Oé-Lek. A city on the Southwestern Coast of Silvour...
Salt-lined, lazy wind breezed through the port-lit by the dawn sun-causing signs advertising a range of shops and taverns to swing and creak. The harbor district of Oé-Lek was not a pretty place, but at such a time of day one may be tricked into a sense of contentment, but one doomed to be lost once you looked down and found your belt-pouch missing.
Not that many thieves would dare steal from a wizard. An eladrin wizard, no less. Perhaps that is why she strolls so comfortably and inquisitively throughout the near-empty streets, seemingly unfeeling of the chilled air her dress and cloak could not possibly protect her against sufficiently. Eladrin. Once you've seen a cold day in the Feywild, there's not much the Common Realm can throw at you. Or maybe it's about being a wizard...certainly it's no secret, what with the inscribed staff, the lack of any visible weapon and the unusually large assortment of tools and components kept in an equally great assortment of compartments.
The wizard, Jenra by name, never failed to be surprised at the smell of the ocean, though, but had come to terms with it being just one thing she must get used to; In the Feywild, the waters smelled sweet, not salty. As the eladrin wandered, seemingly aimlessly throughout the area-a strange pastime for an eladrin-she absently took to mind the various streets and landmarks. "Platinum Dirt road", was the name of the street she walked now, and the signs and constant background noise from behind closed doors described most of the buildings on this row as being taverns, in some manner of speaking or another..
Jenra did not turn instantly, recognizing the sound correctly as nothing more than a wooden door hitting the wall it's hinged on as if pushed open with too much force.
"Well I'm sorry that you think that, had I known-" The voice, a human voice of a surprisingly elequent accent certainly not borne from Silvour, was cut off almost immediately as he was practically harried out of the "Two Silvers" Inn.
"-that I had a wife and children, and as such was rather attached to my life? Go find some other madman to take you up on your offer. I'm a mercenary, not a fool." That voice was more clearly from someone around this country, the accent of one whom grew up in Lek. Another human.
*SLAM* The door slammed shut again, and Jenra turned to look with interest at the well-spoken foreigner. Having not recognized the only other person on the street, the foreigner appeared to be grimacing, praying to himself as he looked at the Tavern in...
[[Information Gained from: Passive Insight]]
Regret? Regret or worry, Jenra decided, taking a better look at him.
His clothes were of a fine make, and unhindered by armour-a strange show of confidence in such an area. A pale blue overcoat of some tough material, over more fragile silver tinted silk, and dyed red leggings. A single, sheathed heavy-rapier, almost a short sword, was attached to his belt, but no other weapon of self defense was seen.
[[Information Gained from: Passive Arcana]]
Not that he needed any other weapons. Jenra could detect the traces of Arcane Magic around the man, as though through a sixth sense. They weren't powerful, so she doubted he was an actual wizard or sorceror, but perhaps something more...subtle, a dabbler in magic. Perhaps some kind of scholar? A swordmage? A bard?
"Avandra pity my misfortune in this land, and grant me greater luck in my future travels..." The man prayed quietely, but easily audibly, before turning to look at Jenra, finally. It wasn't hard to see how she gained his attention, Eladrin tend to generate interest, even so close to the City of Moonstair-so known for it's portals into the Feywild.
Something...strange came over his eyes as they widened. An emotion you can't tell at a glance. Suddenly he smiled the geniune smile of a man of goodwill, and approached the eladrin before bowing, holding out a hand much like one would to a noblewoman, with the expectation of taking and kissing the woman's fingers delicately.
"Forgive my forwardness. I am Tryaen Creek, scholar of Arvale. I did not expect to see an Eladrin on the coast. May I presume you to be a wizard? I find myself in dire need of someone of magical prowess..."
[[GM'S NOTES: Okay, and now it's time for gamergirld20 to take the lead. I won't make notes like these in the future, that's what the Q&A thread is for. However, I would like to point out now that the "Information gained from:" sections for passive skill checks are normally not going to be mentioned. I have only put them in as examples for what checks will show, and normally I would write them as Private Messages to the group members who noted them (who are, of course, not allowed to share this information amongst themselves unless publicly on the thread as character speech).
Also, you may want to see the "lore" thread, found in the recruitment section (or linked to the Parent Thread of this), if you want to know of "Arvale" or even learn a bit about this...Tryaen Creek. Not that your characters are likely to know of him specifically, unless they were interested in studies of the Common Realm.]]
Posted on 2011-04-07 at 12:36:37.
Edited on 2011-04-07 at 12:38:56 by Celtia
Lights on, curtain up, I've forgotten my lines so I'm gonna do improv
Jenra breathed in deep, smelling the salty air rising from the ocean. The human world was so different from her old home. Such differences though were why she was here. The elders were wrong. There is much to learn from the younger race. Jenra poked her face into a vendor’s window. Those shoes are cute. She skipped further along the streets. It was a pretty day. Few clouds dotted the air, but the sun seemed to be keeping it’s warmth to itself. The cold didn’t bother Jenra overly much. It wasn’t comparable to a cold day in her native lands. Besides one never learns anything if they let minor things like temperature deter them. Jenra turned down a street, Platinum Dirt Road, it was where the gate guard had said most of the inns and taverns were. Jeremy had said that adventure was most likely to be found in an inn or tavern, and if it wasn’t there then someone who knew where to find it would be. Jenra stood for a minute staring down the street. But which one? They all looked pretty much the same, a sign dangling from a pole in front with one animal or another painted on it and a few drunks coming in and out. Not the most appealing of places to be sure, but Jeremy said they were the place to join adventuring parties, and he was the professional.
*SLAM* A door banged open on one of the taverns. Probably a drunk. Jenra thought Well since they all look the same I suppose one will be as good as the other. She almost simply stepped around the two humans having their disagreement when she couldn’t help but over hear their conversation.
"-that I had a wife and children, and as such was rather attached to my life? Go find some other madman to take you up on your offer. I'm a mercenary, not a fool." The voice obviously belonged to a local whereas the person he addressed was equally obviously not local. The local slammed his way back into the tavern leaving the foreigner on the street alone.
What sort of offer was so insane that it would prompt someone to escort another outside of a public establishment? Jenra looked at the foreigner. He was an interesting fellow. He stood staring after the other man with a look of regret. Regret or worry. Jenra thought noting the way his brow knotted. He was a slightly well dressed man which immediately gave him marks in Jenra’s consideration since most of the humans of this port town were dressed much as one would expect a working man to be dressed. It wasn’t that Jenra disapproved of the practical way a working man dressed but she had noted that the working man was slightly undereducated and her encounters with superstition amongst humans didn’t rank highly on her reasons to like humans list. The man carried a small sword that looked as though finesse was more valuable in its wielding than strength would be.
Not that he needs any other weapon Jenra thought as she watched him. There was something about him that bespoke of magic. It wasn’t the mastered level of magic that even a young wizard such as Jenra exuded but there was definitely some magic easily detectable about the man.
"Avandra pity my misfortune in this land, and grant me greater luck in my future travels..." The man prayed quietely, but easily audibly, before turning to look at Jenra, finally. It wasn't hard to see how she gained his attention, Eladrin tend to generate interest, even so close to the City of Moonstair-so known for its portals into the Feywild.Definitely worry, but not so dire Jenra decided as the man walked up to her. He seemed to come to a decision and judging from the encounter Jenra had just observed it wasn’t hard to determine the sort of decision he might have come to. He thinks I’ll be his fool that the other man wouldn’t
"Forgive my forwardness. I am Tryaen Creek, scholar of Arvale. I did not expect to see an Eladrin on the coast. May I presume you to be a wizard? I find myself in dire need of someone of magical prowess..."
I guess he was right. The idea that this man needed someone of magical prowess was almost an unspoken promise of magical secrets being revealed in the midst of whatever quest he was proposing. Of course it may have just been a line since it wasn’t exactly difficult to determine Jenra’s interests, but she’d come for a quest and now one was being presented to her. Sometimes being just naïve enough to buy a line led to a good time.
Jenra extended her hand allowing this charming scholar to kiss it. “I am Jenra, and yes I am a wizard. How may I aid you?”
Posted on 2011-04-09 at 02:12:18.
Edited on 2011-04-09 at 03:49:31 by gamergirld20
Lifting her hand to his face, the scholar gracefully brushed his lips across the profferred hand of the Eladrin, delicately releasing her hand afterwards. His eyes glinted with good humor, and appeared to be in his prime years, between 2 and 3 decades of age, as Jenra thought of age in.
"Jenra. A lovely name. I fear you think me a con artist of sorts, but I assure you that is not the case. Perhaps I had better explain, as I'm sure you did not just see me at my best..." Tryean spoke, once again his accent weighing his words slightly, at least to Jenra's ears. He gave her a smile, one as if holding some kind of sadness behind it.
"I am writing a book, you see, or at least a collection of notes. I seek to detail the Common Realm as best as possible, with it's histories and cultures, or at least within the Scarred Continents. I am unsure as you would have heard the area referred to as such, but it is a fitting title to the lands in this part of the realm. Indeed, that is why I am at Silvour, but my time here is over.
Silvour is a mapped nation, and one assured of it's history. The Western Continent still seeks unity and trade within itself, but cartographers have been attempting to map it for decades.
But there are other continents. To the far, far south...perhaps you have heard of Rog? It is a land cut off for hundreds of years, scoured by plague and war. An apparently barbaric land of orcs, ogres, gnolls, goblins... But I have it on good authority that the land is far safer than it seems. Few are willing to join this possibly perilous expedition, but...I have come across funding regardless.
I have found a crew for a ship, and a variety of mercenaries and other hired aid. I seek to travel there to find and see for my own eyes what has become of such a land. This is not for treasure or riches, but knowledge. What if we could make allies with tribes there? The possibilities of a whole new continent...why not expand our horizons?
That said, this expedition will stop at many places along the way to the continent, the entire journey will take well over a year to reach there, and who knows how long we'll be there for, but at our stops along the way I hope to fill more spaces on the ship. But we lack a wizard of any arcane war magic, something essential in the case of pirates along with many other threats. Many talents of an arcane wizard would be useful-my own Bardic talents are limited at best, and the only other mage we have is a Psion. A mighty one at that, but one with poor control of his own abilities.
If you're interested...I can promise you will be fed for the duration of the expedition you will always have a place to sleep. Your pay will be a total of one platinum once the ship leaves the dock, and another three once we reach Rog. With bonuses for unexpected occurences..." The scholar trailed off, sounding as if this was far from the first time he had spoken the entire deal, as he looked at you inquisitively-looking like he expected return questions rather than an answer.
Jenra had to stop herself from reacting visibly in surprise... Four platinum was what a travelling merchant would earn in a *decade* in Silvour, and that was a dangerous enough job as it was considering bandit attacks. Four platinum would be enough to buy a farm and livestock, or else a house and start a family business, in human terms. The name "Rog" was unfamiliar to her, though...Actually, she didn't know much of the Western Continent, either.
As the strange man's lips brushed against her hand Jenra felt a flutter of excitement. Tryean's words flowed heavy with accent but it was a charming accent and Jenra found that she wanted to listen to more of it and to dissect the speech patterns. Back home speech was musical but hearing an Eladrin speak was like hearing a robin sing, and all robin's sing the same song. Listening to the speech patterns in the material plane was like hearing a cacophony of birdsong. Tryean's speech was like listening to a macaw.
A quest of knowledge. Jenra thought with excitement. Is there any better reason to quest? And a quest of knowledge it would certainly be as Jenra had never heard of much of what he was talking of and what little she had heard of was more myth and legend and history than truth. She'd heard of goblins and orcs but never seen them. She'd heard of the Western Continent; great tales of human achievement but again she'd never been there. She'd never heard of Rog though. Even in Jeremy's tales of grand adventure, he'd never mentioned Rog. The opportunity to go somewhere so foreign was almost exactly what she was looking for. Surely they would have strange and new magics for her to discover and master. Jenra almost silenced the man and agreed to the terms of the journey just thinking of the possible discoveries, when he let slip the price he was willing to pay. Four platinum was a lot, and it would fund quite a few experiments Jenra wanted to try. It was certainly more than Jeremy ever made on his wild adventures. Though I must wonder what the other man knew that would make him turn down such an outlandish payout.
"I'll join your expedition." Jenra said attempting not to seem to eager. "Though I must wonder, if Rog is a land cut off, how do you know it is safer than it seems? Will this be an exploratory or diplomatic mission? Who will benefit from the knowledge we will gain on this mission?" The last question was the most important to Jenra. One of the biggest difference's between Eladrin and Humans was the duplicity of Humans. They were quite proven to be able to launch a worthwhile expedition that benefited some dark and nefarious organization. Jenra had sworn no matter what that her knowledge and power was not to be used for evil gains.
Posted on 2011-04-12 at 00:34:38.
Edited on 2011-04-12 at 03:16:46 by gamergirld20
The human's eyes lit up at Jenra's acceptance, relief practically emanating from him.
"Ah, indeed I am glad you asked," Tryean said. He certainly LOOKED glad; Jenra suspected he was one that would always be happy if he was talking about some scholarly pursuit or piece of history,"To begin, it is commonly established belief among historians that Rog has more or less been held at the mercy of the Shadar-Kai there, whom under the Raven Queen's authority have been keeping the entire continent in the grips of plague. However, I have spoken to two people who repute that. One is a Shadar-Kai priest herself, who assures me that they stopped the so-called 'cleansing' decades ago, and another is the most trustworthy being in the realm-an Angel, who has told me that the Raven Queen has far larger issues than keeping Rog almost devoid of life."
The human shrugged.
"Of course, old fears and legends weigh heavily on the minds of many. This is primarily diplomatic...though I use the term loosely. History of the continent brings me to believe that if we find living races there, our most likely welcome will be an arrow to the eye. Rog has always been an incredibly warlike continent, a whole land gripped in an undending, chaotic mindless battle that is almost impossible to comprehend...but that was hundreds of years ago, before the plague. Who knows what may have changed?" Tryean looked at the eladrin with respect at the final question, having to look up slightly to meet her eyes.
"And so you come to the most important question of all, who will benefit? I am a man of my word and my God, Sra-Amun the Protector, and I assure you that this expedition has only peaceful intents. Perhaps we may be able to give aid to the stricken continent? Certainly, though I understand many nations are not nearly so charitable, even small pieces of land may be traded to the benefit of both sides. But in many ways, I would hope that alleviating this burning curiousity of the land is reward enough, as long as we do no damage to the people there.
Mind you, I certainly know that some of our crew consider this little more than a treasure hunt. Some are in for the payment, some are in to prove something. One in particular is with us repaying a favour. Some are in for the curiousity and love of knowledge and adventure, of course. Isn't it exciting, not knowing what we could find?"
As Tryean finished his explanation, his expression changed into a somewhat sheepish grin, briefly turning his head from looking at the Eladrin.
"Forgive me, I am not overly accustomed to seeing the beauty of the Eladrin so close," he excused himself, before looking back at her, "Would you like me to show you our ship now, or later? You've come in at the last moment; we leave tonight, so I hope you don't have any outstanding business."
19/5/198 AW, or the 19th Day of Asten, Year 198 After the War. Four months and Four days since leaving the continent of Silvour.
The City of Arvale, The Western Continent.
Jenra's gaze swept over the sight before her, shocked. She had heard of the city of Arvale, certainly many in the crew had spoken at length of it, but she had relied too heavily upon the Common Races' tendency to exaggerate.
Stretching from one side of the great expanse of the great bay to the other, the ship was now perfectly situated to see the city at all corners as it drifted through the busy waters. The city stretched for dozens of miles, leagues, signficantly larger even than cities in the Feywild or Astral Sea, in many cases, normally an impossible feat for the Common Realm due to the prevalence of disease and sickness as well as the Common Races' vulnerability to such, and the speed in which they cause and spread it.
Tryaen Creek, the scholar and head of this expedition, had spoken with her - at length of course - about the famous city. It is home to some of the few remaining survivors of the God Wars in the Common Realm, an even that occurred almost two-hundred years ago, as well as the First Angel of the God Sra-Amun. Indeed, the entire city is built in his name, and is the center for his worship, as it grew en masse from the town in which both Sra-Amun was born as a mortal Dragonborn, and where he ultimately ascended to Godhood.
'The city of safety, of comfort, of joy and health' were Tryaen's praise of the city which he called home. Talking amongst the crew Jenra had gotten to know in the past four months - the first leg of her journey, and not a significant amount of time for an Eladrin - she had heard differing accounts on the city.
It was a city that promoted tolerance, and it's incredible population kept in health by one of the largest orders of Clerics in the Scarred Continents. It's defense force was more civilian in nature, taking care of legal matters, but Arvale's true power lay in its Paladins. Such numbers of Paladins and Clerics would drive the bravest of the cruel and evil away, though Arvale was not infallible.
Jenra went over all that she had learnt beforehand, looking around at this amazing city, noticing the two great towers of the city. If she recalled correctly, one was named "Bahamut's Rest", built on the site of an old great temple to the Dragon-God Bahamut and the residence of the First Angel. The other tower was simply a part of Sra-Amun's Great Temple, based upon where he entered and left the world as a mortal, residing there was the High Priest of Sra-Amun, a beloved Daeva veteran of the God Wars known as 'Devoted' by name.
"With any luck, we'll only be here for a week, tops. What in Actalieus' name is Tryaen getting at, spending half a year dragging me half way across the realm and then the cheek to drag me back again to where we started?" Snarled a tiefling who arrived to lean on the wooden rails of the deck beside the Eladrin. Jenra had avoided him whenever possible; the more she spoke to him the less she liked him.
The tiefling, a young twenty year old, went by the name of "Pity Fortune". A powerful Psion, and apparent friend or acquantance with Tryaen Creek since long before the actual expedition started, Pity was the only accomplished Mage of any sort on board before Jenra was hired. Rude, selfish and critical; if the arrogant Psion had any particular redeeming features, the Eladrin had yet to see them. Tryaen appeared to trust him, though.
Jenra grimaced inwardly, before replying calmly to the Tiefling. If they're going to be on the same ship together for another year at least, then she's going to have to get to know him at some point. May as well make conversation.
"I'm sure he has his reasons, and Wyrepynn's been agitated for most of the trip anyway, this might be a chance for him to let off some energy." Jenra replied quietly, mentioning the name of the Gnome on board the ship, another youth-an orphan-that Tryaen had picked up not all that long before Jenra herself, meeting him in Silvour.
"You think so, huh? He shouldn't have come if he didn't like travelling over the sea for long periods of time." Pity stated coldly, spitting over the edge of the ship. Jenra frowned, stopping herself from pointing out that the same could be said for him.
Jenra hoped they docked soon, or she found some excuse to politely leave the side of the incourteous Tiefling...
Posted on 2011-05-03 at 15:12:46.
Edited on 2011-07-09 at 17:49:31 by Celtia
A Half-Orc, a Tiefling and two humans walk into a room... The tiefling says to a human...
Arvale was unique in so many ways in terms of primarily Human or Draonborn cities. Celestia of the Common Realm, one might say - however innacurately. But there was one thing the City of Paladins had that was near identical to any other city in the Scarred Continents.
Loud, bustling and unclean, walking through the harbor can be a tiring journey however short the actual distance. One taking such a journey may be forgiven, though, for thinking the men too tired to even stand, lying against a wall, were beggars or homeless of some manner; poor and sickly. Of course, sickly beggars do have a worrying amount in common with sailors too drunk to stand...
And so it was not unusual to have two armed men shouting, laughing and jostling each other as they made their way across the street, ignoring any looks they were given and indeed everyone else in general. What was unusual about this particular duo, though, were a few things. Firstly, the fact that one was a Human and one clearly a Half-Orc. Secondly, both were talking loudly to each other in some form of Orcish, a strange and unusual tongue to hear in the city, and by a Human as well, no less.
Thirdly, they weren't actually drunk yet; something that was soon to be rectified considering their heading towards a tavern they knew so well.
"Buta maruk klamuk, maruk nixda!"
"Omark ikem goshak ba batuk Booz, maruk utash gort mora ouk bota bana ikem, mii Jack!"
The two laughed as if by some joke, with some sense of...kinship? Even brotherhood? In addition, even the casual eye couldn't help but notice the perfectly equal shade of brown in half-orc and human's eyes both, and a nose slightly wide for a human on one side, slightly thin for a half-orc on the other...both near identical as well.
Jack and Jark, Human and Half-Orc, respectively, continued their bantering. Their topic? Fathers, using less than courteous words to describe the other's, such a topic brought about by their recent surprise visit to their shared mother, whom hadn't anticipated that Tryaen Creek's ship would return to Arvale from Silvour before starting the long journey south to Rog.
Oh yes, Jack and Jark were part of the Expedition as hired help, considering their weaponry talents and knowing their way around naval craft.
Another roar of laughter appeared from the older of the half-brothers, the half-orc Jark, in response to a rude suggestion from the human. Finally, they quietened as they approached their local tavern, which they hadn't seen in eight months due to the trip to Silvour and back. They'd been paid well for the trip, and such a run back and forth was profitable for the captain of the ship by shipping across valuable merchandise. Time to spend a bit of their not-so-hard earned coin before the expedition left off again in two weeks.
Jovial smiles were wiped off the face of the brothers, though, as they recognised the sound of a particular crew-member's voice inside the tavern. That Tiefling must have made a beeline for the place, to have gotten there in the time Jack and Jark were visiting their mother.
"Hah, all I'm saying is I'm surprised that I haven't even been gone a year, and suddenly Arvale's filled with yet more savages from probably fictional lands." Yelled the taunting voice of Pity. Jark and Jack looked at each other. Did the tiefling have to pick a fight with every stranger he sees? Give a guy significant Psionic powers, and suddenly he thinks that he's invincible and can say whatever he likes.
A few orcish words were spoken between the two, reckoning with annoyance that they'd better insure that Pity doesn't get his face kicked in, or at least drag the tiefling out of the tavern owned by a friend of theirs. The first was more important, though; the thought of travelling to Rog with one less mage on board was a worrying one, self-obsessed bastard or not.
Jark shook his head as he swung the door open, entering first. Already he could tell that Pity was arguing to the wrong guy, considering the Greatsword strapped to the man's back, and the dangerous gleam in the eyes of the human.
Despite sitting right next to him on the bar, Pity recklessly went on, grinning in some sort of delusional triumph, even as the taverkeeper frowned at the two from across the bar and several patrons turned to see how the foreign human dealt with the seemingly unarmed tiefling whom was certainly baiting him.
"What's the matter, suddenly forgotten how to speak Common? Or have you got something against Tieflings, human? Ooooh, killer eyes, there. I wonder what a Paladin would say if he saw someone like you walking the streets of Arvale."
Reok turns slowly, his mouth twisting to reveal a mouth of filed teeth as he regards Pity over the taproom.
"Alright Tiefling I tell you what, since you're evidently a mage, I'll be nice and remove your spine before ripping it in two..." A pause. "Deal?"
With a roar the barbarian launches himself across the bar, spiritual fires playing across his hard, muscled, frame, hands grasping for Pity's horns.
Pity's smile faltered for a brief second, as prepared as he was, the words of the barbarian froze the younger with unanticipated terror for that split second before he was tackled to the ground, the heavy weight above him knocking his breath out even as he shrieked in pain from his horns being grabbed so violently, the energies playing over the skin of the man magnifying the pain.
Suddenly a blazing halo of golden light appeared between the horns of the Tiefling as, Reok felt some force slam against his chest. Spiritual energies dispersed as some kind of unseen field threw him across the tavern to slam his body into a wall, snapping parts of the wood behind him.
Grunting, Reok fell to the floor, slumped over forward. Suddenly aching bones slowed his attempts to stand up again, though as he looked across the tavern, he saw that the Tiefling - holding a horn with a pained expression as he tried to stand up himself - wasn't doing much better. Most of the Tavern's occupants were now backing away, except for a Half-Orc and a Human by the doorway, whom had drawn a hand-axe and small warhammer respectively.
Pity and Reok finally managed to stand at the same time, already many seconds too late for the barbarian, though, as the Tiefling instantly took advantage, face twisted in some mix of rage and glee as he threw out an arm, light blazing from the halo above him as Reok once again was lifted off his feet, slamming again into the weakened wall. A warmth ran down his back and neck, recognizing some wound at the back of his head and another from his strapped greatsword twisting and slashing the edge of his skin. Blood. His vision began to slow and blur, as if his eyes had given up on focus.
Once again, Reok helplessly fell to the ground, even as the standing Tiefling rose both hands, halo blazing yet again-
-before being tackled yet again, this time from the armed human behind him, screaming all the while at the Tiefling as the Half-Orc approached the wounded barbarian, intention unknowable.
"Have you gone mad, Pity!? Get a hold of yourself before we have to drag you to the Paladins!" The human shouted in the ear of the secondly-grounded Psion, speaking perfect Common, Pity wincing at the screaming.
Posted on 2011-05-05 at 14:31:35.
Edited on 2011-05-05 at 14:38:56 by Celtia
Reok staggers forwards, dragging the greatsword from his back and settling painfully into a fighting stance, his left side sagging as splinters dug into him.
"Come to finish where your friend left off, Half-Orc, well, it'll be interesting to see if I can use this sword of mine one handed."
Spitting blood, the barbarian grits his teeth, eyes narrowing to leering slits.
Jark lowered his axe, keeping his distance from the barbarian, before speaking in an even tone.
"Forgive me and our...associate. We shall insure you are reimbursed and provide sufficient healing." The half-orc said, frowning as he appeared to think for a moment before clasping his axe to his belt, disarming himself, "I am not here to fight you."
Behind him, the human - Jack's - voice could still be heard, albeit quieter, so the patrons on the other side of the tavern - most of whom were in the process of exiting the building, trying not to look obviously terrified - could not hear what was said.
"Tryaen's not going to let you off the ship if this is your idea of fun, you know. Nor is he going to condone murder."
Reok grins, sheathing his sword and staggering back as his weakened leg protests under the new wheight.
"A ship, eh? By the looks of you you're not bound for Sylvor to trade, by the looks of the coins this 'Pity' of yours flashed around you've just come from there. And dear old burnt, scarred, ashen, forsaken Pandemonium is also probably an unlikley destination. You don't have an army so you won't be paying Kasellis a visit which leaves your destination to be somewhere to the south of here. Somewhere you'd need an extra swordsman I'd dare say."
Jack was currently in the process of helping Pity up, the Tiefling leaning on the human's shoulder in inexplicable exhaustion, considering he wasn't truly harmed. The Tiefling's halo that signified his Psionic powers at times had disappeared. Jack, Jark and Pity all stared at the barbarian at his bold statement, though.
Pity was the first, by quite a margin, to respond. And vehemently so.
"What!? You threaten, then me, and now want to be hired? Besides, if - which I doubt - you really are from Pandemonium, just another reason why we wouldn't be interested in hiring some bloodthirsty, hot-headed, barbaric mercenary who's more likely that not to slaugh-"
"That's it!" The yell came from Jack, still propping up Pity, before he proceeded to thump the handle of the miniature warhammer he still carried into the back of the Psion's skull with a carefully calculated amount of force, catching the Tiefling as he was knocked out by the blow. The half-orc looked back with an ill-disguised smile, and mentioned something in orcish to Jack, who nodded and practically carried the tiefling outside the tavern.
Jark turned back to Reok, grinning openly now.
"Thank Sra-Amun for that. If I heard any more from that bastard son of a Fomorian I'd have done so myself. I fear my brother may have to sit through one of Tryean's lecture's for it, though. If he's lucky." Jark's grin turned slightly sheepish, "Admittedly, it may not have been his best idea, considering some of Pity's powerful...friends in this city."
Jark stopped for a moment, bringing out a large handful of gold coins, placing them on the counter beside him. About 8 gold in all; a decent sum.
"That should pay for the damages. Sorry about that, Rhal. Please don't call the paladins, though, we need that Tiefling." Jark said over the counter, as the tavernkeeper finally approached the bar again, thanking his old friend as he scooped up the gold and left, moving into another room assumedly to put away the reimbursement. Jark returned to talking to Reok.
"Ah, where are my manners? I'm Jark. My family name keeps changing, I suppose, but besides my original orcish family name, the only one I have currently would be 'Glint'. Jark Glint, then, if you need my full name. Now before I ask you a few key things, such as what a warrior of spirits is doing knowing of two particular continents that I myself only know of because I've been travelling with a scholar for the past year, I suppose manners dictate I find you some treatment before you collapse." The half-orc continued. As he spoke, Reok took the chance to size up the man.
A couple of inches taller than Reok himself, the Half-Orc stood at just under 6 feet, not an uncommon height for his race. Though apparently fluent in Orcish, his common was perfect; not even a gravelly trace in his voice as expected of an orcish race. Indeed, if it weren't for his unusually leather-like skin, wide nose, pointed ears and slight tusks, there wasn't much to even point out his heritage. Well, and a slightly unusual build, proportionally, in terms of arms and feet.
Wearing a typically cost-effective mix of hardened leather and the occasional plate of steel, the half-orc clearly moved easily in his armor, if he doesn't even remove it while in such a peaceful city. An equally inexpensive wood-and-metal round shield was strapped to his back. He looked like someone who cared more about getting things done than fancy weaponry and armour.
And yet he had a small silver pendant around his neck, showing what looked like a silver shield with several sections divided by gold semi-circular patterns. The gold lines represented distinction of land, of law and of borders. The shield represented protection over attack. Reok knew this, because it was a very common symbol in Arvale, as the entire city was the Holy City to the God the symbol represents. Sra-Amun.
Reok begins a shrug before quickly deciding against it, unsure of the condition of his back.
"I take it the continent you have heard of is Sylvor, I spent a few weeks there myself before moving on. As for the other one, well I'll make you a deal, you find me a healer and I tell you about the Daemon-infested, ash-choked, flame-blasted wilderness I call home."
Reok holds out his good hand, smiling through his bruises and splinters.
Jark grinned, taking the offered hand in a gentle handshake, careful of the shorter's condition.
"I was more surprised to hear about Kasellis and Pandemonium than 'Silvour', as we Arvalians tend to pronounce it. Blame a typing error by old scholars. But of course, first things first. Injuries like that will get you a free healer all over the city; most honorable clerics would have no reason to refuse. I can bring you to one I know only a couple of blocks from here if you can get that far, or else I could bring someone."
The half-orc looked at the barbarian, and cocked his head as if appraising the human, thinking.
"Mind you, and it's no business of mine if so, but if you'd prefer not to get too near to Clerics, then I know someone else who might be able to treat you nearby, though perhaps with less skill. It will be more convenient if you want to talk about being hired, though..."