AS DM



Services In Sundrash The Rest Inn --- Room (1 Night) 1 gold, 5 silver
--- Good Meal 3 silver
--- Common Meal 1 silver
--- Bath 2 gold
--- Shower 1 gold 5 silver
--- Safe Box 5 silver

3 Shots Ale House --- Good Ale 1 silver
--- Common Ale 6 copper
--- Good Wine (Bottle) 12 gold
--- Common Wine (Bottle) 10 gold
--- Elven Wine (Bottle) 15 gold
--- Golden Light 2 gold

Temple of Gond --- Blessing 10 gold
--- Healing 10 gold


Please post your introductions, your characters have one day, game time, to role-play, explore and interact.

AS TRSG
The journey from Sambar was a long one even though it was made quicker by the four horse stagecoach. All the same the man was stiff with cramp from sitting all day and when he got out he gave himself a quick shake and walking into the inn caring a bag of his belongings.
The man himself was tall and slightly gangly, his hair was light brown and came just over his shoulder and was tied in a neat pony-tail at the back of his head. His eyes were a green hazel and he wore an unbuttoned light grey cloak over his steel breastplate and light blue-grey tunic. Slung over his back is a musket and if you looked carefully you can just spot a pistol under his cloak.
When he was inside the inn he rented a room for 3 nights with a safe box, he also asked for a bath to be prepared for the evening. When asked for payment he simply showed a small paper document. The inn keeper was suddenly taken back and started referring to him as 'Sir' and gave him the room key. He began what ever business he had in Sundrash.

OOC: Shaben is available for role-playing in any location in town.

Septimus Sandalwood/ Benjamin Barker

In a small nondescript pub, in a small nondescript corner, was a small nondescript man recklessly causing trouble.

"Do you have the merchandise", the customer hissed impatiently. His head shifted ever so often, moving in small jerking movements like a bird, his eyes as wild as a rabbit's in a snare. He nervously raked his hands through his greasy dark hair, watching anxiously for any passerby.

His companion could not have been any more different.

A tall man, he was, slender as a willow, he leaned nonchalantly against the grimy chair, a long tapering arm slung over the back of his seat, a pipe hanging affably from between thumb and forefinger. Black, impeccable robes draped imperiously about his thin form, patched slightly with spots of dried matter that looked not quite but not entirely unlike blood. Twin boots crossed over themselves, placed informally on a table, a merry twinkling noise whistling from the spurs. A long drag was taken from the pipe, followed by a soft chuckle of amusement.

“My dear man”, he murmured, his voice supremely quite despite his intimidating appearance, with a acrid and unmistakable note of sarcasm. “I daresay that you do not take me to be a liar?”

A faint smile curved his thin lips into a rigid bow and despite their intended effect, the smaller man felt a twinge of deep, primal fear as he gazed into his emerald eyes that glimmered like tinted jade. He looked into the abyss and the abyss gazed disconcertedly back. Dark, matted hair cascaded messily to his slight shoulders and draped over his forehead, nearly obscuring those coldly intelligent, half-mad eyes. Vulpine, the man thought uneasily, vulpine eyes, eyes of a rabid dog-fox caught in the henhouse. Feathers plastered over his muzzle and yet he lives.

The dark man tapped the ashes from the pipe and laid it gently on the table. His hand, with its long elegant fingers, dipped below the table and reached into the depths of his cloak. With an air of reverence, he drew forth the weapon, a vision of coldly beautiful steel and lethal efficiency. With precision, he deliberately placed the pistol on the table, and allowed the man to breathlessly examine it. “One, two, three hundred silvers worth”, he replied with another wry smile,” as promised, Anduan pistol, flintlock weapon, grained wood handle…”
He expertly took it in his hands and balanced it.

“Was it really necessary”, the other man muttered in what was a badly attempted expression of horror, eyes shining. The dark man nodded solemnly. “Gives this meeting a sense of occasion, don’t you think?” He absentmindedly gave the pistol to the customer and played with his woven necklace that nestled sweetly in the hollow of his throat. His gaze was deep-set and far away. “I will accept my payment now", he whispered faintly, and the other man did not hesitate to oblige him. Moodily, he transferred the glistening coins into his worn deerskin bag, relishing distantly the sense of cold metal slipping through his fingers. It always ended like this, didn’t it? His eyes slipped closed as he grabbed almost reflexively for his pipe and dragged the lovely poison deeper into his lungs.

He wondered why he bothered.

Wearily, he opened his eyes and saw the other man staring at him in fascination, his eyes filling up his face like the face of a child studying an endangered, prehistoric, but unbelievably malicious reptile lounging behind bars. He tilted his head, once, sharply, and dismissed him wordlessly. The pistol disappeared beneath the ragged folds of another man’s cloak and the limping, scuttling footsteps blended and faded as well.

How depressing.

And all at once he decided that he needed a drink.

He dragged himself to his full height, a tall, shambling man who could have once been considered beautiful, and tramped listlessly over to the bar and bought most of it. Wallowing in despair and a pint of bitter, he thought back on his life and realised he did not like any of it. Obscured by the drink he allowed the shadows of his past to drift mindlessly, and quite heartily ignored much of it.

“Sir?”.

A loud cheerful voice entered into his life and caused him a headache. He squinted up at him, a heavy-set tavern-keeper wiping down a filthy glass.
“What is it”, he managed to inquire dolefully.

“Your bill, sir”, the tavern-keeper replied happily, and he tossed him a few coppers, wondering what the hell he had to be happy about.“You sure scared him off sir”, the tavern-keeper remarked.The dark man looked up, honestly puzzled.“Hmm?”, he said.

“That ugly little chap”, the tavern-keeper answered. “’E`s one of those sailor types that’s always hanging around here.” The dark man blinked. “A sailor type”, he mused,” I used to know one of them quite well”.

“Nasty little blighter”, the tavern-keeper said promptly. “You sure sent ‘im scuttling off, eh mate? I mean…ah.. right sir? Am I right?”
The renegade morosely considered this.
“ I scared him, did I?”

The tavern-keeper grinned.

“Aye, you did something to that effect”.

The dark man smiled into his drink.

“I am Benjamin Barker”, he said.

“And effect…is what I’m best at”.

AS TRSG
As the grey cloaked man was making his way out of the inn he saw a man stagger out of the ale house. He approached the man and said
"My name is Shaben, let me help you to the temple." and without another word he put one of the mans arms over round the back of his neck, causing himself to stoop slightly, and helped him towards the temple of Gond, they were but halfway there when the injured man gave up entirely and collapsed.

Shaben laid him on the ground at the side of the path and jogged towards the temple.
"Priests, come quick. A man is dieing or dead upon the street, I believe he was poisoned but don't know who by." And they followed him to where the man was laying, but it was to late, he was a dead man know and Shaben thought to himself
'Septimus' in a reproachful manner.

He walked boldly into the ale house and was unsurprised to see the man known as Benjamin Barker sitting in the corner. He calmly walked over to him and said
"Benjamin, may I have a word in private. I believe the bartender has a back room."

Meanwhile, at the bar, Benjamin Barker was quite cheerfully plotting revenge.

Not that he looked it of course, he never looked it, he was not one of those stereotypical villains who rubbed their hands together and cackled over brilliant ploys and plots. No, in fact, he looked rather unassuming. He had retreated to his corner and had his head down next to his drink. His eyes were a bit bleary and his mind was apparently rapidly becoming unhinged.

He was miserably happy.

He blinked up at the stately young man through a curtain of dark hair and found that he recognised him. A slow, wondering smile spread across his lips. He toasted him with what remained of his drink. “An honour”, he murmured softly, “to be visited by the great Shaben Loylar”. He took a gigantic gulp of the alcohol and clanked the tankard down on the table. “How’s life”, he remarked coolly, “mediocrity never did pay off for me, but a simple life is for some men, and I do not blame them”.

He regarded him suspiciously for a moment, brow furrowed in thought at the mention of a private conversation. Then suddenly his face cleared and he leaned back in his chair. “ You no doubt believe me guilty of murder”, he whispered softly, his voice low, his eyes empty. All his frivolous charm had been thrown out the window. He was cold now, and lethally efficient.

His eyes bored into him, searching.

“We are friends, yes”, he inquired, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “And as your friend, you must trust me”. He reached for his tankard, satisfied on that point. “ A difficult feat for you, I understand but well…”, he paused, “we are all mortal”.

He rose to his feet, a dark contrast to Shaben`s clean-cut appearance, and shot him a look of quiet amusement. He moved fluidly towards the back of the pub and wrenched open the grimy wooden door to the back room. Considerately, he held it open for Shaben, smiling slightly all the while as if regarding this entire situation as an amusing if not simple minded game.

He moved swiftly and closed the door behind them.

“I know what you are accusing me of”, he mused. In the darkness the shadows accentuated his gaunt face, touching the hollows of his cheekbones, the hollows of his eyes, like living snakes. The hiss of his breathing was slow and even, no nervousness apparent. “And I will answer you truthfully”.

His eyes suddenly blazed.

“I have been in hiding for three years”, he snarled softly. “And even though I have made it painfully obvious to you that it is essential not to give anyone the slightest iota of an idea of who I am, you seem to see me as an idiot who would murder someone without giving the slightest care of how suspicious I would appear to others”. His voice lowered. “But I am no idiot, Shaben, and no fool. Murder, you accuse me of. Ay…”, he laughed bitterly, “ murder. But sometimes murder is a mercy, my friend, it is a kindness. Some powerful men were after that pathetic little sailor, men he had no hope of evading. I saved him from them.”

His eyes darkened with something like sadness.

“ They have no hope of following him”.

“I suppose you are wondering how I did it”, he muttered.
“ Sea-snake poison”, he said brightly, as if that had just occurred to him.

“It is permeable through the skin. I smeared it all over the Anduan pistol I dealt to him.“ He shrugged. “Poor sap wasn’t wearing gloves”. He shook his head. “ It is slow-acting, sea-snake poison, and painless. You just…go to sleep”.

He put his arm over Shaben`s shoulder. “You see, mate? I am not a cruel, callous man. I saved him from torture, from nightmares, from pain. It was brilliant in a way, they have no hope of tracing that pistol to me. He’s safe, I’m safe, it all works out in the end, my friend”.

He paused, struck by the fullness of that thought.

“It all works out in the end”.

AS TRSG
"By Gond Ben, you look like, you look worse then when I met you 3 years ago. I see you have decided to forgo you diplomats robes" And with a small smile made a return comment on the matter of mediocrity.
"Mediocrity is fine for one who has grown up in mediocrity and it is no simple life, politics is a complex and dangerous business. We need to ensure the well-fair of the country when it despises any change, be it for better or worse, keep pirates out our bays so that they can not murder and keep fragile relations with mainlanders intact." At that point Shaben became aware of Ben's stare and answered his next question truthfully but also knew the last point to be without answer.
"We are friends, I'd hate to think what would happen to me if we weren’t, in-fact that is why I need you."
Once in the back room the conversation started in ernest but Shaben wanted to greet Septimus properly.
"I know what would have awaited that man if he was living but it is no longer pirates we need concern ourselves with. But for your that man collapsed in the street as I helped him to the Temple, I had to help him and to find out why you killed him. To be honest I thought it was Kiss that did the damage." He paused and surveyed Septimus for a short wile before continuing.
"You will need your diplomats robes, I know you don't like them but I am here on business and will need your help, it is to do with, well you can guess. Can you tell me, as a friend, why that man wanted a firearm. They are available almost freely if you have a licence so it seems suspicious why he wanted a black market one."
It seemed that Shaben had finished so he started to right for a response but then.
"And as for trust, there is no other man I would trust more then you."

Shadows.

Life ebbed and connected earnestly with Shadows.

He sighed, running his hand through his dark hair that consistently fell into his eyes, obscuring his vision. His shoulders slumped. For a moment a spark of anger had coloured his conversation with his friend, and he bit it back with a vengeance. This was Shaben after all. This was the man who had met him half-mad and raving, bloodied, more dead than alive. It was this man who had risked his reputation to hide his terrible, gruesome secret, who had trusted him, who had listened with sympathy as he recounted the death of his family, had watched as he gazed morbidly down at hands that had tossed dirt over three tiny coffins.

He had wept.

He recounted then, that it had been raining very hard that night.

“You need me”, he mused faintly. He gazed at him balefully through the darkness. Even after three years, he liked to think that he still had the power to intimidate him. He smiled faintly at him, a true smile. “At last you admit that I am of value to the government”. He closed his eyes and leaned one shoulder against the wall. The light from the tiny barred window sent tiger-stripes floating over his features. It was very much like being in jail. “The true days of the pirates are over”, he murmured, a bitter edge like a poisoned blade slicing through the otherwise harmless words. “They have become obsolete. “. He opened his eyes, a ghost of an expression flitting through his cool gaze.

“I have become obsolete”.

“I was a legend”, he whispered suddenly. “I meant something, damn it, and now look at me”. He grimaced. “Look at me!”. He slumped against the wall, a broken man.

“ Look at what I am now.”

“I have become a tool of the very people who would have me dead. Three years ago, if you had not met me, you too would have been crying for my blood along with the others. You would have seen me hung!”

He gazed listlessly into the darkness.

“I have become nothing more than a lie”.

He searched his friend’s face for any sign of insincerity. “Most people think that it is with my Kiss that I do the majority of my killings”, he replied coldly. “That has been considered my trademark, but like the art of killing itself, I have evolved. “ He shrugged. “For all practical purposes the man I truly am is dead. Would you not find it suspicious if my infamous weapon suddenly appeared again without warning? The authorities may be short-sighted, but they are not blind. I have suffered many times for underestimating them”.

“Yes”, he said quietly. “We are here on business, if nothing else”.

He smiled.

“What is the common saying? Something about curiosity and the cat? You have gotten too used to answers from me, Shaben. “. His tone shimmered faintly with mock disapproval. “I can tell you”, he replied, “but I will not, and that is the end of it. Rest assured that it is of little importance and you are much safer not knowing that particular information. “. He paused and all amusement faded from his tone and features. His eyes were deep-set and very very dark. They seemed intolerably ancient.

“If they…if they…ever found you…”.

He glanced to him and for a sickening moment fear glimmered in his eyes. And then it was gone, quickly as it came, replaced with the usual impression of thinly veiled contempt. He opened the door and stalked through it. He kicked the door open for Shaben and as soon as his friend past through it, he went into the room again, slamming the door shut behind him. Within a few moments of pulling his wrinkled robes from his deerskin bag, he stomped through the door again, completely changed, his dark robes balled up under his arm. A light grey robe was draped regally over his thin shoulders, covering a uniform of subdued blue-grays.

He was imperious.
He was handsome.
He was not amused.

“Good”, he muttered to Shaben. “You trust me”.
He glanced towards him and grinned.

“We’ll see how far that gets you”.

Evani nearly wept for joy as she made her way through the town of Sundrash. Having been on the road for nearly a fortnight, she felt as dirt-crusted as her clothing, and as rank as seven day old porridge in the sun. Sore from sleeping on hard earth and weary from days of journeying, Evani found The Rest Inn and paid for two night's room and board. as she accepted her key, the inn keeper wrinkled his nose.

"Bath be up for ye soon, mum," he said. "Just leave those things you've on by the door."

"Thank you kindly," she smiled, a flash of even white against a face caked by travel. She knew she looked a fright. as she made her way along the hallways to her room, the lute strapped to her belongings twanged now and again. in her room, a small and uncomplicated affair, she set her things down beside the bed and stretched, rewarding herself with the various pops and snaps of bones settling back into rightful positions.

A bath was brought up for her and the maidservant dutifully turned away as Evani stripped the filth from her tall, slender frame, leaving her clothing in a pile as she stepped into the steaming tub. A long, relieved sigh escaped her, almost musical in tone, and she leay her head back, eyes closed.

The maidservant disappered, as did all trouble and worry. Time passed, as it always does and after a long rest in the water, Evani bathed peacefully and stepped out, wrapping herself in clean sheets set for her beside the tub.

She must have dozed, as there was a clean pair of leather leggings and white blouce. Her boots were clean, and her gunbelt and bandoliers laid out carefully and cleanly upon the bed. Dragging her fingers through her hair, she dropped the towel and dressed quickly. She fitted the belts and checked her pistol, and fitted her dagger on the inside of her boot and, now freshly scubbed, felt more presentable.

The need for companionship has long been a catalyst of important events, and Evani's need was not unusual. having had only herself to talk to, it would be a welcome change to converse with others whilst sipping something cool and wet. And, she had to admit, the chance to play for creatures other than birds and bunnies appealed to her. With her lute over her shoulder, Evani set off for the local tavern. If anything, she could always find some wizened old man and chat him up about the town.

She located the place easily and stopped in the doorway, savoring the familiar tavern scent, so alike from one to another. The smell of sweat and ale and secrecey and stategy and potential. Ah, the exhilirating scent of potential. She ordered an ale from the barkeep and leaned back against the long bar, enjoying the simple act of being.

Chrysta sat alone at the pew in the temple. She prayed for forgiveness, again. A temple to Gond, and Chrysta a follower of Wee Jas, she doubted that her prayers would be answered here, but she was desperate. Surely only Wee Jas could answer her prayer to bring back her mother, but there was no temple to Wee Jas here. Gond was a powerful god though, and she thought it couldn't hurt and Wee Jas would surely understand. She had worn a cloak around her cleric's vestments to disguise her robes which bore the insignia of her patron deity. She didn't want any other of the townsfolks confusing her for a cleric of this temple, not to mention that most folks didn't look kindly on necromancy; no matter how good her heart was.

A priest of Gond walked by and nodded to her as she continued her prayer in silence. She noticed but she did not respond. When she finished praying she stood and placed a silver coin in the collection plate and walked outside. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw a body in the dirt off in the distance. That's odd, I wonder if he needs help Chrysta thought as she began to walk over to inspect things a little closer. Another man came running towards the temple asking for help. Chrysta stepped aside as priests came running out and past her towards the man on the ground. Soon, they pronounced him dead. Another thought came to Chrysta .. one of perversion. Necromancy always meant some struggle in the soul. I wonder if he would make a good undead follower? .... Stop that Chrysta .. you know that it is a slippery slope
Time for a drink to forget my troubles and Chrysta headed over to the tavern. This was a new town to her but she knew a good pub when she saw one. She put down her coin and ordered something savory. One silver bought her some ale and left enough for a good tip. She drank to the memory of her dead mother and sat quietly in the corner of the room observing others who had their own troubles.

AS TRSG
Shaben turned to Ben glad he was on board but worried what he would do when he found out about the dark secret Shaben had.
"It's good to see you again, I have a room in The Rest Inn, you should come over and we can talk without praying eyes. But not now, I fancy a drink. To be honest I though that priests of Gond didn't drink."
After this he turned to the barkeeper and ordered some good ale, after showing his diplomats card he turned and approached the figure sitting at the corner table.
"May I sit down? To be honest I thought priests of Gond didn't drink." He didn't know this face but smugglers often discussed themselves as priests and so he smiled and said simple
"You look troubled. Do you wish to talk about anything?"

I'm okay. Thanks for asking Chrysta remarked to the figure. She had forgotten when she sat down that her clerics vestments were now showing for anyone to see. Luckily this one didn't know Wee Jas from Gond and was clueless. Perhaps, she would share this oversight with the man.

I drink to forget tonight, for it's my birthday. It is a sad tale and I do not wish to bore you with the details. My name is Chrysta, and I'm not a priestess of Gond but rather Wee Jas. I am an outsider to these parts. I'm just passing through really. I like to get away during this time of the year and clear my head. You are kind to consider me though, good sir. Chrysta continued to drink her ale and smiled through her sadness at the new friend at her table.

AS TRSG
"Forgive me for my ignorance, I did not know that other gods were worshiped on Lantan but I distinctly saw you walking from the temple." The gentlemen said quickly but unapologetically.
"My name is Shaben Loylar, you might call me a priest of our government, I am in fact a diplomat. Not much of a role, it's just a title, my real work is to sort out matters the state can not, that is what Lantan can't sort out through negotiation or can't be bothered to. Tell me, what is Wee Jas' dogma, I have not come across the faith before." Confirming your assumption that this man was indeed clueless. He then takes a sip of his ale whist wighting and listening to the answer, you feel like you could lie through your teeth and he wouldn't be able to tell you were.

He fell into memory.

The darkness dipped, the shadows flickered, planting sinister, slippery kisses on his alabaster skin. His eyes, frighteningly blank, stared forth into the void. The Red Man, his elder brother, had come through the winding streets of Corelan. He had been waiting.

“The two females, your wife and your daughter were killed by the sword”, he stated dryly, and his voice was like death,” …but your son…your little son…”.

A feverish light had come into invalid’s eyes. “Is he hurt”, he whispered hollowly. “Please, tell me that he wasn’t hurt…that they spared him…he was an infant”, his voice trembled, “…a baby…”. The Red Man gazed at him gravely. “ He was hurt…quite badly”. But when he started to reply, the Red Man held up a hand for silence.

“But he is no longer in any pain”.

Light dawned in the man’s eyes. “Thank God”, he sobbed, a man who had once profaned all deities. “Thank Go-”. His words cut off as abruptly as if he had been shot as he understood the true meaning of what his brother had said. With a low moan, he buckled to his knees, head bowed, slat-thin sides heaving like bellows. The Red Man made no effort to aid his brother.

“He was poisoned”.

The man barked a sharp, soulless laugh.
His older brother didn’t bat an eye.

“Wasn’t he…Septimus?”

The man looked up blankly. “Poisoned”, he repeated in a dazed fashion, “yes…”. The Red Man looked away. “Did you find your Luka, brother”, he murmured, slipping an arm as dry and smooth as a serpent over the man’s frail shoulders. He leaned towards him, his head very close to his. He smelled of musk and crumbling petals and nasty secrets in the dark.

He smelled of long shadows.

“Come inside”, he urged.
His brother jerked away violently. “No”. The Red Man smiled tenderly. “You’re shivering”. And indeed the young man was shivering, though not with the cold. His tears mingled freely with the rain. The Red Man slipped his crimson cloak over his brother’s shoulders. “You’ll be cold”, he whispered absentmindedly. The man touched the woven necklace about his slender throat. “It is much colder for the ones that I love”, he said softly.

Suddenly, he turned in desperation. “Who did this, Quintus”, he demanded, his suddenly strong hands latching with a death’s grip onto his brother’s shirt. The Red Man’s mouth moved, but his words were mute. His hands fell away, nerveless. The man who would one day be known as Benjamin Barker closed his eyes and breathed deep of the dark.

***********

“Its good to see you again, Ben”, a voice said.

Shocked out of his nightmare, Barker turned to his friend, nodding once curtly, before turning away. A drink, yes, well that sounded fine. Although a few moments ago he would not had drunk more if it was forced, his throat was suddenly dry for the amber, foul-smelling liquid. He stalked over to the bar, his strange eyes dark and uncomprehending. “An ale”, he muttered reluctantly to the barkeep. His hand curled reflexively around the pewter mug as it was past to him and with sudden abandon, he lifted it and drank deeply of the bitter swill. He rummaged in his pockets for a bit, brandished his diplomat card, wondered why he had not thought of that before, and looked around a bit for his friend.

Ah, there he was. Chatting up a priestess of some sort. Pretty little thing. He was immediately drawn to her sad eyes. Dark, fey eyes. Eyes that had looked too often into the Valley. Eyes like his own. Unable to resist his curiosity, he made his way over to their corner, his characteristic sailor’s swagger softened by his years on land, his steps languid. His eyes shone with interest. So she was at the Temple. She had seen the body. Pity. He really had hoped that the little idiot would have had the sense to go and die off somewhere unnoticed.

“Might I join you ”, he inquired, heartlessly cutting into Loylar’s conversation. He smiled faintly to let Shaben know it was not to be taken as rude. It was only his way. His eyes swept over the girl once, cautiously, and then he allowed his body posture to relax slightly. “I am Benjamin Barker”, he introduced himself smoothly. “ This is, as he has undoubtedly told you, is Shaben Loylar. We are both diplomats for the Lantan government. Damnable job, really”, he remarked, taking another swig of ale. He studied her seriously, wondering what had brought such sadness that it could truly injure, truly darken the good soul behind those eyes. “Though there are worse things”, he added gently, his gaze far-away.

He turned suddenly to the half-elf lounging near the bar and tipped her a friendly wink.

“Care to join us”, he addressed her over the din.

“You might as well”.

Evanialaestra sighed contedtedly again, and considered that while one tavern was very mush like the next, she would always be amazed by the singe difference of each: the people.

It was one of them now, the people, sho threw her a light wink and invited her into their small gathering. Flashing a wide, bright smile, she tipped a thankful nod to the inviter and pushed off from the bar. Her lute twanged sweetly as she moved and crossed the room. She smiled to each and at a polite pause in conversation, when it was socially appropriate, she introduced herself.

"Evaniallaestra Alloranarra, " she announced, and laughingly, "Evani, if you like."

she looked to each for their intoductions to her, nodding with interest at each person's words.

suddenly you all see a light brown haired gnome enter the building. Her hair is tied back in a pone tail and sky blue eyes. you all guess she is 3'6". She carries a battle axe and 2 belt pistols. She wears breastplate with chain mail on her arms and legs. You also see she is carrying gunsmithing tools. As she enters she takes out some ear plugs and puts them in her belt pouch.

She gose over to the counter and asks for a good ale after resiving the ale she comes over to the table you are talking at and says "Hi I'm Quirath Millstone what are your names." sits down at the table.