The Half-Elf moved across the dockyard at a reasonable speed. In particular he slowed himself as he neared his mark, not wishing to draw adverse attention to himself; The Sea-Angel had come into view. Quickly he ensured all of his equipment was aligned properly, weapon and shield easily available but secured appropriately.

Well, no reason to draw more eyes than I have already he mused to himself, shifting his pace to something more dignified.

As he neared the ship he could just make out the forms of two figures upon its deck, one significantly larger than the other, though their exact visages were shadowed by the sun at their backs. Continuing towards the ship the Half-Elf couldn't help but feel very amused, especially as the smaller figure reached a hand towards its own face, head shaking back and forth as it approached the the gangplank.

Well, well, it seems the world works in my 'favor' this time. Based upon such a reaction, it would seem that my small 'friend' has arrived ahead of me. he thought Not unexpected, given his speed, but the time for games has ended for now.
He was beginning to become far to used to things going astray, just to take him exactly where he was meant to go. Though it was not unusual in his 'line of work' it could be tiresome, sometimes seeming more a test of patience than a diversion.

Waving an arm in greeting he called to the figure, stopping as he reached the gangplank:

"Hail friend!" Keeping his tone steady- and without a fluster of frustration over the Gnome's actions- he continued "I believe we have business to discuss. I ask your permission to board, so we may speak more comfortably"

[I'm pointing out here publicly that a passive Diplomacy check was just passed. Again, passive checks are not necessarily made if you don't specify anything, and nor do I post results publicly of any checks, but this game is still well in it's 'beginning', so the challenge will increase later]

[In other news, be sure to Subscribe to the Q&A page, and the Lore page, and feel free to post on either. I won't give out-of character messages like this again on the game thread.]




The man standing across the gangplank was indeed below average height by human standards, at an inch or two shorter than the 5'9" half-elf, discounting the height his armored boots afforded him. The figure to the side with the greatsword strapped to his back looked something of the worse for wear, but was clearly taller than present company, at a height almost reaching 6 feet.

Standing so close, the half-elf could now study the man closest to him. Well-dressed, holding himself with both an air of confidence but a casual pose; he didn't really look the part of the scholar that the half-elf had already heard about, but fit the description. Tryaen Creek's name was already known, for Arvale's educated. A keen mind whom devotes his energies to archiving whatever knowledge he can about the heady mix of lifestyles and cultures in the Common Realm, whom has already contributed greatly to cartographers and historians both. Great achievements for one so young; not even thirty years of age.

Tryaen crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow without standing aside.

"Business? I think Sehanine may be playing a joke with me; you're the second man in as many minutes to approach me for the same reason. Nevertheless, I will have to ask you to wait there and excuse me for a moment before you board. Reok? I'm going to have to ask you to wait here too."

Without waiting for a response, Tryaen turned to walk through a door that Reok recognized the Gnome had ran through moments ago.

Reok turns from Tryean to the newcomer, arms folded impassivley across his chest.
"So, you're the mailed fist then...ready to take point when the time comes. Can't say you won't be useful when we get to Rog...if we get to Rog."
He pauses running his eyes along the Half-Elf's frame, trying to pick out any details. (Perception Check)
"Nice flail, by the way...not the usual mercenary's weapon."

With the sudden speech the Half-Elf turned his gaze from the direction of Creek's departure towards the larger figure, only really catching his last statement.

"A fine weapon when used properly" Nodding in acknowledgement to the stranger "With the right application it easily gets past defenses that would block any other"

He paused for a moment, appraising the other as he assumed he had been appraised. It was easier than small talk at any rate... but Creek had left the two of them here. Alone.

Provided the Gnome does not spin an elaborate ruse, this should all work out smoothly.
Not seeing any other options he continued in the current endeavor "Tell me then friend, any particular reasoning for your own choice of weaponry?"

Reok relaxes as much as he can in his current physical state. Recrossing his arms.
"Where I come from you either kill what's trying to kill you or you end up dead. Hence the greatsword." He taps the weapon fondly. "This also means that your average game is likley grab your spear and hurl it back at you, hence the knives."
There is a pause as Reok cracks his jaw, wincing slightly.
"I've always found the problem with flails to be that they leave you open to counterattack more often than not...which leads me to notice that your armour is of a decent make. You don't seem one of Creek's target recruits."

"Indeed. If he ends up as a recruit, then I'll be hiring yet another man whom has a bone to pick with an existing crew member." Came Tryaen's voice as he reappeared, a small pouch of coins in his hand. Walking back over, he offered it out to the Half-Elf, grimacing in obvious exasperation.

"Excuse me, I believe this is yours. I'm afraid Wyrepynn - a crewmember of mine - takes very few things seriously. Pickpocketing is a game he merely desires to win, but I assure you it will not happen again, and I can only ask that you do not bring this matter to the Paladins."

Tryaen stopped for a second, as if thinking, before continuing.

"I assure you that he has only the best of intentions, as difficult as it is to believe. I apologize for his actions, regardless."

The Half-Elf raised a gauntleted hand and shook his head, denying the return of the pouch. The coin was trivial at this point.

"Consider it a small gesture, for the trouble you've had to deal with thus far." Pausing for a moment to see Creek's reaction he continued, "Rest assured they is no need to drag the authorities this way; it would be but another 'distraction'."

Turning to Reok for a moment he nodded respectfully "We shall continue our discussion on tactics another time friend," And without waiting for a response brought his attention back to Creek."Now, since things have settled down, I again request permission to board so we may discuss business."

Tryaen looked at the half-elf strangely, clearly shocked at the refusal, stepping aside to let the half-elf board wordlessly.

"Permission is granted to board. Any inconvenience of mine is trivial to your robbery, though. I insist that you take your coin back, though, especially if we are to talk business, for I would be doubly indebted to you, both for the actions of Wyrepynn as well as having attained your gold."

Still offering the pouch, it was clear that the scholar would not accept 'no' as an answer.

"Your manner is far from what I would expect. As I sought for the crew I now have, I have found or met a great many unique or unusual individuals. And yet, from Silvour to the Western Continent, I have yet to meet a mercenary that would refuse the return of coin that is theirs. Of course, you do not strike me as a mercenary, so I must ask your name and your motivation for this task, if not money."

Tryaen suddenly frowned, looking directly into the face of the armored half-elf, clearly thinking.

"And what is it that you do? I haven't seen all that many half-elves in this city, but I can't help but feel I may have seen your face somewhere before..."

The Half-Elf removed his gauntlets as he crossed the gangplank, tucking them into his belt.

Time to begin. May my teachings get me through this.
"It would seem you are most insistent good sir" taking the pouch from Creek he tucked it away and extended his hand "Matrim Ferr; I concede to you that I am no mercenary, but rather a man-at-arms, if you will." He gave a moment for the comment to settle."I come on behalf of an interested party who wishes to invest in your expedition to ensure it gets underway."

"As for 'what I do'" he added, keeping a steady tone while being purposely unclear "There are a number of things; I am not sure to which you are inquiring. I have spent much of my life within the area, perhaps you have seen me in passing. Now, if we may sit and discuss business"

Talking about too many things could hinder negotiations. There was a job at hand, and Matrim sought to keep it the focal point of the conversation. The expedition needed to set out sooner rather than later.

"Matrim Ferr? It is not a name I recognize, I fear. You must be right, perhaps I've seen you in the Tower Library?" Tryaen went silent for a moment in thought, before appearing to bring himself back into the present.

Mind you, scholars are known to be absent-minded.

"Well, a man-at-arms, you say? Any military experience that I should know of? Any work in the Tamjarian forces? The Irregulars? The Arvalian Defenders?" Tryaen's tone was almost accusational, before he appeared to hastily backpedal his statements.

"Ah, forgive me. I suppose there's little need for suspicion in the City of Light. However..." Tryaen's gaze left Matrim for a moment to glance at Reok, in a manner far from subtle, "This...'interested party' you speak of; I am curious as to it being the same as the one I am thinking of. But of course, where are my manners? Come, in my quarters we can sit down and further discuss this."

"Oh, and Reok? Consider yourself hired. We leave at dawn in two weeks time exactly, on the 33rd Day of Asten. In the meantime, this ship offers bedding and food if needed, but otherwise you are free to do as you will in the city, to find work or say goodbyes. I'm certain you know the danger of this expedition. I just suggest avoiding Pity."

"Very well, Tryean, I'll take up your offer of lodging, I'll be spending some time around whatever Grand Library you've got here if you need me...something tells me that Pity will do his best to avoid going there, the clientelle is probably too sophisticated for his tastes."
With a nod to Martim and the scholar, Reok turns, limping towards the gangplank with as much dignity he is able to muster.

As Reok departed Matrim had become suddenly confused. Wasn't pity a good thing? Especially considering his current condition. Perhaps it was a matter of pride for the great warrior.

Creek seemed to be in daze, one typical of distracted scholars which made them slower to act, and -at times- forget about others nearby.

"Pardon my interruption. But, I would like to understand why you both seem so keen on an injured warrior avoiding 'pity'..." He trailed off as he waited for Creek to return to the waking world.

As Tryaen nodded Reok off, he turned quickly, as if surprised, towards Matrim, before a grin appeared on his face.

"Ah, don't ever hesitate or be sorry to interrupt, I'm happy to answer any questions you have. You misunderstand, we speak of a friend of mine who goes by the name Pity Fortune. It's common for Tieflings to name themselves after an emotion or element of psyche, of course." Once again, Tryaen stopped to think for a moment, before continuing. Matrim recognized the scholar was choosing his following words carefully.

"I would not be overly surprised if you have heard of the Fortune family, as you appear excellently educated, but they do merely have a certain...modicum of historical fame. Regardless, my friend Pity has a habit of both taking and causing offense, I fear, and I can only hope that it does not prove too much for Reok or Pity himself over the course of the trip."

"But come, we can discuss more while we sit..." Tryaen offered, making his way to the door to his cabin at the bow of the ship.

Reok could still feel the effects of the Dragonclaw plant running throughout his body. It's healing acted as a painful pleasure, in many ways, as if claws were raking his insides, but also scratching terrible itches at the same time.

Still, it seemed to work, his strength was already returning, and the anaesthetic-like effect of Tryaen's magic was comforting to his aching bones.

Reok was leaving the docklands, making his way slowly through the remarkable variety of races and cultures that is Arvale as he did so. Few gave him more than a second glance, though most were polite enough to give the clearly injured man walking space, so Reok did at least not have to be jostled along in some great flowing crowd.

In all fairness, Reok had not spent enough time in the city to know where the major library of the city was. Common sense, however, would point to it being near one of the two great towers of the city that marked its governing centers, the towers visible in clear weather from any corner of the nation-sized city. To Reok's eyes, the two towers held merely minor differences in terms of appearance; Certainly, their ridiculous height would make them impractical as defensive constructs, but such a use would be unlikely in buildings so far from the borders of the city.

Of course, their height also tended to skew a casual onlooker's sense of scale. The nearest one alone would take almost half of the day to walk to.

Feeling the vitality return to his bones, Reok presses on grimly towards the tower. Whoever was there would hopefully be able to tell him where one could find a library, or at least should be able to with such a big dower...the barbarian smiled as he imagined such a structure back on Pandemonium, he could almost see the Demons tearing it down when he closed his eyes.