Café de Nuit

Coughing and sputtering, Nicolas gratefully takes Avra's proffered hand and pulls himself up.

"Thank you," he gasps, trying to catch his breath, "I swear I mean you no harm." Resting a moment, he looks around for the pieces of his rapier. "As I said, I am from Mortigny, in Richemulot. Having recently graduated from the Pon-a-Museau School for Young Gentlemen, I had resolved to travel, see something of the world." He stoops to recover the broken rapier. "I hope, once I am through with my travels, to return to my father and take his business." Ruefully shaking his head, he puts the pieces into his scabbard. Then he looks up at Avra. "Can you tell me, perhaps, where exactly we find ourselves? Is this your country?" His brown eyes are young and curious, not having yet been overcome by the shadow of the Mists...

Desdichado wrote:"Path is lost over there. If he's still alive, he'll find our way to us. If not, we risk too much going back. The mist horrors and the quevari would be the only things that await us, I am sure."

Staring off into the misty haze Stocker nods then mumbles, "That I don't doubt."

He then turns his attention to the ground, and crouches to take a closer look at the tracks left by the group.

"But being lost and having seemingly been replaced are two entirely different things..."

He's looking to see whether or not he can identify the spot where Nicolas' footprints supersedes that of Path's in order to prove his theory, if not to the others, then to himself.

"Replaced, yes, perhaps... but I have heard of stranger things occuring in the mists. Though, if an explanation CAN be found, I for one would be happy. As I am sure would be Nicholas. " he smiles, and it is clear his smile is not meant to suggest a veiled insult.

The warrior, no stranger to the spiritual mysteries would still prefer to face an enemy he can clearly identify than be guessing and stabbing at shadows... Perhaps that is why he often seems to trivialize these occurences that have others on alert - or perhaps he feels the gods move things in curious ways, not always understood to humanity...

---

OOC: Des - don't worry about it! No surprises needed. (no, really, I mean that... last surprise almost killed us. )

Alarnik wrote: He stoops to recover the broken rapier.

If the Rapier is only broken in two peices, Alain offers to fix it via the Mending spell.
Alain will sing:
This blade, was one,
and now it's two,
We mend the break
and now its new

Of course, if it is broken in more than one place completley disregard that.

Mad Skipper wrote: He's looking to see whether or not he can identify the spot where Nicolas' footprints supersedes that of Path's in order to prove his theory, if not to the others, then to himself.

If there was such a point, its somewhere in the thick mists behind you, and thus out of your range.

Boccaccio Barbarossa wrote: OOC: Des - don't worry about it! No surprises needed. (no, really, I mean that... last surprise almost killed us. )

[Oooo, believe me you WILL be rewarded... ]

BigBadQDaddy wrote:

Alarnik wrote: He stoops to recover the broken rapier.

If the Rapier is only broken in two peices, Alain offers to fix it via the Mending spell.
Alain will sing:
This blade, was one,
and now it's two,
We mend the break
and now its new

Of course, if it is broken in more than one place completley disregard that.

The blade, which was cleanly broken into two pieces, melts again under the words of Alain's spell. When the shimmering of the magic fades into the misty day, you are surprised that the blade has changed in another way as well. It's green now, like the leaves of a plant...

"Let's move! That the poison hasn't affected us so far doesn't mean we have time to waste!" Lodissio's angry voice can be heard.

Stocker raises an eyebrow at Avra's words. Superstition or false belief, for to him both are one and the same, it matters not. The fact that the others are so willing to accept the disappearance of a comrade (and to 'justify' it through such illogical means) is enough to keep his true thoughts silent.

He stands from his crouch and casually watches the others, wondering just now that not one member of this group even questioned his own appearance.

Just what did he get caught up in?

Just who are these people?

The slightest of sarcastic smiles tugs at his whiskered lips as the realisation dawns upon him that sometimes, just sometimes, one cannot shake the emotional resonance of Childhood, and that gut instinct, intuition, premonitions, and all other such likenesses are all very simply adult definitions of the concept.

How can one truly trust a stranger when one knows better?

Mind racing, he manages to come to the decision to stick around. At least , for a little while longer...

I look at the new guy and say: "hello. I'm Natan."

OOC: I wear dark brown clothes, have red hair, and am unremarkable.

Traveling through the mists has never been one of Jarryd’s favorite things. He always preferred the camel, or even the horse, when traveling. Much more trustworthy than walking in the mist. From time to time, when the caravan was gathered around the fire, in those cold nights in the Pharazian desert, the elders told stories of mist creatures roaming the edge of the mists, as if looking for victims. Strange things roam inside the living fog, they said.

Now Jarryd had used the mists to travel beyond the Amber Wastes, in search of the lost Sha’hir scrolls. The legacy that his family lost long ago, and the one his father bowed to recover. And now he knew, what the elders said when they spoke of the Mist. Strange things happen when inside it. Now a man was standing in the middle of the group, as if magic was involved.

Still dizzy from the traveling, he checks if something is missing in his gear. Nothing, at least I am in one piece…he thinks.

Things are not looking good with this group, Jarryd thinks. Some ravaging savages almost killed us and now we are attacking others without a reason.

Without saying a word he approaches the stranger that is recovering from Lodisio’s punch. “Hello my name is Jarryd, welcome to our group” he extends his hand.

OCC: The idea of Jarryd came to me when watching “the 13th warrior”. I liked the idea of an Arabian warrior in a foreign country, different ways of thinking and also different beliefs. So I would say that Jarryd is the Ravenloft version of the character Antonio Banderas was playing…. Including the weird accent.

Nicolas stares in wonder as his sword reforges itself. Not even looking up, he stammers out, "Th-thank you! But tell me, how did you do it?" After a moment's pause, he slides the rapier into his scabbard with a contented sigh.

Then he realizes that others have been addressing him. He takes Jarryd's hand, shaking it cordially.

"Greetings. It pleases me greatly to meet others from foreign lands." He finally manages to untie himself, stepping out of the line of people. "Now, can anyone please tell me, on what errand do you travel? What has gathered such a collection of people from around the Mists?"

Lodissio has waited until the others have greeted Nicholas properly, then approaches him again, smiling feverishly.

"Look boy... I don't know if you're a friend or a fiend, but I don't think you should ask so many questions as long as you haven't answered ours..."

He grins to Nicholas, something the others have learned to interprete as a sign of aggression.

"For me, he can stay until we come to the next town, which should very probably be our destination. Let's move on! I am still bleeding..." The ill-tempered satyr spits just in front of Nicholas feet, then staggers away.

Alarnik wrote:Nicolas stares in wonder as his sword reforges itself. Not even looking up, he stammers out, "Th-thank you! But tell me, how did you do it?" After a moment's pause, he slides the rapier into his scabbard with a contented sigh.

Alain looks at the sword with a horrific suprise, then back up at Nicolas, then back at the sword.

"well...s-song, can d-do a-amazing things...?"
With obviously shakey hands he hands the rapier back to Nicolas, then takes a cautionary step back and nervously smiles.
What have I done? he thinks to himself.

Just as you start to turn away from the mists and follow Lodissio, you hear a startled gasp. Stepping out of the mist comes a small cloaked figure, about three feet tall.

"Wha-where am I?" it gasps in a weak but clearly male voice.

Looking around frantically, the creature is taken aback when he sees the bloody weapons carried by the satyr and the other large men in the group.

"What foul trickery has brought me here?" he asks loudly. This time you notice a slight accent. (Barovian if you recognize it, think Transylvanian)

Getting a closer look, you see that it is a very small human. Most of his pale face is covered by a thick black wool cloak which he has wrapped tightly around him. Long locks of black hair flow down to his shoulders and, along with thick bushy sideburns, frame a pair of piercing green eyes. His hands, grasping tightly the folds of his cloak, are not carrying a weapon. His posture is very defensive.

Lodissio rolls his eyes and sits down. "Now, well... It seems it's getting crowded here... YAAAAAAAAARRRR!"

*Kicks against a trunk*

[Does noone want to greet the newcomer?!]

::crickets chirp::