[Adventure, Tattered Sails] The Criminals' Chorus (Open)

[Straylor Leonard]

CLOSED, no more new players allowed!


Timestamp: the last cycle of the Month of Melora. The Season of Spring of Era XIV, Post Fractum. Paradigm Shift: A Starry Springtime Speeds into Summer!

The Tattered Sails tavern was not the most quiest and peaceful place in Imperia. In fact, it was a rowdy, unfriendly, and quite hostile gathering for many ruffians and wanted criminals.

That darkening was no exception.

A dense, disgusting fog of smoke polluted the upper atmosphere of the establishment. Dozens of men, sea rats, dock workers, ex-convicts, and former guards populated the round, dirty tables with unwashed mugs of ale and cheap liquor. Whenever a guest stepped in, no armed guards halted them and asked for weapons. In fact, newcomers generally reached for the knives, swords, and (sometimes) maces and axes. It was a familiar greeting, a sort of code between some gangs.

Nevertheless, a fire burned on the left-hand side of the tavern where a collection of stairs led to the higher levels. Only a few tavelers loitered there, amongst them maidens of the darkening whose services generally came for a bagfull of crowns.

But just as the bartender reached for a nearby mug, he straighted up at another familiar sight: a group of drunks had suddenly decided that one of them was cheating in a game of cards. The game, though relatively simple, was about to get complicated and extremely bloody.

There were three of them, all of them dressed like middle-class citizens. They weren't anything out of the ordinary, except for one flabby fellow who was ready to use his wooden plate as a shield. One of the men, a lanky, middle-aged banker-type gentleman, was on the verge of poking his former companion's eyes with a two-finger gouge. The last man had already given up, and was slumped on the small, circular chair and was beginning to enjoy his warm ale.

"That's enough! Enough!", Toby growled in his crisp, melodious voice, "You morons get your asses out of 'ere before I have to feed you to the dogs!" At that, the pale elf hopped cleanly over the bar, and landed lightly on his feet. "Get out! You!", he pointed towards a stranger, a random occupant on one of the barstools, "help me drag these idiots out will you?"

OoC: Welcome. This is a peer moderated adventure, authorized and awesomized by Game Mistress Foxxy. First two PCs to post gets in! Go!

[K'Roto]

K'Roto was watching closely as a group of drunken guys playing a game of cards were arguing about one of them being a cheater. As soon as it was about to get rough the bartender - an Elf - hopped over the bar and shouted at the drunks to get out of his tavern. As expected they did not exactly obeyed or even listen but continued with their 'discussion'. Then, the bartender turned towards K'Roto, pointed at him and said: "Help me drag these idiots out, will you?"
While the Orc was already prepared to step in if things would get ugly - he hates violence - the question caught him off guard. For a moment K'Roto just stared at the finger pointed at him, then to the elfen bartender and back to the finger again. "Hmrg, I'll make them stop." he said softly but with a clear hint of tension.

Getting off his barstool K'Roto tried to make himself look as big and tough as possible. Not that that was a necessary thing to do since he already looked bad enough being an Orc and having a monstrous and badly healed burning wound covering the left half of his torso and face.
Placing himself between the two arguing drunks he hit his bare chest with his fist in an animal like manner and shouted: "Hit me you drunks, or hit the road!"

To most of the people in the tavern it might appear that the K'Rotos main struggle was concerning the two drunks, but in fact his biggest concern was not to loose himself and stay calm. He knew that in tense situations like this he simply could not loose his self control... he did not want to hurt anyone.

[Nozas]

That darkening in the Tattered Sails tavern was, as predictable as always, boisterous, hustling and tedious; or simply, it was, to Nozas, a replica of everyday occurrence in such a place. And the tavern, as it always was, an enshrined heaven for those vile creatures in the most hideous part of the city; it was a place where the most intoxicating spree was held, and for the revelers, the intrinsic reliever of boredom and pain in their suffering life of disregarded labour class.

Having worked there for quite some times now as a waiter, the shadow elf had grown insensitive to the otherwise should-be sensational everyday scene of the notorious tavern. But instead of being assimilated into their gross culture, Nozas had proven enough resistance to stay intact, and thanks to Sakura and Toby who have been so considerate, or he would be unemployed now or even worse end up being a vagrant.

Fray was common there, but when it got exacerbated, Toby would interrupt: the boiling belligerent parties in dissent would be invited out, or sometimes not so politely be expelled with force, just as what Toby intended to do that darkening. Yet, why he had chosen a strange orc to execute it was unknown; and interestingly, that orc seemed to have obeyed without the faintest sign of contention.

A foreign sight indeed, but no less a gratifying spark to his menial work of the day. For the time being, he was content by just standing aside, and watching the show as one of the few sober persons in the tavern.

[Straylor Leonard]

Muttering amongst themselves, the two drunks decided that fighting the orc would not have been in the best interest of their health. The third gentleman, whose appearance hinted at his severe drunkiness, merely waved his mug at K'Roto. "Whatevers, whatevers", he muttered before following his companions out the double doors of the tavern, "never liked it *hick* here anyways..."

Appearing beside the orc, the pale elf shook his head before briefly thanking his customer for the help. "Ah, never get enough of those", he mused with a dry chuckle, "come, a free pitcher on the house sounds reasonable, hmm?" With that, the bartender proceeded toward the bar once more, pulling out a wooden pitcher and a freshly-wiped mug as he went.

On Nozas' corner, it was a little less inviting. As a waiter for the tavern he saw these happenings nearly each brightening. Things rarely escalated into a full-scale riot, though, mostly because there was an unwritten rule between gangs and establishments like the Tattered Sails. Respect was hard to come by, and even the rougest gangs agreed that taverns were neutral ground ... for the most part.

"Ay boy", a rough voice came from behind him, "we be needin' some service 'ere."

Should Nozas heed this summon, he would turn to find a table with two burly men dressed in dark leather vests, complete with dust colored jackets that men usually wore on ships and the like. These two were not handsome in any sense but held an air of command and arrogance.

The first and speak of the two had shoulder length hair that was as muddy as it was ashy. He would have looked much older had it not been for his neatly shaved countenance and piercing orange-brown eyes.

The second man was a little skinnier than his stocky companion and sported a short, neat haircut. This caused his head to look much rounder than usual, and his bright blue eyes seemed to pop out from his common features.

"I thinks I'll take anything that doesn't have meat", the Big one grunted.

"And I'll take your best fish", the skinny one added before looking up at Nozas, "oh, and please tell Toby that we're here."