More wood to the fire -Samheen 27th

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More wood to the fire -Samheen 27th

Post by Guest »

(Late TT)

Loraith walked into the docks district for the first time in what must have been a month or so. Formerly he practically lived here, sleeping in the dimly lit taverns or in the khat dens. He wore his finery and had no doubt under normal circumstances he would be attacked and beaten. But he felt he had two factors in his favour, the first was that his sword was present. His right hand rested upon the top of it reading to bring it out if any trouble occured. Second he was a familiar face or so he thought, in fact he was looking for friends here in the docks.

As he walked he turned his head occasionally and spat on the floor, his mouth twisted into a sneer. He wore finery and yet he tried to cultivate an image of danger, he wanted people to fear him. He could not afford to be arrogant here without support, he had to be on the level of humans.

He was making his way towards the seediest parts of the harbour, he was looking for one of the lower-end bars, a place where women would be plentiful and his former friends hopefulloy present. He needed to secure a theif to get those documents and he had little doubt they could point out someone willing to do a small job for a few crowns. At the same time it was not all a business trip, he had not enjoyed an establishment like this for some time and now was an ideal opportunity to create his links with the human underground. It could prove useful to have links to both sides in the conflict, that much was for sure.
Last edited by Guest on Sun Apr 23, 2006 11:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Sebastian Beauvais
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Post by Sebastian Beauvais »

Even at late tradetide, the Docks district was still bustling with all manner of activity. Fishing vessels were coming back to port with decks covered with the catch of the day; stevedores shouting back and forth from cargo vessels, lading and unlading cartons, boxes, and barrels; rough and rather foul-smelling sailors granted shore leave and looking for excitement; city guardsmen patrolling in pairs and quartets, keeping a wary eye on everything; there was no end to it. This was the Docks, the most visceral, vibrant quarter of the city, and silent stillness was simply not to be found.

Wandering down the main waterside street, framed on one side by sloops, dromonds and galleys and on the other by warehouses, shipping offices and the customs house, Loraith passed through the riot of colour and activity with his particular goal in mind. One of a handful of establishments that dealt in the kind of wares he wanted - women, drugs, and dangerous sorts who spent their lives in the shadows and outside the lines. Shortly he came upon just such an establishment, one he used to visit on occasion in his darker days, and one well-known in the city for providing just such services to its clientele. The Drowned Maiden Inn.

The three-storey brick townhouse was originally a private residence erected in the Docks district, the folly of an adhiel merchant who wanted to keep a close eye on his wares and their comings and goings. Misfortune claimed the merchant’s daughter, and the building changed hands several times before its establishment as an inn. Now run by a conniving achadhiel named Laisrean Duwainiel, the 'Maiden' as locals call it, is a well-known gathering place for those who seek the rougher, shadier walks of life, or by those unfortunates who cannot afford a more respectable choice.

Its façade, once an impressive combination of carved decoration and fanciful glass windows, is now merely pitted and stained with neglect, it windows covered with rusty iron grills to guard against unwanted intrusion. Double doors of scarred teak sitting underneath a curved archway mark the entrance to the inn, and on the half-wall that contains the small, overgrown courtyard in front of the building sits a faded sign depicting the name of the establishment, along with the ghostly countenance of an adhiel lass.

Inside, the taproom further underscores the lost glory of the townhouse, its dark wood paneling faded and gouged, the red velvet coverlets stained and threadbare, the brass lamp fixtures corroded and tarnished. Several tables are scattered throughout the center of the room, and booths line the walls to allow more private conversations. Along one wall of the long, narrow room sits the bar, and at the rear of the taproom doors lead off to the kitchen and to the stairs leading up to the handful of rooms available for rent, where it is said the merchant’s daughter still roams from time to time, auguring doom with every appearance.

~~~~

“Namaste,” called the achadhiel barman from behind the bar, as Loraith entered. Lean as a whip, he has long dark hair pulled back into a single, thick braid and his rough angular face is dominated by a livid scar from brow to cheekbone that cuts across a milky white eye. In his remaining dark eye a glimmer of recognition could be glimpsed, just for a flicker.

“What’ll you have?” he called out.
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Loraith still with a look of danger and anger on his face came over to the bar and heavily lay his arms upon it. He looked up and smiled, "Evening Laisrean, my my this place never changes and let us be thankful for it." He turned his body so he was leaning on the bar but could easily look out over the taproom but still talk to the bartender. "Three things I want, for one and the most pressing is an ale, two a buxom lass on my lap and finally I seek members of my old crew, I daresay you have seen me before with them?" He smiled and put a held a coronet in his hand and put it on the bar, "Think you can grant my three requests? I only want the best mind, best ale and best women dont you try to fob me off with the low rung." He smiled and gave a wink before turning his gaze over the taproom seeing if he recognised anyone, and he allowed people to recall him before they judged him on the quality of his dress and manner.

"Oh and how is your ghost? Perhaps I should go have a word with her." He laughed and looked eagerly around for his ale, sure the wine he had been drinking was sublime but occasionally the palate demanded something more powerful.
Sebastian Beauvais
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Post by Sebastian Beauvais »

"Ale it is then," replied Laisrean neutrally, apparently not interested in getting drawn into Loraith's game of friendly banter. "You sure you don't want anything more...potent?" asked the bartender as he drew an amber flagon from the cask behind the bar. He glanced back at his achadhiel patron knowingly with his one good eye - it seemed he did remember Loraith after all.

For Loraith's part, no one in the taproom caught his eye as particularly familiar. The place wasn't very busy yet, most of the lower class clientele in the Docks district still working or perhaps sleeping away the day in anticipation of what the darker tides would bring.

Slipping the full tankard in front of Loraith, Laisrean's nimble fingers scooped up the coronet and weighed it carefully in his palm. "I've not seen any mates of yours around here, not for weeks. I think you weren't the only one who ran out of hidey holes. Could be they weren't so lucky as you, coming back in here dressed so fine and tossing good gold around." Laisrean raised an eyebrow as he appraised his patron's finery and then moved to his cash box and rustled around briefly. Coming straight back, he placed a small tumble of circlets and lances in front of Loraith.

"For women, you'd have to talk to Simmoes over there," the dark-haired achadhiel nodded, identifying an enormous human reclining in a booth toward the back of the taproom. There appeared to be the right sort of woman with him right then, reinforcing Laisrean's assertion. "He and I have an arrangement. I rent the space and he looks after the rest. Simmoes can set you up with whatever you need."

Snatching a rag from behind the bar, the one-eyed bartender wiped down a section of the counter near Loraith. "And don't you go mocking the maiden, mate," he said seriously, making a quick sign against evil portents. "She don't bring nothing but trouble to those who court her."
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"Oh no I am trying not to take any Khat, if I took some now I am not sure I would see the morning." He was somewhat dismayed about not seeing any of hios companions and latterly hearing there was no sign of them for a few weeks, how else was he supposed to get what he wanted. Without advice he felt he would hire a bumbler or someone else it was a depressing situation. Still he poured his ale and took a swig before collecting his coins, he would certainly speak to Simmoes soon, after all women likely knew the most around here, all ears and whatnot, perhaps a woman could point him in the right direction. But the reverance the man had for the maiden intrigued him, the paranormal interested Loraith, faeries, dragons, demons and whatnot he enjoyed hearing about. He had always thought the ghost was a figment to give the place more atmosphere, make it appear different from the other taverns about the place.

"Oh so the maiden exists then, one achadhiel to another, tell me about her? If she does exist I would be quite interested in seeing her, I mean does she do anything besides talk about doom all the time? I mean perhaps she could be reasoned with?" he was likely appearing naive and misunderstading about ghosts, but as ever Loraith was wondering if he could get anything out of this ghost, perhaps she needed someone to put her spirit to rest and would offer a reward. But you never got anywhere if you did not ask.
Sebastian Beauvais
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Post by Sebastian Beauvais »

Laisrean's rag stopped mid-circle atop the counter and he stared at Loraith with his one good eye, its dark depths containing a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "Are you daft? It's a wonder you were the one that survived!" he snorted, shaking his head.

"I just told you she always brings doom upon those she visits. Always! If you're that interested in a horrible death then let me know and I'll have the crows look after you. It'll be a lot simpler, and I won't lose half my custom for a fortnight while the scare wears off."

"'Sides," he added, finally continuing with the top of the bar, "she never carries on a conversation anyhow. What words she does speak are dark and damning, and uttered under her own volition. The last two sightings she didn't even say anything." Finishing up, Laisrean shook out the towel and folded it in half before storing in behind the bar. "Didn't help either bloke though. They died anyhow, and not by the crows neither."

Just then another patron attracted the barkeep's attention, calling for a refill on their glass, and Laisrean wandered off to the other end of the bar, all the while muttering something about half-breed lunatics.
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Loraith nodded to himself, it was silly to ask but still he had no need to ingratiate himself towards this barman. He had served a purpose, his information had been provided and now he needed to visit the fellow he was pointed towards. He took another drink of his ale realising how much he had been drinking since he arrived in Kislovan, still he decided it was part of the culture. The ale was a course drink and made him cough gently, he was unused to its bitter flavour and rough texture.

Loraith carried the tankard in one hand as he moved over to Simmoes, he rested before him and gave a curt nod of his head, "I am Loraith Kasvenir, you may have noticed me in this bar before in less fortunate times. I would like to know how much coin it would take for me to loosen your tongue on an illicit manner and to take this lady off your hands." He cast a glance at the woman giving her a friendly smile. He then waited for this Simmoes to answer him hoping this would prove more fruitful than the initial search.
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Post by Sebastian Beauvais »

Elcazar Simmoes was a large, beefy man with coarse black hair, a shaggy beard and hands that looked like they could engulf a normal man’s head with ease. Small, deep-set eyes peered out with dark intelligence from his flushed, round face and kept careful watch over all activity in the taproom. He was clad in a faded shirt and worn pants of a dark material, the better to hide the various stains that covered them, and sported a leather vest that had clearly seen better days. One ring adorned the first finger of his right hand, an oval garnet clasped in a band of gold.

Snuggled up beside him in the booth, one arm draped across Simmoes’ barrel chest, was a buxom young human woman with long, softly curling chestnut hair and a pale complexion. She was clad in a dress of burgundy velvet cut to accentuate her ample curves, and as she looked over silently at Loraith in the dim light of the booth her dark eyes floated curiously above a pert, upturned nose.

"I suppose that depends on just what it is you want to ask about," replied Simmoes in a raspy, gruff voice. He glanced down at the girl besides him and nodded once, before looking back to Loraith. "This is Melissa, a favourite of mine. You have a fine eye."

For her part, Melissa withdrew her arm from around Simmoes and slipped out of the booth, subtly dipping her upper body over the table as she navigated the seat. Two short steps and she was sliding in beside Loraith, hooking an arm through his and allowing her bosom to softly brush up against him. She smiled sweetly, a smile that promised much, but remained silent. Her touch was warm, and her hair smelled of lilac.

"So, what can I do for you?" asked the big man as one of his huge mitts reached for his own mug of ale.
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Post by Sevti »

Since this player is no longer with us, this thread is locked and archived without being skilled.
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