"Jupiter Ascending in the House of the Mast. But I don't date sailors, no matter how often my horoscope insists it would be jolly sport." He gave a saucy wink, setting aside his mug and sliding off of his stool to face the Moray. He fell naturally into a lazy slouch with his feet spread wide, deceptively relaxed and nonthreatening, but poised for quick lateral movement.
"Listen, that, uh... huh. See. I'm not in the habit of wasting good drink to give offense, when words will suffice for free. But that was bad drink, and it was comin' back out whether or not there was a body in the way of it, reckon? Nothin' personal intended, just... flawed ballistics." His cocky grin slipped a little, as he reflected on what a profoundly shitty apology that actually was. He considered his tactical options, none of which were at all palatable in close quarters, and all of which would blow his carefully cultivated "completely uninteresting layabout" cover story.
On the other hand, if this place got obliterated in a brawl, the proprietor would probably be too busy picking up the pieces to hit Genraq up for his outstanding tab before he could slip off to another island.
On the other other hand, maybe Genraq's horoscope was worth listening to today. Damned if the young marauder didn't cut a dashing figure.
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The serving-woman made a strangled squeak as she turned to face The Moray, her head bobbing up and down with a terrified eagerness to not die. "Food, yes, of course. I'll be right back!" Azharn noted that she seemed to miss his request for food in her hurry to depart, or st the least she had not acknowledged his humble request for sustenance. As she left to the kitchen, most of the other patrons dashed for the exits without paying their bills, ready to rush to work, or anywhere other than the impending disaster of the Moray, a Lintha, and that worthless layabout who sometimes divined the weather but mostly just smiled and did nothing all being in the same place together.
The only man who stayed was dressed far above the station of a simple fisherman, all dyed linens with pearls dangling from his ear and lip. He sipped at a small cup of tea, seemingly giving the other noteworthy figures in the place no mind whatsoever.
Meanwhile, on the streets, the urchins followed Buckle, sometimes running ahead, sometimes falling behind in the manner of children, but always keeping pace as they gnawed at the morsels of food he had saved for them. There was still a wariness about them that was borne of mistrust and harsh masters, but they seemed willing enough to see what score he would lead them to, at least. It wasn't hard to find a commotion in the streets of Kishinou, this time caused by a mass exodus of common folk from a relatively unassuming bamboo tavern.
"The Moray is here! He'll kill us all!" "Damn The Moray, that was a gods damned Lintha who just came in!" "Hopefully they kill each other and Stauros will finish the survivors!"
The Moray seems a bit confused by Genraq's rambling speech. He does notice the island-dwellers scurrying for the gunwales, though.
"They seem to be expecting me to put you through the floor, old man." The Moray shifts his weight, pulling the scabbard over his back off. "I'm not really interested in doing that, though." He leans the sword against a table, causing it to collapse under the weapon's weight. The Moray just glances at the sword and sighs.
"Or maybe they think you'll destroy the place," he says, nodding towards Azharn. "Don't usually see Lintha ashore without a raiding party in these parts."
With another glance at the collapsed table, the Moray shrugs and moves over to one of the still-intact tables and sits down, seemingly content to wait for the food to arrive. He doesn't seem particularly concerned that his sword is still sitting in the wreckage of a table.
"No, you don't." Azharn cocked his head and regarded the man known as Moray as he sat down, taking in his stance. He did not seem aggressive, letting the lithe warrior relax a little. "But this one is not a Lintha." He walked to a recently vacated table where a platter of food, freshly delivered, had been just left by a hastily vacating patron. The man had left money on the table, but the food had not even been touched. Crabs of some sort, hardly exotic in these parts, but still good for all that.
Unlike the Moray, Azharn gently placed his own blade against a sturdy wall brace, careful not to damage any of his host's property. As he did so, he whispered a prayer and hoped the wind would carry it to the Garda Bird and his priestesses. He then sat.
"And there seems to be little reason to destroy this place regardless. Hospitality is a rare enough jewel." Azharn nodded at Genraq and the other occupant courteousl before be began to eat. He did not wish to give offence at so early an hour in the day, after all.
Brazen Buckle grinned wildly as the honest folk cleared out. He caught it early, before the bookies or peddlers. He cupped his hands, to begin calling for bets, as a lesson on how to take people's money without being beaten. Then he remembers a name, Depths. The man had singers boasting of his games at the docks. Did Depths have people to take bets on important events? Yes, he did, Buckle saw a death pool on a large slate, like his captain's tent had.
But what kind of take did they get? Were they shaken down at random by superiors? What did they do to thieves or people stepping in their trade? Buckle's thoughts continued until an urchin tugged on his sleeves. "What now?". "Go in through the back, I'll get the door.".
Those in the tavern's front see a man in red trousers, canvas jacket, and a beaverskin hat walk in, spear over shoulder and a shield on his back. The man strides past table and counter, holding his breath and avoiding their gaze. He ducks into the back, much as the serving woman had before him. Once behind, Buckle moves to the door-latch and takes stock of his pockets before holding the door open. He pauses again. Was that a giant sword?
"Old... man?", he muttered dejectedly, although his wounded pride was soothed somewhat by relief as the pirate's attention shifted. To the... Lintha-looking fellow?! How in the sandy shores of Hell did he overlook that one?
While the other two conversed, Genraq started to edge around the room, nudging his basket with his foot, but also trying to lean over and loosen the oilcloth covering of his Skycutter so it could be drawn if necessary. It was a tremendously clumsy combination of activities, and his utter lack of natural facility with stealthy movement certainly didn't help, so Azharn and the Moray's interaction was punctuated by the irregular scrapings of wicker over hardwood.
He was only halfway to the door when Buckle entered... another armed stranger, fabulous! Genraq froze still as a statue, lips tight, crazed bloodshot eyes as wide as they would go, back pressed against the wall, and cheeks puffed out as he even held his breath.
Realizing lately that I don't really trust or respect basically any of the moderators here. So, good luck with life, friends! Hit me up on Twitter @DesertLeviathan
The last man sitting at his table in the centre of the room took one last sip from his teacup before placing it gently down in the saucer, his eyes closed and breathing soft. Then, he smiled, his top teeth sharpened to razors.
"It's so nice to finally meet The Moray, so dreaded and feared across town. I was, honestly, wondering how long it would take you to wake up. And to think that a Lintha would just so happen to claim the famed hospitality of Kishin at the same time? Somebody in Heaven must be working hard to make me a very rich man indeed."
He rose in a fluid motion, chair sliding back across the ground, before he bowed deeply to the two warriors. "I am Depths, a local businessman and advocate of Stauros, Plentimon, and purveyor of the many sweet vices that can be had in the West. I hate to see all the commoners bolting for safety, but you do cut an imposing figure indeed. So, what brings you to Kishinou?"
As he spoke, catching the eye of the three Solars inside, the serving-woman quietly slunk back in with a tray of fish, delicately cut and salted while wrapped within seaweed.
In the back room, Buckle was a little less noticeable, but the cramped space was already occupied by an older man wielding a pair of very sharp knives that he was using to expertly prepare fish. "You! Employees only! Get outta here!"
The Moray offers a polite nod, an acknowledgement of station from a man of station. "Your compliments do not go unnoticed, sir. As you well know, the best mask is the one others cannot tell is a mask."
The Moray offers the serving woman an appreciative smile as she returns with the food, handing her an obol with an apologetic shrug towards the shattered table. "What I'm after is really quite simple. I intend to hire on a crew and take a ship. What's negotiable is whom I take on as crew and which ship I take."
Ignoring the hollering from the preparation area, the Moray's attention remains fixed on Depths, almost pointedly ignoring the other two -- and arguably more dangerous -- men in the room.
I suppose we'll try Persuade here, burning 1 Personal motes to excellency for 2 dice. That's a total of 5 extra dice (thanks Harmonious Presence Meditation). Moray's effective Appearance is 6, which probably means 3 more dice. I'll roll those. If that's not the right differential for Depths, drop off a few on either end.
Azharn watched these two men of import converse, as he carefully ate his own fare. It seemed that they were both captains of some sort, as Azharn would know it. That the Moray desired a ship was surprising (he seemed to be wealthy enough in appearance that Azharn expected him to already own one) but of course, accidents did happen.
The man who had gone into the kitchen was, of course, receiving a firm rebuttal from the lord of that domain. Nothing else would be expected, and he was certainly not needed there. The fellow frozen against the wall seemed to be agitated, but Azharn was sure that there was more going on there than the drunken fool portrayed. He smiled, and gestured at the seat opposite. Speaking quietly, so as not to disturb the Moray and Depths, he addressed the wild-eyed stranger. "This one certainly means you no harm, traveller. Sit, if you will, and share your ear with me."
Brazen Buckle smiled at the chef, a look of surprise not quite reaching his face. He backs away. "Sorry. Wrong room." He bows slightly, leaning on his spear, and backs out of the kitchen, turning as he does to avoid inconveniencing the server. "Sorry all", the mercenary says, taking a look at the public house's clientele. "I thought there would be a rack for my things. I apologize for any offense I have caused, and will return presently after conducting other business. I hope this hasn't soured any future dealings we may have."
The Hidden Sun reaches for the tip of his spear. Turning the blade, he pulls it from the shaft and turns the point down with a practiced movement. His hand tucks into his jacket and returns bare.
And now to make good on another promise. Bowing at the shoulder, right arm outstretched, Brazen Buckle backed toward the entry. While he did this his free hand was engaged in a complex legerdemain more knuckle than anything else. He intended to pluck uneaten morsels from abandoned plates without being seen or looking toward them and roll them into his sleeve. There's a certain rhythm to his hand's motions, three fingers wagging to a step, until his cuff dips into a bowl of soup.
Recoiling as though wounded, the Solar Exalt holds his cuff, turns glumly, and walks out of the tavern before anyone sees his smile return. He ignores any gawpers as he rounds the building, heading for the back door.
Sorry for the delay, got really stumped on how to proceed. Now I'll spend 1m to add +1 to Presence, 2m on Larceny +2, and 2m to hide my banner.
geth, roll 10d10x7 Apologizing most effusely. Manip+Presence+Harmonious Presence Meditation+1m Excellency
geth, roll 8d10x7 Sneak food into his sleeve while the center of attention. Dexterity+Larceny+2m Excellency.
Apologizing most effusely. Manip+Presence+Harmonious Presence Meditation+1m Excellency:
10d10x73 [10d10x7=9, 9, 2, 6, 3, 4, 1, 4, 5, 8]
Sneak food into his sleeve while the center of attention. Dexterity+Larceny+2m Excellency.:
(Home internet is dead, and unlikely to be fixed soon. Thanks, Google Fiber. And there hasn't been much downtime at work. Genraq may just have to politely extract himself from the scenario and go have adventures someplace else, sorry.)
Realizing lately that I don't really trust or respect basically any of the moderators here. So, good luck with life, friends! Hit me up on Twitter @DesertLeviathan
Posts
"Listen, that, uh... huh. See. I'm not in the habit of wasting good drink to give offense, when words will suffice for free. But that was bad drink, and it was comin' back out whether or not there was a body in the way of it, reckon? Nothin' personal intended, just... flawed ballistics." His cocky grin slipped a little, as he reflected on what a profoundly shitty apology that actually was. He considered his tactical options, none of which were at all palatable in close quarters, and all of which would blow his carefully cultivated "completely uninteresting layabout" cover story.
On the other hand, if this place got obliterated in a brawl, the proprietor would probably be too busy picking up the pieces to hit Genraq up for his outstanding tab before he could slip off to another island.
On the other other hand, maybe Genraq's horoscope was worth listening to today. Damned if the young marauder didn't cut a dashing figure.
The only man who stayed was dressed far above the station of a simple fisherman, all dyed linens with pearls dangling from his ear and lip. He sipped at a small cup of tea, seemingly giving the other noteworthy figures in the place no mind whatsoever.
Meanwhile, on the streets, the urchins followed Buckle, sometimes running ahead, sometimes falling behind in the manner of children, but always keeping pace as they gnawed at the morsels of food he had saved for them. There was still a wariness about them that was borne of mistrust and harsh masters, but they seemed willing enough to see what score he would lead them to, at least. It wasn't hard to find a commotion in the streets of Kishinou, this time caused by a mass exodus of common folk from a relatively unassuming bamboo tavern.
"The Moray is here! He'll kill us all!" "Damn The Moray, that was a gods damned Lintha who just came in!" "Hopefully they kill each other and Stauros will finish the survivors!"
"They seem to be expecting me to put you through the floor, old man." The Moray shifts his weight, pulling the scabbard over his back off. "I'm not really interested in doing that, though." He leans the sword against a table, causing it to collapse under the weapon's weight. The Moray just glances at the sword and sighs.
"Or maybe they think you'll destroy the place," he says, nodding towards Azharn. "Don't usually see Lintha ashore without a raiding party in these parts."
With another glance at the collapsed table, the Moray shrugs and moves over to one of the still-intact tables and sits down, seemingly content to wait for the food to arrive. He doesn't seem particularly concerned that his sword is still sitting in the wreckage of a table.
Unlike the Moray, Azharn gently placed his own blade against a sturdy wall brace, careful not to damage any of his host's property. As he did so, he whispered a prayer and hoped the wind would carry it to the Garda Bird and his priestesses. He then sat.
"And there seems to be little reason to destroy this place regardless. Hospitality is a rare enough jewel." Azharn nodded at Genraq and the other occupant courteousl before be began to eat. He did not wish to give offence at so early an hour in the day, after all.
But what kind of take did they get? Were they shaken down at random by superiors? What did they do to thieves or people stepping in their trade? Buckle's thoughts continued until an urchin tugged on his sleeves. "What now?". "Go in through the back, I'll get the door.".
Those in the tavern's front see a man in red trousers, canvas jacket, and a beaverskin hat walk in, spear over shoulder and a shield on his back. The man strides past table and counter, holding his breath and avoiding their gaze. He ducks into the back, much as the serving woman had before him. Once behind, Buckle moves to the door-latch and takes stock of his pockets before holding the door open. He pauses again. Was that a giant sword?
While the other two conversed, Genraq started to edge around the room, nudging his basket with his foot, but also trying to lean over and loosen the oilcloth covering of his Skycutter so it could be drawn if necessary. It was a tremendously clumsy combination of activities, and his utter lack of natural facility with stealthy movement certainly didn't help, so Azharn and the Moray's interaction was punctuated by the irregular scrapings of wicker over hardwood.
He was only halfway to the door when Buckle entered... another armed stranger, fabulous! Genraq froze still as a statue, lips tight, crazed bloodshot eyes as wide as they would go, back pressed against the wall, and cheeks puffed out as he even held his breath.
"It's so nice to finally meet The Moray, so dreaded and feared across town. I was, honestly, wondering how long it would take you to wake up. And to think that a Lintha would just so happen to claim the famed hospitality of Kishin at the same time? Somebody in Heaven must be working hard to make me a very rich man indeed."
He rose in a fluid motion, chair sliding back across the ground, before he bowed deeply to the two warriors. "I am Depths, a local businessman and advocate of Stauros, Plentimon, and purveyor of the many sweet vices that can be had in the West. I hate to see all the commoners bolting for safety, but you do cut an imposing figure indeed. So, what brings you to Kishinou?"
As he spoke, catching the eye of the three Solars inside, the serving-woman quietly slunk back in with a tray of fish, delicately cut and salted while wrapped within seaweed.
In the back room, Buckle was a little less noticeable, but the cramped space was already occupied by an older man wielding a pair of very sharp knives that he was using to expertly prepare fish. "You! Employees only! Get outta here!"
The Moray offers the serving woman an appreciative smile as she returns with the food, handing her an obol with an apologetic shrug towards the shattered table. "What I'm after is really quite simple. I intend to hire on a crew and take a ship. What's negotiable is whom I take on as crew and which ship I take."
Ignoring the hollering from the preparation area, the Moray's attention remains fixed on Depths, almost pointedly ignoring the other two -- and arguably more dangerous -- men in the room.
Geth, roll 18d10o10t7 for Persuade
The man who had gone into the kitchen was, of course, receiving a firm rebuttal from the lord of that domain. Nothing else would be expected, and he was certainly not needed there. The fellow frozen against the wall seemed to be agitated, but Azharn was sure that there was more going on there than the drunken fool portrayed. He smiled, and gestured at the seat opposite. Speaking quietly, so as not to disturb the Moray and Depths, he addressed the wild-eyed stranger. "This one certainly means you no harm, traveller. Sit, if you will, and share your ear with me."
The Hidden Sun reaches for the tip of his spear. Turning the blade, he pulls it from the shaft and turns the point down with a practiced movement. His hand tucks into his jacket and returns bare.
And now to make good on another promise. Bowing at the shoulder, right arm outstretched, Brazen Buckle backed toward the entry. While he did this his free hand was engaged in a complex legerdemain more knuckle than anything else. He intended to pluck uneaten morsels from abandoned plates without being seen or looking toward them and roll them into his sleeve. There's a certain rhythm to his hand's motions, three fingers wagging to a step, until his cuff dips into a bowl of soup.
Recoiling as though wounded, the Solar Exalt holds his cuff, turns glumly, and walks out of the tavern before anyone sees his smile return. He ignores any gawpers as he rounds the building, heading for the back door.
geth, roll 10d10x7 Apologizing most effusely. Manip+Presence+Harmonious Presence Meditation+1m Excellency
geth, roll 8d10x7 Sneak food into his sleeve while the center of attention. Dexterity+Larceny+2m Excellency.