This is the player Tavern and Inn.

It's a cold night.  A dead cold night.  This was already winter deep within the northern reaches of the Moonsea.  The wind didn't blow, tonight, which made the surrounding quiet all the more devious and unsettling.

Your reasoning for being at the Blacklash Estate were your own, the camp had many features.  Besides being a known outpost for the Blacklash Guild, the Estate was home to a known priestess of Loviatar who sold potions and other minor magical items at a surprisingly reasonable cost.

There was also an assortment of goods for sale.  The Blackheart Guild were known as merchants and mercenaries, so it comes as no suprise the the Zhentarim have a stake in the area.  Let's not forget the stocks of whisky and ale.

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Your approach to the mansion was a huddled and huried one foot in front of the other march.  Beyond the biting cold, you could feel a sense of urgency from every posted man you seen - and you must've counted a dozzen.

Making a sharp right into the door, you about came face to face with a short, but very stout half-orc wearing leather armor and holding a greatclub.  It grunted at you, sniffing and grunting again before you passed by.

Once finally inside, you found yourself immediately singed by a gush of hot air.  The room wasn't small, but it was by no means a normal tavern size either.  It was a foyer of sorts with a stairwell leading up to the rooms, and another unmarked door leading down the hall.  Guessing by the guard posting, you made your way in the direction of the apparent problem.

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The office is rich and dark, mostly decored in wood.  Multiple tapestries hang from the walls, and one corner is mirrored, with a bar in front of it, a working kitchen sits behind.  There were several tables and chairs, each identical to the others, sporadically spaced.  Sitting around were several other men at arms, each eating, preparing weapons and armor, or in some phase of sleep.

Speaking with a tall, dark haired elf you didn't recognize, was your boss, Mr. Black.  (See his description) He said something you didn't quite hear, dismissed the elf and looked at you.  He stepped forward three steps and crossed his arms.  There was a ghastly smirk on his face.  Something bad was happening.

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OOC - Feel free to play kiddos.  You can start now, in any order you want, and can each describe how you react to each thing you've encountered so far.  :)

As she trudged on across the frozen ground, Michaela muttered something under her breath. Probably cursing the Frostmaiden. A breath later, she thanked the same goddess for not sending snow. When the half-orc intercepted her, she simply gave the the familiar man a friendly thump on the shoulder and a wink before slipping past. Pushing inside, she smiled to herself and let her cloak hang slightly looser, before heading through. Stopping directly in front of Black, she gave him an impish grin and folded her arms, standing cock-hipped.

"Good even'. What blows?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:05, Sun 16 Apr 2006.

Your boss looks at you and snarls.  He doesn't so much as direct it at you in particular, but it's an effect of his mood.  You've seen this look before.  But before anyone can fully grasp the concept of what this look is, consider the obvious.

Master Black is a Grandmaster Assassin.  He specializes in killing people.  Quietly.  Victims just dissappear.  Nobody ever knows what happened to them.  Let's make this just a litle worse.  Master Black has never known defeat or failure.  It's widely whispered that your Master carries the divine favor of Mask with him.

So then, seeing the look on his face, you seriously wonder "Why would anyone be dumb enough to piss this guy off?" Hearing your master's words sent you back into normal reality.  "A man wants to die."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:02, Mon 17 Apr 2006.

"My way or yours, boss?" It was an old question, almost traditional. Quietly, or in such a way that the resulting inferno would result in the destruction of their estates and the evidence.