Lyriel follows Boreas, tugging Zuriel along behind her.

[OOC alright with moving on]

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 22):

Keef looks down and notes that, for some reason, his hand is locked in a strange position with pinkie/ring and index/middle fingers pressed together.  He shrugs and dismisses it.

In reply to Keef (msg # 19):

Maeve decides that Imbraer is very much like Ikuabai. . . if Ikuabai lacked all warmth and charm, color, and had a decidedly seedy feel about it.

She and Zuriel walk in a well-honed formation, one on either side of Keef.  If the lad begins to veer off to the left or right, one of them gently nudges him back into line. Maeve finds that her guisarme doubles nicely as a shepherd's hook in this regard.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 24):

Ever the explorer, it is Sazed, and not Keef, who wanders to and fro, fascinated by the baubles, sights, smells, and sounds of Drynn.

"Nothing like a change of scenery and a new set of smells."

Seeing the strange and disapproving looks from the group, Sazed rejoins the lockstep toward the inn.

No one on this plane ever appreciates how good it smells.

In reply to Sazed (msg # 25):

The P.A.R.T.Y. makes its way to the Handsome Ox along with A'tril, Geof, and Kuff. They make for a large group, but imposing enough that everyone you pass seems intensely focused on minding their own business.

You quickly learn this to be an oddity of Imbrear -- or perhaps of Drynn, in general: mind your own business, or prepare for confrontation.

The smithy and inn looks much as it was described: the ground floor is dedicated to the pounding of hammers and the tempering of steel into daggers, helmets, chains, horseshoes, and the like.  It's a sprawling expanse, with four different fires lit at once and near a dozen smithies hammering, tempering, smelting, and forging their wares.

A single door protects the staircase, lost amid the whirl of activity to any not actively looking for it. A'tril walks directly up to it, swings it open, and holds the door until everyone has filed in.  The door closes behind him as the group ascends a surprisingly sturdy flight of stairs, which skips the second floor entirely and opens into a lobby on the third.

A plain-spoken woman sits behind a counter, and after a few words from A'tril, the dark elf receives an iron key.  This opens one of the rooms further down the hall, and in short order the P.A.R.T.Y. finds itself seated in a cramped, sparsely apportioned chamber that one might, if forced, define as a bedroom.

A'tril and Geof help themselves to the side of the bed, using it like a couch, while Kurr stands silently in front of the room's only door.  There are no windows, and the table that sits across from the bed is graced with only two chairs.  One of these is occupied by a squat, balding dwarf with a platinum-blonde beard and stubby limbs that seem as wide as they are long.

"Garfunkel," he exclaims as the group files in, motioning toward the only free chair in the room -- located across the table from himself.  "Glad you could make it. Please, sit, and tell me of your journey."

Zuriel positions himself next to Kurr, protectively behind Lyriel. Being in such close quarters with people he distrusted set him on edge. To say nothing of the smell of bodies who did not put nearly the same level of emphasis on hygienic care during a long sea voyage as the highborn.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 27):

Keef near spins in place looking quickly around.  First he is taking in the 'sights' offered by the sparse room, next he looks to see who 'Garfunkle' is.  When he notices that everyone is looking at Boreas he clamps his mouth shut and points to him, just in case the Dwarf also forgot who is who.

Well met... once I get your name.  The journey was successful, though we were hit by a fierce storm around the Hook.  A dragon turtle approached us at one point, as well, but with a few choice words and a few choice cuts of meat, we sent him off.  Essentially, the cargo arrived safely.

Now, I believe there was some compensation due to us...

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 29):

"There always is," the dwarf says, nonplussed.  "Call me Ptolmy. Y'got the slip?"

A'tril nods, handing the docking paperwork over to him.

"Good, good," Ptolmy says, glancing it over for a moment before tucking it away in his tunic.  "That's the last load, then. We can break ground before it freezes over. My boys will take it from here."

The dwarf drums his fat, sausage-like fingers on the tabletop for a moment, sizing Boreas up.

"You and your lot don't look the type for manual labor, and it's construction what happens next. The Underhand have further orders for you?"

A'tril takes it upon himself to answer.

"No. He would take the idiot priest's place at the table, and has thus far seemed able enough. Something more militant might be appropriate, though he'll want to be paid first."

"No kidding," the dwarf snorts.  "I've got a situation down near Ogdoven that could use a little muscle, along with some more clandestine work right here in Imbrear.  Gotta preference?"

Ptolmy fishes a tiny key of brass out of his pocket and tosses it to Boreas.

"Think it over. Your money's being kept in the Central Vault, number's 347. If you want another job, I'll be here for another day -- no later. That'll be all."

Kurr turns to open the door, but Ptolmy stops him.

"Not you lot, just Garfunkel's men," the dwarf says, glancing at A'tril.  "The Underhand has new orders for you three."

A'tril, Geof, and Kurr stand aside, leaving the doorway clear should the P.A.R.T.Y. wish to depart.

In reply to DM (msg # 30):

Muscle?  Clandestine work?  I hope Boreas knows what the fuck he's doing. . . .

Maeve uneasily follows the rest of the P.A.R.T.Y out of the room.

[Assuming the P.A.R.T.Y wants to leave the room.  If not, she stands there equally uneasily.]
This message was last edited by the player at 16:38, Thu 27 Feb 2014.

In that case, well met Ptolmy.  Boreas snatches the key from the air.  The money is good, sure but the real payment I was promised for this job was information.  I understand if the Underhand didn't communicate to you in that level of detail, but A'tril can attest to his words.

I have earned this payment, so I want to know.  What are we building, and why?

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 32):

Ptolmy glances at A'tril, who shrugs, then clears his throat.

"Information we have, but not in spades. We're building towers, Garfunkel.  Eight so far, I'm told, and this'll be both the ninth and the last. Tall spires made from a specific blend of elements, ores, and metals, constructed in a specific way."

He waves his hand in the air dismissively.

"Damned if I know what they're for -- the Underhand is tight-lipped about it, says something about them being 'necessary for our work to continue' or some such. But the coin's good, the work's been steady enough, and they're quite a sight to behold once they're finished."

In reply to DM (msg # 33):

9 towers? 9 Gods? This has to be linked. Lord if we don't just keep stumbling backward into the right direction.

Sazed looks deep in thought, and does his best to maintain a straight face as the P.A.R.T.Y. begins its apparent descent into the criminal underworld.

Very well, I'll see what I can get from the Underhand then.  My crew and I will go confer and give you our decision tomorrow.

Boreas turns and walks out, headed for the vault.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 35):

The money is reclaimed from the vault without incident, leaving the P.A.R.T.Y. free to explore Imbraer and discuss their options.

"We should find an inn for the night, before we split up and explore the city." Zuriel murmurs. "Preferably one nicer than the Handsome Ox."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 37):

A good idea, Maeve agrees.  Though if we're exploring the city we should at least go in pairs.  Imbraer's unfamiliar and I don't much care for the look of it.  It's dangerous to go alone.

Lyriel nods in agreement. And then I want to find the market. I bet there's all kinds of interesting goods we don't see in the West... She looks around, trying to gauge the prevailing fashions of the city. Perhaps it's just the part the PARTY is currently in, but most of the citizens seem rather dull and drab.

Disappointing... I hope things are more vibrant elsewhere.

She nods at Maeve. Pairs are a good idea. Alphonse can come with me to carry my bags, of course.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 37):

Keef's mind somehow redacts the statement except "split up and explore the city".

Maeve's good reflexes allow her to grab hold of the boy's collar before he disappears under a tent flap.

Pairs?  Does Chubbs count?  Longshank?  Keef looks around hopefully.  Sazed?

In reply to Keef (msg # 40):

I don't know that either Chubbs or Longshank qualifies as a partner, but Sazed, sure, Maeve says.  But--

Before she can get out her qualifier, Keef and Sazed are skipping--literally skipping--off to explore the unknown city.

DON'T STAY OUT SO LONG THIS TIME!  BE BACK BY NIGHTFALL! she hollers after them, with absolutely no indication that her call has been heeded.

Looks like that leaves us then. Boreas says to Maeve.  Couldn't hurt to see what's around in the market before we turn in.  Could be interesting to explore a new city.  We seem to be doing a lot of that lately.  He smirks.

Anyway, meet back here an hour before sunset.  Everyone find an inn and we'll all go to the best one.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:34, Thu 27 Feb 2014.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 42):

Oh, that's easy.  We should stay a the Pampered Lion.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 42):

And so it came to pass that the P.A.R.T.Y. chose the unfamiliar city of Imbrear, nestled in the harsh, dangerous land of Drynn, as the perfect place to split into pairs.

The Mages

Having contributed to the discussion by tossing out the Pampered Lion as a suggested place of lodging, Keef, Sazed, Chubbs, and Longshank set off toward whatever wonders might await them in the mean city streets. The buildings are drab and largely unadorned, as are the people who occupy them. A vast class difference seems to exist, with the very poor dressed in rags and the very rich dressed in silks -- and none of the latter go anywhere without at least one armed guard.

The pair eventually comes to a four-way crossroads in the city's grid, with a signpost scrawled with the following:


The Insufferable Couple

The highborn amble off toward the nearest marketplace, stopping to ask directions from the least-icky-looking person they come across. Before long, they stand before the doorway of a ramshackle apothecary, above which are inscribed the words: Newton's Herbs & Discount Carpentry.  The door is slightly ajar, though the smokey windows make it difficult to peer within.

The Sufferable Couple

Boreas and Maeve  strike out shortly thereafter, and soon find themselves standing before the same signpost Keef and Sazed encountered above. The mages, however, are no longer there, having made up their mind and pressed onward well before the others arrived.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:27, Thu 27 Feb 2014.

In reply to DM (msg # 44):

There's an entire district for the gallows?

Maeve and Boreas look at one another, shrug, and make for the market district to look for an inn and to see what exotic wares Imbraer has to offer.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:34, Thu 27 Feb 2014.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 45):

The Sufferable Couple

Boreas and Maeve wander to the merchant quarter, keeping their eye out for shops that seem interesting. The variety is not quite what it was in Ikuabai, but there seems to be at least one shop dedicated to most wares and services you could hope for. The area seems busy enough for early afternoon, and very few people give you any mind whatsoever.