Post by tombowings on Jul 28, 2011 10:55:05 GMT -6
After their midnight outing, the death of three companions, a daring interrogation, and a spot of ale to drink it all down with, the party emerges from the safe room late that morning, Actæa from her private room. Where once the moon hung now sits a blazing sun, burning down upon the near noon air. Many of the Burning Lamp denizens have already stopped in for breakfast and have made their way on the streets. Yet another group has sat down at the downstairs tables for an early lunch.
Tomorrow is Market Day and many of the travelers from nearby villages have already made their way within the wall of Pelengos to secure a location for their carts and tents.
Willin is back running a busy bar now. After being served a complimentary breakfast of eggs and battered kale, the company sits down to dig in.
Post by tombowings on Jul 28, 2011 11:04:06 GMT -6
All tales must have a beginning. And so does Matayas's start here, in the Burning Lamp, safely guarded behind the walls of Pelengos. Having journeyed far through sticks and bramble, mountains and fields, this savage sorcerer has sought out the life of adventurer and made here way here to the City State of the Emerald Eye.
Many of the tables within the Burning Lamps are packed and rowdy. Likewise, a motley bunch has risen late and trodden down the stairs, carrying within them swords, armor, rope, and heavy laden packs. They sit down in a table at the back to receive their breakfast from Willin the barman.
Last Edit: Jul 28, 2011 11:47:42 GMT -6 by tombowings
"Well, then," says Actæa, picking daintily at her breakfast; "How shall we begin? Our believe our dear Brennus' patron is expecting us. I suggest we make this our first port of call. It wouldn't do to be tardy."
Post by waysoftheearth on Jul 28, 2011 17:08:51 GMT -6
Matayas approaches the table where the company of adventurers are taking their repast, his own long cloak not entirely concealing his shirt of steel mail, nor the bleak looking mace that hangs from his belt amid strange totems of rabbit paws, fangs, and feathers.
"Greetingsss travellerssss," he says with an ill-formed sweeping gesture of his arm that could hardly pass for a bow. He has lank hair down past his shoulders decorated with strange beads and feathers, a sallow complexion, and the eyes of a wolf.
Clearly he is not from around here.
"I Sssee you are enterprisssing Men... perhapsss you would allow me to asssissst in your venture?" He says with a terrible lisp.
Post by waysoftheearth on Jul 29, 2011 22:15:08 GMT -6
Matayas fixes his wolf eyes upon Actæa and gives her an uninviting grin. His teeth are all disarrayed -- two broken at glaring angles, and others filed to sharp points -- and yellow, as if they have never once been cleaned.
"I have sssteel for protection," he lisps, banging his mailed shirt with a fist, "a ssstrong macsse," swishing his cloak aside to reveal the bleak mace hanging from his belt, "and..." he pauses, as if considering how much to say, "...a cssertain sssway over beassstsss and Men that can be... usssssseful."
He smiles again. Though most present would prefer it if he did not.
"Charming," Actæa replies, looking dubiously at the yellow-fanged grin; "Well, our numbers are not what they were. I suppose if we are to go into wild places a wild man may have his uses. You may shortly have a chance to demonstrate them."
She turns to her companions; "What say the rest of you?"