Thanny
The Destined Undestined
The Rubies of Eventide are a myth, understand, a fiction. It had been reported aeons ago by credible local sources -- Ophala of Neverwinter, Rorsh of Amn, Ethalian Demotre of the Red Wizards of Thay, and many more -- that the maker of these so-called enchanted gemstones had died after making these gemstones and scattered them as a last wish. Why would he do such a thing? If he could make them and recognise them as dangerous, as the legends say they are, surely he could unmake them. But no, the legend persists, relics of a bygone magical era that have no business in this new age, not if it were real, not if it were fiction. Fiction or no, however, the powers they hold still attract attention from lords and power seekers. Who knows if they had been gathered already, biding their time to unleash something upon the world? Two thousand years may be a few lifetimes for elves, but are still plenty of time to lose what is lost or what had never existed. Perhaps the world will never know.
-- Anonymous, DR 3250, on the entreaty to call off archeaological searches near the Great Cities of the Northwest.
The morning rains that descended on Yartar had subsided and drifted to the east, already squeezed of much of their supply of water before doing so. Outside, people started to stir. Inside, people started to move out. Rain was heavy in these parts, summer giving its usual boons from the Sea of Swords in the favour of bountiful harvests that became the norm, but it still made people who were not farmers complain. Adventurers were such people, and quite a number of them grumbled into their tankards, bowls, and mugs about the irritation that the rains gave them. They truthfully did not have much to complain about, as most lone wolves out there had come here, to this tavern, from clear across the city through the onslaught of rain droplets to complain about the onslaught of rain droplets to one another, but it passed the time.
The Twin Hooked Moons, as the tavern was called, was a hotspot for those of the adventuring kind, new and old alike. Some had frequented this place for a fine pint of ale or a shot of applejack or three distilled from local producers, while others nursed weaker drinks such as a fine mead or, some, boiled tea leaves. Shadows draped over the tables in the form of soft curtains, softening words to ensure a quiet drink with private conversation. But there were still those who gathered, in search of something new with a strange, unknown soul who had the spark of adventure, or perhaps just someone to vent to regarding how bad their orc hunt had gone near the ruins of Old Owl Well, deep into the untamed regions between Neverwinter and Waterdeep, east of the Mere of Dead Men.
A number of people are seated here, or are to later come --
The biting image of a glaring follower of a draconic deity, his dragon-like silver horns and scales glistening in the dimmed light ( Sherwood ),
the resplendent but scarred human beauty who has only recently taken up the mug after being forced into military leave by her sisters in arms ( jaydude ),
the wayward elven priestess turned healer, staring down into her drink as if deep into the ocean of her sagacious mind ( Psychie ),
the wily businessman and an even shrewder human adventurer who delves into the furthest recesses of caves and finding at least something of note ( Shadeofshade ),
the curious gnoll who dresses as if he were a man of the sea, his contagious flair for excitement and daring-do enrapturing audiences ( D. Rex ),
the bright-eyed owlfolk who flicks her viewpoint with a cunning few can muster and a persuasion few can back down from ( Felis ),
and one shrouded in mystery, whose eyes dart out of what appears to be a hood or perhaps a shroud, eager for the start of some manner of intrigue ( grimmmy ).
Some seem to know each other and have previously been seen together, while others remain a mystery to each other. However, all of these new and seemingly unrelated individuals have a common goal yet to be shared. This is their story, and a story about you.
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~
The bartender, Hubert Bloodoak and proud owner of this establishment, wiped away at a well-polished glass, not because it was dirty or needed drying, but because he had a role to fulfill, and that role was to be busy even when there was not a crowd. He played around with the hair tufted around his ears, in his ears, around his nose, and thankfully NOT in his nose and sighed heavily at the lack of profit he expected from the slow period caused by rains. The tavern was not nearly as full as it used to be. Nowadays the job boards have been filled by some guild-bought individual, the local lords and ladies penalising the average individual by 20% for not being within their lists of calls, or unrecognised individuals being spat upon by newcomers and veterans alike for not having enough gold for which to wade through sewers. Word of mouth has been clients' preferred method of communicating, and what was to come was no exception.
He looked over to some of his esteemed customers: Ychera, the glittering jewel of monster-slaying around these parts, and according to hearsay a demihuman; Isayri, the gnomish tinkerer and local artisan of many a magical trinket; Sapphique the Water Genasi, an amazing gatherer of information who seems to have had connections with the underground spy networks of local lords and lesser men (not that he wanted to bother him or his affiliates because he made a fine amount of coinage from him); and Smallmouth the dragonborn, who seemed to know every questgiver in these parts within three miles of town and was a bit of a chatterbox while he was at it. They all seemed, if not entertained by newcomers, relieved that they had some peace and quiet with the exception of Smallmouth.
Sighing again, he returned his gaze to the glass, hoping for something to break him free from the arresting grasp of boredom. Perhaps local chatter from those at the bar would instigate conversation from him.
((Feel free to post anywhere, from just before entering to barely entering to being in the bar for a period of time. The world is your oyster. Let me know if stuck or needing work.))
-- Anonymous, DR 3250, on the entreaty to call off archeaological searches near the Great Cities of the Northwest.
Part 0
The morning rains that descended on Yartar had subsided and drifted to the east, already squeezed of much of their supply of water before doing so. Outside, people started to stir. Inside, people started to move out. Rain was heavy in these parts, summer giving its usual boons from the Sea of Swords in the favour of bountiful harvests that became the norm, but it still made people who were not farmers complain. Adventurers were such people, and quite a number of them grumbled into their tankards, bowls, and mugs about the irritation that the rains gave them. They truthfully did not have much to complain about, as most lone wolves out there had come here, to this tavern, from clear across the city through the onslaught of rain droplets to complain about the onslaught of rain droplets to one another, but it passed the time.
The Twin Hooked Moons, as the tavern was called, was a hotspot for those of the adventuring kind, new and old alike. Some had frequented this place for a fine pint of ale or a shot of applejack or three distilled from local producers, while others nursed weaker drinks such as a fine mead or, some, boiled tea leaves. Shadows draped over the tables in the form of soft curtains, softening words to ensure a quiet drink with private conversation. But there were still those who gathered, in search of something new with a strange, unknown soul who had the spark of adventure, or perhaps just someone to vent to regarding how bad their orc hunt had gone near the ruins of Old Owl Well, deep into the untamed regions between Neverwinter and Waterdeep, east of the Mere of Dead Men.
A number of people are seated here, or are to later come --
The biting image of a glaring follower of a draconic deity, his dragon-like silver horns and scales glistening in the dimmed light ( Sherwood ),
the resplendent but scarred human beauty who has only recently taken up the mug after being forced into military leave by her sisters in arms ( jaydude ),
the wayward elven priestess turned healer, staring down into her drink as if deep into the ocean of her sagacious mind ( Psychie ),
the wily businessman and an even shrewder human adventurer who delves into the furthest recesses of caves and finding at least something of note ( Shadeofshade ),
the curious gnoll who dresses as if he were a man of the sea, his contagious flair for excitement and daring-do enrapturing audiences ( D. Rex ),
the bright-eyed owlfolk who flicks her viewpoint with a cunning few can muster and a persuasion few can back down from ( Felis ),
and one shrouded in mystery, whose eyes dart out of what appears to be a hood or perhaps a shroud, eager for the start of some manner of intrigue ( grimmmy ).
Some seem to know each other and have previously been seen together, while others remain a mystery to each other. However, all of these new and seemingly unrelated individuals have a common goal yet to be shared. This is their story, and a story about you.
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~
The bartender, Hubert Bloodoak and proud owner of this establishment, wiped away at a well-polished glass, not because it was dirty or needed drying, but because he had a role to fulfill, and that role was to be busy even when there was not a crowd. He played around with the hair tufted around his ears, in his ears, around his nose, and thankfully NOT in his nose and sighed heavily at the lack of profit he expected from the slow period caused by rains. The tavern was not nearly as full as it used to be. Nowadays the job boards have been filled by some guild-bought individual, the local lords and ladies penalising the average individual by 20% for not being within their lists of calls, or unrecognised individuals being spat upon by newcomers and veterans alike for not having enough gold for which to wade through sewers. Word of mouth has been clients' preferred method of communicating, and what was to come was no exception.
He looked over to some of his esteemed customers: Ychera, the glittering jewel of monster-slaying around these parts, and according to hearsay a demihuman; Isayri, the gnomish tinkerer and local artisan of many a magical trinket; Sapphique the Water Genasi, an amazing gatherer of information who seems to have had connections with the underground spy networks of local lords and lesser men (not that he wanted to bother him or his affiliates because he made a fine amount of coinage from him); and Smallmouth the dragonborn, who seemed to know every questgiver in these parts within three miles of town and was a bit of a chatterbox while he was at it. They all seemed, if not entertained by newcomers, relieved that they had some peace and quiet with the exception of Smallmouth.
Sighing again, he returned his gaze to the glass, hoping for something to break him free from the arresting grasp of boredom. Perhaps local chatter from those at the bar would instigate conversation from him.
((Feel free to post anywhere, from just before entering to barely entering to being in the bar for a period of time. The world is your oyster. Let me know if stuck or needing work.))
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