RP:An Odd Group Meets
Location: The Hanging Corpse Tavern
Synopsis: A random first meeting.
Characters: Joan, Qamara, Ilvutsil, Elga and NPC Steadmen played by Terra.
An Odd Group Meets
Joan had long ago sat herself to a table, this being one of the woman’s normal haunts after a long study session at the tower. The amethyst colored haired woman was bent over the wooden table top as she balanced on her elbows while paging through her personal spell book, a steaming hot cuppa spiked tea near her book, a spoon in the cup standing upright on it’s own and slowly stirring around in the hot liquid, mixing the blood that was spiked in with the tea.
Qamara would have a chipper pep to her step as she pushes through the door to the tavern. She recently received a nice sum of coin after agreeing to a mission. Where most would splurge, she comes to equip herself with items from the bar’s private menu. Her expression is still and lifeless as dull colored eyes look around the tavern finding Joan as she sits alone. In her normal manner, the assassin hands are held together at her front with her long sleeves hiding them and whatever she may wield and moves on a path that takes her near to woman. She stares unblinking at Joan as she pauses at the woman’s side for moment. “I like your hair.” She says in her lifeless, monotone voice. “It’s looks good on you.” The assassin keeps moving toward the bar. She waves Steadman over as she leans to the counter and whispers to his ear. “I’d like to see your specialty menu.” Steadman nods and motions to a table for her to sit and wait. The feline returns the nod and makes her way to a table off in the corner of the room.
Ilvutsil was thankful that it was at least night here. The moonlight hurt his eyes, but it was no where near as painful as Kelay. He could at least -see- in this city. He pushed his way into the tavern, so glad that he hadn't required a guide to this one, and once inside he set his halberd against the wall nearest the entrance. The spellblade adjusted the scales that hung around his legs and the questionable armor that barely covered his torso before he made his way to the bar counter, eyes the color of blood taking in the sights of wines that match. "The drawback of a vampire city," he said to himself, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Do you serve anything that doesn't have blood in it?" he asked of Steadmen. "And for the love of the gods, don't say water." Steadmen, for his part, didn't say anything. Well, he didn't say water, at least.
Terra isn't actually here because she is in Rynvale. However, Steadmen is present and he is adjusting his eye patch to get a better look at the customers this evening. He engaged with Qamara, nodded at her request and watched as she seated herself at one of the tables. When Ilvutsil asks for something other than blood, he doesn't quite reply but he doesn't ignore him outright either and instead grunted at the request. A handwritten menu was produced and laid in front of him and if he had questions, the barkeep was available to answer them when needed.
Elga || The human strolls her way through the threshold of the Hanging Corpse Tavern, left forearm strapped to a buckler whilst the digits of her right hand are wrapped around a short spear of unknown, but remarkable craftsmanship. Her eyes - an ever violent maelstrom of greys and blacks - are filled with youthful vigor and flick from one patron to the next in silent contemplation. Elga is a common enough appearing female from Venturil, save for perhaps the bit of overconfidence held within her step. Her march through the tavern is echoed by the clanking of half-plate and the dull thud of boots 'pon Blackstone. Why is a human here, one might wonder? And why does she seem so unperturbed by her surroundings? Regardless, the Venturilite spell blade comes to a stop at the bar and rests her spear against it. A crinkled brow folds over her features at the sight of the one-eyed Steadmen; he must have a story to tell. Her now free right-hand raises to idly lift her honey-colored, braided hair and toss it over her shoulder. "Schnapps, " her voice calls out to the barkeep, it's tone far to sing-song for a warrior. Even if Steadmen only offered the peach variety, she would have it this night. The other patrons are ignored for a moment, while she waits for her order.
Joan leans back from her neat written note taking, the vampire merchant had not been so preoccupied she didn’t notice the slow steady stream of customers entering into the Hanging Corpse, her gaze would flicker towards each patron as they entered, and if they said anything to or towards her the polite vampire would offer a kind warm smile and a word or two back. “Thanks, it’s natural!” She’d offer back to the elven feline, the drow would get a nod, the female after the drow got a half wave, just because Joan felt the need to change up the greeting and the last one, the human female got a merry wink before Joan took up her teacup and took a long swallow from the herbal tea and blood mixture. She’d shiver slightly in place as the warmth of the bloody tea mixture slide down her throat, the warmth and color it brought to the pale woman was clear. More aware and ‘awake’ now after that swallow of the mixture she’d turn in her chair to look towards the bar and the gathering. “Hello everyone! What brings you all out here this evening?!” She’d ask in a kind even tone, using her index finger to lightly tap at her chest she’d name herself to the gathering. “I’m Joan Blackheart! And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?!” Asking as she then points to each individual one at a time with a finger gun motion.
Qamara takes her seat slowly and erect with palms placed to her thighs. Her eyes stare upon the table top as she slowly raises her right hand to the table as her sleeve falls over her hand. She waves it toward the left and thin sheet of cloth appears in it’s wake. She raises her left to meet the right and places them to the cloth. Upon raising them, chunks of metallic object pour from feline’s sleeves. Their small objects, a few orbs, raw chunks, and robs. Carefully she begins to collect each and separate them to buy for Steadman to tend to his other patrons. She casts a lifeless stare to Joan. “You’re just a big ray sunshine, aren’t you?” she utters aloud in her mechanical tone while her expression stay motionless. “I’m here for the blood-filled drinks and to promote the local vendors. That reminds me.” She reaches into her sleeve and as she withdraws her hands she sweeps it wide and releases a roll up piece of parchment. Propelled mostly by the assassin telekinesis, it flies toward Joan at an alarming rate just to for it slowly fall to her tabletop. It’s a flyer for Togo’s shop in Cenril. “If you ever in Cenril, shop Togo’s weapon. He uses steel cheaper than the harlot that stand outside his shop.”
Ilvutsil was busy looking over the menu provided to him when he heard the spear being set against the bar, snapping his attention up and more to his surroundings. His gaze lingered on the weapon so near by, then shifted to his own that rested by the door, and back to the spear again. He swept his gaze about the tavern, at the people and the tables, at the chairs and the hearth, his mind calculating. "Not much point to keeping a long weapon with you," he said aloud, though mostly to himself. "Too much stuff in the way." A finger found its way to his lips, idly tapping as the drow thought on the matter. "A short sword or an axe would be better suited for the close quarters. Or perhaps a mace; less likely to get stuck in the furniture." He shook his head and turned back to the barkeep, waving to garner his attention. "Vodka, if you wouldn't mind." Ilvutsil wondered if he -did- mind, considering the dark elf was just pondering the best weapon to use in his establishment.
Terra : Steadmen watched Joan enter but as with the others, he is not interested enough nor engaged enough to greet them. The place was called the Corpse, it was not known for the fresh-faced servers. Instead, the patrons had to deal with Steadmen who, on his best day, was a cranky old man. Today was one of the betters as evident by his willingness to take Qamara's order. He approached her table, rapped his knuckles on it twice and said, "What will it be?" Once Qamara confirmed, he took that with him to the bar. First was Elga's request for a peach schnapps. "You're in luck tonight." With the practiced precision of someone who had been doing this for quite some time, he'd whip it up and pass it down. Then was Ilvustil's wave and he watched for second, narrowed that one eye in study. He may be old, but he's not deaf. What was in the way exactly? Would serving this guy lead to violence? Huh. Nothing they hadn't seen in this place before so Steadmen would select a glass, wipe it clean with a towel that seemed to always be slung over his shoulder and pour two fingers worth of vodka in it. This was delivered to Ilvutsil and he'd get a gruff, "Here." in introduction.
Elga nearly groans and rolls her eyes in response to both the wink and the sudden onslaught of an introduction - as if Joan is the same as most of the male warriors back home; ogglin' and flirting for no reason. Nevermind the fact that this Joan is merely trying to be courteous - such a thing goes far over the spell blades head. Eventually, Elga lofts a single brow while shifting her gaze to the public speaker and her queries. In response, she simply raises her ordered drink to answer the question. Don't most come to a tavern to drink? Did this new acquaintance think that she would just simply spill the beans about trying to join the Necromancers Guild? Strangers were hardly trustworthy of any personal information or her plethora of reasons for being down in this nightmarish place. "Elga, " she supposes that a single name in response is good enough for now. Simply because the self-proclaimed promoter is suddenly letting things fall out of her sleeves and the human isn't quite sure how to respond further. A boisterous bard and a monotone magician. Is the Drow here a devout druid of Hind? Elga nearly chuckles to herself in thought - what an odd group of people to gather in Vailkrin. However, the Drows discussion of weapons earns him a curious glance. "There's plenty of space here for a short spear. Just simply thrust through anyone in my way." A simple enough answer that lacks any actual reason for her bringing it in here. Besides, she doesn't expect a fight and would be fine without it. Broken bottles, stools, and fists would work out well in its place. Her grey gaze lands back on Steadmen, assuring him with a glance that she would do no such thing tonight. "Thanks for the drink." After which Elga thoroughly enjoys her order and pays. "Well, that will be all for me." Coin and a healthy tip are set down for Steadman. The spell blade collects her spear and just like her appearance, she steps through the threshold and leaves the establishment.
Joan offers a rolling shrug of her vested clothed shoulders, “It’s always best to be open and honest, polite and kind, just good business practice.” Her smile still kind and friendly, she didn’t bother to react as the other female’s wrist snapped out unfurling that banner out towards her direction. She knew it wouldn’t hit her, after all...Joan was no wet behind the ears fledgling vampire! Getting objects thrown at you was a occupation hazard, you learned when to use that supernatural speed, agility, and strength, and when just to ignore. “I work in Cenril, at the Chapel of Rest. I know where Togo’s is, thanks...” She’d pick up her cup once more taking another long swallow, the throat motion of that swallow moved her sliver chain she wore around her neck, the badge symbol for the Healers Guild shone as light reflected off of it. Joan was an odd duck, a necromancer as well as a healer, working with both the forces of life and death. Turning towards the drow and then the warrior woman she’d offer a flash of a smile once again. A heavy exhale of breath is let out as she watched the warrior women depart, that one offered her name back at least! Joan would make notice of her and try to catch up with that one later.
Qamara gives small nod to Joan. “I do most of my work in Cenril.” She turns her head slightly to stare upon the woman. “Maybe I’ll run into you there.” Steadman approaches and draws the assassin’s attention. She lifts a hand to cover her lips as she whispers into the ear of the bar tender. With a nod, he produces two vials of questionable liquids. One vial is small and is filled with dark crimson fluid. The other is slightly bigger and contains enough liquid equal to that of one standard drink. Qamara places a roll of coin to the tabletop as she slides the vials to the shadow of her sleeve. She gives Steadman thank you as she raises from her seat and raises a hand above her collection of metallic objects. They dissolve into a fine powder that snakes its way from the feline’s finger tips and up into her sleeve. She places her hands to her front as she makes her way to the exit. She casts her gaze toward the Drow as nears the door. “Be seeing you again soon.” With that she steps into the night on her way back to Cenril.