Story: The world of Terrafel is a living thing, and thereby has a soul. A thousand years ago, a sorcerer by the name of Bethrod managed to capture the world’s soul within an object he fashioned – the Dimenxia. The Dimenxia is the key to the world; without it, water would stop flowing, wildlife would perish, and in turn, all of the people of Terrafel would die. Thankfully, Bethrod’s was determined to use the Demenxia for good. He figured the world could use guidance, and through the care and nourishment that he channeled into the container, Terrafel became a more prosperous place. However, there were those who wished to get their hands on the object to use for their own selfish desires. Two such people were Bethrod’s own brothers – Gul and Sykis. Gul wanted power and tyranny; Sykis, on the other hand, just wanted to destroy. And so, battles ensued between the brothers and the forces that allied with them: with Bethrod out of hope, with Gul out of the promise of legacy, and with Sykis out of fear. In the end, it came down to a duel between the three, where Gul and Sykis teamed against Bethrod and struck down the righteous brother. But when they searched his corpse, his library, and his private estates, the Dimenxia was nowhere to be found. It is still missing today, the only remnants being writings held in several sorcerer academies across Terrafel, and stories spread by word of mouth. Other than that, most people have forgotten about it. Alas, there are still those who are in search of it – some for virtue, others for malevolence. And it is both of these forces that found themselves in the city of Termir that day. Game: The World: 1. The races inhabiting Terrafel are as follows: Humans, Elves, Half-Elves, Dark Elves, Dwarves, Half-Giants, Skittar. The Skittar are talking rat-like humanoids – they inhabit the deserts to the east coast of Terrafel. For more information on races, check the discussion thread. 2. Terrafel, as far as those who inhabit it know, is a large rectangular slab, with a large desert occupying the east coast. There are swamplands to the southeast, and dense forests in the west and southwest. The midlands are generally hilly and green, and the north is cold and lined with mountain ranges. Further to the west is denser forests and more mountains that are very difficult to pass, which is why people have only discovered up to there. Some explorers may have gone further, but not many have returned. There are islands to the south – from where the elves originated. 3. Humans control most of the middle and northern terrain with the dwarves. The skittar reside in the deserts and swamplands. The elves are dispersed in the forests of the west and southwest, and the half elves live either among the Elves or Humans (usually humans). The half-giants don’t really belong anywhere, and live mostly as hermits in the midlands, or poorly among humans – there are very few of them left. 4. Currently, the cities of the Humans and Dwarves are built of stone/steel, and steam-powered technology exists in these parts of Terrafel – including trams and several trains. The elves live in their cities in the trees, apart from the dark elves, whose villages are hidden in the forests to the southwest. The Skittar live in stone huts in the desert in small villages. There is a rumour of a large hidden Skittari city, but as they are a race that keeps to themselves, it is only a rumour. 5. The fashion of the ‘civilised’ world (Humans and Dwarves) is similar to that of 19th century England (Victorian era), and the others are more ‘medieval’. Technology that exists includes: clockwork machinery, pistols, rifles, steam engine trains, trams, airships (blimp-like), and almost anything else that was around in the Victorian era. Your Character: 1. You will be playing a character that will get involved in the quest to search for the Dimenxia. 2. Most of the characters will most likely not know anything about the Dimenxia to begin with, and will need a reason to be in Termir, the capital city of the Humans, when the initial events of the story unfold. One incentive could be that the city’s annual Summer Festival and Parade is being held that day. 3. None of your characters will know each other, other than possibly by reputation, or as brief acquaintances. I’m leaving your characters’ profession/lifestyle up to you – you can be anything! 4. Your character can have any fighting style you wish – or even none to begin with. But know that magic has become a bit taboo, the exception being healing magic (practiced vastly by the humans and elves), and not many magi would be seen outside of their academies – unless they were on a mission, hired for a job, or disguised. 5. If you do wish to use magic, be creative with it – relate it to your race and how you want your character to develop. For example, the dwarves use rune magic. For more information on magic, go to the discussion thread. 6. Be descriptive. I don’t want character profiles that give me one-liners for appearance or bios – develop them well and make them fun! Rules: The same rules apply as with any RPG (I stole your rules for Flame of the Crimson Rose, Honorius!): 1.Read everyone’s posts! Not only does this keep us all on the same page, its fun to know your posts are being read and acted upon. Respond to stimuli and events from other player’s posts. 2. Avoid writing one-line posts or extremely long posts. A range of 40-300 words is good to shoot for. 3.Edit before posting, we’re all here to improve as well as enjoy. 4. No God-modding or perfect characters. God characters = boring RP 5. Fighting between characters should be kept to a minimum, but if there is going to be a fight, no one should die. Also, I would prefer that I be contacted to moderate the fight. I just might want to add in some outside stimuli. 6. Do not control another person’s character without their express consent. 7. If a player is AWOL and holding up the game the character will be NPC’d or brutally killed/tortured/beaten/eaten at the my discretion. If you know you’ll be gone for some time you may hand over your character to another player’s care. 8. Don’t flood the thread with long conversations or extensive actions. Give others a chance to post before moving on. 9. Please discuss any issues in the discussion thread or PM me with your concerns. Gossiping about issues or spamming up the story thread is counterproductive. 10. And lastly… Honorius is co-GM for this RPG, so mine and his word is absolute law! Have fun and check the discussion thread for information about races/magic! Character Template: Name: Race: Age: Sex: Appearance: Equipment: Short bio: Demeanor/Attitude:
Name: Clairc D. Ericks Race: Half-elf Age: 27 Sex: Male Appearance: Clairc has pointed ears, short sandy hair, a thin build, and steely green eyes. Rune tattoos cover his arms, chest, and back – though it uncertain to anyone, besides Clairc of course, what any of them do. He is rarely seen outside of his shop, but when he is, he is always wearing his engineering goggles on his forehead. Equipment: Engineering goggles, leather armor and pants, leather gloves and boots, a leather backpack, flasks, a few small flat stones for his runes, a knife, chock, parchment, ink, quills, a leather belt with six medium sized pouches and a holster, a shoulder sling used to hold flasks and a sheath, a custom longsword with a rune imbued in the handle, a custom hand pistol, a monkey wretch along with many other assorted tools, and a mortar and pestle. Short bio: Clairc was born of a human father and a elven mother. For the first seven years of his life he lived among the humans with his mother and father in a remote cabin a few miles out of a small trading hub. His father was considered one of the best engineers in the North and his mother was a renowned healer and herbalist. His father setup a shop in town and his mother work at a potion shop. One evening his parents cabin was raided by dwarven bandits. His father and mother attempted to fight them off, but they were quickly overwhelmed. They were taken out back killed execution style in front of Clairc. They had never seen a half-elf before and decided to keep Clairc alive. They ultimately made the decision to sell him on the Lord of Crime's black market as a slave. He was bound and taken north to mountains. Before they ever made it to the capital dwarven city, a squad of dwarven guards commissioned to ending the raider threat found the bandits and brought them to a swift end. When the battle was over they found Clairc malnourished and in chains, and took pity on him. They brought him back to the dwarven city in the mountainside and handed him over to an orphanage. He grew up among the dwarves, enrolling in their schools while learning their ways and customs. He never was with any one family long and had a hard time making friends. He was always treated as a outsider everywhere he went and never found a true place among them. His instructors, even the ones who held raciest ideals, noticed that Clairc was something of a prodigy. He was quick to master any subject put in front of him, everything from swords to runes he picked up with surprising speed. As he grew older he became increasing obsessed with learning and knowledge. The subjects he studied the most was runeforging, engineering, and alchemy. He was in the sorcerer academy for many years, but Clairc was kicked from the academy for his increasingly dangerous experiments and his refusal to follow the academies rules. By the time he left the dwarven city, his arms, chest, and back were cover in runes from his experiments. He returned to the Humans and setup shop in Termir as a runeforger and clockwork engineer to fund his constant research and lust for knowledge. Demeanor/Attitude: Clairc is not very social and he likes very few people. After his parents were killed, he has been afraid to let himself get too close to anyone else. Despite his sometimes cynical view of the world, he will protect others when the need arises. He often scratches the back of his head when nervous or confused.
Name: Kilth Race: Dark Elf Age: 125 years old Sex: Male Appearance: With dark purple eyes and midnight black hair. His body is lean and muscled from training to be an assassin. He stands at an average height for other elves. Knows enough of Demonic magic to protect himself, but mainly he focuses on combat. His hair is long and wavy, he lets it fall wherever. His nose is a bit crooked. Equipment: He wears a dark black leather armor, that is hard enough to protect against some weapons but light enough to maneuver in. Carries a short silver sword, and a dark leather holder. He prefers his bow, made from fine Elven crafting with a little Demonic magic to make it as dark as shadows. He usually wears a dark hood over his face, especially in daylight with his blindfold. Short bio: Kilth was born just as any other Dark Elf, and was raised by normal parents. His father is a librarian, and had their house full of shelves upon shelves of books. His mother a trader that traveled out of Korko on many occasions, but always had a guide. He grew up reading many books in his father's collection, liking his father's taste of stories. What most intrigued him was the Humans and how they could live in such a short time, and be so reckless. He loved to read about all of the great cities that the other races lived in, he dreamed to visit Termir. He read many years, and taking him over one hundred years to completely finish the library. He learned many languages of the other races, and can almost speak as well as the natives. With all the knowledge bursting inside his head he wished to learn another craft, after he read about a secret society of Assassins. He sought them out deeper in the dark woods than even Korko, and they accepted him as they would any other Dark Elf brother. He stayed there learning how to learn everything it would take to stay hidden in plain sight, how to kill with purpose and seek forgiveness, and he crafted his bow out of dark wood from trees deep in the forest. Kilth has taken time to learn many many moves of chess, he meditates every morning and night before he sleeps, he prays for forgiveness after a death. His first task is to travel to Termir and ask questions, he was told he'd know who to kill when the time came. Demeanor/Attitude: Kilth is always excited to learn or know something new, he loves nothing more than to be around his Brothers and reading. Though he knows his family and friends hate the other races, him and his father have read enough to understand them and wonder about them. His strongest link is to his father and his bow.
Name: Na Bael Race: Elf Age: 204 Sex: male Appearance: Just above average height for an elf, muscled build. Eyes are completely black, due to being cursed by sykis's followers. Wears a hooded robe over a simple lightwieght garb. Equipment: A small rune enscribed knife given to him by a grateful dwarf and a satchel. The hooded robe hides his eyes from unwanted attention. Short bio: Born in the elf capital he grew up with a normal life, when he reached adulthood he decided to become a mage. He studied At the academy as a disciple of Gul. He left when he felt he had learnt all he could and traveled to see what else he could learn. At one point he was captured by the followers of sykis who cursed his eyes and tongue as torture. His eyes allow him to see the dead and spirits/demons, his tongue allow him to eat magic, only a small amout or its hurts him, and breath spells. Since then he has wondered healing and fighting against Sykis followers. Adept at elemental magic, he usualy combines it with his knife. Demeanor/Attitude: Calm and laid back. Mistrusting of any dark-elf due to their relationship with Sykis. Slightly insane at times due to his age and past.
The Book Binder Name:Eenzthk(at least this is the name pronounced by non-Skittari, the name correctly pronounced sounds like a series of squeaks and chitters). Is referred to as "The Book Binder" by some, but these "some" are far and few between and most have ended up in the "dead book." Race: Skittari Age: 57 Cycles (Astrologically around 50 years of age, he's an old rat) Sex:Male Appearance: Eenzthk's body is covered in matted clumps of graying black hair. Much of his upper torso is completely bald, but slight remnants of hair come and go (for this reason, he is rarely seen unclothed). Upon these, balding spots are imprinted scarred ruins some recognizable as protection others of stranger patterns. His tail seems scarred and useless, but at times presents itself as a prehensile tool holding a candle or lantern. His left eye is a milky white, most would assume he's blind in the his eye. The opposite eye is an image of perfect health, a black almond typical of most Skittari. His whiskers, snow white, droop in a style similar to a human's fu-man-chu. He appears to walk with a limp and is often see with a walking stick, though moves quick ans silent like much of his race. Equipment: walking stick, rune mateials (differing from dwarven in that they are usually bone, wood, and scrap materials), a ruined bone knife appearing to be for carving, a large leather bound book (which he keeps close to him at all times) various marks upon it a single word written in Skittari across the front reading "knowledge" (i'll let the GM decide if this is revealed to players). He carries several writing utensils, similar to the quill pens of earlier days (in mechanism) but mostly configured from hallowed bone. Certain ones appear to have runes scrapped upon them. Upon his wrist he wears bracelet assembled from teeth, marked with protective ruins. Short bio: Eenzthk was born on the third Lunar Eclipse of the "new day." As a youngster he showed an apprehension to Skittari ways not often seen. He did not believe that the world was dependent on the stars or that all in the community served their true purpose. He was laughed at the elders for most of his early development, until a Dwarf by the name of Arillast visited the small stone hut village. He brought with him great knowledge of rune magic, and technology not seen by the Skittari. After some time of experimentation, Eenzthk showed promise in the practice of such things. Midway through his teachings he turned to the darker realm of magical schooling. Obtaining texts and knowledge of demon magic from a worshiper of Sykis, he eventually sought to summon and bargain with a demon to solve the problems he saw in his community. The result was the summoning of an elite-demon who smiled and appeared to show obedience to Eenztkh, but at the last minute mustered some ounce of free-will (an event that magical teachings to this day cannot explain to Eenzthk), rather than destroying Eenzthk he made a deal, "I shall cure the famine, bloodlust, and corruption of your rat-hole, in exchange for your living soul" the bargain to bare and he accepted. The demon left him bloodied, battered, and blind in one eye. Not dead. In exchange, sure enough things seemed right in the village. Aside from "accidents" plaguing the area weekly, males dying in their sleep, breeders being infertile, and the young that were born being of monstrous variety. When the Elder's found of Eenzthk's partaking in demonic magic they banished him from the community. He accepted this, but since has been trying to free his own soul from that bargain. He does so by getting others to commit their own in his place. His goal is one-hundred. He has thirty-seven. Demeanor/Attitude: Eenzthk is very friendly, attempting friendship with anyone. His walking style and appearance make him seem less than a threat, nothing more than an exiled Rat with little to no-combat experience. Regardless, he presents himself as more open than the rest of his race, and much more accepting of anyone.
Name: Golful'gar Biir'gran Race: Half-Giant Age: Thirty-two Sex: Male Appearance: Golful'gar is large (even among Half-Giants), and stands at eleven feet tall. He has short brown hair, and a large shoulder length beard. His eyes are dark moss green, and are nearly burried behind his thick eyebrows. He is thick in girth, and wears a simple white sleeveless shirt, and brown trousers; with black suspenders. Equipment: None, other than a pickaxe and a steel helmet with a candle-holder welded to the front. Short bio: Golful'gar was born in the hills North-West of Termir. He was raised alone by his mother until the age of ten, when he wandered into a Dwarven outpost, and was captured. He was sold off to a rich Dwarf named Vixtegreen, who owns a reputable production factory, and was set to work mining coal deep within the mines running beneath the factory. Demeanor/Attitude: Despite his immense height and thick-set features, he is very shy and docile, preferring to keep to himself rather than speak to anyone around him. He holds himself hunched, never standing to his full height, and waits to be told what to do.
Bella Artire Age: 23 Sex: Female Race: Human Appearance: Bella is tall with a thin figure with a small chest and long, supple legs. She has long, dark brown hair that stretches down to her waist and similarly colored eyes. Her skin is extremely fair, it is creamy white without blemishes, but burns easily, so Bella always carries a parasol. Bella generally wears dresses with a great many folds and frills in bright colors and pastels. However, she recognizes that some occasions require more practical clothing. In such occasions she wears light outfits of simple blouses, light leather waist coats, tight cotton leggings that are easy to move in, and tall boots. Equipment: Bella’s only equipment is her parasol sword. It appears to be a regular parasol with an odd, saber hilt style handle. However, the shaft and parasol top are detachable, revealing Bella’s master work; a multi functional saber. The sword is very light, but of high quality metal and is extremely sharp. The bottom of the hilt is detachable and a thin steel chain whip is contained within. The chain whip has a small but sharp blade at the end of it. Also, the bottom half contains a small caliber six-shot revolver. All the hidden aspects of the weapon are revealed through very small switches and buttons on the hilt. Short bio: Bella was born to a family of weapons dealers. They didn’t sell arms for wars though. They traded in exotic, finely crafted, and custom designed weapons of all sorts. Unusual pistol swords, strangely curved khopesh, long blades encrusted with fine gems and coated in gold foil. The Artire family designed weapons as well. While it is unusual for a woman to become trained with the sword, Bella’s family felt that such training came with the family business. For one to fully understand the value and design of a weapon, they must be able to use the weapon. So, Bella was taught how to design weapons, how to fight with them, and also how to gauge a weapon’s value and the best way and place to sell it. The Artire family remains successful to this day, trading rare weapons, as well as designing their own. The Artire’s family main branch is in Termir, and Bella lives there. Currently, she is browsing through antique shops looking for any fine specimens. Demeanor/Attitude: Bella appears fragile from a distance, with her fair skin and thin body. In addition to this, she acts with a most polite demeanor. However, she will not tolerate an absence of chivalry or respect. Any lack of respect towards her or her associates is treated not with a sharp tongue, but with a sharp blade. The only teams she has worked with are groups within the family company, never in combat, but she is perfectly capable of handling herself. Also, she is very accepting of other races due to constant interaction with them concerning weapon acquisitions and commissioning weapons from their craftsmen.
Name: Noveen Baptise Race: Human Age:24 Sex: Female Appearance: Noveen is round of face and flat of nose with oversized crimson ears. Her eyes are green and oblong much as two cold marbles and her face often blush with overt but concealed emotion. Her frame is small yet mostly symmetrical with thin, narrow shoulders, auburn hair that touches them, wider hips, and a chest larger than she would like, for it does attract unwanted attention. As for the rest of her, it is concealed beneath her oversized and unrevealing leather gear. Equipment: Duel silver Dirks with heavily scaled handles, sizeable and lightweight black leather armor-lined with pockets and animal of origin, smoke grenade(s), thieves’ tools, and two pistols of Dwarfish origin. Short bio: Noveen was raised in the Capital city of Termir born into a family of scandalous merchants. Unfortunately she was seen as an outcast due to her last name and was quickly reminded by everyone she would amount to nothing besides a merchant; however, early in her life she realized that this was not her calling. She spent a good portion of her early life hunting, fishing, and tracking- looking for any outlet she could find to stay away from her mother and her terrorized household, both of which were neglectful and spiteful of her mysteriously gifted green eyes. (Both of her parents and all of her brothers had dark eyes) Even though Noveen’s father knew his wife was unfaithful, he would never acknowledge it and would flat out refute it. This drove Noveen’s mother to madness and to a breaking point. After a drastic decision to leave for a week and see if she would be truly missed when she was only 11 year of age, she returned only to discover that her father was killed and her four brothers forced to join the war effort, both decision of her tyrant of a mother. All that was left of her childhood home was a note written in her mother’s hand that read “You should never have been born, boy.” (A reference to her masculinity and her mother’s infidelity) These words haunt her every day of her life. With nothing but a set of seemingly masculine skills, a good head, and a few trusty weapons she managed to obtain by trading hides she wanders the capital city working as a hired hand, a hunter, and sometimes an assassin- selling our her skills to the highest bidder all the while still searching for her place in the world. Fate has a place for everyone, after all. Demeanor/Attitude: Noveen is rather charming even when she doesn’t wish to be with a tomboyish exterior, a belief in wholesome pure femininity, and a warm face exploding with emotion triggered by even the slightest provocation. She does not let things get to her for long after experiencing the worst in life and seeing death’s face in that of her mothers’. She has a nagging addiction to smoking Steelweed- a flower that is commonplace in the capital city and often has trouble walking silently due to a leg injury sustained by a wolf while hunting.
Name: Ilayda Narcisco Race: half elf Age: 18 Sex: Female Appearance: Ilayda is tall and thin with clear, fair skin. She has bright blue eyes and long, wavy red hair which she wears down to hide the fact that her ears are pointed and elfish. She shares the graceful features and fair skin of the elfish race, but besides her ears looks mainly human and very beautiful. Equipment: Ilayda usually wears simple dresses in muted colors (browns, greens, blues) as to not draw attention to herself; however she always wears a belt/sash of some bright bold color. Hidden in the sash is a small silver knife and a little pouch for money and other valuables. She carries with her a brown leather satchel which holds her dark red cloak, a book, some food, water, and a dagger that is too large to be hidden in her belt. Short bio: Ilayda was born of an elf mother and human father. Like many elves, her mother was very against half elves and subsequently was disgusted to find out she was carrying one. She left Ilayda at her father’s house in Termir as soon as possible. Her father, though also discriminatory against half elves, took her in because he felt guilty for her existence. However he was often gone as he was a merchant and when he was home he took little notice of his half elf daughter. Ilayda spent her childhood being picked on by her human siblings and being discriminated against by her family. That, when combined with the abandonment of her mother, left her feeling bitter and angry against the world. She did receive an education growing up, which fostered in her a unique love of reading. When she turned 16, Ilayda decided to leave her unhappy home and forge her own way. Her plan of leaving Termir was blocked, however, by the discrimination against half elves and her lack of money. Thus she was forced to remain in the town where she has made her living mainly by acting as an entertainer (dancer) and through being a pickpocket (something at which is she sadly quite accomplished). Demeanor/Attitude: Depending on her audience, Ilayda is very charming and graceful when necessary. However usually she is cold and reserved, and harbors angry bitter feelings brought about by the neglect of her childhood. She loves reading and stories and lights up whenever someone mentions them, however she is very quick to become closed up once more. Being vulnerable scares her and she is very accomplished at hiding her emotions and keeping herself detached from the people around her.
Character slots are all filled up for the time being (unless I give you special permission) Annnd finally, my character: Dalia Fletcher Age:24 Sex: Female Race: Human Appearance: Dalia is about 5-foot 6-inches tall, slightly muscular build, especially in her arms, legs, and abdomen, with jet-black, straight hair that goes down to her shoulders. She usually wears a black cap, or has her hair pinned up or pulled back into a ponytail. She wears a long, tan trench coat, with the collar up and sleeves cut short, a vest underneath, baggy trousers, work boots, and tough leather gloves with studded knuckles. She has a pretty face, with big electrifyingly blue eyes. On the back of her coat there is an emblem of the street gang she belongs to, and a tattoo on her wrist of the same emblem. Equipment: She wears her studded leather gloves most of the time, with two sets of knuckledusters at her waist – one set with blunt edges and another with sharp, rigid edges. Otherwise, she travels light very light. Short bio: Dalia was born into a good family – a dishonest family, but good nonetheless. Her father was a smuggler for the Bartem Cartel – the criminal organisation lead by the dwarfish Lord of Crime: Kanen Bartem Even though she was raised well, and given everything she could possibly want, Dalia was very aggressive in her adolescence, and once ran away from home at the age of fourteen after a quarrel with her father. She ended up cornered in an alleyway by three members of a street gang known as the Emerald Scorpions – an extremely dangerous gang in Termir. Miraculously, she managed to knock out two of the thugs in a fit of feral rage. The third stepped back, as he was one of the leaders of said gang, and offered for her to be initiated. While she went back home and resolved her problem with her father, she also decided to become a brawler for the Emerald Scorpions, which basically meant that while she wasn’t at home, she was out fighting or training to fight in illegal cage matches. Eight years later, the Bartem Cartel recruited the Scorpions into their line of work and made them smugglers of artifacts and industrial materials. So now Dalia is in the same line of work as her father and travels from city to city on airships, exporting all sorts of goods. Demeanor/Attitude: She has calmed down since her adolescence, and even though she can put up a good fight she tries not to come across as too threatening when meeting new people – unless it’s for work.
Name: Broggen Felbillow Race: Dwarf Age: 43 Sex: Male Appearance: As is common to most dwarves, Broggen is small of stature and large of muscle and girth. His dark beard is highlighted with strands of red. Often dressed in layers, he usually wears a knee length leather duster cinched about hist waist with a wide belt of chain-link brass. Fingerless gloves cover his large hands and knee high boots protect his disproportionately small feet. The hair on his face and head are tightly braided in the traditional dwarvish style. When not protecting his eyes, his aviator goggles can be found strapped around his forehead. Equipment: Broggen has collected a number of valuable tools and weapons during his trading ventures across Terrafel. He carries a pair of brass adorned .50 pistols at his waist. In his duster he carries a handful of basic tools used in maintenance and repair of airships. When traveling in dangerous country he carries a double-bladed single-handed axe on his back, but he is never without his favorite throwing axe strapped to his leg. Many of his tools and equipment bear dwarvish runes and are imbued with magic, and although Broggen is fairly ignorant of exactly how such things work, he is certain to make excellent use of their abilities. Short bio: Born into the working class, Broggen got his start building Airships in the mountain factory village of Stone-Eyre. There he met Limelal, his love. But happliy ever after was not in their destiny. Broggen doesn't talk about what happened in Stone-Eyre, but it was the first of a series of misfortunes that catalyzed Broggen's once warm heart into cold stele. As is the custom of dwaves who have lost their partners he would never love another. He left Stone-Eyre and has never looked back. He finds himself as an airship pilot for hire these days. He frequently transports black-market goods but more often deals in the lucrative slave trade. Demeanor/Attitude: The natural dwarvish boisterousness manifests itself as crass dry humor in Broggen. He views the world as a dark and miserable place where joy is fleeting and pain lasts forever. He uses his resourcefulness to survive, while carelessly journeying to the darkest corners of Terrafel. Usually gloomy and brooding when not in the air, he does not allow anyone to get close to him.
Name: Shara Dragonscale (the reasoning for the name, although elfs despise dragons, her clan once up on a time fashioned the scales of the dragons into armour for use against them) Race: Half Elf Age: 47 Gender: Female Personality: She tends to be quiet, has only ever worked alone of a job, after so long, she seeks people who share her views. She craves battle, loving the pure ecstasy of her blade spilling blood, but keeps her lust in check, until the fighting begins. Appearance: she’s 6 feet tall, main noticeable elven feature, slight point to her ears, narrowed eyes. Aged appearance of a 22 year old. Her back is covered in scars (covered in background) as well as her left cheek. Her eyes are different colours, emerald and ruby, a cross of her mother and fathers. Clothing: armoured left arm and shoulder, the armour is in the fashion of large over lapping scale plates, woven shirt and pants, leather boots and gloves. Woven sack, woven travelling cape. Specialisations: Talented blades fighter, specialised assassin, expert archer. Armourment: Always carries 4 blades and bow. A short sword and two different lengthed knifes as well as a short knife hidden on her person. The Bow is of a sturdy wood, with a quiver that holds up to 40 arrows. Current load is 16 stone arrows, 3 enchanted arrows (dwarfen runes carved into the surface, activate on her command ‘Bleah’ translated as fire, attuned to her voice, can be retrieved for reuse, where given as a reward as a set of 8 for an assignment) Background: Daughter to a human mother and elven father, they lived in human farmlands, the humans there grew restless having the elf living there, even more so by him consorting with a human, multiple unrelated murders took place in the near by village, jumping to arms, the other villagers focused their anger on the elf, the obviase focus for their anger, both her mother and father where killed on the night. Beaten to death, before being burn to ash. Shara was forced to watch, tied in place, as they took advantage of her position, she holds scars on her body from that day. She remained there for 4 days before someone came along to help free her, as she aged, she took care of each of those involved, returning her hatred to those who caused it’s birth, killing every person involved, working her way to the head of the old rabble, one who she’d always knew hated her father, she tortured him before leaving him in a position where he couldn’t escape, bleeding to death. Since she’d delt with the last, she began taking jobs as a mercenary, learning anything she can as she’s aged, she always hears out a job, but turns many down, not simply looking to earn money, she seeks to bring justice to the dammed in the only way she knows how, the flash of steal. She will be in Termir primarily retrieving a bounty.
Termir: The sound of cheers, bells, whistles and firecrackers filled the streets of Termir as the summer festival began that day. It was a day to be joyous and to embrace the summer season. On that day a parade marched all the way from the commoner's quarters to the crown square, whose doors were open for celebration until late into the night, and a giant brazier hung, basking in flame to symbolize the sun. There were all kinds of floats rampaging through the narrow cobble-stone walkways of the city – those made from wood, paper, clockwork and steel; dragon floats, and floats filled with flowers and images of the sun. It was truly a spectacle to behold. Termir was not just any city. It was the capital of the world, or so they say. It was by a lake, and built upon the ruins of many other cities before it, but always controlled by the same race - the humans. The humans reveled in the thought of their superiority to the other races of Terrafel, but today was a day for festivities, and even the elite knew how to have fun. Everyone was welcome to the summer festival, which is why the city’s train stations and air ship docks were overcrowded. As everyone was out in the streets, trams weren’t working either – it would’ve been impractical. The only ones who worked – other than those wishing to earn a bit of profit from the sudden influx of people – were the guards. And there were a lot of them. Nothing was going to go wrong that day. Airship: Some way away from Termir, Dalia Fletcher could see the grand city on the horizon. She was leaning on the railing of an airship – where she found herself most days – and dreading the docking. Today wasn’t a good day to be coming in by airship, and especially by an airship carrying three dozen half giant slaves, caged within its cargo hold. “Dal,” she heard over her shoulder. A man came beside her, putting his hands on the railing. He looked her in the eyes, “something the matter?” Jaz was another of the Scorpions’ smugglers. He was extremely tall, burly, and had a look on his face that made him seem like he was constantly annoyed. They often paired him with Dalia on assignments. He wasn’t the brightest person, but you were grateful to have him alongside you if things got ugly. “I’m just running scenarios in my head. You know, in case an inspector comes on board, or a commotion is caused. That kind of thing.” “Well I wouldn’t worry too much inspectors. I doubt we’ll even be noticed with all these tourists coming in.” Dalia turned to face the ship, and looked up at the balloon-like structure keeping it afloat. “Mmm,” she hummed, unsatisfied with his attempt at assuring her. At that moment Jaz’s nuisance of a cat showed up – Whiskers, he called it. The cat was Jaz’s scout, much like a hawk. Dalia never understood why he didn’t get something that could fly, but never decided to bring it up. The damned ginger tabby hissed at her before curling up by its master’s feet. “She’s never taken to you,” Jaz spat out the obvious, “I don’t know why.” “Mmm,” Dalia repeated, bored. Sensing her tedium, Jaz decided it would be a good time to leave Dalia alone. Besides, they would be docking soon anyway. “I’m going to make sure this pilot knows exactly where we’re landing. You know that bunch – always oblivious.” Jaz left Dalia on the deck, his feline companion in tow, and descended to where the flight cabin would be. Thinking she was alone, the smuggler turned back to gazing at the city in the distance, which was now a lot closer. That’s when she noticed she wasn’t the only one doing so. She could see someone to her left, in her peripheries – a hooded figure in dark, tattered robes, complete with a flowing black sash. She had met or run into most, if not all, of the crew by now, and none of them had dressed in this manner, which made the situation a hell of a lot sketchier. Throughout her many travels and dealings with the underground of Terrafel she could only think of one group of people that would dress like this. “Hello?” she asked, turning to face the man.
Golful'gar sat hunched glumly within his crate. To any passerby, the box would appear to be holding seven fragile statues made by the Dwarves to be given to the ruler of Termir as a gift for the festival. (At least that's the story Golful'gar heard the Dwarf transporting him say to the pilot of the airship.) He scratched his head, his knuckles rapping against the sturdy wooden planks above him. He cringed at the sound, half expecting a lash from an enforcer for the disturbance. It was several seconds before he relaxed. Slowly, he reached into his pocket for a small box of matches, and attempted to pull one out, the result being that he dropped the box from his large fingers. Supressing a moan, he rubbed his aching neck. He didn't know how much time had passed since he'd been placed on the airship. The only light he had was from a small gap between two planks in the side of the crate, the pale dim ray barely enough to see by. Shoving his hand back into his pocket, he felt his fingers brush against something, and ruefully pulled it out. Pinched between his fingers, was a small dap'shir flower. Smiling faintly, he moved the flower so that it was in the strongest part of the light. He leaned in as closely as he could, and stared at the small orange flower, taking in it's shape, and deeply regretting that it was half-dead. During his years in the mines, he had met a young Dwarf maid who had befriended him. Every morning she would sneak to his cot, and give him a flower that she had picked. The dap'shir had been his favorite, and she had tearfully pressed one into his palm the last time he'd seen her. That had been a week ago. Golful'gar stared and stared at the wilting flower, its petals matted from being contained in his pocket for days. He wondered what the future held for him. More mining, he told himself.
Standing at the helm of the airboat Broggen managed bellowed into the wind in his deep baratone voice as the wind whipped his braided beard. "On my boat flies o'er and o'er, Cross land and sea I fly, To the Fifth I pays my dues while my time I buy, My cargo trade one death for ano'er, an on my boat flies o'er and o'er, The Shorty there thinks he pays my due, But what I want is kitty stew..." The sturdy dwarf looked over his shoulder at the man for whose sake he'd improvised the his the end of his song. “What can I do fer ye Mr. Jaz,” he asked looking back to the cloud dotted horizon, and the city in the distance. It had been some time since Broggen had been to Termir, and never during the festival. “Just making sure you understand the plan, Dwarf,” replied the tall human. “Don't you worry your mother's beard about a thing good Sir. I'll get yer cargo where it needs to go, or I don't make the best damn cat pie you've ever tasted.” Broggen smiled to himself without moving his eyes from the horizon. 'It's been too long a journey with this bloke and his equally stupid pet,' he thought to himself as Whiskers slipped over to him and began to purr and rub against his legs. Broggen looked down at the tabby cat, 'I'll be glad to be rid of you both at Termir.'
"And that's how to make kitten soup.", Kilth closed the book and thought for a second. A scowl formed on his face, and he started to gag. "My first and last Dwarven cook book..." He spoke to himself in a hushed tone. The room was in complete darkness. Kilth took the time to pick up is smooth blindfold and tied it onto his face. He found the door and stepped outside onto the deck of the airship. The air hit him gently and lightly lifted his hair. He took a deep breath and began walking on the tips of his feet, a habit from training to be quiet and stealthy. He carefully picked his steps and positioned his feet carefully for each step. He stopped abruptly, and started to quietly weep. He thought of his parents back at home, and his Brotherhood deep in the woods. They had sent him on his first mission, and told him nothing of what he was looking for. He had read many times about Termir, about humans and their wonderful city. He had always wanted to visit, but not like this. Not on a blind chase, no pun intended. He felt hot tears start to slowly cascade down his cheeks, he quickly wiped them away and continued on his way. He turned a corner and quickly but quietly pressed himself to the wall. He saw a hooded figure, and thought to himself, 'He looks suspicious, he might be my target.' He slowly stuck his head out to observe the odd looking figure, he saw a woman standing near him. Kilth's eyebrow raised as he scanned the woman, "Interesting." he whispered to himself, with a grin on his face.
Termir To all, Termir was the indeed the core of Terrafel; a multilingual, multiethnic melting pot which brewed an amalgam of cultural traditions bring the lithe and grace of the elves, the ingenuity and vigor of the Dwarves, and the cunning of the humans, all one set of gates- even if tension and hatred were common side effects. It was the place to buy and trade quality goods ranging from magical elixirs to stirrups, to tell tales of heroic (or not so heroic) adventurers and of their past wars, wounds and skirmishes, to gossip about royal family lines and whom in them are preparing to engage in wedlock. To others, it was nothing special; just a bunch of bustle and noise around the clock and even those were loud if you really listened. Noveen sat casually on an old crate tucked in a narrow alley between a handful of busy shops. It was days like these that made her hate living in the capital city. There was all the noise, all the questions, and all the pain of seeing others able to have fun so easily while she had no choice but to dwell on her painful past. Everywhere she looked there were people latching onto each other’s arms, laughing, and strolling lazily. It was so easy for them. She rolled a tightly wound Steelweed cigarette and began to puff away. The noise and the sight of the arriving airships made her head throb and her face flush and there wasn’t a better way for her to ease off the pressure of her skull, as well as her tightened knee. That damned wolf. It always picked the worst times to act up. She was now afraid to get up fearing that her leg would lock and she would fall on her face. It wasn't worth it. She looked down at her armor instead and wondered if she should dress more formally on occasions like these, especially when festivals were a good time to pick up a husband or beaux… she shook her head and dismissed such thoughts. She began to hum a mildly rueful melody that was popular in Termir: “Travel along that road until you fall asleep- Til’ you are so tired that your feet slip and sweep- After your journey you may rest well and sound Until the sun sets and a new day comes around; But be careful now! Our dearest Adventurer, look out! For In that ol’ Forest… no one can hear you shout….” "It's going to be a long day," she muttered.
Shara walked down one of the main streets of Termir, people crowded the road, stalls where everywhere, selling all kinds of foods and trinkets. People cheered as a float of some kind appeared around one of the building, people parted ways in the road, leaving a wide path for the first. Shara turned away from the first float, her thoughts else where, wondering where she could find another job. Her destination lay ahead, the ‘Giants foot’ Inn. A group of human men stood around the door, several called to any women that passed, obviously had more than their fill. One looked at her, smiled to himself, seeing she was walking with intent of going inside, she move to go around, through the doors, but he stepped in her way. “What does one of your kind thinks your doing here?” “Let me through please” Several of the others turned to her. “Hu, stupid half elf, get outta here” “Y... Yeh... stupid pointy ears!” The one the that gave the last comment burst out laughing. The others smirked. Then began to surround her. “Hey, tell you what” One of the less slurred said. “You can come in with me, we’ll go around back, have us some fun” They laughed. “Hey, let me in on that” “I’ll say one more time, let me through... please” “You’ll say one more time? What’s a young thing like you going to do?” Before he realised anything, Shara had grabbed his hand and twisted it, his smirk disappeared as he squealed. “Let me through” “You bitch!” One from the side tried to hit her, she batted the hand out of the way, drawing her knife, putting it under his chin. He stood frozen, panic swallowing his face. “Just let me through idiots” They backed away, all but the one she held still. She released him, and he back away, hitting the wall. Shara walked past, into the Inn. No-one had noticed anything, or didn’t care. People sat around tables, most had drinks in their hands, someone was playing a guitar, several people dancing to its rhymical strums. She sat at the bar, pulling out a wrapped piece of cloth. “Well, is it isn’t Shara” A well stocked man walked from behind the bar. He was a very old friend, Shara and Kirk had grown up together, the difference between the two, he showed his age, her 47 years only showing 20ish by skin. “It’s been a while, though you must of run into some trouble” Shara pushed the cloth across the bar shelf to him. He picked it up, looking inside. “I had some trouble finding him, he could run well” He disappeared shortly, coming back out with a small bag. “I’m sorry, the we’re a little short on money, things aren’t going quite as well as we’d like at the moment, so it’s a few gold pieces short” “It’s fine, have any food?” “Yep, a new pigs just been cured, started cutting an hour ago” “Give me a few slices from that, plus something special to drink, wwe’ll call it even” He laughed as he walked into the back once more, again appearing with the slices of pork, as well as a small canteen and half a loaf of bread. “Thought you’d need something to eat that with” “Thank you Kirk, how’s your wife?” “bah, same old, Emily’s still running things” The both laughed.
“Meow!” the kitten mewled while looking up at Bella. Bella squealed a little and held the new kitten even closer. She had adopted the stray kitten not half and hour ago, having found it running along the streets, desperately dodging the feet of the massive crowd of people here at the Summer Festival. Since then, she had decided to name it after a legendary Skittari swordsmith, Masamune, ordered a great number of toys and food for the kitten, and bought a gilded collar with a crystal bell on it. It was a terribly whimsical thing to adopt a stray kitten and buy so much for it, but this was the summer festival! A time of joy and whims, of appeasing every fancy and desire, of celebration and love! Bella couldn’t help herself. Kittens were her greatest weakness, aside from rare weapons anyway. In fact, before finding Masamune, Bella had purchased a number of unusual and rare weapons from the foreign merchants that were here for the festival. Of course, she had also bought miscellaneous things for the family as well as a new parasol, which she had already fashioned onto her parasol saber. She held Masamune close with one hand and twirled the lacy white parasol with the other. Now what would she be up to next? Maybe meet up with some friends by that crepe stand nearby the fountain in the trade quarter? Actually, wasn’t the clockwork shop she had heard about just nearby there? She’d have a chance to browse the clockwork mechanisms there to see if the shop owner there had anything that could improve her parasol saber and also be right nearby the crepe stand! She talked whimsically to Masamune as she made her way to the trade quarter. On her way, she had made arrangements for some friends to meet her at the crepe stand in an hour or two. In the meantime, she would browse the clockwork shop. For now though, she was sitting by the fountain, hiding from the sun under her parasol and relishing the mist from the fountain. “Meow!” “Wait!” Masamune jumped off of Bella’s lap and ran towards the alley next to the clockwork shop across the street fountain. Bella ran lightly after the kitten, yelling for Masamune to slow down and come back. Finally, she caught up to the kitten and picked him back up. Before she could scold him though, she noticed that the kitten had stopped just in front of a girl who must have been nearly the same age as Bella. The girl was dressed oddly for the festival, wearing dark leather armor while Bella was wearing a blue pastel dress with frills and folds abounding, but there was one thing that caught her eye. “Those knives! The scales on them! How exquisite! And are those pistols dwarven made? Oh please! May I have a look at them?”
There were many things Clairc didn't like about the summer festival, but there was nothing he hated more than the stench. Foul smelling humans, dwarfs, and elves, sweat on their brows and ale lingering on their breath, would wounder by his stand where he sold miniature clockwork robots and airships made specifically for the festival. Sometimes a potential customer, usually with a snot-nosed brat hanging on their arm, would stop and eyeball his creations, but it was rare that he sold anything. Once they noticed he was nothing but a wretched half-breed, they would cast him a disgusted glance and storm off. He never really liked people, but then again, people never really liked him either. He could never understand why everyone hated half-breeds as much as they did. Besides his accident of birth, what had he ever done to deserve the treatment he endured on a day to day basis? Why couldn't they understand that the point of his ears didn't define him as a person? Clairc decided that it really didn't matter. All that really mattered to him was his research. These toys were nothing more than a means to keep him alive – all that mattered was his experiments. The noise of chattering voices and whining children seemed to lessen for a moment as Clairc's half-elf ears picked up a small tune. Looking across the way, he noticed a young human female sitting on a crate in a narrow alley between some shops, humming a simple melody. Despite the upbeat nature of the tune, he could see that all too familiar pain in her eyes. Clairc nearly laughed. He guessed that even humans felt alone sometimes. For some reason, that made him feel a little better. Seemingly out of nowhere another woman appeared beside her, scooping up a small kitten. Clairc adverted his eyes and continued to tinker with his miniature clockwork creation.
Na' bael sat away from the crowd, unbothered by the festival. He'd been around long enough to have stopped caring. There had been a hundred festivals and there would be hundered more; the humans loved their festivals. He leant against the wall robe hiding his eyes, gaze resting on a thin sandy haired halfling tinkering with a clockwork contraption. Around him people danced and played. The halfling sat on his own aswell, away from the crowd. Na' didn't blame him. Humans didn't take kindly to halflings, neither did the elves for that matter. It was saddening but Na' was rather fond of them. They were interesting and unusual. He'd been good friends with one until he was killed by some radical humans. Na' had made sure they regretted that choice. A float rolled past. He looked up assuming it was supposed to be a dragon, being rather badly built it was more akin to a lizard with wings. A thought wondered into his head... Burn it! He smiled then shook the idea away. People would see, and the effort it would take to evade the gaurds...why it would be horrendous, best to just leave it be. Head lowered he went back to watching the halfling.
“Those knives! The scales on them! How exquisite! And are those pistols dwarven made? Oh please! May I have a look at them?” Noveen looked up quickly and inattentively,not particularly mindful that she was smoking a disgraceful and mind altering substance. They were nice weapons, and the woman seemed to care little of her cigarette anyways. The daggers were forged by the bastard son of a royal line of blacksmiths and were sharpened time and time again, laced tightly with ancient drake scales. As for the pistols- they were nothing to write home about, but they were wildly unique as they had peculiar inscriptions creasing the handles. The eyes Noveen looked upon were those of an undisturbed sleepwalker who was moving through life as it were one big dream, treasuring each and every moment blindly… but still tapping into motivation that seemed to be offered by nothing in particular. Noveen did not make any impression of the woman, who looked about her age as she presented herself with only a slight crease of worry that was fading quickly on her forehead. She was dressed formally and was cleverly using fashion and function to block the sunlight and weather while still looking good enough to turn heads. She held a cat gently in her arms as its chest heaved air in massive gulps. The woman was using the other to hold a parasol proudly but humbly over the pair. Noveen became quickly jealous as she admired her thin, tall frame and unburdened chest that accentuated her innocent splendor along with her fair skin and unblemished face. She took another puff and flicked near the tip of her cigarette and said something, anything to fill the silence as the woman looked at her with a parted smile, asking her a question to which she had no definitive answer. She mustered enough generosity to return the smile. Her cheeks were flushed with blood and her head began to swim. “That is a cute little creature you have there. Did it manage to get away from you?” Noveen asked with slight amusement. She did not wait for a response; instead, she continued, and even managed to get up without falling though her legs were a little wobbly. As she got up, she realized she would still have to crank her head back a little to make eye contact. “ Have a look at my weapons you ask? Sure. You can even touch them if you like!” Noveen beamed. "My name is Noveen by the way. Noveen Baptise. I would offer you one,” she motioned to the cigarette hanging in her left hand, “but this is my last one, and I doubt you would want one anyways, heh,” she then offered her right hand, and despite the grimy look of it, the woman's face did not suggest that she was hesitant in the idea of shaking her hand. "Another girl who likes her weapons and doesn't care to get her little hands dirty every now and then. This day might not be so long after all," Noveen thought to herself.
Times of celebration in Termir were always a good time for Eenzthk--at least as opposed to his usual time out after the sunset. The hustle and bustle made it easy for him to wander about the streets, well that and temptation. The abundance of food scraps and unsavory chits to fodder the Dead Book. Soot, waste, ripening squash, discarded hog meat, and spilled ale; the multitude of scents pouring into his nose was slightly over-powering. He stopped his trek through the commoner's quarters to kneel and scoop up a dropped loaf of bread. Mustering great constitution to conceal his squeaks, he kept walking hood up down the street. Then, the smell hit him. The perfect chit for the Dead Book. Ale on his breath, clothing and just about everywhere else. Inhibitions were gone. He was open to suggestions. Eenzthk scurried forward, tossing the bread aside. As he approached the man's back, he ran a hand across his chest and uttered a short Skittari phrase. Once behind the man, he reached forward and tapped the shoulder of the head-taller stranger. Eenzthk spoke with his mind:Sir, can I offer you lodgings for the night?
The air was full of the chiming of bells, shouting voices, busy craftsmen, and jingling purses being emptied on the various trinkets and food that was everywhere to be found. The atmosphere was infectious. Ilayda had always loved the summer festival, though for very different reasons. When she had been a young girl her love had been for the magical occurence of pure openness and acceptance for a brief period of time-a respite from the neglect and abuse she was used too. Now, however, her love of the festival came from the purely material gain she recieved from so many people willing to see her dance and so many easily stolen purses. Though, a small part of her still felt the wonderment of a child at the festival, and a for a moment she felt the simple innonence she used to hold before it was lost to her. Ilayda shook her head, now was not the time for nostalgia. Hoisting her satchel onto her shoulder, she began to weave her way through the crowded streets, searching for a place to earn some money-her supply of food was running far to low for her comfort. Soon the strains of guitar music reached her ears through the mess of sounds and she followed the notes until she found the player in front of an inn called "the Giants Foot." It was not place she went often, but there was a large crowd gathered around some clumsy dancers and the guitar player-in other words, a wonderful place to earn a few coins. Setting down her bag she pulled out a small basket and straigtened the pale blue dress she was wearing with a bright orange sash embroidered with large, golden sunflowers; a tribute to the festival. She shot a smile at the guitar player and signaled him to play something more upbeat. He obliged with a smirk of his own, and soon she was dancing, her feet moving in time to the rhythm of the notes. Her red hair danced around her, turning to a deep, fiery color in the sunlight. The eyes of the crowd were all being pulled to her and she rewarded them with a beaming smile. Within moments people began to drop coins into her basket as they formed a large circle around her, clapping and laughing in enjoyment. After a few songs she stopped, her legs aching and sweat forming on her brow. There was a collective moan from her audience which brought an almost genuine smile to her lips. A tall, black-haired man approached her from the dispersing crowd. "Could I buy you a drink?" "That depends..." Her answer was coy and her voice sweet. "Depends on what?" He leaned into her slightly, his own voice deep. "It depends on how much you enjoyed my dancing." She took a step closer so they were almost touching. "Oh I-" Suddenly he stopped speaking. In an instant she realized her mistake, caught up in the moment, Ilayda had pushed her hair back revealing her elfish ears. "Actually I must go." his voice dropped all notes of admiration and at once became the condescending tone she was familiar with. Abruptly he turned his back on her and walked away. Ilayda packed up her things, 18 years of that kind of treatment and it still felt like a slap in the face when it happened...at least she had managed to snatch his bag of money before he left. Pushing her way past the drunks in the doorway, Ilayda walked into the dimly lit bar and sat down at a secluded table. Glancing towards the bar she tried to catch the barmans eye, but he was deep in conversation with someone sitting there and didnt notice her. So instead she turned to her money, counting it up and stowing it safely away, before closing her eyes and leaning back in her chair.
The commoner spun around, confused and frightened. Standing at four feet, just behind him was a smiling rat. Don't be nervous, you just seem under the weather. Eenzthk continued to smile, extending a short claw. "..." The man attempted to stammer something. Relax, let's get you to the Hogshead. Another sniff to the air and he noticed two guards approaching. Quickly friend, before they escort you to a cell. With that, Eenzthk wrapped his small hand around the man's left hand. Dragging him across the street to a small safehouse marked with a simple X above the door was the easy part. Getting into the safehouse with an outsider, would be a little more difficult.
