Fantasy Rifts [IC][Closed]

[Breadman]

As soon as Fraskia stepped through the portal she could sense the moonlight beaming down on her and the salty air of the sea port. It was an unfamiliar scent for her as her travels have yet to take her far out of the heartland, but she was expecting it to happen sooner or later. She took the opportunity to look around their new environment. Same as any city she's been in. Only major difference seemed to be the presence of a dock. Shops, smiths, the occasional specialized service such as fortune tellers, enchanters and bankers dotted the streets. The people hurried about from their homes to the market or docks and back. She did notice that there seemed to be more exotic merchants around compared to most cities. How many of those items are actually magic and how many are just trinkets?

It's nice to be back to some sense of normalcy...felt like ever since Ember, normal hasn't sought us out.

"Feels like this is the abnormal." She answered Arnas "Don't get to stick to cities for too long in my line of work even when I'm not chasing after rifts."

 

[Chaos Gallant]

A significantly light load on Terrence's back shifted about as he organized his scant belongings a bit. It was much lighter than he'd usually travel with, but his main gripe was that he wished he'd brought a bigger bag. The satchel he had with him currently was barely large enough to hold an extra set of clothes. ‘How these adventures make do I cannot fathom.’ The orc thought to himself as he adjusted the straps over his shoulder.

Terrence took a deep breath of the saltwater breeze blowing through the port city. “Ah, if there were just a few more scamps running about, you could have fooled me into believing I was back home.” His eyes traveled swiftly among the many stores and vendors practicing their trades, taking note of everything they passed. The orc smiled seeing a few Dandolian traders as well, the familiar scent of a few spices tickling his nose as he watched them argue over shipping costs

“Normalcy, industry, mercantilism. A wonderful change of pace indeed.” He nodded at Arnas’ comment, watching as a dwarf tried to get his fair share for a fine weapon he'd no doubt spent plenty of hard work and time crafting. Terrence tried his best to not to intervene in the dealings, turning his head to address the rest of the party. “So, did anyone ask for directions to the tavern yet? While I do not mind stumbling around markets all day until it falls into our laps, perhaps it would be prudent of us to ask?”

 

[joshuadim]

"Feels like this is the abnormal." She answered Arnas "Don't get to stick to cities for too long in my line of work even when I'm not chasing after rifts."

"...doesn't it get lonely?" Arnas then asked, turning his head to Fraskia. "Being away from people I mean. Cities. Civilization...?" He wasn't a stranger to being away in the wilds for long periods of time; even before coming across Ember he had been on the road on his lonesome. For him, it was a lonesome experience that left him wanting: "I've traveled and... well, I've missed home. I've missed my dad and friends." Arnas then said, striking a chord in himself that he realized he hadn't before as he turned away just as quickly. He had left from home so abruptly that he didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to anyone. Not to mention the inevitable reaction he knew his father would have for having left his sights.

He dreaded the day he would have to face him again and try to explain why he left in the first place.

“So, did anyone ask for directions to the tavern yet? While I do not mind stumbling around markets all day until it falls into our laps, perhaps it would be prudent of us to ask?”

Terrence's inquiry snapped Arnas out of his brief interlude as he let out a chuckle. "Right. Can't really know where we're going otherwise..." Arnas stated, looking around. "Surely someone knows the directions to our point." he muttered, observing the common folk and others passing them by as they minded their own business. A city guardsman standing at his post at the corner of a major street intersection caught his attention nearby and he led the group towards him.

"Excuse me! Would you happen to know where the Golden Talon Tavern is?" he asked.

The bearded guard looked at Arnas with confusion, blinking as he formulated an answer. "Uh... no, lad. Not a place that is familiar with me." he spoke, scratching his own cheek to get rid of a sudden itch. "Maybe ask around in the Salt Wharf? Sounds like where it would be."

"Salt Wharf...?"

"Ah, you're not from around here. My apologies. That's where the dockworkers all congregate, and the shops and tradehouses too. Follow this street downhill all the way down and you'll find yourself there." he then said, pointing downwards. The city was fortunately build on an incline, which made it visible to their directions as the journey down was easier on their weary feet. There was also the invisible boundary of smell that made it clear that they had entered the Salt Wharf, as sea spray, fish, and wood became the dominant scents that filled everyone's nostrils. The crowds also changed in appearance as they took on the form of sailors, dockworkers, and the militiamen that often times patrolled the area in search of smugglers.

It was there that Arnas stopped another of the guards and asked for directions, and was promptly pointed towards an establishment on the far end of the docks that jutted out like a shard of glass amidst the urban development. Built upon the very corner of the city block was an oddly shaped tavern that worked with what space it had available to it, with its sign proudly boasting "The Golden Talon Tavern" in its trademark golden lettering that was expected of it. An eagle's talon was carved into its signage to drive the point further home, which made Arnas chuckle. "At least this was more obvious than whatever was supposed to be at Leskau."

On entering, with the group following shortly thereafter, they were greeted with the sight of a few drunk sailors sleeping their woes away at various tables, a bartender with a tired and cragged face manning his post, and three other figures that looked out of place compared to the local patrons. An elf, a Morganthi draevir, and a dwarf with a pipe all sat at their own tables in wait, though had come to understand that they were all here for the same purpose that had now been revealed to them. The dwarf took a drag from his smoking pipe before speaking up first, observing the newcomers to the establishment.

"Ye lot must be the one's the Guardian was talking about." he said, kicking his feet up momentarily before hopping out of his stool. The dwarven traveler strode over to Arnas first and shook his hand. "Ornam Farstrider. Tracker, traveler, and wayfinder."

"Arnas Kollings... er, hired sword. Occasional beast slayer." the young mercenary responded in kind, trying to match the impressive resume presented.

The dwarf gave a smile from under his beard before turning to the others, as if expecting some other introductions to come forward.

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