(( First and foremost would a GM or Admin allow someone such as I the opportunity to narrate an adventure? It will be a lovely game of intrigue and mayhap a hunt for something enticing? ))
If you sought to live you had naught but run and hide yourself away, but when the weak court death.....they find it. If you wish to challenge me, I will allow it. The choice falls not unto me or to the whims of fate, Tis your alone.
(( Excellent. This shall be for anyone one willing, I care not for how long you have been here, or your experience this is suitable for all.))
Rotted fish and sea, rotted fish and sea. A smell one would be quick to avoid and shy away from the slightest detection of it. 'Twas also the too common scent of a fish monger, someone who lived at the docks harvesting the day's catch and making it suitable for selling.
People skirted the hunched little man. He was covered in grime, and looked as though the man had not washed in some time. he cared not though, he was doing whatever he needed for money. Which is what drove this little man to do what he was doing.
"Fifty gold?! fifty gold to post this 'ere note?"
Was what the man was thinking, over and over and over again. He had been offered the sum of money to post a handbill in the town square. He was quick to jump on it.
"With that I can buy me own stall...no more cleanin fish I be sellin it I would."
The small man thought. He had finally reached the main square and did exactly as instructed. No more...No less. For those curious, and brave enough to stand the stench the man had imparted on the small scroll it read:
Citizens of Wistvale,
I am in need of some services. For those reading I recently had and item stolen. Yes no surprise there but it is quite valuable. I am willing to offer 700 gold divided amongst whomever to find this heirloom.
To find me just search the docks.
There was no signature.
If you sought to live you had naught but run and hide yourself away, but when the weak court death.....they find it. If you wish to challenge me, I will allow it. The choice falls not unto me or to the whims of fate, Tis your alone.
Miroslaw was also in search of adventure that led to a pay, or some form of a benefit to him. Of course, pay was usually the preferred benefit. He often ran by the jobs bulletin board to see what was new. He read some odd jobs that did not really spark much interest in the warrior. Finally he came across one that intrigued him. "An Heirloom, huh?" he mumbled to himself. Mostly, he saw a large sum that was being payed. That would, obviously, bring about a lot of interest from someone always in search of money.
His face showed confusion when he was unable to find a name on the flyer. He even checked the back of the flyer, with no avail. He contemplated giving up and doing one of the jobs that had a name. A no name flyer just struck him as odd. "But 700 gold!" he thought to himself before sighing deeply and meandering to the docks.
He arrived at the docks, truly befuddled by what he should be looking for. He pictured a strange old man lurking around looking for confused looking warriors like himself. Surely there must be something otherwise why would a flyer be posted at all? He would stroll around the docks looking for any sort of sign. He would try to refrain from needing to ask anyone.
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
(( Well, since no one else decided to partake on this venture...let us continue. ))
Miroslaw would find no such man. Most of the older gentlemen and some ladies were peddlers or fish mongers. However upon reaching the docks the faint smell of ash could be detected, and it was close. In fact it was so close that when looking down a small tendril of smoke drifted from his pocket.
It ended as swiftly as it occurred. No doubt an alarming event for who has random starts of fire happen in their trousers? Not very many people...
Whilst drawing out the parchment that contained the original note a new set of text appeared.
The one you seek goes by the name of Mr. Dark. Ask for him in the watering hole near the docks.
Upon reading and committing the name to memory Miroslaw would find himself in a bit of a fortunate situation: the watering hole mentioned via magically burned text of was not but across the way from where he stood.
If you sought to live you had naught but run and hide yourself away, but when the weak court death.....they find it. If you wish to challenge me, I will allow it. The choice falls not unto me or to the whims of fate, Tis your alone.
(Yeah, bummer no one else joined. Hopefully I am enough to entertain you...)
Upon seeing the smoke from his pocket, he frantically reached to pull out whatever it was, turning out to be the note. A hushed cry of, “What the hell?!” accompanying his motions. Seeing the text being magically burned into the paper he immediately disliked whatever situation he is walking into, but he couldn’t argue with the coin. On top of that, it seemed mighty favorable that he now knew where to go.
He puts the note back in his pocket and meanders his way into the watering hole. Upon entering he scans the area for anyone who may fit the name of “Mr. Dark” Assuming it would not be easy to name someone based on appearance, he would head towards the bar and grab a seat. Surely the bartender would know.
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
The interior of this...erhm...fine establishment was as one would expect of a dockside tavern. Even with the the fire going and food cooking the over powering smell of ale and sea was astounding. Had one not been coming here daily the salty musk would turn away most individuals.
Tables and chairs were sparse, but stools stood a plenty along the long bar. This was definitely not an inn. As Miroslaw would look around he would notice that this place may have very well been a warehouse of sorts at some point in the past.
As he sat at the bar a few sailors gave him odd glances, even the bar tender did. Though she was not the proprietor of the establishment she did carry an air of authority. Unapproving glances aside, she just eyed Miroslaw and grabbed an empty mug.
"What do you want stranger? Food, drink or both?"
Last Edit: Feb 9, 2014 18:49:36 GMT -5 by Raevarin
If you sought to live you had naught but run and hide yourself away, but when the weak court death.....they find it. If you wish to challenge me, I will allow it. The choice falls not unto me or to the whims of fate, Tis your alone.
Miroslaw thought taking is slow may be best. The demeanor of the denizens of the tavern was a bit unusual. He thought that having a bit of ale before delving further into the seeking of the man going by Mr. Dark may be wise. Perhaps it would give time to let the folks forget about his presence before.
Miroslaw's kept his hood up, turning to the voice addressing him. Upon realizing he had no desire for a drink, he scrapped all of his previous contemplation and cut straight to the question at hand, “I am actually looking for someone... A Mister Dark.”
He was hiding behind his hood as well as any man of his magnitude could. His face was relaxed and his eyes were set on the woman, observing her response to the name. One could often tell a lot of someones sentiment of another by paying close attention to their reaction to a name.
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
The woman's eyes opened wide then narrowed. Hoping she did not reveal much of her fear she just grumbled. Those in conversation near Miroslaw stopped talking, most of the attention was on him. Others who heard him moved away from him as if he were diseased and they refused to catch it.
Of the mixed responses one would think the person Miroslaw was looking for was not well received in these parts. Or maybe this person was some sort of criminal.
Who knows?
"Unless you chase tall tales and ghost stories you wont be finding him here. He doesn't exist, he's just a myth."
The bartender said hastily cleaning a glass, a look of nervousness still washed across her face despite her best efforts to conceal it.
"That not be true. He is real, one me ship mates disappeared a week or so ago."
Piped up one man, his voice shaky whilst speaking of it.
"Saw some girl he did, looking to have a good time then just vanishes. Now the whole crew avoids that banshee of a girl. She means death she does!"
He exclaimed, shortly after he was sprawled across the floor blood trickling down his forehead. The bartender was standing over him with a broken mug.
"Don't be spreadin' tall tales! I aint one for your superstitions nor is this Bar!"
The bar went quiet for a moment, then someone piped up.
"If you want proof find the blind girl that man spoke of. That she devil will lure him out."
The man said waving his walking stick at the bartender. He mushed something up in his mouth and spit into the fire. He tugged on his white and brown beard to straighten it. The man was old, probably in his 70th year. One of his eyes was covered in a patch, the scaring from beneath it creeping out. An old weathered man by the looks of him, and must have been respected. The bartender made no move to him, and whoever was whispering stopped as soon as he spoke.
If you sought to live you had naught but run and hide yourself away, but when the weak court death.....they find it. If you wish to challenge me, I will allow it. The choice falls not unto me or to the whims of fate, Tis your alone.
Miroslaw took in the sudden change in the tone of the tavern. It was eerie and suffocatingly heavy. The fear was so obvious in many expressions as he gazed around. His eyes went to each person who spoke up. Miroslaw's curiosity was most definitely peaked. He did not believe in silly superstitions, but there seemed to be too much here to be nothing more than a superstition. On top of it all, he could not deny the magical note. He saw writing appear before his very eyes.
He spoke up, “Tell me, old man, where would I find this girl?” His hood remained up, but his gaze was set on the elderly man, whose beard rivaled his own.
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
The man examined Miroslaw briefly then turned his gaze back to the fire. His brow was furrowed as it had been when he spoke up in the first place. He picked up the bottle on his table, uncorked it and took a long swig before looking at Miroslaw again.
"Anywhere along the docks, the shore, it matters not but she rarely leaves this district."
Once again he too another swig, most of the other patrons just had his eye on him hanging on every word he said as if he were some sort of doomsayer. Everypne knew of the rampant superstitious nature of sailors, well this was the epitome of it.
"Look for a girl in a blue dress, or if she not be wearin' that then look for the girl with scars all over her face. Once you do, If you believe the tales, pray for an escape."
With that the old man rose from his table dropping a few coins on it and left. It wasn't until he had fully exited that the murmurs and whispers began kicking up.
If you sought to live you had naught but run and hide yourself away, but when the weak court death.....they find it. If you wish to challenge me, I will allow it. The choice falls not unto me or to the whims of fate, Tis your alone.
Without another word, Miroslaw stood from his stool at the bar. He made his way to the door, trying to maintain eye contact with the floow. He could have asked more questions, but he felt the anxiety from the social encounter already. He couldn't muster any more resilience to speak up again.
He exited the tavern, running off of the limited information he got from the old man he simply needed to search the district for the woman. “A girl with a blue dress and a scarred face.” He muttered to himself. He looked around where he stood, just outside the tavern. Then, he simply picked a direction began walking. He would walk the entire span of the dock if he must. His curiosity was running rampant, and he desired answers.
Last Edit: Mar 1, 2014 15:25:53 GMT -5 by Miroslaw
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
What seemed to be hours of searching one would have given up, and one nearly did. However as Miroslaw was turning to return to the tavern empty handed, something caught his eye. A blue wisp of cloth fluttering in the breeze. He followed it with his eyes as it connected to a flowing tattered dress loosely draped over a lithe girl.
The wind was blowing her mud brown hair back allowing Miroslaw to see what the folks had been saying about her. She had deep gashes near her eyes, what was left of her eyes were now just milky orbs peering into nothingness.
However that did not seem to bother her for she gazed out to the sea, a smile on her face. It was as if she could see the waves churning, and the gulls gliding on the ocean drafts. Upon closer examination the girl had to be no older than her 17th year. Judging by the scars on her face, she had been blinded at least 7 or 8 ago.
If you sought to live you had naught but run and hide yourself away, but when the weak court death.....they find it. If you wish to challenge me, I will allow it. The choice falls not unto me or to the whims of fate, Tis your alone.
Miroslaw rubbed his eyes, feeling they were playing tricks on him. After the rubbing, the girl still stood there. The same girl that was spoken of in the tavern. His thoughts immediately went back to the warning that came from the tavern. The girl being some kind of omen of death.
He had half the mind of turning and running as fast as his legs would carry him, but his curiosity was still running rampant. He found the girl, does that mean the Mister Dark is also real? Is the girl a spirit? He couldn't help but wonder if this is what happens when a spirit is not sent. Is she truly some kind of evil spirit that lures the living to their doom? The questioned roamed his mind and forced him to approach a little closer to the girl.
He called out attempting to make conversation with the girl, “Hail, young lady." He tried to maintain a friendly tone and hide the fear that he was feeling. Unfortunately, the fear was almost suffocating and difficult to hide. He couldn't help but think of the adage, curiosity killed the cat.
Last Edit: Apr 3, 2014 14:35:58 GMT -5 by Miroslaw
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.