"Only about women," says Blaise with a wink. "As for food, as long as it warms my belly, that's as per-tick-ular as I get!" He takes his ale and raises it high. "Thank you, sir -- to yer health!" He drinks a bit and then continues, "Damn, my manners ... my mother is wringing her hands in anguish above, Ilmater be praised ... I never inner-duced myself! My name's Mikhal -- Mikhal Fergus. I'm pleased to share ale and food with workers such as yerselves -- and, um, payment for hard work, of course. Would there be a chance of more work and payment ahead?"ewancummins wrote:Cross-face speaks to Blaise-
''Don't expect any fancy fare here, my friend. They do serve good wug-jambs, and a nice fish chowder. Are you particular?''
Removing a quill pen from his jacket and reciting a quaint poem to himself, Alain causes the feathered pen to bring forth light from seemingly out of nowhere.ewancummins wrote:a foggy street, somewhere between the Marsh Gate and the Old Shell -
Alain moves down the fog-draped street alone. The night air is perhaps a bit chilly for the summer, but not truly cold. No one else is in sight [not that he can see very far away, ten yards at most]. His footfalls are softened by the damp, muffled and indeed almost swallowed by the fog. Somewhere, perhaps not far away, frogs are singing their deep throated night-songs. The only light is that of the pallid waning moon, cutting through the misty atmosphere and giving enough illumination that a man can walk with lessened risk of stumbling into a sewer ditch or canal.
As Alain walks along, he soon becomes aware of a clattering sound coming from behind him, like wheels on cobblestones. Soft footfalls are just barely audible over the rolling din and Alain may, if he strains his ears, detect a very soft sound of breathing.
As Ino begins to drift up the shaft, she [and everyone else with her] hears an agonized wailing coming from one of the upper openings of the shaft. The screams sound like nothing human.VAN wrote:Inovidil nods and says:
"I agree too. Lets go up."
By his magical light, Alain can see what has been following him: a pretty teenage girl pushing a handcart. The cart is covered with a piece of duck cloth. The girl smiles at him.BigBadQDaddy wrote: Removing a quill pen from his jacket and reciting a quaint poem to himself, Alain causes the feathered pen to bring forth light from seemingly out of nowhere.
He then scans the area in which he perceived the noise coming from, straining his eyes if need be, and making sure his is not standing in the middle of the road for any passing coach to run him over.
Threan moves unhindered through the city - but where is he going?Lord Skybolt wrote:After Threan makes good his escape he goes to look for the rest of the party to inform them of what information he has obtained .
Ironheart shrugs, and, whipping the blood from his body,ewancummins wrote:The brothel-
Three burly bouncers, all in leather jacks and armed with stout clubs, come bounding up the lefthand stairs[ the right side is blocked by fleeing whores] to attack Ironheart!
The three men quickly surround Ironheart and attempt a coordinated onslaught. The first man misses entirely, the second hits Ironheart a glancing blow across the right arm, and the third man manages to strike the barbarian right on his crown!
Ironheart instantly counterattacks with his great axe, chopping clean through the first bouncer's club and into his lower face. The man falls to the floor, wailing piteously through the red ruin that had lately been his mouth.
Ironheart tugs the axe free and spins around, panther-quick, to attack another foe with the other side of the great axe-head, striking his target in the chest. THUNK- CRACKLE! The Man's chest now hangs open from collarbone to diaphraghm. Broken rib ends stick out of a cavernous gap in the torso, through which hangs a ripped mass of lung tissue. The gravely wounded man falls onto his back.
Only one bouncer remains, and he is already turning to flee...