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Quest: The Dragon of the Dungeon

Emeralia

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a part of Quest: The Dragon of the Dungeon, by Script.

The capital of the human kingdoms.

RolePlayGateway holds sovereignty over Emeralia, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

285 readers have been here.

Setting

This is where the first section of the roleplay will take place.
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Emeralia

The capital of the human kingdoms.

Minimap

Emeralia is a part of Cordelia.

4 Characters Here

Niall Daerretyn [0] A pushy Sylvan ambassador with a Type A personality who isn't quite sure how he got into this mess.
Shard [0] The Dragon of the Dungeon. "The reason we do not just kill them, Namira, is because we want to have fun with them. I'm sure that this will not result in my untimely demise, because that would be too obvious..."
Vincent Vice Fang [0] Master of nether magic. In this quest to harvest dragon heads to create a powerful magic wepon
Johanna Calimme Arista Greyes II [0] "A lady such as myself should NOT be treated this way. I simply do NOT understand--What? Why, I NEVER! I could have you hanged, you know! I could have you locked away for treason! I could--EEK!"

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#, as written by Script
“Ohh, woe is me! Woe befalls me! I am filled with woe! Sorrowful woe!”

The King of Cordelia was lamenting, that much was obvious. He was lamenting in a rather melodramatic manner, to tell the truth, something which did not pass unnoticed amongst his subordinates; guards, scribes and servants positioned at various locations throughout the throne room all shared a similar expression of resigned irritation. King Nihlus was pacing back and forth before his shiny golden throne with his arms folded behind his back. His long, billowing blue cloak trailed along the floor as he walked, and a suitably grave frown adorned his wrinkled features, framed by a straggly white beard and receding white hair.

“What can I do to save my kingdom? A dragon is beyond the capabilities of my armies to slay! What can I do?!”

All the assembled staff were well aware of what would happen if they actually thought to suggest something, because Nihlus was a grumpy man with a problem, and grumpy men with problems that happened to have access to an executioner were not the sort of people you wanted to get on the bad side of.

“You!” Nihlus pointed a wrinkled finger at an unfortunate scribe, striding over to him to tower... under him, in all his hunched glory. Nihlus’ stature was another thing that irked him, and it was considered best to pretend to be towered over even when he didn’t reach your chin. “What do you suggest? How do I slay a dragon?”

There was a dead silence as the scribe fumbled for some sort of acceptable reply. The room collectively held its breath (some of the furniture even seemed to tense, but that might have just been the atmosphere). “Ah... find a dragon slayer, sire?”

The silence that followed was even deader than the previous silence, so dead in fact that it started to smell before the King spoke again. “Of course!” he exclaimed, placing both hands on the scribe’s shoulders with a gleeful grin. “I shall find a dragon slayer! Nay, not a dragon slayer, a dozen dragon slayers! Two dozen! As many dragon slayers as I can find!” Seemingly excited by this, Nihlus began to sweep away, only to pause and turn, striding back over to the scribe.

“Ah... scribe. You seem to have omitted a single fact from your research...” more silence. It was like a genocide of utterances. “...there are no dragon slayers. The last dragon to be slain was... centuries ago.”

Once again, the unlucky scribe fumbled. “Ah, so, sire... you look for those that seem likely to be capable of becoming a dragon slayer... the ah, adventuring sort. At least ah, that’s what they do in the stories. They tend to be referred to as ‘Heroes’, sire.”

Nihlus allowed a smile to retake his face. “Heroes, eh? We want heroes? Of course! Heroes! What better way to glamorise a suicide mission?! Heroes!” The king turned to raise a finger. “Somebody promote this man! Pay him! I want him rewarded!” he yelled happily, striding back toward the centre of the room to lift his arms skyward.

“And send out the missives! Messengers! Heralds! We are sending out a call... for heroes!” he cried happily.

There was a general consensus, later in the servant’s quarters, that the scribe who had suggested this was generally to be disliked. It was just cruel to get the old man going like that. He wasn’t the most stable of rulers. That was why they had clerks and advisors. Because he was entirely incapable of running a kingdom, let alone selecting a group of heroes with the competence to slay a dragon...




“What’s ya’ price, darlin’?”

The raucous noise of a tavern filled Kiriel’s ears as she sat at the counter, staring into the pint of ale that sat before her. The drow woman (because she saw herself as drow, despite her half-and-half heritage, simply because humans were sissies) was clad in her armour, and her hair was tied up in a practical ponytail, which begged the question as to how drunk the three men standing behind her must be to think her weak enough to take advantage off. Kiriel paused to take a gulp of her drink before swivelling around to face her attackers, mouth quirked upwards in a grin as her hair bobbed with her head’s movement.

“More than you could afford, you oafish sacks of lard. Judging by your attire you can’t be carrying more than twenty copper between you. Not even worth stealing, now, get lost before I decide to make an impression on those ugly pig snouts you call faces.” Bam. Kiriel flashed a smile as her vicious burn sank into the men’s heads, and she was sorely tempted to snap her fingers at them. But that would be a bit excessive, maybe.

It was a good while before any of the men fully pieced together her insults, but after a good number of seconds one of them grunted. “Oi. That’s no way t’ be treatin’ good honest folk like us.” He said, scowling. The other two nodded their agreement. “Now yer’ gonna find out why manners are important, girl.”

Kiriel sighed as the man stepped forwards. This was the third time this week! It was like for some reason someone felt it necessary to demonstrate just how badass she was to an audience of people that weren’t immediately apparent to her. As she lamented the state of modern society, Oaf (as he had been dubbed) laid a hand upon her shoulder. And received a rather forceful ale-tankard to the face, knocking him sideways with a grunt.

Hopping down from her stool, Kiriel grinned. One yell, and things were about to go very badly for a great number of people.

The drow clicked her tongue, before opening her mouth...

Bar fight!!

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Watching from the far side of the bar mouth stuffed with food Vincent observed the woman being confronted by three men. Thinking to would be noble to step in and help the women, as she yells bar fight he whacks the man flanking the one in the middle over the head with his staff making him stumble and fall to his knees. "I'm here to help" Vincent explains to her during the commotion, she ignores him focusing on fighting off the other two men. Damn it Vincent thought after being hit in the back of the head with the glass cup, his yellow eyes shift to red as he turns around "Let my lighting strike true" he chants. A yellowish light illuminated in his palms shooting out blasting the man into the wooden wall. Adrenalin pumping Vincent smacks the next man in the face with his staff, the man quickly evades the attack wining back his right hand punching Vincent in the face braking his nose. Vincent bucks back elbowing the women his was speaking to earlier in the gut, the man run up to Vincent readying another punch. "sol nal tene dai la Thunder-ra" Vincent quickly chants pushing both of his palms to the mans chest, blasting him with a mid power electrify spell nearly killing him on impact. " I need to get the hell out of here" Vincent thought as he picked up his staff sprinting towards the door escaping the raging bar, he walks into an allay way on the side of the bar healing his broken nose with magic.

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Drew's life at the moment would best be described as terrible. At first, he had thought that being the only talking horse in all of Cordelia would be amazing. He had checked out the laws, and he was a convenient legal loophole. There were absolutely no laws in the Cordelian constitution that told one how to prosecute a horse. He could effectively do anything illegal and as long as he got away, there was nothing the guards could do but try to find his owner. There was the tiny fact that he had no owner, but they didn't know that. Of course he knew he couldn't take anything valuable; when you have four legs that have to keep you balanced at all times, holding something is rarely an option. All he had wanted to do was stir up some trouble, and maybe steal some fruit. This, however, turned out to be the only good thing about his current predicament.

For one thing, every time he had tried to pass a stable, the stable-boys always thought that they'd lost a horse and chased after him, prompting him to jump into various back-alleys or deliver a swift kick to their stomachs. Having a crowd look at what he had done was not what he wanted. Speaking of crowds, he could hardly walk among the city streets without being stared at. Even worse, when he tried to explain to them why he was walking without an owner, they always yelled "DEMON" and made the largest uproar that a person could make about a talking horse. It was like they had never seen talking animals before. The nerve of them, calling clerics to exorcise him! He could only stand being purged of his demons so many times!

Apparently being a legendary hero requires that you not make people think you’re a demon come to plague their homes and steal their children. Who knew?, he thought. Thankfully he had managed to get away from the crazies and had found some food to munch on. "More vendors should sell food in easy to carry sacks", he reasoned "it makes it much easier to steal." Doing the best he could with the pack, he used his teeth to rip the pack open and nibble at the bits of food in it. This was truly some of the best nameless fruit he had ever had. He spit out the seeds, trying to make a game of seeing which of the passers-by he could hit with them. It was always fun to mess with people's heads.

Just then, some loud ruckus erupted from the building beside where he was eating, and a man ran from the building, using some kind of energy to fix his nose. Turning around (which was a rather hard thing to do, as horses had gigantic turning circles), he faced Vincent, lowering his head in a horse's equivalent of a bow. Speaking, he began "Hello, random stranger. May I inquire as to why you suddenly burst from that building as if Sharad himself had begun to pole-dance? Just wondering, as few people burst from buildings any more; they always seem to walk slowly away while their back is pummeled with shrapnel."

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Kiritanek merely sat in the corner of the inn all day since he had first arrived in the morning. Such was a good way of learning nuances of the common class in such a city. He had learned both much and little from his time there, listening in to many a conversation. The populace seemed much like that of other human cities; stupidity, complexity, lack thereof and felony were all commonplace.

A hulking human, they seemed abundant in drinking establishments such as this one, was sitting at a table nearby and had been staring at the Tui with obvious ill intentions. The newt-like being ignored this unintelligent specimen in order to learn a few more tidbits before finally retiring. Such an event was not to occur, as Kiritanek's gills twitched and he turned his attention to a small quarrel near the bar. It seemed three men, drunk and mentally incompetent, were attempting to oppress a woman of some kind. A popular occurrence, most likely ending in an unfortunate situation for the men. Although abundant, Kiritanek has noticed they have some sort of magnetic attraction to things that can remove them from the Human gene pool. Undoubtedly this woman would be more then the three thugs could handle. Indeed the Tui's theory was proved correct as the woman called the war cry which would make any barman check his insurance; 'Bar Fight!'

With a sigh the experienced Shaman knocked his mostly untouched mug of noxious ale off his table. The stout wooden weapon rolled about, spewing contents over the floor. Kiritanek could only hope it would not dissolve through the wooden flooring before it was useful. Although, as he returned his attention to the now chaotic room, the Tui suspected that such a time would soon arrive. The brute he had espied before was now in the process of clobbering another brute with a chair with great experience. It seemed the to a distanced amphibian that many humans lived their lives to collect teeth with the confines of a tavern.
Eventually, after inflicting numerous bruises and other such inconveniences upon his foe, the man turned his attention to the isolated, seemingly easy target. With a simple sweep of his hand the bubbling ale crystallised into an inviting ice carpet. The bloke, not noticing the frozen defense promptly and comically fell into a rather humiliating position. With another wave the ice crept up the sides of the prone figure, the blue crystal of frozen water vapor against the ugly green of the fermented muck. The Shaman calmly sat back and surveyed the continuing brawl.

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Tuon walked down the city alleys of Emeralia, with his hood pulled around his face and his coat pulled around him to give him the maximum warmth, with the only visible feature being the purple eye from the inside of his hood. Tuon was used to the cold, if you live in the Wastelands for half your life, you must get used to it. But his hood is more for disguising rather than protecting him from the elements, after all, given the bleak situation in this city, who knows what those dumb tukongla, a dumb animal in the Rothen Wastelands, will do to him if they see a deformed Zaggyar; especially since they have never seen one before.

Tuon could not help but chuckle to himself, the irony of it all if the city killed the few … thing that could save it from its destruction. Eventually Tuon stopped in front of the city square, one of the dozens or maybe more among this city. He tried to remember the time where he had the foretelling.

Tuon was rooted to the ground by something unseen, or he thought it was unseen, but he could feel a twisted force holding him down, a force which made him want to cleanse himself five times over and still feel tainted. Just then, a small sphere of light rolled over to his legs and released him, flling him with warmth. Somehow, it felt as if that small globe of light was speaking to him, it felt real yet had an abstract feeling to it. “Slay the Dragon. If it lives, the Zaggyar dies.” That thought planted itself firmly his head, no matter how much he wanted to shake the thought off, he couldn’t. He felt … compelled to slay the dragon, as if that was his only purpose, his life, his aim. And with that, that small shackle of evil expanded itself. Somehow, it seemed as if the shackle of evil was darker than black itself, and it looks as if to swallow up that light globe, but the globe continued to make its stand and shone ever so brightly, fighting in vain for control over the dark, until he made a small movement. With each movement, the strength of the light grew brighter, it seemed to gain life. The bigger the movement, the stronger the opposition …

And he was thrust back to reality by the cold cutting deep into his eyes. The cold seemed to chill itself against his eyes. It seemed to want to freeze everything that it ever touched. The work of nature or the vile work of the Dragon, Tuon know naught. Just as he was contemplating whether to return to where he resided, outside the city of course, a small hint of excitement seemed to be coming from the tavern or bar, as he learned in the human language. A small battle against the vile dragon, but a battle nonetheless, and a victory at that, Tuon could not resist but help be attracted to the tavern; A small hint of activity in an otherwise lifeless city, a strange thing for a city so large, stranger still for this city, which is the supposed capital of this country.

When he opened the door of the building, Tuon muttered under his breath as he ducked something flying at him.

“Foolish humans.”

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The ice-eyed young man had been frequenting the tavern as of late, which probably had something to do with the fact that the patrons would not remember how much money they had spent come the morrow. A few missing coins were unlikely to be noticed. It was a particularly elaborate ruse; he came to the tavern every day, dressed and disguised as his everyday self (this month, unless something else suited his purpose, a tall, thin man with auburn hair who had nearly lost his head to the father of his fiancée), and simply chatted. Then, when a particularly wealthy looking patron got a little too drunk to walk in a straight line, he walked him home, and took a few coins as payment. He was sure they didn't mind too much.

That was almost what he was doing now, except with much less chatting and much more ducking for his life. It wasn't so much that Coriel was stealing, oh no--he was simply collecting what was dropped in the ensuing scuffle, slinking between one assailant and the next and occasionally ducking to avoid a punch here and there. It wasn't a particularly good haul, but one took what one could get, and the few coins that he'd scraped up from the floor would buy him a night at a decent inn, though he would have been hard pressed to afford a decent dinner on top of it. Oh well, one took what he could get when they were in his situation, eh?

Not that he had any good reason to be particularly destitute. There was plenty of work in the city, especially for nymphs like himself. That wasn't to say, however, that any of it was work he was interested in; there was nothing worse than being a street-walker when everyone knew you could change your gender and appearance, not to mention the fact that it was horribly unsanitary. No, no, he was quite happy to scrape by until something far more palatable came up.

Perhaps he would become a kite-maker in a few years.

For now, though, he had to focus on the work at hand, and the work at hand consisted both of collecting dropped coins and coin purses (which was the easy part) and not getting killed in the process (which was the hard part). To make the latter easier, he had decided to simply forego stealing from the drow, a decision which he considered very wise.


Outside of the tavern, the Sylvani ambassador bristled, adjusting his sleeves for the seventh time since leaving the house (a nervous habit of his). Well! he thought sourly, a look of disdain painted on his face--not that he wasn't always disdainful of everything, this look was just harder to miss. I had been hoping to stop for a drink before my departure, but I see that these ruffians have better plans than that. Peering into the bar, he took note of the participants. Whoever had decided to pick a fight with a drow woman was certainly none the brightest; he had heard stories whispered of them in the trees, whose ancient roots reached the tops of their underground cities, and they had not been pleasant.

There was simply no cause for entering now, Niall decided, adjusting his sleeves for yet an eighth time. The king would be expecting his Lady's envoy, and while he would likely not be given an audience until tomorrow afternoon, Niall was always punctual. He would simply arrive their early and thus, in his mind, effectively avoid any more commotion.

That was the plan, at least.




"Ye call thes craftsmanship?" Sigrid ran her calloused hands over the thick of the axe, her disapproving glare making the poor human blacksmith sweat. "Loon, it has bin twintie years since Ah lest took tae th' forge, an' Ah coods smith a better axe than thes!" Disgraceful! How a man could expect any member of the Greyfist clan to purchase such a sub-par weapon was beyond her, especially when the craftsmanship of the axe strapped to her back was quite apparent. "Yoo'll be askin' me tae buy yer tin-can armur next, Ah suppose. A guid price, if yoo're lookin' fur cannin' material."

The man stood silent and took the criticism, well aware that a dwarf, even a dwarf woman, would know what she was talking about, at least when it came down to weapons. "Now thes," she said, presenting the axe her uncle had crafted, "Thes is a guid weapon, thick an' strang. Ye've got tae watch yer metal, lad. Temper it, else it'll suffer."" She flicked the brittle steel again. "Steel. Ye Manfolk..." Sigrid mumbled under her breath, clearly disapproving.




Johanna had pleaded with her aging father for nearly an hour before storming off to her room in a snit. Their kingdom--her kingdom, for all intents and purposes, what with the old man so near to the end of his life and all--was under attack, and he expected her to sit there in the regal splendor of the palace and do nothing? Preposterous! Her mother never would have stood for this, which she had been keen to remind her father. Her father had been keen to remind her that perhaps that had been the cause of the woman's death the winter previous. Johanna, of course, had ignored him, as girls her age are wont to do.

Now she was fuming, and had reminded at least six of her chambermaids that she was perfectly capable of doing something about their present situation. Thinking it harmless, the chambermaids each agreed with her, going about their daily duties in an attempt to quell their unsettled princess. Little did they know, however, that Johanna was getting ideas in her head, qand they were not the sort of ideas her father would have approved of.

When her chambermaids had completed their tasks and left her to her own devices, Johanna put her plan into action. She would leave town tomorrow with the band of adventurers, and if she had her way, her father would be none the wiser--at least not for a handful of days. She packed fairly light--no large skirts, nothing too heavy, only some plain frocks. She would grab her father's old hunting bow on the way out--it wouldn't be the first time she had borrowed it without asking, though it might have been the first time she hadn't had it returned by morning.

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#, as written by Arrow
While in a separate part of the city a tavern brawl raged incessantly, coincidence could only be stretched so far, and at least one of those who would be taking up the mantle of a quester the next day was not present, instead making his way down a near empty street, the fading evening light being steadily replaced with that of hanging lanterns. Arrow Flight, archer, soldier and discontent bastard (in the literal meaning, he's a nice guy personality-wise!) was enjoying a twilight stroll along the cobbles, the buzz of the city slowly fading throughout its confines, scrunching up around inns, taverns and bars where the men and women of Emeralia enjoyed a nice pint or two (or seven) before bed.

Not Arrow, however, he was not a fan of drinking for any purpose besides quenching thirst, and while he was partial to a tankard of ale or two it wasn't something he'd go out of his way to acquire, nor choose over something more peaceful, such as his little jaunt around the streets. Still clad in his armour from recently arriving in the city, Arrow drew the eye of several citizens - a plump woman taking out a sack of rubbish, a young boy peering from his bedroom window; average, everyday people taking the opportunity to gawk at a silver-clad knight of foreign lands. All was peaceful, right up until he turned the corner out into one of the trade districts. The street wasn't crowded, but one of the few people around was managing to make enough noise to compensate.

"Ye call thes craftsmanship?"

Arrow watched on in amusement at Sigrid proceeded with her berating of the blacksmith, chuckling lightly. As the dwarf came to a close, the archer approached idly, running a hand through his hair. "Well, master smith, I believe that you were just quite rightly told." he noted, "I'd take the woman's advice, if I were you, she is plainly of a high calibre of wisdom regarding these things. To possess such a fine weapon of this speaks of blacksmithing being in the blood, or else she has a keen eye for quality if ever I have seen one."

Extending an arm in greeting to Sigrid, Arrow inclined his head politely and offered a smile. "Arrow Flight, a pleasure to meet you ma'am." It was possible that Sigrid would have heard of Arrow, given his semi-royal status. There was a buzzing rumour of a visiting prince by the name of Arrow Flight washing around the city, though that was not entirely true. Bastards seldom qualified entirely as 'princes'. But the rumour mill didn't care for such details, and so it continued to perpetuate whatever story it chose, distorted further with every turn.

The one part of the rumour that was true, however, was that the archer was here for the same reason as many other warriors. To slay a dragon.

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The green light from Vincents healing spell faded away as he walked out of the allay, Vincent gazed at the talking horse with a quizzical look "Wow a talking horse" he walked around the horse examining it. At first he thought some one was controlling it with magic but he could not sense the source, "If you can understand me my name is Vincent" slowly stated to the horse as it quickly nodded to Vincent laying agents the wall" "And to answer your question a dark-elf started a bar fight and some one broke my nose well hes almost dead now so it doesn't matter" Vincent explains "your a very rare creature I would care to know more about you" he asks

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#, as written by Gasmask
Samuro had been sitting comfortably in a side of the bar. But when the yell of a dark elf caught his attention he rose from his position and craned his neck towards the dark elf. He had his kimono on completely hiding his southerner appearance. Samuro folded his arms as a patron rushes towards him with, brandishing a very threatening stool. Samuro simply raised one eyebrow, his hand moving down to rest on his sheath, No that would be disrespectful, he settled with bringing his palm forward, breaking the man's nose and catching the stool with one hand, dropping it with a snort.

He looked over to the drow.. Seeing as the other notable individuals had either ran out or were entirely capable of defending themselves. He picked up his pace, he noted she would probably defend herself. But it was not in Samuro's honor of not helping somebody.

He dived forward, tripping over a discarded ale bottle. Certainly uncharacteristic. He would probably hit the men in-front of the drow. He was heavy, maybe even send them flying. Maybe not, it all depended on if he made contact or not.

"This is why I don't drink." Was the pithy thought in Samuro's head.

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#, as written by Marcus
A single thought would begin to come to mind as the young man would begin to light the candles upon the sacred alter, a single thought with something behind its meaning The difference between you and I is quite simple. It would ring out through Ralen's head as his eyes would open to gaze upon the light of the candles that lit the alter of the sacred sun god, its light filling the room with the flicker of the candles flame. "Blessed are the tenets in which we follow." Ralen would bow his head as he spoke those words to himself his mind wondering through his prayer to Palor, the sun, and his eyes now closed in order to keep himself from looking over. Your death will be swift and painless, for this I assure you child. More words would begin to plague the young mans mind as he began to cough a little before continuing his prayer. "Blessed are the rays that fall upon this land." The candles lights would begin to flicker a little more as the young man continued to speak his prayers. "Blessed are all beings who are upon this land that you have constantly shined down upon giving your radiant light." A single beam of light would now begin to pour through a window that had not been seen before and with that light it landed upon a small symbol of the sun. "Blessed are your healing rays that fill our world." Ralen would slowly rise and take a single candle and blow it out only to leave the room and allow the next devoted follower to commit to his prayers and with a nod the next man would step in.

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As Tuon entered the bar and almost got hit, he rolled over to his side, with his hood falling over and thus showing his head, he tried to get a clear picture of the situation at the moment. He saw at the moment that the bar is in complete chaos, with people trying to do all sorts of things, from people trying to steal something to random brawling happening around the entire bar.

A few of the more interesting character includes a drow, a strange man wearing something which he had never before seen in his travels and yet another strange creature with blue scales; that last probably came from even beyond the icecapped mountains in the North, even though that is one place Tuon himself has personally never been to, due to the fact that none of his … companions would ever go to such a place, nor is he in a likely mood to be hanging around a place without sand. Even now, he still has a chest of sand in his room.

Yet again, Tuon felt another hint of irritation flash through him, the feeling coming abruptly and gone as subtly as it had arrived. This is happening too often since he had the foretelling; he used to be able to participate in a raid together with two or even three other families, but now It seems that any form of violence is decidedly oppressing to him. His own travels gave Tuon a fair share of ‘war’ in the world, but up until the foretelling, this hint of irritation had never before developed in him
Trying to figure how he could stop the violence, Tuon stood up from where he rolled over to and started moving towards the nearest place that seemed to offer protection. He was very sure that his eyes was red flashed with white, the colour of irritation of the Zaggyar race.

As he approached his sanctuary, which was actually just a piece of overturned table facing outwards with two patrons holding the chair defensively against anyone, or in his case anything, who might want to harm them, the two men jumped at seeing his bark-like skin and his eyes, which stood out as if a Spider Scorpion was journeying through the snow-capped mountains. He flashed them a smile which told the men to go away at once, he was going to do something bad, and they were going to regret it. The two men immediately ran away from their sanctuary and tried to make for the door.

Tuon immediately used his enhanced animal sense to try and locate what he was looking for. He found lots of horses, and a assortment of various creature before finding what he was looking for. The Zaggyar, as a whole could employ and use various type of earth magic, but for what he was doing, even ten Zaggyar combined would have found it hard to accomplish, thus, the Zaggyar used various creatures throughout the world to aid them. Some are companions, while others, like this instance, are for special purposes.

The Creek Earth Worm is a type of giant worm which lives under the ground, and is technically larger than a small sized ship. Therefore, it was perfect to create a mini earthquake! As Tuon channeled and communed with the Earth Worm, his eyes flashed with the red, blue and yellow of satisfaction and ecstasy as he enticed the Earth Worm in rushing up at a extremely high speed and then returning again, creating a mini earthquake which would last roughly for about 5 seconds before the Earth Worm returned to its original place.

Tuon stretched out his arm, embracing the power coursing through him, caressing his every senses and his skin, normally black, is now glowing with the magic flowing through him. As the Earthworm came closer, the glow on Tuon intensified and reached its apex as the Earth Worm was now making its turning point and the floor of the tavern shook uncontrolled. The sounds of mugs falling to the floor deafened him and he smiled, as he released the magic and silence greeted him. His eyes only had one colour now, the silver of someone who had just used magic.

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The crack of a chair breaking over a man's back pierced through the cacophony of the brawl, drawing eyes for a moment. Said man collapsed with a groan, and Kiriel tossed the remains of the chair over her shoulder to land with a resounding thud on the floor. By this point, one of her would-be assailants had already been carried away in the roaring tides of the fight, leaving only the man she had clobbered with her tankard standing there looking decidedly panicked. The drow shifted her weight back onto one foot and observed the man with a grin, flicking her hair back in a not-at-all-posey manner.

"Funny how these things turn out, hm? You humans are so easily pushed into violence. Just bundles of barely restrained murderous intent, even toward your own kind. It's disgusting." Kiriel stepped forwards, fist raised to deliver a blow to the man... only for an orc to stumble out of nowhere and crash into him, sending him tumbling to the ground with a yelp of surprise. The drow lifted her eyes to Samuro, and they were not the eyes of gratitude. They were narrowed, and irritated.

"Excuse me, but I believe that one is mine." she noted, turning from the orc with a 'tsk', and pacing the several steps over to where the man was staggering to his feet. The drow stood over him for a moment, as if considering the best course of action. As he groaned, however, and managed to gain one knee, the drow scoffed and delivered a forceful kick to his midsection, knocking him to the ground for a second time. Kiriel walked over to where he fell upon his back, clutching his stomach. She smiled as she lifted a foot and placed it upon his throat, and positively grinned as she pushed downwards to an accompaniment of writhing and gasping.

"What's that?" The dark elf began, cupping a hand to her ear mocking as she bent over the man. "Want me to take my foot off? You sure? I can't hear you." With a hiss, the drow pushed downwards again, extracting a gargle from him. "Beg me, human dog."

"P-please! D-d-don't kill me!"

Kiriel smirked, "Come now, you can do better than that. Beg me, plead like the dirt you are. Humiliate yourself."

By this point a good portion of the fight had died down as patrons watched on in a mixture of interest and horror. "Please! I'm begging you! I have a wife, and kids!"

The drow scoffed, muttering under her breath something along the lines of 'scum', before lifting her foot. As she paced around the man's gasping form, his hands lifted to nurse his bruised throat, Kiriel delivered a fierce stomp to his groin, eliciting a gasp of sympathy from the onlookers. This was quickly silenced, however, as the dark elf lifted her eyes to the crowd, narrowed and ire-filled. She stood there, on the brink of launching herself fully into the brawl, for a good number of seconds before eventually shaking her head, a dark chuckle escaping her lips. With that, the drow made for the door.

After only two steps, however, the ground began to shift and shake beneath her. Kiriel cursed, reaching out for the support of a wall as the quake continued. Was this Shard's work..? No. It was that... thing. The drow's eyes rested on the glowing Zaggyar with disdain as he cast his spell, while the other patrons scattered with fear the drow only oozed with derision. When the mage-creature ceased, Kiriel let out another scoffing laugh. "Nice parlour trick, bright eyes." she mocked as she brushed past Tuon and made her way out of the bar, into the night air. She moved at a leisurely pace, seeming in no hurry to distance herself from the possibly vengeful patrons.

Arrogance was her thing, it seemed.

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Though normally graceful (sort of), the nymph had not been expecting the shaking of the ground beneath him, and was knocked flat on his behind. He jingled just a little bit. "Uhm," he said, in an attempt to divert attention from his loaded pockets, "I don't know if anyone else will agree, but in my opinion, that was really cool." And with that, he hopped to his feet, far more anxious to get away from the patrons he'd stolen from than the drow had been to get away from the ones she had beaten the tar out of.

Coriel was funny that way, and maybe just a little nervous.

It had become a standard reaction when approaching women out in the middle of nowhere to become one first, though the change came mostly in the sound of the nymph's voice. She made a point to muss her short auburn hair, and then, certain that she was feminine enough that her gender would not be questioned, she took off after the drow. "That," she said plainly, catching up to the armored woman, "was impressive. D'you do that for a living? I bet you do. Well, not beat the crap out of bar patrons or anything--" Someone talked a lot, and we'll give you a hint: it wasn't the drow. Still, she'd realized that she was probably safest around the drow, which meant that she had to give a good impression.

Sure that talking incessantly wasn't helping to give her that impression, she added, "I have problems with humans sometimes too," and then fell silent.


The distant rumbling from the direction of the tavern disconcerted Niall slightly, though his human traveling companion insisted that it was simply the rumble of his stomach. "There is no point in investigating," the old man insisted when he saw that the Sylvan did not believe him. "If you stopped for every interesting thing, we would never arrive at the palace, and while you could, perhaps, afford to be late, my king would have my head for my mistake." Despite the apparent danger, the old man had a pleasant disposition, something that, while he would never admit it, drove the ambassador up the wall. He kept trying to make conversation, his linguistic abilities as poor as a Sylvan child's, and though Niall tried to avoid the obvious sneer of disdain, the fact of the matter was, he simply wasn't fond of humans.

He grumbled. "I see," he said blandly, adjusting his sleeves yet again.

Lady be kind to me and please, in the future, give me more intelligent traveling companions, he thought, his silent prayer lost on everyone but himself (and, if he was lucky, his nameless goddess). He had never been a particularly religious individual--most Sylvani were not--but despite his distance from the Lady of his people, he was acutely aware of her (ironically, a mirror of recent relationship with the Lady of his court). It was not often that he prayed, but when he did, it was undoubtably earnest. And perhaps ones that I like better, he added as an afterthought.

Oh, how disappointed he would be to find that part of his prayer answered. But that's breaking the fourth wall.

They reached the palace soon after, and Niall was pulled from his prayers of discontent by the bustle and extravagance of the place. Humans were so strange.


The dwarf smiled, pleased with herself and the fact that the human man could recognize craftsmanship when he saw it. It was rare that a man, especially one as young as he was, could see the advantage of a weapon of dwarven make; it took a keen eye for detail to notice the subtle but important differences between dwarven smithing and that of a human smith.

"Och aye, I've heard ay ye, laddie.," Sigrid said, extending a hand (1) in greeting. "Sigrid Kazagrim, Th' only remainin' dochter ay clan Greyfist, th' guid Kin' Ein's finest blacksmiths. Pleasure tae make yer acquaintance, m'lad--I can only assume 'at yoo're haur fur th' sam reason as meself." She had heard the rumors, and had seen the other folks who were here to answer to the same call as herself. Some of them were clothed in their armor, obviously to surprised to have arrived in Emeralia as early as they had. Others had the faint smell of magic on them, a smell that the daughter of a dwarven smith knew well after years of dealing with enchanted weaponry.

1. It is a little known fact that dwarves actually invented handshakes.

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Samuro caught himself with a grunt. The sudden shaking hardly took it's toll on the orc. He kept balance somehow, but it didn't stop his hood from coming off and revealing the southerner to all. Now, if it was up to the guards, the orc would've been slain on the spot. Since, the warlike people never really sent out orcs unless it was to kill something. Samuro leaned on a table, swiftly moving out of the bar and stopped beside the drow. before retorting. "I like that dark elf, very enlightening, the 'Human-dog' phrase, I like it. You should use it more." His accent was a mix between gruff and oriental. Keeping both in equal measure.

He folded his arms. Moving a casual hand to his kimono and folding it down to reveal the odd-number of dragon-tattoos on his back and skin. His red eyes taking in the sights. The orc flexed his shoulder-muscles before continuing. "You should take some lessons on emotional control however."

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Vincent followed the talking horse moving to its left side listening to his story, making side notes on how Drew spoke the language. He was going to tell Drew that he wasn't the only talking animal hes seen but lost track of him, as they walked to the blacksmiths place Vincent gets lost within the group of people. Hearing Drew call out for him he buds and pushes people out of the way to find his new companion, " I'm over here" Vincent yells placing his hand on Drew's back. "Wait here i don't think they'll try an kill you and call you a demon if you try to talk to them" Vincent explains to Drew walking up to the blacksmith trying to get past the surrounding people "Hello" Vincent greats the human noticing the heavy stench of magic that surrounded him.

The human turns "Ello me names Odin what ya need lad, you don't look the type to sing a sword" Odin chuckled looking to his surrounding customers

"I'm not, I am in need of horseshoes" Vincent explains to the dwarf. "Wheres your steed" Odin asked turning to tell the other customers to wait a while, Follow me he said to Odin walking toward Drew "Walk him in i will get the horseshoes after I'm finish talking" Odin told Vincent walking back to his shop.

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"That, was impressive. D'you do that for a living? I bet you do. Well, not beat the crap out of bar patrons or anything-- I have problems with humans sometimes too,"

Kiriel sighed. Apparently, someone had decided to follow her. Damn fanboys -- or girls, in this case. The drow's eyes slid over to Coriel with irritation, and as she weighed the pros and cons of violence in this situation, she decided to reply. "Do you really?" Kiriel began, with feigned interest. "They do tend to cause problems, do they not? Such barbaric creatures, so few of them have a competent grasp of speech or diplomacy." The dark elf fell silent for a few moments, already hearing a second person approaching from behind. "I suppose that I do do that for a living. I kill people and loot their corpses, as a rule. Generally there's a reward for killing them, but the looting is often more profitable." The casual way Kiriel referred to what sounded no better than common banditry was very much an indicator of her general attitude to it. Mercenary, bounty hunter, adventurer; whatever you wanted to call it, in her eyes people in her profession were no better than bandits with a purpose or a boss.

Or maybe that was just her? Either way, she certainly enjoyed it. Lucrative fun was the best kind of fun.

The second person caught up to the pair then, the orc -- or 'southener' as they preferred to be called. Less negative connotations. Either way, they tended to be just as bad as humans for imbecilic natures...

"I like that dark elf, very enlightening, the 'Human-dog' phrase, I like it. You should use it more."

Obviously this one was not different. This was turning into a racist bandwagon of racism, each racist more racist than the last, all competing in a racist manner to impress Kiriel with their racism. Truth was, Kiriel couldn't care less. This apathy was common to most subjects; even if she didn't like, or did like something she really didn't care if someone else shared the same opinion. After all, her opinion was the only one that mattered... "That so?" she replied simply, giving Samuro a look of mild scorn as he folded his odd clothing down and flexed. Was this idiot truly trying to impress her that much..?

"You should take some lessons on emotional control however."

Blatantly not. Blatantly, he was just an imbecile. "You think?" Kiriel queried politely, smiling sweetly. "Well, thank you for your advice. I suppose I ought to give you some in return. I would advise lessons in not tripping over your own feet, shaving, and the application of some form of odour reduction remedy. Now if you will excuse me, I have intelligent conversation to make."

"Come!" Kiriel turned to Coriel, deciding that the nymph was going to serve as a scapegoat for her dismissal of the orc, seizing her by the upper arm and veering off into an alleyway, taking them away from Samuro himself. "The things they let into the city these days..." she murmured idly, chuckling.

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Arrow chuckled, taking the hand with a returned smile. "An honour to meet you, Lady Kazagrim." he replied, "And I assume that you refer to this dragon slaying business? For that is indeed my reason for being here." The archer nodded slowly, "A perilous business if ever there was, but I must admit to being fond of that sort of thing. Most here will be, I think, or perhaps overly desperate for the reward. I cannot imagine setting forth on such a quest for naught but monetary reward, it seems somewhat too dangerous for such a thing to me."

With a whimsical shake of his head, Arrow smiled. "But for the thrill? Well, that would not be possible in a less dangerous scenario, whilst the money might be otherwise obtainable." He turned, looking to the blacksmith and the man he was walking with idly, "It has been a while since I visited a smithy, most often I only come here for repairs should they be required. I have not purchased a new weapon for several months -- something which speaks of quality, I think." Arrow gestured to the sword at his hip, and the bow upon his back. "You'll know better than I, of course, but these weapons have served me well. My bow itself has been with me for many years, re-stringed many times, but never replaced."

The archer glanced up at the palace, prominent upon a hill in the centre of the city. "I would have thought that this king would first turn to his own knights, myself, but alas, perhaps they are all caught up elsewhere, or in defending the city itself. What are your thoughts upon his unorthodox decision to allow all comers to ask a place, regardless of race or faction? I have my doubts about many of the wasteland races, and the drow. Most would not answer such a call, but some... ah, you can never be certain. And I suppose against such a being as Shard, all are united." Arrow shrugged. "But indeed, what are your own views?"

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Samuro had been mocking the drow. Who knew drow were also to high upon themselves to count the words slowly. He chuckled to himself and craned his neck. What to do, what to do. A dwarf?. Sigrid Kazagrim looked peculiar at best he hadn't fought a dwarf before or even seen one, they were interesting. A human was talking to said dwarf, not interesting but fair enough. He walked casually over. Katana bobbing on his back, he stopped meters away from them. He folded his arms and inspected the smith, eying them both with a tiny bit of detectable contempt.

"Do you forge weapons here?"

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Vincent followed Drew as he walked in to the blacksmiths shop, he watched Drew maneuvered around the objects in the shop. While Drew moved closer to the black smith Vincent stopped to look at the craftsmanship of the displayed weapons, they looked plain and not that much effort was put in to the weapons Vincent sighed walking toward Drew.

"My friend will be paying for the costs. As for the size I believe I'm a size 7 though you'll have to check." Vincent heard Drew tell the Odin

The Odin turns with a look of disbelief stareing blankly at Drew, Now I've seen it all. the smith said. Walking over to Drew examining his his current horseshoes, Well your friend will be paying 50 gold for your new shoes said to Drew, Vincent walks out of the shadows confronting the Odin handing him 50 gold pieces. The smith turned away grabbing spare horseshoes beginning to work on replacing Drew's horseshoes. Vincent stood in the open doorway watching Arrow and Sigrid speak about the kings calling for heroes, listening to their conversation thinking if they could be trusted.

I'm done, come back if you'll need some weapons Odin said

Ignoring the blacksmith Vincent called Drew over to him, Were we off to next Drew? he asked waiting at the door.

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Kiritanek rose from where he was sitting after most of the patrons had left the recentky decimated tavern. The mini-quake had shaken much of what was left standing into broken items not left standing. The ice that held the Shaman's prisoner shattered in the vibrations causing the mightily worried man to excuse himself surprisingly quickly for someone of his stature. The Tui approached the odd Zaggyar who had settled himself. "Such a show of power was unnecessary" he began, refeing to the earthquake that he had observed Tuon initiating, "When you frequent places like this you observe that many of these dull examples of humans have the capability to ignore much." He looked judgementally at Tuon before continuing "what brings you to this den of the world? Your race does not leave their land. You are the first I have seen beyond the Rothen." The blood red gills at the back of Kiritanek's head shifted uncomfortable, as if remembering the awful conditions the wanderer endured there.

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As Tuon felt the power seep out of him, the ecstasy which he experienced during the summoning of the Earthworm, he felt a bit of ... loss. Then he finally took notice of the tavern, well what was left of it. Half the chairs and tables had been broken, and many a few of the patrons were on the ground, not as much as he would like mind, but it will have to do. Tuon could do nothing but smile at the damage he had wrought in this place. Well, the Zaggyar were not a normally violent race, but well, there are exceptions to certain restrictions.

Then he saw movement, and it was surprising for it was movement towards him. The drow walked over to him confidently, all regal and mighty, perhaps add a pinch of arrogance in it and uttered a very simple sentence to Tuon. "Nice parlour trick, bright eyes."

Tuon could do nothing but gasp at that arrogant drow as it, no Tuon will not admit that Drow's gender, left the tavern. Regaining his composure, Tuon closed his jaw and sat down on the broken piece of table which the other two patron had been using as their sanctuary before leaving, a wise choice that. He scanned the surrounding and saw many patrons still regaining their composure, a short stocky man running out after the Drow.

Tuon grimaced, probably a cat-purse, a common pest found in taverns such as one like this. A blight on the society, whatever you need could be earned in honourable raids and not this .... action called stealing. Tuon still could not put disgust out of the word Stealing, even though he has been so long in human territory. A tall lean orc was leaving too, probably after the drow. No matter, Tuon could sense that arrogant as the Drow was, it probably had good fighting skills.

As Tuon settled down on the table, it had conveniently been formed into the shape of a Shaka, a plant which grows in the shape of what the humans in this land call a chair.

Tuon was settled down when he saw someone walking over. He could not tell what he was wearing; Tuon still had very little idea about what other creatures wore. But from his grab, he looked like a shaman.

"Such a show of power was unnecessary," the shaman said. Tuon raised his eyes, as much as he could. He hated violence, but he would not hesitate to use violence in order to stop violence, don't anyone know such basic logic?

"When you frequent places like this you observe that many of these dull examples of humans have the capability to ignore much." Tuon merely nodded his head to his observation, he had certainly seen more than one example of that in his travels.

"what brings you to this den of the world? Your race does not leave their land. You are the first I have seen beyond the Rothen." Now, that was shocking, Tuon had never even seen their kind before, but maybe they had things such as scholars or books which showed the Zaggyar. But the Zaggyar are a primitive race, by the human standard, not using books, they use Oral communication to pass down the history of the race. Tuon is one such Bayar, he knows the entire history of the Zaggyar race in his head.

Tuon stood up; he always preferred speaking to someone on a level term, especially more so with s stranger. “Well, first, shaman, can I call you that,” Tuon asked with a wave of his hand, “well, I have no idea what you are called, so I will just call you shaman first, by your garments. Well, I am Tuon, a Bayar of the Zaggyar, that’s a magician in human tongue. I also take on many other roles. Well, for that display of power, I simply felt too bored, as the humans would say.” Tuon flashed a brief smile, boredom in the Zaggyar world was always taken up with raiding, oh how he missed those times.

“And yes, I tend to notice that many of the humans have an extraordinary talent for ignoring things, they tend to wisen up after some of the lessons I give them, for ignoring a Bayar, of course. Not many people know that I am a Zaggyar, but that is no matter.”

“As to the reasons for my being here, well,” Tuon turned away from the shaman and looked away, knowing that at the moment his eyes were a bright orange, the colour of hesitation in the Zaggyar language. He was not sure how much the shaman knew of his race, but better to be safe than sorry. He turned towards the shaman again once he was satisfied that his eyes were back to normal purple. “ I am sorry, well, as I was saying, my reasons for being here. You see, I was what you called a adventurous Zaggyar, not many of those exist, but one of those I am. So, being life-curious, I set out to attempt to know more of the human world and bring back some knowledge to the Zaggyar race. But on the way here, I found a summons for the king looking for heroes to fight a creature called the Dragon. Well, I personally have never heard of such a creature before and I wanted to fight that creature. Of course, the other benefits of helping the king are involved. So, that is my story, a brief one. What is your story …”

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The Zaggyar's action of standing brought him above the smaller Tui but that did not phase the newt-like being. Kiritanek was used to many species being larger then he was, and he was comfortable in the fact that he could overpower a number of them. Although the power shown by the black-skinned being lead the shaman to understand that they were roughly on equal terms in that respect. He did not fear, for Tuon showed no sign of aggressive intent. "Ah, boredom is a great pressure, I understand of course." Kiritanek replied politely "And you are correct, I am a shaman, although that is more a translation into the human tongue. I differ from the human example." He smiled in return to the Zaggyar, although many races would find the tooth filled grin frightening. Tuon continued and the Tui listened intently, for there was not much else to listen to as the being told his story in all the time he required without interruption.

Only when Tuon was finished did Tui respond to the invitation to share. He indicated the Zaggyar to follow him "We should leave this place, it would be welcomed by the proprietor," he indicate the bartender who was in the process of recovering what he could and giving the pair looks that suggest he would rather he was alone for the task." As he walked he told his story "I shall begin with a formal introduction" Kiritanek began. "I am known as Awl Kiritanek Xect. Like yourself I am the black sheep, to use the human phrase, amongst my kind, the Tui. I have magical capabilities beyond my kinsmen and belong to a family of what the humans would call Shamans. At our entering to adulthood we are sent to leave the tribe and wander until we are ready to be welcomed.

"Many shamans remain amongst the ice fields and glaciers of the east from which we hail. A few more adventurous souls like myself journey into the world. Our temporary exile is intended to make us more learned and powerful while the others of our kind remain amongst their clans on the ice for the full extent of their life. I have been away from my clan of Xectuiezex for a full 42 years and during that time I have travelled far and wide. Meeting and living amongst a large number of races of this world. Your kind being one of them, although I only stayed for two seasons as the conditions were too harsh for a being such as myself. So in much the way as you travel to learn so do I, although my purpose here is altered from your own." The Tui finally stopped walking, ending his short journey in a small cross roads amongst the houses of the city. A large figure could be seen standing at the side of a busy thoroughfare and a group of beings of differing size could be seen down another street, crowding in and out of what appeared to be a blacksmith. He turned to Tuon before continuing his story.

"For the past three years I have been living in a nearby human city, adapting as I have in so many cultures. When the city received the missives you intercepted. I felt that as I had only several more years left before the return to my own kind I should attempt leave a mark amongst the wider cultures. My wanderings has shown me that the Tui clans are some of the smallest of congregations and much of the larger world do not even know of their existence. I wish to bring my kind into the greater vision. And even if I fall to the Dragon, I shall die knowing that I serve my kind in the wilderness..." He paused, surprised that he revealed such details, not that they could be used against him. "By the way, I do not know your name friend."

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"Fascinating." Kiriel lied, inwardly rolling her eyes. She'd managed to drive away the lumbering fool only to be left with the chattering idiot. At least this one chattered in a vaguely coherent manner, even if she did it far too much. "I'll make a note not to be robbed by a talking horse, in future."

Silence fell between the two for a few moments (at least on Kiriel's side of things) as they walked, and Kiriel eventually decided that she might as well poke the conversation with a stick and see what happened. "Do you have a brother?" she asked, glancing down at Coriel. "Because I saw someone who looked rather like you in the tavern, stealing from idiots. But I am certain that someone was male. Unless you are a nymph? You do have that look about you, now that I think about it." The drow looked Coriel up and down, noting her features were moderately androgynous (though that was no certain indicator, a nymph might swap from the form of a beautiful woman to that of a burly, chiselled man). "Do enlighten me as to..."

The drow's speech was interrupted by a loud crying from nearby, as the city guard passed by. The same would be occurring throughout the city, as patrols of guards moved through the streets.

"Curfew! Curfew! All citizens are to return to their homes immediately! Visitors, please make your way to the nearest inn displaying a dragon's head above the door, or to an inn in which you have made prior booking. This is for your own safety, the city guard are not responsible for your untimely demise should you remain out of doors! I say I say again, curfew! Curfew! All citizens are to return to their homes immediately..."

Kiriel tuned the man's words out as he began to repeat himself, and folded her arms, pausing in her walking. "Well that's irritating." she stated.

As all of the citizens and most of the visitors knew, this curfew was very important. Shopkeepers dealt with whatever they were doing and bustled their customers away in order to close up shop, men and women alike hurried through the streets to reach their homes, and the sound of slamming and locking doors resonated throughout the housing districts of the city. The few buildings remaining open were the inns the guard had mentioned; those with a dragon's head above the door. They were establishments being paid by the city watch to allow all comers to hurry into the safety of their walls should they be unable to reach their homes or booked places of residence.

Safety from what? That question would soon be answered, for those who did not already know the answer.

Kiriel looked down at the woman with her, "Well, I suppose that we should probably go and find an inn, then." she said without any real enthusiasm. "Or perhaps..." the drow's mouth curled upwards in a smile. "Perhaps, it would be good to get a look in at what sort of thing we are up against, hm?"

Still grinning wickedly, Kiriel turned her path and began to walk in the direction of the city walls, one hand caressing her shortsword. "Feel free to tag along, my dear!" she called back to Coriel, "My name, incidentally, is Kiriel." she added as an afterthought.

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Kursh trudged calmly along through the streets of Emeralia, eyes alert as he moved. The people around him did not hide their stares, but he had become accustomed to the looks people gave to his kind. Most people mistake the Nagamuri for the barbaric invaders known as orcs, and Kursh grimaced as he heard the whispers behind him. He stepped up the pace and moved quicker, heading towards the city center before a call rang out;

Curfew! Curfew! All citizens are to return to their homes immediately! Visitors, please make your way to the nearest inn displaying a dragon's head above the door, or to an inn in which you have made prior booking. This is for your own safety, the city guard are not responsible for your untimely demise should you remain out of doors! I say I say again, curfew! Curfew! All citizens are to return to their homes immediately...

Kursh huffed a bit as he became frustrated. Every single time.. he muttered in his gruff, but calm voice, ignoring the Curfew call as he continued towards the city center. At the worst, he could run to anywhere nearby and see if he could get out of the way should things go wrong.

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"Alright" Vincent said cutting across Drew's face walking to the inn "Wait here I'm going to pay for my room and for you to be stabled here" he said slowly opening the door. The line from the front desk extended to the door, Vincent steps up to the front of the line cutting every one behind him.

"Yea I'm going to need a single room and somewhere to stable my horse" He said giving a friendly look to the woman behind the desk

"The cost will be 100 gold pieces" The woman answered

Vincent looks in his gold pouch to find it empty, he looks back up at the woman and smiles "Well I'm low on gold". Leaving the inn disappointed looking back a Drew who was starring blankly at the wall, Vincent waves his hand in front of Drew's face "Lets go I have no money".