The Gilded Gates ~ entrance thread

[Sandjen Sorien]

"King balthasar!" Sandjen thought. "I must have come to the rigt place."

He thanked the old man who gave him the information and moved to the guards. "My name is Sandjen Sorien and I have come to strengthen the church of the One." He said with great confidence,his smile still on his face.

ooc
Can we please move on please? Ive been stuck here for ages now! Ive done everything you asked.

[Sevti]

The guards stood in silence, their eyes scanning the line behind Sandjen. For the moment, at least, he was still not a threat. It was as though his words hadn't even registered on them.

The only sign that the clerk had heard him was the faint scratching of his quill against the parchment. "And your occupation?" He asked again, his tone unchanged from his previous questions. Another dip into the inkwell and his quill waited above the parchment once more.

[Sandjen Sorien]

"They seem bored or something." Sandjen thought. "Weird, when they are in the presence of the king!"

"I am on a mission from God!" He told the guards. "I hail from Kings court and I am a paladin seeking the help the One against pagans."

Perhaps now he woud get a reaction from the bored guards.

[Sevti]

His attempt at snapping them out of their boredom was only half successful. One guard continued to ignore what was happening at the table, keeping his eyes on those still wanting to enter.

The other, however, just raised a single eyebrow, his lip turned in an amused smirk. Oh, another one. They've been coming in droves lately, the guard thought before turning back to his duties watching the line.

The clerk's quill continued to scrawl over the paper, writing for several flickers after Sandjen had finished speaking.

Though the scribbled symbols meant nothing to Sandjen, the rolls of his entrance read: "Sandjen Sorien, Paladin, Strengthen Church of the One/Claims to be on mission from God/Wants Help from the One against pagans, Kings Court"

There was a blank space left at the end of the that line and the clerk's quill hovered above it. "And how long will you be staying in Roque D'Ancourt?" he asked, eyes still firmly upon the parchment on the table.

[Sandjen Sorien]

It was Sandjens turn to look at the guards with some doubt. Why would such people be guarding the gates when they did not care about who came in? He looked at the paper and saw his own words written down. At least they did not try to fool him. Ofcourse the words meant something to him. He could read and write like all paladins. He said: "I will be staying as long as I am needed."

[Sevti]

The clerk scribbled a few more words, then took out a piece of parchment, scrawled a few lines then held it out to Sandjen, still without looking up. "Here's your gate pass. You can find lodging at the Dog's Home Inn in the Lower Forum. Please keep your gate pass with you at all times and enjoy your stay in Roque D'Ancourt."

Once Sandjen took the pass from the clerk, he was out of the thoughts of clerk and guards alike.

"Next!" the clerk called loudly, his eyes still fixed on the parchment in front of him, his quill dipped automatically into his inkwell once again.

(OOC: Alright, you're on your way! You've got several options at this point - going to find lodging at the Dogs Home Inn, seeking out the Church of the One, exploring the City, or anything else you may have in mind. Let me know what you'd like to do and we'll get a new thread set up for you soon.

--Sevti)

[Motley]

It was with mixed emotions that the entertainer and troubadour known as the Motley found himself approaching his birthplace. His time at Dragonskeep wore heavily on the ugly little man and it showed in the hollows of his mismatched eyes, and the pallor of his blotchy skin. He had left the encroaching darkness and war of the Keep to come home. To heal, to convalesce, and to regain a sense of himself.

There had been terror in his life at the Keep. Violence and death. Traitors and secrets. He had been manipulated and used as a pawn. A plaything for others to advance their own agendas with. In short, the world had beaten the ugly little man down, and he wanted to find himself again. Business and other things would wait. He was here for himself first and foremost.

He made his way down the sturdy and wide west road toward the Gilded Gates. As his eyes saw the city, he fought through the welling of tears to view his birthplace. The "Jewel of the West" seemed unchanged and somehow pristine to the ugly little man. He knew there were horrors and memories he'd much rather not face within its walls, but the sight was welcome nonetheless. For better or for worse, this was the city that had spawned him. His aptitudes and attitudes all forged in the streets and alleyways of this place and had converged to make up who and what he was now. He hoped that were still the case as Motley was searching for one thing inside those walls, himself.

As he approached the Gilded Gates, he swung his lute around and began to play. It was a simple, familiar tune called "A Thousand Yahren". He was certain the guards and the others waiting entrance into the city would recognize it as it was very well known throughout the West. It symbolized how the Motley felt about how long it had been since he'd seen this place. It symbolized how long he thought it would stand. It symbolized how long the line was to get in. Motley smiled his toothy, yellowed grin at that last thought. By the time he reached the guards, he was already feeling better.

"Ah... Dear sir! I am the Motley, and I have returned home."

[Sevti]

Samheen 25, Late ET

Motley approached the gate at an uncommon lull, able to walk up to the guards with nary a burn's wait. The music wafted around them, to the obvious pleasure of the shorter of the two guards. His homely face creased into a smile and his toe tapped along with the melody. He stopped just short of whistling along, but the desire to do so glinted in shining blue eyes.

The other guard, however, was less than impressed. Dark features watched. the trubador approach suspiciously, his hand ready resting on the sword at his side. No one can be that joyous, the guard thought bitterly. Trying to put us at ease for a trick of some sort, he is.

The guard had not been having a good day thus far.

At Motley's greeting, the first guard smiled and nodded. "Fair welcome to you, Sir. And fine playing that was. It reminded me of..."

Before he could elaborate on just what memory came to mind from Motley's playing, the other guard interrupted. "Motley. I don't seem to remember that name. Have you proof you've come home, or are you just hoping to trick the good Followers in Roque D'Ancourt into paying for your lazy indulgences by playing that thing until your pockets are full again?"

[Motley]

What a miserable and suspicious creature you are... The Motley thought. Although the next thoughts that came to his head were insulting and rather rude, the Motley pushed them aside to deal with the guard and gain entrance. It was much more important for the little man to be inside, then it was to beat the guard down with words for some sort of moral victory, so the Motley bit his tongue and replied in good nature, with a smile, and a friendly tone.

"Yes sir! How can I prove to you that I have come home? Tell you were the bodies are buried and where the loot is stashed? Truth be known good sir. I have no secrets such as those. I cannot prove to you I was born here because I have no House. No family. No records of my existence. I was left for dead on the streets of this fair city and prostitutes and pickpockets were my family until I left. I cannot prove this to you because this city had no idea I even existed. It's hard to prove anything like that when its never been acknowledged that I was born."

Motley looked down at his hands. They were only thing that was 'normal' about him.

"I have two things of value in this world sir. These..." He said as he lifted his hands, palms up in a gesture of innocence and helplessness. "... and this." He said as he pointed to his head. "My mind writes the music and these hands play it. There is nothing tricky about it. I play, and if the fine people deem it worthy enough to share a few of their hard earned coins with me, then more's the better for me."

He pulled the floppy hat from his head, squeezing it in both hands in almost a prayer like gesture before the guards.

"I am a musician and a performer. Roque was once my home. Music is the only chance I have. I cannot be a noble and honorable guard such as yourself, and other occupations are ill suited for the likes of me. Roque was once the center of culture and sophistication and art in the West. Surely the appreciation of those art is not lost? Please sir. If I need a gate pass, then I will take a gate pass. If you need me to sign something, then I will sign something. I am only trying to go home."

[Sevti]

The dark guard listen, his scowl deepening with every word the Motley uttered. Prostitutes? Pickpockets? And the PRIDE in his voice as he speaks of music and fleecing money from those followers of the One who are not strong enough to resist such evil, just so he can be a laze-about rather than do an honest day's hard work. False claims from a devil's tongue, I'd wager. And he's the devil's look about him as well. No one pious can be that... misshapen. They do say the body without tells the soul within. Would that a decree had passed to keep those such as him from tainting my fair city.

While he mused, his music-loving companion smiled at the petitioner of the Gate. "Sounds reasonable to me," he told the Motley with a nod. "If you'll go through there to..."

A hand came up, stopping the guard's instructions. "No, Curcio. I'm not satisfied with his tale."

"But Eliot..."

The scowling guard shook his head. "We are charged with making sure no one enters but those who have good reason to be in Roque D'Ancourt. Particularly those who claim to have been given birth by our fair City and been out wandering the world. So we've every right to question him further."

The hard look he gave Curcio brooked no argument. The smile on the guard's face turned to a frown, but he held silent. After all, he is nominally my superior. I will put this into my report to the Captain when shift is over, however. He remained silent and listened.

"You claim to be from Roque D'Ancourt and are returning home, but by your admission, have no home here to call your own. Where, praytell, will you sleep? Once again among the prostitutes and the pickpockets? Or has your playing in the less civilized lands given you the money to afford rooms somewhere?" He waited, arms crossed, studying the Motley intently while he waited for the answer.

[Motley]

Motley began to walk forward with the assent of young Curcio, but stopped immediately when the other raised his hand. The twisted little man gave the guard an incredulous look, as if he weren't quite believing what he was hearing. Nevertheless, he remained polite and good natured.

What did you expect? A parade?

"I intended to room at the Dog's Home Inn if it still stands, and if not perhaps something a little more... rustic... at the Freely Poured. As for my reason to be here, I intend to purchase a new lute in the Happenstance and play before the King and Court at the great performance hall. I have played for the King before master Guardsman, at his Coronation celebration. He was quite taken with my performance, and I'm told he enjoyed it very much. Now, I'm certain he would be appreciative of your diligence and thoroughness in guarding the city and I can indeed admire your devotion to your work as well, but I would like it very much if you told me exactly how you wish for me to prove my intentions and what I can do to gain entrance into the city please."

Motley made no mention of his money. He'd seen guards shake down refugees and transients before, and he wasn't about to tempt the man.

[Sevti]

The guard listened, doubt and scorn blazing darkly. The King? Being played for by this good-for-nothing? Oh, the music sound ok, I guess, if you like that kind of thing. But not good enough for a King, I'd wager. Unless the King were in the mood for some comedy...

His arms unfolded so he could rest his hands on his hips, smirking at the man standing before him. "How can you prove your intentions? I don't suppose you have a letter from the King, expressing his deep desire for you to play for him once more? Or a letter of note from someone claiming to have heard your wonderful playing at that time?"

Let's see him produce THAT proof, he thought smugly.

Curcio just stood silently beside him, biting his lip in worry.

[Motley]

Sensing that the guard simply wasn't going to let him pass, it was time for the Motley to challenge him. All who were there at the coronation ceremony would remember him. Indeed all who gazed upon the twisted little entertainer rarely forgot what he looked like and who he was. It was just that fact that Motley counted on now. It was that fact that would get him into the gates as well.

"I have no note sir. I have nothing but what stands before you now. But that will be proof enough for you sir. Summon your Captain. I would like the Captain of the King's security force to come to this gate and verify I was there for you. Summon the King himself! He will remember me very well! You will soon understand that I was there and that I played before the King. I am making it my own personal mission to educate you to that fact. May the One forgive me for my pride and you for your disbelief. Go on! I'll wait."

The Motley stood there expectantly, daring the man to go and find the King himself.

[Sevti]

Eliot paled and Curcio barely hid a grin. Denying the man passage was one thing, but bringing the King into it... particularly if he, Eliot, had been in the wrong... was a risk not worth taking. He liked his job here, he liked keeping the less-than-desirables out. And his Captain had always approved of that before. But if, by some miracle of Dominicus' light, this man actually HAD played for the King, HAD impressed him...

No, he must drop this path to keeping the man out.

But there was still one more, legitimate way.

"I'll not bother the King's time with such riff-raff," the man finally scowled. "He and his men have much more important things to do than come down to personally deny admittance to a common street crow. Provided you can show ample means of support, I'll allow you to speak to the clerk for your gate pass, since there's no solid proof for or against. You DO have the Coronet required to prove your ability to support yourself?"

Again, Eliot looked smuggly satisfied that Motley would not be able to produce what he required. His hands twitched at his sides, anxious to bodily throw this odious annoyance from the gates.

Curcio took half a step forward, his hand reaching toward his belt pouch, tucked safely away on the far side of his body where his companion would be sure not to see.

[Motley]

The Motley stood, fuming.

Reaching into his bag and further down into his coinpurse, the ugly little man fished two coronets out and held them out on his palm for Curcio to take. His reply was in a voice tight and thick with anger and suppressed sarcasm.

"Here you are good sir. One for my passage in, one for your trouble. Have an ale on me. Drink to my health, as I will be drinking to yours."

Or more likely to you losing your job you miserable wretch... He thought darkly.

The Motley waited for the friendlier guard to take his money, and the instant he did, the ugly little man asked the question he'd been dying to utter.

"May I go in now?"

[Sevti]

Eliot started to bite out a retort when Curcio's soft voice cut him off. He remained standing where he was, refusing to reach for the coins.

"No, good man, the money is not to be given for passage. Just shown as proof that you will be able to afford lodgings upon your entrance to the fair City of your home." He smiled at the wanderer, ignoring his steaming partner. "After all, if we were to take someone's last coronet, there would be the chance they'd be reduced to begging in the streets for the money for lodging. And that would defeat the purpose of making sure you had the money for lodging in the first place."

He stepped aside to allow Motley passage. "And no money will be required for me to drink to your health either. I shall do that on my own." He glanced at his partner, daring him to reach for the coin. He watched the darker man as he continued to speak to Motley. "For you've given me a fair gift today with your song as you approached. The best of luck to you in Roque D'Ancourt, good minstrel. I look forward to hearing that you've once again played for the King." There was no malice in his voice, no taunting - it was was pure and simple sincerity that his fellow had failed to learn through his life.

Curcio then turned to Eliot, his look changing from the friendly countenance with which he beheld Motley to one of determination. Let the man pass, you over-confidant bastard. I've let this go too far already. Another word, another action, and I'll rerport you as high as I need to go to have you removed from anything resembling dealing with another living being. Or lose my own post trying.

His face a mask of red fury, the darker guard paused a full burn before complying, stepping aside to allow Motley access to the clerk beyond. But the look he gave first Motley then Curcio said that, if possible, this was far from over.

"Enjoy your time in Roque D'Ancourt, good minstrel," the man told him, saracasm dripping from every word. "May your time here be eventful."

Beyond them stood a small table, a bored looking clerk sitting behind it. "Welcome to Roque d'Ancourt. Please state your name, occupation and reason for coming to our fair city," he spoke as if by rote, a marked change from the interaction a few paces before.

This man could care less for Motley's reasons for being here. He had his questions to ask, his answers to record, his pass to write. And that was the end of his involvement. Less than a burn later, Motley had his pass in hand and had taken his first steps back into his home city.

(OOC: Thanks for a great thread! I know you have some closing comments and reactions to make so feel free. After that, welcome to Roque! Feel free to start up a thread of your own.)

[Motley]

Motley took the coins and placed one of them back in his pocket, in a deft move, he kept the other lightly in his palm as Curcio spoke his kind words. The impact was profound on the ugly little man. It would be obvious to Curcio that he had made a friend with the twisted little Motley.

"Thank you Curcio." he said loudly. But then he dropped his voice to a whisper, hoping that Eliot could not hear.

"This is for you." He hissed softly as he pressed the coin into the guard's palm under the guise of a farewell handshake. "If someday I need to call upon you sir, I hope you will take this as a down payment on future business, and a hope that you will continue to think kindly of me."

After his private words with Curcio, he turned to stare down Eliot. The guard's sarcastic words were far too tempting for Motley to resist. he matched the guards sarcasm with his own and doubled it.

"I'm sure my stay here will be anything but eventful with the likes of you keeping the riff-raff out. You're far too efficient at your job for anything exciting to happen. As a matter of fact, why not retire so something eventful can happen around here eh?"

He made his way quickly to the Clerk's station. He hurried his waddling walk both to move away quickly to avoid further incident, and also to avoid any protestations from the kindly Curcio. It was almost as much as a getaway as it was an entrance.

The bored, drolling tone of the clerk caused Motley to answer in the same droning tone. It was Motley's way of teasing the clerk who probably would not even hear the jest.

"Motley." "Musician" "Seeking to perform and earn a living." He said a dry, nasally voice that was an imitation of the clerk's. Without another word, he took the pass and entered his home. Sniffing deeply, he paused.

Home. For better or worse. Let's try for the better shall we?

OOC: Thanks Sevti!

[Rhoddin]

Samheem 26th, early MT

The young man shrugged his broad shoulders, and shook his shaggy head, clearing the vestiges of fog from his befuddled mind. Had it been two burns or two weeks that he had wandered in a distant fog of forgetfulness? He recalled most of the time leading up to the approach of the Crystal Dragons lair, but from then on it was blur. Only a very vague recollection of the events following that time in place remained with him.

And where in the seven hells of K'Tan was he now? He could see what could loosely be described as a Town Gate, but where was he, and almost as importantly, how did he get here?

Well, there's nothing for it my boy, let's get this over with. And with those few resolute words, Rhoddin approached the gates.

Running his fingers through his unkempt hair he tried to attain some level of dignity before he addressed the men lounging by the gate.

"Um hum, I know this might sound a bit, um, foolish, but um where exactly am I?" Well, that's a good start idiot, they'll really want you in there town now, what a klutz!, but it was out there and he had no other option but to await their reply.

OOC: I trust my time stamp is OK, I've been out of circulation for a while.

[Sevti]

OOC: Timestamp's fine, Rhoddin. And away we go.

It had been a slow morning at the gates and the two guards had been standing outside, chatting amiably when the slightly disheveled young man came up the road toward them. A few of their words could be heard floating on the wind toward Rhoddin.

"Eliot just went CRAZY..."

"Curcio said there'd been a problem at the gate earlier..."

"Always knew he was a bit unbalanced..."

They both looked up as the young man stepped nearer to the gate and began to speak. At the strange question, the younger of the two pushed himself from the wall and studdied him dubiously.

"You're... outside of Roque D'Ancourt, my man," his grey eyes darted between the handsome young stranger and his older, graying companion. The older guard raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.

"Where did you think you were?" the younger guard continued kindly. If he's unbalanced, the One take me early if I'll make any mistakes in dealing with him. Don't need another smear on the name of the Guards.

[Rhoddin]

Smatterings of the guards words reached the young man, and their comments about crazy people didn't do his mood much good, having already asked one dumb question he racked his mind for a better reply than his actual question.

"Well, too be honest I wasn't sure. I seem to have got myself lost and have been wandering a bit aimlessly. The few people I've met seem a bit reticent to discuss much." Well OK that's a bit of a lie, I can't actually remember meeting anyone before you, but it sounds better than admitting I can't remember more than two or three burns ago.

Rhoddin looked hopefully at the younger guard, carefull not to be too direct, but also not wanting to look shifty or furtive.

[Sevti]

The older guard chuckled. "Musta be pretty lost there, boyo, to not know you were near Roque D'Ancourt. But all things considered lately..." He trailed off, shrugging.

"Would you like to be staying in our fair city for a spell, then?" he asked, pushing himself from the wall. His hand rested easily on the pommel of his sword, starting the shift from easy-going man to professional guard should the visitor's answer be yes.

His younger companion, meanwhile, continued to watch the man with a wary kindness reserved for small children and simpletons. "Yes," he added with a smile. "There are many places we could direct you in Roque that could help you... get back on your feet again."

"Yuli," the older man shook his head, bright blue eyes twinkling. "I don't think this one'll be a problem. Just the feelin' about 'im. Though, boyo," he turned to address Rhoddin once more, "he does have the right of it. Once you get checked through the gate here, if you're meanin' to stay, there's a lotta places we can direct you to lay your head or get your questions answered. If ya'd be wanting those services."

[Rhoddin]

As the older guard addressed him, Rhoddin paid the man more interest, and a glimmer of his manners from previous encounters returning. A brief but deferential nod preceded his reply.

"I believe I would seek the local bards guild." A slight shrug and half grimace half smile upon his face. "I think a bath, a hot meal and then maybe some rest would be in order.

"Then maybe I can get my mind back into order." He failed to add , and figure out what has been going on for the last few days!!! Although it flashed through his mind, and probably shoed itself across his face. He waited patiently for the guards reply, he not failed to see the older guards hand stray to the pommel of his sword.

[Sevti]

The older guard nodded thoughtfully. "Well, if you're wantin' to find the bards guild, you'll need to be goin' to Upper City to do it. They're housed in the Performance Hall up that way. Beautiful building. Can't fail to miss it. Though, I'd suggest," he continued, looking over the man with a critical eye, "That ya'd be wanting to tend to your bed and your bath before wanderin' up that way. For that, I'd suggest the Dogs Home Inn. Good beds, passable food, not out to take you for your last banner. And occasionally, they'll be a spot of entertainment there." His blue eyes twinkled, but he didn't elaborate further on the type of entertainment he might mean.

"For gettin' your mind back in order, I'd suggest a visit at the Monestary." He pointed to the large building clearly visible through the gates. "It's not far from the Dogs Home, and the Priests there've gotta way of making you figure things out right. If you go, ask for Brother Mart. He blunders a bit sometimes, but his heart's in the right place." He gave a nod to Yuli and the younger guard stepped away from the gate to allow Rhoddin to enter.

"And if you're planning on playing," the younger man interjected before Rhoddin could pass by him to the clerk beyond, "make sure you get your permit before doing so. It could save you a lot of trouble later on."

Once Rhoddin had passed the pair and entered the gates proper, he was faced with a bored looking little man seated behind a desk. A piece of parchment and a quill sat before him. Without looking up, the man's voice droned, "Name. Occupation. Reason for coming to Roque D'Ancourt. Place of Occupation. Length of stay." His quill hovered above the parchment, ready to record the young man's answers.

(OOC: Unless you've got any surprises for me, your reply can be your final post for here and then you're off to enjoy and explore Roque D'Ancourt! Enjoy your stay. )

[Rhoddin]

As the older guard imparted his information, Rhoddin listened carefully nodding occassionally as he absorbed the details of the guards comments. The Dogs Home Inn sounded good, but he wasn't to sure about the monastery. Unless things had changed for the better, and he had a sneaking suspicion it might actually be for the worse, then monks of Dominicus where unlikely to take well to to a follower of K'Tan, or at best an aethiest.

He was quite interested in exploring the Upper City at some stage, but maybe he'd settle for the Lower City just for the moment.

At the younger guards comments about receiving a permit, Rhoddin smiled. "I will keep it mind sir, but as I don't even have a lute at present, I can't see it happening at present."

As he passed the guards and confronted the scribe, he had to think carefully about his responses.

"My name good sir is Rhoddin, R H O D D I N." From experience he spelt his name clearly for the scribe. "I guess am a bard by training, although I am still in training for that role.

"I am in Roque D'Ancourt to further my education. I intend to seek lodgings at the Dogs Home Inn, and intend to stay for several weeks. Although the length of my stay is at present uncertain. I trust these answers are satisfactory to your good self?" And a quizzical look crossed his well tanned features, green eyes carefully surveying the small man.

[Reise Silverskye]

Tradetide, Samheen 26

It had been a long, long day for Reise Silverskye, and when the gates of Roque D'Ancourts lower city came into view, she couldn't help but breathe a bit easier. There had been a time when she had hoped never to see this place again, or rather, when she wouldn't have needed to see it again. She had planned on becoming someone, someone that would gain power in a place like King's Court. But that city was all but destroyed now, and Reise had barely escaped the chaos there with her life. After spending a few cold, lonely nights camped alone outside the city, wondering where her friend Ethan was, wondering what people like Jaxis were up to, she decided to come back home. Roque wasn't her true home really; she had never been entirely certain where she was born, but she'd spent most of her childhood there. She knew it, or used to anyway.

She'd decided to come here because she heard it was still safe. It would give her the time she needed to regain her wits and strength, rest up a bit, and make plans anew. The events in King's Court hadn't dampened her ambition even a little bit. There was still plenty of world that needed someone like her to take charge, and she planned on finding her own little bit of it. She would make new plans, and then set out to accomplish them.

She rode up to the gates at a slow canter, a pace that wouldn't alarm the guards, but also got her out of the wilds quickly. The wilds between the cities weren't save anymore. Bandits were out there, and worse things. She'd had to be careful to avoid some of them. But now she was here, and she would be safe.

She glanced down at the guards, and spoke quietly, calmly, though it was plain she was weary. "I seek entrance to the city," she said simply. "I need a good place to rest for a bit." Her tone was courteous, but her pale eyes made her gaze look icy, and more than a bit unfriendly. "I trust this city is still safe?"