Crawl (Open)

[Thorston Shale]

The next morning Thorston awoke more refreshed then he could ever remember and stretched luxuriously amongst the old sheets and creaky bed. He threw the sheets off of him and swung his legs over just in time to hear an alarming loud creak come from the wood underneath him before something snapped and he was dumped unceremoniously onto his face as the side of the bed collapsed. Rubbing his sore but unbroken nose he climbed to his feet and inspected the damage to find a crossbeam had failed, the magically aged wood finally giving out after granting him a single night of restful sleep. He growled under his breath as he stood up but patted the footboard in thanks once as he put on his boots sans any pants. Unfortunately with only a single shirt surviving the years the only pair of pants Thorston had had been thrown out the day before and he no intention of retrieving them, if they were even there. He sinched his belt tightly above his hips and followed by pulling on his boots, throwing away any concern about what people would see under the long hem of his shirt.

He went downstairs and stopped in the kitchen only to look around and see that there wasn't a spec of food anywhere he could see. Rifling through the various cabinets resulted in nothing more then dust and ashes and his rumbling stomach pushed him to make a decision quickly. "Where in the gods hairy ass holes can I find food in a city like this?" Thorston growled to himself. "And pants, definitely needing some more clothes."

Without knowing exactly what else was out in the city the only thing he could do would be to slap on his mismatched armor and head out to investigate. "Maybe Market Street has some street vendors, even thieves have to eat." he muttered to himself. Not able to come up with a better idea the dwarf slapped a surly look on his face and set out into the morning sun, one hand clamped firmly on the hilt of his blade and trying to summon up an aura of malice.

 

[Crimson]

Springtime in Imperia was delightful.

The dwarf reasoned that if not for the stench of unwashed bodies and charred meat, the marketplace might even start to become gentrified in the next decade or so. Nobles were always buying up downtown areas and turning shoppes into condos.

Following his nose (and his grumbling stomach), Thorston easily found a hawker selling skewered cow stomach, strips of wild game meat, and deep fried day-old chicks. A group of hard-looking humans were eating and talking loudly in a circle. By the condition of their mismatched armor and terrible personal hygiene, the dwarf might bet that they were sellswords. He overheard as much as he approached.

One of the men, a fellow with a crooked nose and a freckled face was complaining about their next mark.

"These lordlings always trying to kneecap each other", Freckles groaned. "What's it now? Someone called his sister a whore or summat?"

The two other mercs snorted with laughter. A second man, this one blonde and wearing a dented breastplate shook his head.

"Nah, this one's from the Guild -- direct!", Blondie insisted. "Business matters, probably. Some merchant from Arium." The hedge knight patted the short sword stowed on his belt. "Probably traveling with protection."

"Pay seems fair", agreed the third man. He was Arkamatan with deep ebony skin. He carried a dirk and a quartet of throwing knives strapped to various sheaths along his thighs. "Reasonable." He flashed a toothy grin and a knowing look at his companions.

Some distance away, Thorston saw another group of figures. They were not as talkative as the mercs. The quartet wore light leather armor and dark cloaks. They were huddled together, seated on stools around a makeshift canteen where a handful of cethars -- male and female -- were dashing in and out of the lingering crowds, delivering mugs of ale and plates of bread and cheese.

Objectives: Eat with the Mercenaries OR Eat with the Dark Cloaks You may only select one. This choice is not reversible.

 

[Thorston Shale]

Thorston looked back and forth trying to decide which vendor to buy food from and couldn't help but overhear the loose lips of the mercenaries bantering amongst each other with nary a care in the world that their words might be turned into weapons. He snorted to himself at their lack of professionalism and headed over to the cether canteen and sat on a stool very close to the dark cloaked figures, nodding wordless at one of them before turning and yelling towards the area where food was being prepared in the native language of the halflings. "Oi, food and something rich to drink if ye please!"

The dwarf was familiar with the cether language because the shorter races tended to congregate in the same areas within human cities. While Thorston himself hadn't known too many of them he found he liked the often garrulous jokesters and admired their ability to be able to move easily through any social circle. "Hmm after food, pants." he growled to himself softly while crossing his arms and looking around the street. It was clear the mercenaries didn't care who overheard them so he could keep one ear in their direction while sneaking side glances at the much closer group of silent and cloaked individuals.

 

[Crimson]

A nearby halfling bowed and quickly scurried away to fetch Thorston his drink. Meanwhile, the dwarf saw the sellswords pay for their food and loudly go their merry way.

When his drink (and food) arrived, Thorston was surprised when the cethar mentioned that his meal was already paid. The round-faced serving boy nodded toward the group of cloaked men. One of the figures, a half-elf with sharp features and almond eyes inclined his head toward the dwarf when their gaze met.

"Dem's says da guild lookin' for translators," said the boy in cetharspeak to Thorston. "Heard us talk. Askin bout's you's."

"It's Always the Quiet Ones" Secret Achievement unlocked.​

 

[Thorston Shale]

"Is he now?" Thorston responded in cetherspeak before taking a long draw of the beer. What followed was an almost orgasmic bubbly sensation in his mouth, the earthy and heady aroma trickling up into his nose as his mind was almost overwhelmed by the taste. "Unhh...by the gods I missed this."

Without waiting for another word the dwarf tore into the simple meal with abandon, ignoring the crumbs that fell into his lap. When he got near the end of the food he motioned for more to be brought to him as well as another mug of the simple beer and did not feel full until he polished that last speck of cheese off of the second plate. With mug in hand Thorston pushed away from his table and meandered over to the table where the half-elf had nodded to him. While pulling up a stool he says "So the boy says ye be wanting for a translator? The trade tongue not enough to run things?"

 

[Crimson]

After Thorston's hearty meal, he approached the cloaked figures and took a nearby stool.

The half-elf regarded him with a bemused expression, his gaunt features made him look like a smiling skeleton. The dwarf easily spied knives inside the folds of their cloaks, including black boiled leather and riding pants. The second figure seated on Thorston's left side was a bald Kemite with a goatee; the third a female Pale Elf and the fourth was a bearded human with auburn curls.

This was no gathering of poets and local goths.

"That's I told the halfling at least", replied Half-Elf in his soft tenor. "In truth, we need someone of your ...stature." He looked between his other companions and the four Dark Cloaks exchanged a knowing look. "You interested? Guild work."

"Nothing personal. Just a quick smash and grab. We have horses. Our 'translator' got cold feet."

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