Pumpkins and Pedantry, a lecherous lament ((Open RP Thread))

[Sioladuil]

There he was, sitting there. At the piano again. He was playing a simple monophonic tune with just enough change to make it appear like a complete song. Edwin strolled over to the frail looking individual and muttered out a comment in that gruff talk of his. Ya gotta eat Elve, it's been days. An' let's give the piano a break aye? Elvewyn did not acknowledge his presence, lost in thought. Edwin shook his head and set down a bottle of dark desire and the lecher special before heading back to the bar. He had seen this before. It could be days before the mage snaps out of it. 

//An open RP thread for those of us who frequent this lovely little tavern! Feel free to chime in at will.

[DM Betelgeuse]

The figure of Morticia Lee is seen entering the Lecher. 

A few hours later she leaves, manipulates a cube and vanishes in a burst of magic.

[DM Betelgeuse]

An individual wearing a magnificent purple suit is seen entering the Lecher.

[lovedbyyendis]

Many nights, when Aria can find Alyster or Sylus about the Lecher, she will find a quiet corner and read, sometimes even taking notes in her journal as she does.

[kalis]

*All is quite in the Lecher as Edwin tends to things behind the bar as the door to the entrance slowly swings open. He watches as the tall imposing figure has to duck and turn his shoulders slightly in order to enter the doorway. Though he has seen him several times in the past Edwin has always been busy with others and not able to take the time to really look him over until now. He notices an eerie green hue surrounding and extending out from Kalis. As he realizes that this is not from some sort of light source on his person but an aura that permeates his armor Edwin is frozen in place, his body shaking as overwhelming fear and despair over come him. Edwin unable to turn away glances over Kalis’s armor, a full suit of plate mail of ancient design. Damage from many battles mars the delicate ornamentation obscuring it’s intrigant carving of glyphs and landscape portraits. A long black tattered cloak hangs heavily on his shoulders, a tassel of long black hair tops his helm which has a facial cover that depicts an emotionless expression. Kalis’s amber irises glow through the eye slots of the helm, his left iris dimming like a candle about to go out only to flicker back to life in an endless cycle. Edwin watches as Kalis walks into the tavern, his heavy and even footsteps sounding throughout the tavern on the stone floor near the entrance and once he reaches the wooden floor it creeks heavily in protest under his weight.*

Kalis: Has anyone one been in this morning? *Talking to Edwin as he glances around the Tavern, his voice an echo from a bottomless cavern from within his helm*

Edwin: N.. no…

*After a brief stay Kalis departs and Edwin regains his composure and after a bit goes on about his business*

[DM Betelgeuse]

The door to the Leering Lecher opens and an invisible person(s) enter the establishment. It is not long before the smell of sulfur spills out onto the streets. 

Raised voices can be heard shouting in a strange language and the flashes of flames can be seen inside the venue. 

A shapechanged Cornugan was throwing around a demon dressed in purple. Bouncing him off walls, tables and generally causing harm. Once the demon was unconcious - the Cornugan opened a portal to the hells, flames erupted out of the circle destroying furniture and causing smoke damage, and threw the demon through. 

It then barked an order in that same strange language before vanishing. 

All that remains is smoke damage, a pentagram burned into the floor and the corpse of Edwin laying on the floor - having been cut down by a large flaming sword.

//Tagging the most common visitors to the Lecher incase they wish to react.


davenutninja408 Masterbard Alyster Darkharp bellamercy thehatman 

[davenutninja408]

After things calmed down, Sylus and a hand full of the younger and middle-classmen arcane students from the academy were seen replacing the missing stool, cleaning up and then he observed the students practicing their mending cantrips on the burned pentagram mark on the floor, he hands out treats and milk to the kids after they clean up and he sends them on their way back to the academy and whatever mischiefs they get up to. After things cleaned up, he closed up the Lecher's Oven for the night and made his way back to the academy.

[thehatman]

Marcus waves hand in front of his face to clear the smoke, making his way across the room towards the pentagram while beating embers out of his clothes, looking at the damage caused before he finally stops to lean over the pentagram

"Well, ya sure got a trashin' there Cara, recon someone final figured how ya cheat at cards? Wonder just where ya ended up to."

He takes out a sheet of parchment and makes a quick sketch of the leftover symbol, before it gets cleaned up.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster Darkharp sits before his canvas, bathed in the orange light of the Leering Lecher Tavern, brushes working quickly in watercolors. He creates a scene in mostly whites, grays, and icy blues. Anyone passing through or enjoying the atmosphere for awhile would see the following portrait unfold:

This watercolor depicts a snowy windswept fortress interior that based on the rest of the painting, can only be the Legendary Dungeon of the Lich, Icingdwell. The Ice-Lich himself is featured prominently in the rendition, he is surrounded by a party of adventurers who are giving their all to his defeat, all the while surrounded by undead warriors in blackened plate-mail. Icingdwell himself bears a staff of what looks like solid ice, and wears tattered robes of purest ivory shades, once fine but now succumbing to entropy like the rest of him. His wasted and mummified flesh is only present on parts of his arms and face, the bone white of his skull matching perfectly the shade of his robes. Malevolent red eyes glow in the shadowy depths of the skull of the Ice-Lich.

The group is dominated by humans, but also contains a lone halfling, darkly clad with a feathered and wide brimmed hat: he seems invested in taking a red-glowing hatchet to the legs of the Lich while other threats loom at a higher level above him, and also behind him, as another attacker, this one a human male with a weeks’ worth of beard on his handsome face, and a flaming magical sword in hand rushes the Ice-Lich from behind. A huge amazon of a human woman with long blonde braids and garish pink plate-mail confronts Icingdwell head on, her shield front and forward and battle-axe high, mouth opened in a scream that brings to mind the echoes of the savage barbarians of the north. Beside her is what appears to be a human man in full plate, his face obscured by helm and visor, but his intention clear as he ducks low behind a shield and attempts to flank the Undead Champion of the Stormhorns with a thrusting scimitar. Just behind the two frontline warriors is a red-haired human woman, she holds her holy symbol, the blank scroll of Oghma high, warding off the surrounding undead with a pure golden light, in the foreground behind her is another human female, hooded and garbed as a ranger and with longbow drawn and ready to fire. Rushing towards the Lich between the archer and the front line is a darkly clad human man with a dark goatee and dark hair. The shadows seem to cling to him and make him somehow more a part of the background than the rest of the figures, but his glowing magical short blades stand out against the icy gloom.

The captured moment speaks of a great struggle, and upon a very close look many injuries and wounds cover the adventurers, and they look to be in danger of losing this battle. The floor below them is covered in the bones of vanquished undead, the swords, spears and axes they once took up in defense of the Lich lie scattered about on the floor below. In the background, piled against a stone wall are all of the fabled treasures of Icingdwell. Featured prominently amid chests of gold and jewels is a very finely made Lyre, a beam of almost heavenly light seeming to illuminate it as the battle rages below in an icy, slippery, bone and blade filled hell.

[thehatman]

Marcus and Nicha enter the Lecher later in the evening, in cheerful spirits. Spotting Lambrac, Ravace and Sylus by the bakery, they make their way over.
Few words are exchanged, after which Sylus disappears in his shop only to emerge moments later in full armor.

As Lambrac and Ravace leave, atmosphere between Sylus and Marcus + Nicha grows heated.
Short conversation is exchanged, before the pair storms off, Marcus throwing few choice words over his shoulder, clearly in foul mood.


davenutninja408 Sioladuil behindblueeyes The Oncoming Mooseocalypse

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

There is a notable uptick in visible activity at the Leering Lecher starting on the 25th and moving forward. Alyster Darkharp seems to represent almost a constant presence around the tavern, performing on piano and violin, and acting as a host in evenings. Uniformed presence of Alizarin Mages and Bards also increases surrounding the Headmaster. After a seeming lapse in activity in Marsember, while the Suzail facility was completed, the Alizarin Headmaster seems to have retaken his normal haunt, the Leering Lecher Tavern. The Headmaster often has armored bodyguards with him, which some would recognize as Sylus Sormcrown, and a few might recognize as Vrulo Myskada. A variety of guests are in and out to see Alyster in the past tenday.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

The Believer

What really was the right thing anymore? Alyster just didn’t know. Leadership was a mantle he had worn for a long time, and it got heavier by the year. He had never felt he was a good leader per se, but there was one thing that was clear: people wanted him to lead. If a bard did anything it was giving people what they wanted. So what did he want? He was a person. He got a vote in what he did as well and he was casting it.

His replacement had accepted the post. Other events were transpiring much as he needed them to. There was one fox in the henhouse yet though and forgetting that the spinning coin was still aloft was folly. Prepare, anticipate, develop contingency plans. Operate as always and keep your eye on the prize. What was the prize anymore though? Once again, Alyster couldn’t be sure. He just had a sense that he was working towards an end and that he had to give that end voice in some way that was convincing enough to get a bunch of dangerous people to see and accept that end. That was hard to articulate when he himself, wasn’t quite sure how to put his goal into words fully.

He stared down at the parchment where his speech had stalled early in the writing. Just the single thought out down, the opening line with which he would get their attention and have them in his grasp to direct. The sentence stared back at him, incomplete and inadequate. “We are not good people….”. That was it. He didn’t think telling his closest allies, his friends, that they weren’t good people was going to have the desired effect. He nearly laughed at the scenario in his head, and not because they would be offended. He didn’t need to tell them what they already knew.

So what else was there to say? “We are not good people, but, some good can come of our actions if we direct them carefully to drag down other evils, things as bad or worse than us” He let his minds eye wander back to some of the things he had witnessed, some of what he had done. He found that he didn’t feel bad about any of it. The people dead now at the hands of he and his compatriots? They deserved whatever hell they had been sent to. They deserved all the pain they got, and he guessed he deserved all he got as well. The other things; things he didn’t consider people, well….who cared?

Other moments replayed, he watched the slim rapier kill him over and over in his mind. Watched from a distance as a friend killed him. This time was easier, he had seen this betrayal before, in that same place in another time. He had known, always known that part of him lived on in that place. That place he had been so afraid to go back to, but none the less he had gone and they, his compatriots, they had followed. They had done what he knew could be done. He had believed. He still believed. He was a believer. Others believed in him and he did them no credit if he, himself, could not. So he did all he knew to, he looked at himself in the reflection of the mirror and he believed too. Half of being a bard was believing what you said or convincing others to, sometimes that included one’s self.

He had done great things in his life. He wasn’t a braggart by nature, but he did hold his accomplishments up when his detractors spoke of his faults. His accomplishments were the only shield that he had, and the swords and axes had dashed against that shield time after time and broken upon it. The shield was old though, and it was high time someone else held it: and when that happened it was the time of the sword. He had to hold the sword now and it felt right that he should. He had never been the most valorous fighter, but he had learned something of valor from his friend, Borghild. Valor wasn’t necessitated by good. It existed in moments that ethos didn’t touch on. In instances in which a decision was made and an action was taken for the right reasons. The darkness in every man’s soul could be at least temporarily illuminated by valor. Those were all he had to live for now. For those moments.

He looked over at the neatly folded cloaks on his table. All of them black as a hags soul, with blood red circular fields embroidered on the backs, a black harp centered in the field was surrounded by four small eyes, one at each cardinal point. Under this symbol he and his compatriots would conquer. It was both his own symbol and the transformed symbol of another group, rolled up into this sign. It was provocative and he knew that, intended it even. Perhaps it would spur some form of reaction, after all….wasn’t that what bardic performance was about? This was going to be the performance of his life, and on its success or failure rode the lives of people he loved and respected.

He believed in them and in himself. He believed things that gave others cause to think him mad. He was The Believer.

[DM Betelgeuse]

    In recent days, a few minor changes have happened. Patrons of the Lecher have seen the locks to the back rooms changed by unknown contractors and fliers have been sent out amongst various stores and persons advertising the currently empty store for rental purposes.

    The fliers encouraged individuals to seek out and discuss the aforementioned oppertunities with Edwin, the steadfast barman.

[DM Betelgeuse]

    Patrons of the Lecher where recently gossiping about a strange looking courier than entered the Lecher from the secretive back rooms. They spent many an hour discussing and speculating what goes on behind the "staff only" door.

    The courier carried two large envelopes in his hand, both stamped with a strange seal - the head of a jackal. The courier gave a tip of his hat to the punters and then vanished out to the cold swamplands of marsember.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

Sendai arrives at the Lecher. Asked about and then went into the backrooms before emerging and exiting.

[DM Betelgeuse]

    Over the last couple of days, and the ones to follow, individuals who identify themselves as contractors are seen coming and going from the Lecher. They first speak to Edwin, who directed them towards a strange looking individual wearing a purple, black and white outfit and a fantastic mustache. The Jester known as Sendai is rumoured to never be to far away from the unknown individual.

    Although they do not appear to be doing any major work, they are definitely doing something.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

Sendai can be seen coming back and fourth from the Lecher carrying various supplies of confetti and glitter, bright colourful dyed parchments poster sized, paints and quill.

The poster reads

" The Pumpkin Party in honour of the newly appointed Pumpkin Queen and House Bard!

Come one come all to this party to kick off all parties, bards will be present and performing, if you have an interest please do follow up with me I will be planning all future nights of the arts so if you miss this one there will always be more! as for those who just want a good time and to be entertained please find us at the Leering Lecher!

*signed* Sendai bardling queen and house bard *scented with her perfume and a lipstain kiss*

// Friday 30th June 8pm London GMT time

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

Sendai can be seen carrying various instruments into The Leering Lecher. The sound of music then filling the air as she makes sure all instruments that need tunning are tuned and in perfect working order, her vocals harmonise velvety alongside the tunes.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

Sendai could be seen packing away instruments, cleaning tables, sweeping the floors...Edwin might have been upset at the amount of confetti and glitter *sus eyes* taking out the trash and general housekeeping, nodding pleased with herself at the turn out for the pumpkin party and that having an open night where people could perform as they like and in an arts safe space.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

The Jester Bardling in purple and green can be seen entering The Leering Lecher oftens, staying for long periods at a time. Beautiful music can be heard drifting from the inside out into the canals of Marsember filling the air with music once again as it was so accustomed to once upon a time.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

Bardling Jester wanders her way through Marsember, singing as she does. Her bells jingle in tune always with her hauntingly beautiful voice as she plucks the strings on her harp. Her body moves in time and complete sync with every note...almost a hypnotic display of art. Leaving behind a trail of confetti and glitter gently blown away on a breeze filling the canals with a display that can only be explained as magic of a childs mind. Once in The Leering Lecher she quiets to nothing more then background noise as the door shuts behind her.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

The Bardling jester queen and house bard wanders the streets of Marsember, waving to all her fans and signing self portraits with her autograph. Her jingles unmistakeable, her voice hauntingly beautiful and her body always moving in perfect sync with her songs as she sways hips hypnoticaly until she reaches The Leering Lecher where she closes the door behind and all thats left is glitter and confetti blowing on the breeze in her wake.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

The queen of the bards could be spotted in and around Marsember bringing music of sweet hauntingly beautiful tones caressing the ears of those close enough to listen. Her purple and green jesters attire catching all eyes as she passes, swaying hypnoticaly she walks with pride and allure a trail of confetti and glitter now gone with the wind as she enters The Leering Lecher.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

The Bardling Jester has not been seen wandering quite as much as previous though she can still be heard singing from within The Leering Lecher...much to Edwins dismay. Keeping up the bardic tradition the city is accustomed to and deserves, occaisonaly there would be other voices and instruments heard drifting through the canals at varying hours of the day / night, the glitter and confetti ever present...somehow.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

The Jester as each day passes is seen less and less, her hauntingly beautiful voice still caresses the ears of any within the canals, her command of instruments artfuly done as to be expected from The Leering Lecher, confetti and glitter no longer blowing on the winds.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

The jester has been more active recently, seen making posters that read

*the poster is covered in confetti and glitter...possibly made out of it and it reads*

"come one come all down to the placest with the mostest, last time an open stand night this time a quiz night!, come to Marsember Canal District"

*her name is signed, dated, a pumpkin drawn around her signature, lip stain kiss and scented with her alluring perfume*

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

The jester was seen helping Edwin clean up after a sucessful night of bardenings, he would grumble and moan though a slight smile would escape now and then, after all a fool is entertaining...are they not? He curses the confetti and glitter though at this point he has likely given up hope of removing it, simply managing the sheer amount, she resides there most the time now. A hauntingly beautiful voice can be heard serending those close enough to come within the Lecher and partake in all it has to offer, Edwin is happy for the business ofcourse and perhaps even the company...not the jokes though, she could likely keep those all the same. She from time to time wanders out into the canals, looking down into the water and sighing asif mourning, she wouldnt tell a soul what though. She now would be a familiar appearence, though she still stands out and would charm those she passes, almost a supernatural lure to her, hips swaying hypnoticaly, the bells jingling a jaunty tune and her voice as always caressing the ears.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

The jester has not stirred this tenday, she was seen entering but never leaving. Her voice carried on the wind adding to its haunting beauty throughout the canals, confetti and glitter laid on the ground still in the wake of her steps. A grumpy looking Edwin mumbles to himself at the extra custom this house bard has brought him, she is oftens seen hips swaying this way and that as she walks its interior. Dissapearing into the back for hours at a time before resuming entertaining the guests, hostess with the mostess ofcourse never lets a soul down. Laughter can be heard escaping the door as it is open and closed...her jokes clearly tickled them pink. Once they leave she would blow them all kisses and offer a wink knowing they would return for more...jack of all trades and master of none she sure does entertain.

[The Oncoming Mooseocalypse]

The jester has rare been seen outside the walls of the building though sounds from within would suggest she is on form.

[DM Betelgeuse]

    Under the Leering Lecher, in the secretive basement,an enigmatic individual sat on his throne of stone while idly curling one side of his mustache around his forefinger. Before him was a large chalkboard, covered in a strange dialect, drawings of faces (he had always been a dab hand with drawing) and then trails of red string leading from different clumps of dialect to others and then back to pictures. The string drew a pattern unknown to anyone but the individual looking upon it. His left hand tapped a rhythm on the arm of his thrown. Thud. Thud. Thud. The prison bell was ringing, the abishai where chanting down the corridors. It must be time for excercise, or whatever passes for such in this infernal hole he had found himself in. He looked across at the opposite wall, he had lost count of how many days he had checked into the stone. Years? Centuries? Days. He did not know. A jingle of bells is what brought him to, he blinked away the memories of his captors and looked back out across the basement of his hostelry... Sendai had appeared, the lunatic jester. It must have been her bells that drew him from his waking nightmare... 

    He smiled as she approached, one side of his mustache lopsided. "How are you Sendai? Do you remember that list of volunteers I asked you to collect? Well it is time to start interviewing them, I have a job for the Lecherous Rogues. A job that goes beyond simple wealth... in time I will tell you what is at stake. But for now, we are still learning to trust one another. Can you send letters to those who showed interest in working for me? We can arrange interviews." And with that, he began tapping his hand on the throne again. Thud. Thud. Thud. The bell was ringing...

Mooseocalypse

//For those who put their names down to do work for Ardaan, sorry for the delay. We will beginning shortly.