The day begins early, just before first light. The Enclave at Proskur starts off with a quiet commotion, its occupants either rouse from their slumber, or prepare for a changing of the guard... to be relieved by the day shift.
The Thayan people are hard working... of strong physical and/or mental faculties. Discipline and Concentration are the building blocks of the Thayan way. Only the weak accept their stations, and are deserving of their lot in life.
((ooc: This thread is for your regular day to day events and rp that happens within the Enclave at Proskur. RP as you see fit people of Thay, I'll try to add ambiance here and there with some time and setting on occasion. Feel free to take on other roles (like an exotic merchant/smuggler, a slave, a temple priest, a barkeep, a bandit, etc) to add to one another's rp. Some questing may be involved.))
The warrior of Kossuth stood in her dark platemail at the gates having relieved Ahmed of his current duty, her face almost completely hidden by her helmet, the only thing visible her firey amber eyes glaring distainfully out at the road north. The Thayan Knight Ophelia shifted her weight from time to time, but otherwise kept completely still, offering people entering the enclave only an assessing stare, and a few words of rehearsed welcome, then warning to behave when within. The only show of emotion in her watch of the gates thus far, a bitter sigh.
The Red Wizard Joran Fezim could be seen sitting in the Standing Stone Inn, at a table where he could keep an eye on the door and what occurs around himself. An inkwell, filled with a lead-based ink, on the table near his right hand, which holds a quill, the sound of scratching of the quill on parchment coming steadily from his direction. Once this letter is finished, he could be heard muttering in a harsh language, enchanting the letter, sprinkling a shiny powder over the letter, and a white essence, before taking out a bowl of red wax, muttering another spell, heating the wax and dipping a stamp in it, and sealing the letter. Should anyone make an attempt to spy on him this morning, the writing on the letter appears to be some form of foreign or magical writing, and the wax seal was stamped with the symbol of the Red Wizards, as per usual. Once he sealed the letter, he stood, his Imp, Rekhyt, perched on his shoulder as always, hissing harshly in Joran's ear as he walked to the door, using his staff heavily. Once outside, he would give the Imp instructions in the harsh language, passing the Imp the letter, Rekhyt would obey his instructions and taking the letter, taking flight and flying just above the Enclave's gates, clutching the letter in his clawed hand, and climbing to a better height, above the treetops and out of sight. Joran would have returned to his seat, summoning his tome to hand, reading in silence, the pages flipping without him physically touching them. Whomever entered or exited the inn would not escape his calculating stare, keeping himself aware of who and how many people are in the inn and where they sit. The Red Wizard appears heavily warded, himself, and when any ward goes down, he would mutter in the harsh language, renewing the wards.
Those from the Enclave and whom have been there for a long time and thus have encountered this Red Wizard before, would recognize this as all normal behavior.
The barkeep seems to be mostly cleaning, given the time of day... mid-morning; most chairs are still up on the tables. Some of the other guests of their inn, mostly foreign, are just now rising from the slumber. An aroma of spice pungent leaves wafts out of the kitchen as breakfast bubbles in the cauldron.
Nothing of note seems to be happening in the orderly inn.
After a while, Joran's Imp, Rekhyt, would return, slipping back into the Standing Stone Inn, no longer holding the letter, which suggests there were no difficulties in delivering it. Rekhyt would fly back to Joran's shoulder, whispering harshly into his ear as the tome in Joran's hand slammed shut, seemingly of it's own accord, once the Imp reached his shoulder. He listened to what the Imp had to say for mere seconds before then ignoring it, likely the rest of what it has to say is poisonous remarks about something or another. The tome being shut, he held it to the Imp on his shoulder, the Imp would carefully take the tome in both hands, and slip off his shoulder, disappearing. Seconds later, the Imp materialized back on Joran's shoulder, the tome being gone, Joran then produced a medium sized coin pouch, holding it out toward the barkeep, his Imp flying off his shoulder, snatching the pouch with one of his feet and flying to the counter. Once there, his Imp would leave the pouch with the Innkeeper, taking an expensive bottle of wine, and a wine glass. Once the Imp flew carefully back to the table, clutching the bottle with both clawed hands and the glass with a foot, Joran would take the glass, letting his Imp land on the table, and uncork the bottle of wine. He'd then hold a hand up before his Imp could pour the wine, and Joran would mutter in a harsh language, carefully examining the glass, wiping it's rim with a cloth, and then signaling the Imp to pour. Once his Imp flew back to his shoulder, it'd continue on it's regular venomous ramblings as Joran drank his wine. As the morning went on, he'd have sent his Imp for fine cheese and breads, keeping himself warded, and having his Imp keep an eye on the inn. Occasionally he'd converse with the Imp in a stilted, formal, grating yet strangely melodic tongue in obscure patterns that seem to meander misleadingly before snapping to an unexpected point. Though these "conversations" occur from time to time, they are usually brief. Other than this, he appears to be.. waiting.
The Knight Ophelia makes little action at first in regard to the cart and the unfolding predicament. Her amber eyes drift over the cart briefly at it rumbles to a stop, and then back to the road ahead. The usual fire in her gaze seemingly burning low.
After a few moments the plate clad woman comments over at whatever driver the cart may have, her tone flat and bored - yet carrying with it the woman's typical aristocratic speech, and thick Thayan accent.
"Tis truly a pitiful sight. The effort, however little required of clearing the roads and ensuring the well being of those who might do trade with the Enclave... for oafs who cannot follow a straight line."
Another quiet sigh escapes the dark helmet of the knight, perhaps disgruntled with her situation.
Last Edit: Mar 16, 2014 16:27:53 GMT -5 by Creasus
The shifting mass of merchants and traders wade in through the gates, some nodding in respect to the Thayan Knight, others doing their best to avoid eye contact and make their way as quickly through the gate as they could.
Another Knight of the Enclave, looks to be coming towards the gate area in a few moments, as per his patrol round within the walls.
As the day draws closer to noon, the cart still remains at the side of the road. The beast of burden attached to it, lazily eating the wild grass... as there is no driverto spur it on.
A woman dressed in a chainmail shirt, brown woolen leggings, a greatsword on her back, and a helm that covers most of her face comes along the road towards the enclave. Seeing the animal attached to the cart and the guards coming, she glances back and forth between the animal and the guards, her shoulders slumped as if a little deflated. She wets her lips quickly, glancing around again, and then steps towards the animal. She takes hold of the bridle and whispers some soothing words to it, then begins trying to lead it back onto the road, the horse doing its best to follow the woman's lead.
A newcomer has arrived, variables and possibilities changing. Outside the Enclave's walls, the horse seems calmed by her whispers.
As the cart begins to move, the newcomer of greatsword and chain mail... may or may not notice tall grass pressed down flat on the other side of the cart. If she does see this, it might warrant investigation, if not... then the cart would most likely make its way into the Enclave.
The woman with the greatsword and chainmail mutters to herself, noticing the pressed down grass with her relatively sharp eyes. Once the horse is reasonably dislodged from the side of the road, she leave it and starts to follow the trail.
In the early mornings Sham Von Mensen can be seen sitting at his desk taking care of his diplomatic duties, every now and then a knight will come in with more scrolls and letters only to pick up the newly written ones.
In the late evenings and nights Sham locks himself in a smaller chamber full of books on the darkest side of necromancy seeking knowledge to fulfil his lifelong goal. The books and scrolls are placed in stacks with a note on each stack, Alhoon, archlich, banelich, baelnorn, demilich, dracolich and void lich some stacks are larger then others.
It is now high noon. Following the path of pressed tallgrass and broken branches, the woman garbed in chain mail might come to the conclusion that there was a slight struggle; the 'path' turns off the main road just before the locked woodsman shack. There may or may not be danger ahead, but a clearing will open up in a few steps.
The sun is high, the various shadows about the town are small under their respective people and things. After attending to Sham, the knight exits the embassy, making her way down the path to the roundabout... stopping short of a street corner near the Temple of Kossuth. She gives a note of required items to a courier to fetch from the local merchants and tradesmen. She quickly heads back to the embassy door and awaits further deliveries.
Attendants of the Hall of Shrines move quietly about, cleaning organizing, collecting a percentage of tithes from the various priests and priestesses, and delivering them to the bank on the other side of the enclave. A few nodding to the woman clad in a svelte black.
The woman dressed in chain mail gestures and chants for a moment, her gear and face shifting in color to match that of her surroundings, and then she edges forward in the shadows of the trees, just off the path, looking to see what is in the clearing.
Through the mist and light snowfall, the second glade would show the following:
-Two rogue bandits armed with short swords. -One bandit armed with a dire flail. -One rogue bandit armed with a light crossbow. -Two mage bandits. -One cleric bandit.
The third glade can only be revealed with the defeat of the bandits in the first glade, but this would most likely attract the attention of the group within the second glade. A dangerous task for a lone individual.
Erynne, the woman in the chain shirt, draws back from the clearings, out of sight, and begins to lay plans. She calls a name, "Sharazim," at a low tone, and a panther stalks from the underbrush to join her at her side. She then chants and gestures, calling forth a dire tiger by magic. The task ahead is indeed daunting for a lone warrior. But Erynne is seldom alone. Once the two cats a present, she casts another spell, and the cats' fangs and claws become fifth circle enchanted weapons. She feeds the two cats a couple of potions, giving them added strength, agility, and endurance. Once they are prepared thusly, she begins to lay traps across the ground, a collection of fire, frost, acid, and spike traps. She leaves about thirty feet of space, and then plants a tangle trap, with the thirty foot space between the nest of damaging traps and the entanglement. With the ground thus prepared, she feeds each of the cats one each of her many invisibility potions, and directs them to the side.
With her ambush prepared, Erynne adjusts her cloak to cover her greatsword, and then rearranges the small sack full of coins on her belt to be more conspicuous. "Can't be attacking a bunch of men who actually don't mean any harm, now can we? Better check their intentions." She casts a spell for agility on herself, and then drinks potions of strength, barkskin, and clarity, and then proceeds forward towards the first clearing.
Coming into sight of the first round of bandits, she fluffs her hair a bit and says in an innocent, coy voice, "Oh! Hello. I seem to be lost. I'm trying to reach the enclave. They told me there was a bank there, and I'm trying to reach my uncle. He's expecting me to arrive with these items of his. Am I on the right track?" As she speaks, the sack of coins on her belt jingles merrily with its golden contents.
Last Edit: Mar 24, 2014 22:07:22 GMT -5 by Deleted
One of the bandits clear as day says, "I'm gonna tear you apart!" The spawn presses their attack, but fails the initiative role against the newcomer.
/ooc at this point, anyone is welcome to step up and steer the storyline of all characters in a direction, it is still noon/afternoon, but once certain story arcs are complete, it would be nightfall, just be sure to emphasize the change in time of day so players can adjust accordingly.
Erynne turns and runs back towards the traps she has laid down. She runs into the space she has left, after the damaging traps, but before tangle trap. Within the space, she seems to stumble, and her hands fall to the hilts of two swords hidden on her belt under her cloak. She stops, waiting for the right moment to rip her swords free and attack what she expects to be wounded and surprised enemies. The two cats, as yet invisible, tense in their crouching stances, muscles hardened as they ready to spring on the bandits closing in on a field of hidden traps.