"Oh, not necessarily fall in my lap, I know that won't happen. I'm keeping my ears open for word on anything that I might join in to make it. Or even something that I might do."

     The door relented as the former Roman soldier entered with the howling winds at his back. The heat from the fire felt good, he hoped that the germanic tribesmen would let him gather his warmth before killing him. With this thought he pushed across the room quickly. Trying not to meet any eyes, and knowing any minute now the flailing will begin Quintus rushes to the fire and stands close awaiting the blows that are sure to come.

A chuckle slipped past his lips, easily flowing across the space in the tavern. Sliver was about to answer, when the door opened again. Sliver arched a brow at the outfit being worn by the new entrant; it was certainly not that he expected everyone to be dressed in normal clothing, but this was something new altogether. He looked like an ancient soldier - greek, or roman, or something. Sliver watched Quintus rush through the room and stop by the fireplace.

He shrugged, and turned his attention back to Aalyssa.

"Well," He said. "Fame and fortune may not be found in a place such as this; but I can assure you, I've met people, and heard even more stories that a place like this could well be the place to start looking."

"That would be a definite plus.  For tonight, I just desire food. I want to be a little further from home unless I can find some sort of adventure that takes me further away," Aalyssa said.

     After a few minutes of warming near the fire, Quintus allows his attention to drift out and actually hear what was going on in the room. There were no shouts of anger, it was business as usual. A few looks over his shoulder told him that there were several strangely dressed people, all speaking roman though with the coldest and oddest accents he had ever heard. He recognized none of the guttural tones of the germanics, and  none of the fur dress he had cut through so many times. As the snow and frost worked it's way out of his breastplate and skirting, Quintus turned to the taproom. Feeling a bit braver, Quintus ordered Spanish wine as the barmaid makes her way through. Pulling his salt pouch from beneath his breastplate, he asks the rate for a pitcher of wine and two meals. looking around the room and trying to decide who would be his best options at a friend.

Sliver let his ankles cross underneath the table, leaning back once more in the chair and raising his glass to his lips again.

"Well, you're also at the right place for adventure." He said with a smile. "Speaking of food, you make a good point. Excuse me, it's been good to share your company."

Sliver stood up, and carried the third-empty bottle back over to the bar, with the glass now empty. He placed both of them on the bar, and in turn, dropped several gold coins next to them. The coins were quickly swept up into the meaty palm of the bartender, who nodded in acknowledgement to Sliver.

Sliver spun on his boots, a soft squeak sounded ever so faintly as the leather rubbed against the stone. Shrugging his jacket over his shoulders, Sliver made his way across the bar, to the door, and pulled it open, walking outside.

“Illustrious?” Peter half chuckles. “I was made librarian after I tagged along with a group that travelled the coast road, and then Librarian and Squire after worked through the inner lands. I was along as cook and nurse” Gasgano shrugs as he dismisses the achievements that won him those positions.  “However, that was all twenty years, or so, ago.”

“But your father met the Queen?  That is something.  I might have met half a dozen lords of one type or another, but we didn’t even have a Queen.  The highest rank the Raven King would sanction was Prince.  We had Kings and Queens in the past, of course, but nothing as large as a kingdom survived in our region.” He says softly.

“But tell me of this ‘pond’ you speak of.  Are there really two countries separated by a pond, or is that just a different town across a pond?” Peter asks not understanding the references, “And what are these guns that you hire?  It is not a term that I am familiar with.” The half elf asks, sounding like he is really interested in the answers.

Meriwether took a bite of the stew & savored the hearty taste of it. As he listened to the gentleman speak he sipped his tea & then nodded his approval to the barkeep.

The Englishman just smiled at the other's reference to the word Pond  "Just a figure of speech my good fellow. Tis the nick name of the Atlantic Ocean, which separates the States & my homeland England! Though there are broader stretches, its still some distance betwixt the countries."

As the man mentions guns, Meriwether's eyes widen.

His watch has stopped... the man's appearance is strange as is this very place... has not heard of guns... the Shootist thought.

He then slid back his frock coat to expose the butts of his twin pistols "These are guns... pistols really. Navy Colts to be exact."

He took one out & twirled it about his index finger deftly, both forward & back wards, before he reversed the spin & held out the pistol, butt first, toward his bar companion.

"Go a head my good man. If you wish to look it over I mean? Tis loaded though, so be so kind as to not touch the trigger."

The Englishman pointed out the small lever within the trigger guard...
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:53, Wed 28 Jan 2009.

Peter took the gun between his fore finger and thumb and held it up for inspection.  He turned it one way and the other, his eyes taking in the trigger, cylinder and hammer, his face a picture of concentration.  "And what does it do?" he asked as he finished his initial examination.

     Eeng-land, could he be talking of that nasty little isle with those barbaric Angles on it? His dress is of a cut I don't recognize. Too many layers, odd materials, except the belt. Those contraptions he handled, looked like candlesticks, but they are much more dangerous I am sure of it. Where is the blade? The warrior in Quintus told him not to dismiss the odd little pieces of metal as inconsequential. "May I join your table?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:33, Thu 29 Jan 2009.

Meriwether raised his eyebrows at the Herald's question. He indeed did not know anything about guns then...

"Well sir, they are weapons. Their main intent is that of protecting oneself & taking lives. As we must know the tool, which is the way I think of them, is only as good or as bad as the man who wields them."

He then drew the other pistol's twin, without the same flourish but with amazing speed & leveled to a wall across the room. He somehow knew it would not work but he would give it a go.

"Now then you aim it thus... then pull back the hammer... "

The Englishman then pulled it back the lever with an audible click!

"... then you pull the trigger!"

There was another click but it did not fire! Meriwether spun the cylinder & found it was completely loaded. Though the pistols could misfire, the Englishman doubted that this was the case. There was something indeed strange about this place.

He turned back to the half-elf "It would seem they do not work... at least within the confines of this building. Perchance I could arrange another demonstration outside at a later date?"

He holstered the colt & was waiting for a reply when another approached them. Dressed as a Roman no less!

"Well of course my good fellow! I have no objection if my companion here does not."
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:55, Wed 28 Jan 2009.

     After the demonstration Quintus thought he understood the contraptions. They resembled the spear throwers, though this was much smaller and he couldn't see the ropes or the propelling items.
     Seating himself at the offer, ready of course to leave if there is objection. "I see you have a good meal before you, though I have not. so since I am buying a meal, I hope to offer you one as well my friend." Aiming this last comment to Peter, Quintus calls over the barmaid. As she approaches she brings his pitcher of Spanish wine, and cups to go around. Offering the pitcher to the table Quintus fills his cup and drinks.

Peter nodded a greeting as the Roman joined them  "Of course." he agreed as the man sat at the table.

Carefully, Peter passed the six-shooter back to Meriweather, "A demonstration would certainly be interesting.  I see you  pull the trigger mechanism, but what does that do?  Dies it have something to do with the part you spun around?" the sage asked, frowning slightly as he considered the weapons.


"Not for me thanks" he responded as the Roman offered wine and a meal. "I have a bottle here." He said smiling and indicating the rich red wine on the table, "and I ate earlier." The half elf continued with a smile as he introduced himself.  "By the way, I am Peter Gasgano."

     "Ah, you miss out my friend. Wine from the coasts of Spain can not be beat anywhere in the world. But I rattle on, I am Quintus Maxximus, legionairre in Caesar's great army. That is, former legionairre." The soldier's hand strays to his scabbard, a great loss apparent on his face.

Aalyssa walked up to the bar and ordered some food. She stood there and waited for it then carried it back to her table.

"Perhaps you should try some of this, Quintus." Peter said as he poured a little of the deep red wine into one of the cups that Quintus ordered.  "Is is known as a burgundy,  deep, soft and full of flavour.  It is certainly my favourite amongst the red wines."

Peter's brows drew together into a slight frown, almost as if he was trying to remember something, then he shrugged slightly.  "When I was in The Isles, a great empire with soldiers dressed like you, had held sway in that land years before hand.  But I do not recall the name Caesar.  Did you lose your sword?" the sage asked as the hand movement drew his eyes towards the empty scabbard.

     "More like forced retirement my friend," Quintus accepts a bit of the burgundy as a show of geniality, though having his heart set on his poison of choice the flavor is imbittered a bit by the predisposition. "A good vintage my friend, you have a fine tongue for such tasting. No, I did not lose it, I was allowed to carry it as far as the camp edges, then I would have been shot down if i had attempted to continue with a command sword and no command. For I would have been judged traitor. So I left it behind as i ventured into this forest. A few too many free words in a not so free world my friend. I have been slave before, and earned my freedom, in doing so i have made enemies in the Senate. It was by their decree that i be relieved of command and issued forth to the germanic wolves."

"Slave?" Peter asked.  "Something I have managed to avoid, fortunately." he continued with a smile.  He paused for a moment to take a sip of his wine before he continued "And again, I have always been fortunate politically, although I have always been more of an observer than an active participant in court life.  As I was saying to Meriwether here," Peter paused to indicate the shootist, " one of my positions, in the past, was to record and archive some aspects of court life.  One then develops the persona of a chronicler rather than a participant.  But how did you come to fall out with your political masters?" the sage asked.

     A fierce grin crosses the soldier's face, "by having a backbone Peter, politicians hate being reminded of what they gave up for their positions of power. I was sold as a gladiator, by my "master" when the whip couldn't tame me. I survived 50 matches, hard and furious life, but that was the offer I was given by the man who bought me. Live through 50 matches, win for me, and I shall make you a free man. You get better fighters if you offer them something other than slavery you see. And you rarely have to follow through with the offer, unless the person is exceptionally lucky. If he is that lucky, then you have made more than enough off of your winnings to cover what he cost you. When I was offered my freedom I had thought to take up the gladiator business after I made some money in the legions."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:59, Thu 29 Jan 2009.

"And now?" the sage prompted.

     Returning to the present, Quintus makes eye contact with Peter. "<yellow>Now, I just don't know. I don't dare return to Rome, and there is little to be made at any of the arena's that I would not be hunted at. I don't know. I just wanted to get warm, and out of the snow. Then i would have another choice. Though I thought this place was run by the german tribes. I expected to be dead by now. I am not sure what is to happen in the near future. Though I travelled only a few miles in the forest. I don't feel the impending presence of the legions. Where is here?<yellow>"

“Where is anywhere?” Peter mused rhetorically.  He spent a moment or two to gather his thoughts before replying to the legionnaire.  “This may come as a bit of a shock to you Quintus, but there are many different worlds, and these woods seem to be a gate that pens into a number of different worlds.  Here you are between worlds, you are no longer in the world that your Senate runs, no longer in the world of your enemies.  Instead you are at a crossroads, a place where different worlds meet.” Peter broke off and watched carefully to see the effect his words had on Quintus and Merriweather.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:43, Thu 29 Jan 2009.

     With a bit of trepidation, "Have I started on that last walk? Is this a waystation between home and Pluto?" The man didn't seem overly surprised or forlorn, just disappointed.

"Pluto?" Peter thought for a moment and then asked "Pluto is the land of the dead?"

     "Pluto is the ruler of the land of the dead. He decides your fate, and whether you shall diminish in the River Styx, or thrive on the plains of Elyssium. He is the brother of Jupiter, ruler of all the gods." with pride, care, and love the soldier offers his explanation.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:40, Thu 29 Jan 2009.