across the room.

"Are we having inductions? Today?"

"Oh gods, I am not taking a shot at that gross goblin or his friends."

"Well, if that blonde lady joins up we'll at least have some eye candy. Maybe we'll teach her how to play without cheating."

"What about that one with the painted face? She looks strong."

"We just finished cleaning up after the last Induction Day!"

Gella's smile only grew with the increasingly tense mood of the room. His men and women knew what Induction Day meant, but these new arrivals had no idea. He spreads his arms, gesturing to some of his guests that had chosen the bar.

"Just look at the diversity we have here! A spunky woman with a little twig of a sidekick! I dunno what he does, but he could probably fit in tight spaces, so not totally useless! Then there's this gentleman here, I know the look in his eyes; you've seen things, haven't you!"

He then looks at those who sat at tables.

"You with the face-paint, oh I shiver just thinking about what you might be hiding! It's always the mysterious ones that show the most promise! And over there...!" He pauses, taking a rather bemused look at Urberus and his companions. "Well I'll be honest, I haven't the slightest clue what any of them are. They look strong enough though, don't they? My point is that with so many of us with such a diverse range of skills, it should be child's play to take the caverns and whatever lies inside for ourselves. No blood has to be spilled, and I can assure you that you'll all be handsomely paid. Oalrig! Bring me the bottle and 10 glasses!"

The orc seemed reluctant as he strode behind the bar, stepping over the shivering bartender to retrieve the bottle hidden somewhere near the floor. It was unbranded, save for a drawing of an emerald on it's otherwise blank label. With that bottle, he also used his large hands to collect 10 shot glasses, bringing them all to the table Gella sat at.

"This is what I'm going to do. There are 9 of you here, if I'm counting correctly. I'm going to pour you each a shot of this liquor, and one for me. If you accept my offer, and wish to join me in my 'expedition' in the caverns tomorrow morning..." He had already begun pouring the glasses full as he spoke, arranging them in a circle on the table. "Then toast with me and down your shot. If not, stay right where you are or leave. It matters little to me."

He finishes pouring, setting the bottle aside and raising his own glass up. "Take your time, of course. I'm certainly not rushing any of you. You may have questions, and you may feel free to ask away..."

​

 

[Urchin]

Charity silently got up from her seat at the bar, and walked over to Urchin. "He's not lying. He really isn't a spy." she said to the orc as she hoisted the boy up by the collar. "We're nothin' but a couple of wanderers on our way through town." Dragging Urchin behind her, Charity returned to her seat and sat the boy next to her. She shot him a warning look that clearly said "Don't fuck this up." as she pushed what remained of her drink over to him.

Urchin breathed a heavy sigh of relief when Charity came to his rescue. Just in time, that orc looked like he was just about ready to snap his neck in two. "Thanks Charity, yer a right peach, ya know that?" She knew. Urchin had probably told her that about a million times by now.

Safe at Charity's side (for now) Urchin took this opportunity to look around the tavern and gather what information he could... And he had to admit to himself, this was by far the most dark, depressing, sordid little spot he'd ever had the misfortune of stumbling into. Never before had he set eyes on a more intimidating bunch of cutthroat villains in his life. And he'd grown up in the shallows!

Asides from himself and Charity, Roan Dorn was probably the most 'normal' looking of the bunch. A bit rough around the edges perhaps, but no more so than most of the soldiers or sailors he'd find stumbling around the dockside taverns. He had the look of one who'd had a fiery temper in his youth, but had mellowed out with age and was now wise enough to know not to go looking for trouble where it wasn't needed.

Unfortunately, that was were any semblance to your average crowd ended. Azlat Ushus, while rather stunning in her own, unique way, was coated in strange painted markings that placed her in one of two categories in Urchin's mind. Either these were tribal markings and the paint had a significant cultural value to her, or she was part of some bizarre cult that probably sacrificed children to their ten headed God. Either way, Urchin imagined that it would be best to keep his guard up around her, lest he inadvertently offend her in some way or other... After all, Urchin did have a unique talent for inadvertently offending people.

Then there was the group of five, which were probably the single creepiest group of people that Urchin had ever seen. Even the elf looked intimidating. That, combined with the scarred and bloodied dwarf, the man who could be concealing absolutely anything behind that metal mask, the grim little goblin and the ancient orc with a rather viscous looking creature perched on his shoulder... These were certainly a crowd that Urchin had no intention of getting on the bad side of. Probably best to avoid them all together.

And then, of course, their was Gella Rerra. The owner of this charming establishment, along with all his little minions. He certainly wasn't the ugliest or most monstrous of the bunch, and yet Urchin had the feeling that this was the man he should be most afraid of. There was something about him... A hollowness. An emptiness of soul that the boy had learned to recognize over the years. The look of a man who cared for nothing and no one but himself. One who lusted for wealth and power, who desired more than this world had to offer and would destroy anyone who got in his way... Sweet Gods above, what the hell had he gotten himself into?

When Gella gave his little speech, Urchin wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved to discover that the man clearly felt little of him. Still, he felt it best to roll with the punches and make the most of the roll that had been assigned him. "Oh yeah, I can get anywhere me. Not a scrap o' meat on me, an' I can climb like a bastard, so I can get pretty much anywhere. Figured an' old abandoned cavern would 'ave lots o' tight corners what a little guy like me could squeeze into." Yes, Urchin would certainly be in his element for this job. Whilst every organization needed it's share of big, heavy muscle, a job like this needed the touch of tiny fingers. An ancient cavern that was most likely caved in in multiple places... Well, there'd certainly be places where only a scrawny lad like him could explore... Depending of course on how well trained Urberus's monkey thing was.

And then came the moment of truth... Gella Rerra placed ten shots of Gods knew what on the table and suggested they drink if they were willing to join him. While Urchin was certainly not the type to turn his back on a treasure hunt, he couldn't shift the feeling that he'd gotten himself in over his head this time, and this was all going to end very, very badly. He particularly didn't like the way that some of the Emeralds were looking at Charity. Being a beautiful woman was probably they greatest curse a human being could receive in this world. Luckily Urchin had made the very wise decision to be a scrawny little runt of a boy and didn't have to deal with these kind of creeps. Charity on the other hand... She was a very beautiful young woman in a nest of depraved men. Urchin didn't like it. Not one bit. Of course, he was completely devoted to the girl and would protect her with everything he had, but... Well, in terms of weapons and physical strength and skill, he didn't have much. Especially against a crowd like this.

Still, he wasn't in charge of the operation. When it came down to the decision of whether or not to join the expedition, Urchin deferred to Charity, looking over at her to see if she would drink. And while deep down he hoped she'd give this job up and go home, he thought he already knew what her answer would be.

 

[Azlat Ushus]

Such a decrepit hole this place was. Leave ruling to the merchant class, and this is what you get; a bunch of low-lives continuing on in their chase of coin, none of whom knew truly what to do with it. Doubtful this lot made offerings of gold to their own gods, nor did it seem likely that they put it to use strategically. If she had to guess, most of the wealth that flowed through this place simply ended up being spent upon whatever foul vices these miscreants desired.

Such a waste of both gold and society, but an opportunity for Thagretis. Were Osteriam a true kingdom, looting it would be a farfetched notion. But this was a den of unsavoury criminals; Thagretis’ knights would have little trouble wresting possession of the supposed hoard as they would have from a locale more fortified. While the Jagged Emeralds had made very sure to check over individual travellers, she doubted they could do much against an army’s approach.

And soon enough, he began to speak of the very assumptions he had his goons affirm upon her arrival. So it was then; adventurers were the types they had been searching for, and said search had clearly turned up quite a few. Silently, she mused that anyone who had arrived for any different stated purpose was likely not needed – and by now very likely dead. But an answer found begot another question in need of one. If gathering gold-plundering adventurers had been his doing, Azlat could only wonder why and for what purpose.

Still, she listened with focused intent for any further information on the rumoured repository of riches. Ever so slightly, she leaned forward in her seat with interest – but while Gella made eventual mention, he annoyingly stopped short of confirming the rumours. Perhaps little more than a ploy on his part, designed to bring in unsuspecting individuals such as they.

He further offered a chance to join his family – Azlat’s eyes subtly narrowed at the mention of such a thing. It was an offer of enlistment tossed in front of her face, and one she didn’t care for. Identified as the one whom wore face paint, he could only describe her further as ‘mysterious’. None here knew the name Thagretis, it seemed. If they knew nothing of her markings, they knew nothing of the city and would not see their forces coming. It was the best time to strike, before knowledge of their kingdom and intentions became widespread.

As the silver tongued Gella’s spoken observations continued on, Azlat made no response; her unchanging expression giving not even a gesture. Agreement to his terms would be conveyed through a 'toast', whatever that implied. The formalities of the northerners was beyond her; while she watched Gella for any social cue, none seemed apparent. He merely raised the glass up before continuing on, leaving her in wonder of what the implied gesture to be made even was.

She looked at it, swirling the liquor in the glass some. By the smell of it, it was strong enough to be flammable. Knowing little else to do, she took the glass and gulped the contents into her mouth.

Then, with focus and divine power granted of her own draconic lineage, Azlat spewed the liquor forth in a brief but brilliant jet of white flame; concluding the display with an unenthused sigh. The surprised and strange looks shot her way implied that she has gotten something quite wrong in the process of cultural translation; so long as he regarded it as a sign of acquiescence, it did not matter. She had agreed to….whatever this motormouth proposed. He was likely lying to her, but it was of little concern.

She was hardly truly cooperative; she simply needed to confirm the gold’s presence and location, not join this assumed family of junkies.

Such a miserable place.

 

[Charity Briarthorne]

Charity rolled her eyes at Gella's grandiose speech. "Fuckin' showoff," she spat quietly but just loud enough for Gella to hear. From her experience, men like him needed to be the center of attention, and it annoyed her to no end.

She turned around as she heard Gella set glasses out on the table. Now that she got a good look at him, she couldn't stop a light blush from appearing on her cheeks. The feeling Charity had gotten from him had given her the mental image of a scarred man with a hard face. But the man in front of her was the complete opposite. Charity would even dare to say that he was one of the handsomest men she had met.

As Gella continued his speech, Charity had to keep reminding herself that he was a dangerous man and probably evil to boot. Besides, it seemed like she could have any man she wanted in the tavern by the way they were hungrily looking at her. Charity smiled sweetly at a few of them nearby, but the smile had a dangerous undertone just daring someone to make a move on her.

Charity glanced over to Urchin when Gella invited everybody to drink and join his "family". A slight frown crossed her face as she saw his questioning look. Charity knew the boy trusted her with his life and trusted her not to put him in too much danger. But she also knew that the people would be suspicious of them after Urchin repeatedly said he wasn't a spy. They would need to prove that they were serious about joining the Emeralds.

She gave Urchin a small apologetic smile, and picked up a glass. "I have no idea what you've been blabbering on about but what the hell. I never turn down a free drink!"

Charity gulped down the strong liquor, hoping she had made the right decision and hadn't endangered Urchin.