Shiv
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I joined December 2009
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Post by Shiv on Dec 6, 2010 6:56:26 GMT -5
Ningjorns rest is a small village in northern Skarvidda. "Safely" placed along one of the major trade routes going north into Kaer Maeghol, and only a few days away from the dwarven fort Vasgurs post, the village enjoys a relatively sheltered position for one placed so far into the frontiers of the orc infested mountains. The inhabitants number roughly 700 -mostly dwarves- with a sprinkling of the other civilized races having residence within the village proper. Tonight a light snow is falling from the skies above though the air is surprisingly warm, only a few degrees below freezing, and the clouded heaven offers a scenic view of the stars and the crescent moon hovering above. The winter snows have yet kicked in properly and the trading routes are still open but there will not be much time before the passes are clogged and impassable for anything but the most determined travelers. Tonight is “Eldasbyggnad”, a dwarven holy (and most deffiantely holly) day, and most of the hamlets populace have indulged in excessive drinking. The festivities started early evening and have by now erupted (some would say degenerated) into rambunctious singing, dancing, and feats of strength, with both men and women competing to show off martial prowess. (Everyone reads their personal introduction, if this was not already apparent, you only read the spoiler tags marked with your own name(s)Itrav:
You had a dream. You were traveling. Traveling together with seven other shapes. Not your cabal, at least you don't think so, they looked different, tall, short, strong,weak, they were not dark elves like you. You were all walking along high mountain trails unfamiliar to you, the ground broken and dark, with giant crevices and falls to kill those unwary. The group was following a head, a floating head wreathed in flame, ever burning but non consuming. It's face was a skull, white and clean, with sockets covered by the silver leaves of Sehk.
You'd woken by a knock on the door. A dwarven messenger, bearing a letter signed “Zvordjien”, with a request that you'd be downstairs tonight, during the festivities.
“Greetings Itrav of the dark elves.
My name is Zvordjien Gaddashaim and I'm interested in hiring the services of an able and strong Salmaradim like yourself. There is a mission of some importance to me in the north, one that can't wait since I run the risk of the passes being blocked off any day now, so I'm ready to pay handsome coin for a safe delivery. There are several prominent mercenaries in town at the moment and I'm hoping that you would have the time to spare for this endeavor.
If it pleases you, come meet me in the taproom of the Gyllenmjöd inn (The inn you're staying at, you never could make sense of the strange dwarven runes) during the evening festivities and I'll detail your mission for you.
Sincerely Zvordjien”
The “festivities” has no doubt started, in fact they technically started a few hours ago, but you feel pretty confident Zvordjien had not arrived yet. If he had you were just a staircase away, and if he managed to get a message delivered to you he could probably find your room once in the building. It was time though, something in the air tasted different. Maybe Sehk was leading you, maybe you were imagining things, but it was probably high time to get yourself to the taproom.
(Remember to give a short description of yourself in your reply, and what you do. There is some time for mingling (should the players want to) before your employer arrives)
Bnor:(Of course, if I'm misinterpreting your char, feel free to correct me in your first post  )You have another ale. It's only the fourth so far, so you've been taking it easy. Tonight is the night that all of dwarven kind celebrate the birth of Eldasvagga and the coming of the first flame, the flame from whence the dwarves would be born, and as such one is almost obligated to be jolly, strong and show the gods that you are still their greatest creation. You are being careful though, the message you received was quite clear that there was mercenary work to be done, and that festivities were for AFTER the negotiations of the contract. The message was signed "Zvordjien" but no non-drunk dwarf had arrived yet so you were still waiting, secretly starting on your own inebriation so as not to let the others get too much of a head start. Kicking up your feet on the low stool next to you, you surveyed the room. Things were as should be. To the cheering and jeering of a crowd of onlookers, the central portion of the inn had been cleared away to give space for a fighting pit where two male wrestlers were currently engaged in a test of their mettle. Most everyone was either watching the spectacle or singing along with the very comely skald who, her braids bobbing, was singing the time honored "34 ways to know it's an orc". Zvordjiens message had said something about fellow adventurers you realize, as your eyes scan the room. The only others not indulging in drink are the two elves, who sit astutely at the other end of bar and watch the wrestling. You've only ever met their cousins, the Dark elves, and have no idea if their teetotaling ways are due to some sylvan queerness or if they might be your companions. (Remember to give a short description of yourself in your reply, and what you do. There is some time for mingling (should the players want to) before your employer arrives) Bael and Nu:
The taproom is loud. Very, very loud. The dwarves have started celebrating some sort of holy day and it seems like the best way to show respect to the great spirits is to get completely stinking drunk and punch each other in the face. You'd spent a few years fighting orcs in the mountains, but it seems you'd never been in town at this time of year, for you'd never be able to forget something the likes of the “festivities” going on right now. Neither of you have had anything to drink yet, though Lanna is busily wolfing down a small platter of meat kindly served by the innkeeper. You've been summoned after all, so this was not the time for inebriation. A message signed Zvordjien had arrived at your small camp outside the hamlet, requesting your appearance at the inn this evening for a mission of “great importance”. You'd asked around and it seems that your mysterious employer is the head of the Barbers guild in town, a most prestigious title for dwarves, though you have no idea what a barber would want with a couple of sylvan mercenaries. You were informed that there would be others beyond yourself on this mission, though at the moment you hope it's none of the dwarves present. Everyone is drunk -from mildly to roaring- and are either cheering on the wrestlers competing in the make-shift ring in the middle. Or singing along to a ghastly song that seems to be about killing orcs.
The only Dwarf who seems to be not-completely-out-of-his-mind tonight is the tanned one sitting down the lenght of the bar, he has only had three ales so far (just started on his fourth) and his eyes seem surprisingly attentive in the light of the dancing fires.
“Their intent is good”, echoes inside Baels mind. Nyaileh-sakas chukles. ”Though its so unfocused. Not like a hunt, not like a kill, not the right taste. But I still enjoy this. The weave and wind of emotion so wonderful here”. Your spirit is obviously enjoying the dwarven brawl, the feelings of hunter/prey resonating with the battle on the floor.
So far no employer has made himself known, so you seem to be having some time to spare.
(Remember to give a short description of yourself in your reply, and what you do. There is some time for mingling (should the players want to) before your employer arrives)
Rashid:(If I'm making any gross misunderstandings of your character in the intro here, just post what he's REALLY like in your first post, no one will be wiser )Snow is pretty amazing, you conclude to yourself as you crunch your way towards the inn, too bad it's just so cold. It's been a long journey, the last few months have been hectic indeed. You've traveled through northern Kathil-Binas and into Skarvidda, visiting the dwarven capital of Viddongur, as well as several smaller towns. Plying your trade as a mercenary, and checking on the state of the world. As much as Amon saw everything from his lofty throne in the sky, he did not share much with his devout servants, so the church was obliged to keep an eye on things, and keeping an eye on things was something you were good at. Both schooled initiate and strong fighter, sometimes you could almost feel wanderlust in your blood, exploration as your destiny. It was just a shame that exploration sooner or later would take you into such godless lands as the Valecian kingdoms, or the sunless lands of the Salmaradim. You'd heard tales of how the dark elves lived in cities of stone, and the caves below them. How they grew pallid and weak from being so long without amons blessing, and from what you'd seen so far, you'd been right. They were cunning to be sure, and crafty, but since the mission three weeks back, where you'd helped a large squad of dwarven warriors clear out an allegedly “rouge” warlords hidden camp and freeing the slaves he'd taken, you knew that their true strength lay in lies, traps and poison, not in strength of arms. It seemed thought that your reputation preceded you. You'd barely arrive din town before you had been summoned on a new mission. A dwarf runner had given you a short message wherein someone named Zvordjien wanted to hire your for a quest to the north. A mission of “some urgency” and “some importance”. A mission that could only be completed by a group of “skilled and hardy mercenaries”, like yourself. You had no idea who these others might be, but you assumed you'd find out soon enough. So here you were, trekking through the light snowfall whilst around you dwarves were singing, wrestling and generally being jolly. Down the street you could see the inn “Gyllenmjöd” (which you assumed translated into something like golden-mead, at least from what you'd heard), welcoming light spilling out its' windows, and the sounds of cheering and singing spilling out of its open door. (Remember to give a short description of yourself in your reply, and what you do. There is some time for mingling (should the players want to) before your employer arrives) |
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