"I'll take tha high road,
an' ye take tha low road,
an' I'll reach Eluchish afore ye,
But me an' my me true love will ne'er meet agin,
On tha bonny bonny banks o' Loch Lommond."

It was traditionally a sad song about a soldier who died and drifted home ahead of the army returning from that war, but Sirius sang it quietly to himself with a more upbeat manner as he started down the hill that led into the streets of Cliffport. Indeed, he was feeling mighty fine as upon his ears fell the beautiful chimes of the temple of Ogarh as they drifted across the river.

"Ah, me home land upon me eyes," he said with a deep breath, his tune wafting away with the cool breeze that came down with the water. "I dinnae know fer certain it would ever grace me feet agin."

He was talking to himself, of course, but inwardly he was reflecting on the journey that had brought him here. He had seen some things he hadn't ever thought possible, and had experienced many cultures apart from his own. It had been quite an experience, and honestly, as glad as he was to see his homeland of Eluchish, he knew that Shilleloch had graced him with a gift that day when he had been transported to who-knows-where and begun his long walk back. It had been his experience with other people that had brought him as close as he was to his god now, and in that spirit, he wouldn't skip right past Cliffport, but would rather stop in and see if anything interesting was happening first.

It became immediately apparent to him as he entered the outskirts that there indeed was something. A group of soldiers, in fact, seemed to be gathering around a woman that was crying out. Sirius gave a slight smirk, curious, and walked quickly and quietly up behind three apparently off-duty soldiers that were moving toward the commotion, not speaking but trying to get close enough to hear what was happening. Wearing his banded mail and bearing his longbow and mace as he was, he figured he could easily pass for just another soldier, even though he wasn't Hylar.

[This message has been edited by that one Elf (edited 08-29-2010 @ 04:17 PM).]

Shutting the small book in front of him, Orion leaned back and stretched. It had been a long day. He didn't mind his job; it was part of his duty, and that was all the satisfaction he needed. But sometimes he wished for a more exciting assignment. He feared his skills were getting rusty sitting around the company's offices.

Orion worked for a small shipping company in Cliffport. He was a clerk, and his job mainly involved tracking and tallying shipments. He had never been good with numbers, but it didn't take much intelligence to see that the entire shipment was there.

He put the record book away and was about to pull out another when one of his co-workers stuck his head in the door. "Hey, Orion, will you give the loaders a hand? Some of those crates are heavy, and the captain is eager to get going."

Orion nodded and rose. Every now and then the elves asked him to do help with some of the more physical work. He didn't mind; in fact, he enjoyed the chance to get outside and work up a good sweat. Heading out to the dock, he found the ship almost completely loaded. He grabbed one of the few remaining crates and stowed it aboard. As he did so, he noticed a very short man who appeared to be in charge scowling at the sign for the thieves' guild.

He set down the box and went to grab another. On the way, he nodded at the man. "I hear thieves are getting bad along this stretch of water," he said in a friendly manner. "But I've always thought it an odd idea to hire thieves to protect from other thieves. Who is to know that you're not simply giving these new thieves a better opportunity to steal from you?"

”Are you sure you got everything you need”
Ouatzal halted in the doorway of his elven parents’ house, then turned around and answered ”yes mother I am sure. We have been over this 5 times now, and you even went through my backpack just an hour ago…”
“Yes-yes, but…”
“No more buts!” A male voice interrupted ”it is time to let our son get on his way, if he is to get anywhere today…”
Húrin appeared in the doorway and clapped his adopted son on the shoulder. ”good luck on your journey my son!” He said with a broad smile, for once really showing how proud he was of the young lizardman that he and his wife had adopted 13 years ago.
Suddenly his wife Rána flew past him and grabbed Ouatzal in a tight embrace. After a few moments she pulled back and looked Ouatzal in the eyes. ”yes, you need to be on your way, but don’t you dare get yourself killed in your first fight!” she joked and smiled, but the wetness in her eyes clearly showed how much she really worried how her inexperienced son would do adventuring on his own…

Five minutes later Ouatzal was moving through the streets of Cliffport. Despite being a large well armed member of the race of lizardfolk in a town of elves and Halflings, Ouatzal drew little attention. He was well known by the locals, and even many elves from outside Cliffport knew him as “the lizard son of Rána and Húrin”. Rána and Húrin were well known for their heroic actions during the invasion of Nidar, and that made Ouatzal rather well known as well.
Turning around a corner, Ouatzal noticed a skinny human woman screaming something at a guard. He didn’t quite get what exactly she screamed, but her scream seemed to draw a lot of attention, so Ouatzal moved closer in order to find out what was going on. Should the situation turn violently he was ready to help the guards if need be, and he knew that they would know who he was, and not misunderstand his actions.

The three human soldiers Sirius is following cast a grizzled glance back at them, their fuzzy beards and tattered orange and white tunics serving as an indication of the hardships they must have faced. After glaring at Sirius for a moment, they continue toward the hysterical woman and the Hylarin guardsman, while, at the same time, more guardsmen and, oddly enough, a lizardman wearing a simple tunic and carrying equipment obviously like that of an adventurer appear behind the first guardsman, as the woman is shaking.

From Quatzal's prospective, he has seen this woman before, not this individual woman, perhaps, but many others like her. Obviously, with her wirey blonde hair that is all but falling out, her creased and drawn face, and her tall but bony figure, she is starving, or nearly so; yet, at one time, as belied by her nearly elven height, she was healthy. She is manifestly a refugee... from somewhere. "Please, I beg you," she asks the guard, almost bending over. "I don't know how far we've come, but we have nothing. Let us have some food and rest, for a change. Don't jail me - or my children will die," she says, whimpering, as she sinks to her knees. Presently, four more soldiers, all of them human, oddly enough, walk up behind her, and the woman turns herself fearfully toward them, holding up an arm as if to raise some blow. The first three of the soldiers are wearing orange and white tunics of colors Quatzal does not recognize, but are themselves obviously veterans of war. They glare at the woman with an emotionless cold, unmovable by pity. Behind them stands another man, also armored, but he is clearly different, of different race, kindred, everything - even his colors are different, what he shows of them. But he looks more local, like Eluchish, whereas the forward three are fairer-skinned, and foreign.

Meanwhile, down by the docks, the withered man turns and glares at Orion. His face is somewhat decayed, as his lip is turned up and even shows a blackened tooth out of the corner of his mouth, as if from some scar or maybe just his advanced age, but his eyes are keen and blue, and behind them shines unmistakable malice. Silently, he gestures Orion to continue loading the crates aboard, with a dark-looking sneer.

Sirius ignored the glares from the other soldiers, more interesting in finding out what the problem was. Once he had gathered that it was just a poor woman looking for food and shelter, he was a wee bit disappointed. He was a travelling man, and there was nothing he could provide for this woman, as he had no permanent home until he was back in Eluchish. The country was near, but his any fixed place where he could provide shelter to someone was not.

However, there was something else interesting at this gathering--a lizardman. It was a curious thing, but he had actually heard in passing from a couple of elves that there was a lizardman here in Cliffport, and that he had been adopted by two elves. There was little doubt that this was the one, but Sirius hadn't actually heard his name. But right now the lizardman and Sirius' circumstance of running into him were just a curiosity.

Taking a step back, Sirius listened to hear what the soldiers did, but couldn't exactly step in and offer the woman help himself.

Orion raised an eyebrow at the man's silent fury, but fell silent. With his help, they finished loading the boat quickly. The human exchanged a glance with one of the other workers that he didn't recognize. "Is your captain always like that?" he asked. "Or has something really ticked him off today?"

He hoped the sailor wouldn't bite his head off like the captain had done--albeit silently. Regardless, though, there was no harm in being friendly, and Orion believed it important to make people feel welcome in Cliffport. He didn't care if they responded like the captain had--it was no skin off his back--but he hoped there would at least be one reasonable sailor on this boat.

Quatzal's really felt sorry for the woman, and he considered offering to buy her some food, but for now he felt it was best if he didn’t interfered, so he just stayed back and watched how the situation would develop. He also wondered who those armed humans were, and whey they seemed to want to interfere…

If there had been anything Gregor was certain of now, it would be that wearing all black on a day like today had been a very, very, very bad decision. The walk from temporary hidey-hole to hidey-hole had been laborious and without breeze, but he had no other options, having to leave but with the clothes on his back and what was left of his rations.

The very first thing he had noticed walking along the docks of Cliffport (after wandering the city a bit to get his bearings) had been what appeared to be a madwoman causing trouble with the local guard. She had been screeching something about food, and while this would have struck a sympathetic chord in most, Gregor had other things to worry about.

He probably wouldn't worry about it even if he wasn't on the lam.

But then a welcome sight greeted him; the Cliffport's Thieves guild. "Need protection from Thieves? Hire better Thieves!"

He chuckled inwardly about the coincidence of the statement and his situation, and made sure that his headband was tight over this horns and that his claws weren't ripping out of his gloves before stepping into the guild.

Introductions were in order.

Upon hearing that the short, mysterious man on the dock is angry at Orion, the human sailors on the ship recoil from the Tibatian in what appears to be fear, or even terror. Suddenly, a larger man with slightly more age than the others and wearing slightly finer and more elaborate clothing steps forward and speaks to Orion in a low voice. "Be glad that you don't know any more of this than you have to," he says as if giving a warning. Whether he is trying to threaten Orion or giving him friendly advice is not clear from the man's posture, but the apprehension in his voice is evident immediately.


Meanwhile, Gregor walks into the marked thieves' guild. It is different from any thieves' guild he has seen before in Damarin: while the building is nothing more than a converted wharehouse, the walls are adorned with a great many strange objects and trophies, many of them banners, symbols, or even medals from some source that Gregor cannot recognize. One is a banner or flag, attached to some medal with an unfamiliar sigil across it, the banner showing a white castle or a city silhouetted by a blue mountain behind it, with a red bird above the mountain flying upward to a blue star, all on a white field. Another is a golden medallion bearing two crossed daggers beneath a circlet, which has been inlaid intricately in silver upon the golden field. A third is an exquisitely-drawn map of what appears to be a temple, palace, or similar building, although the floorplan is unfamiliar. And, sitting on a pedestal, is a great purple gem set in intricate silverwork, which seems to shine with a radiance beyond what merely flows in through the windows and doors.

At the far end of the ante room sits a large wooden desk, upon which a fat-looking halfling sits on a chair with his legs propped up on the desk, evidently reading something on a sheet of paper. As Gregor enters, the halfling shifts his weight, removing his feet from the desk in a fluid gesture that implies that his surprising bulk may not be mostly fat after all. His eyes, the practiced eyes of a scoundrel, size up Gregor in moments, at least what Gregor lets be obviously apparent. "How can I help you?" asks the halfling in a half-innocent, yet half-knowing and playful, voice.


Outside, the three soldiers eye the woman as she looks up at them in terror. Finally, one of them speaks. "Yor wasting yor time laidy," he says with a thick, strange accent, although one strangely familiar somehow to Quatzal. "There aisaint much left of eye-ther Kloomby or Gasthura naiow, but that aisaint help to yer. Yer mait as well slit yor chaildrens' praitty throats, and then yorself. Yor not goaing to maike a laiving for yorself withoot straingth and arms, and yor not goaing to have eaither of those soon enoof." One of the other soldiers chuckles as the head one says this. The one who spoke shrugs, and then starts walking away. The woman spits at them as they walk, then places her head in her hands. One of the soldiers casts a threatening glance back at her, but just keeps walking.

Gregor gave a wide toothy smile to the halfling before putting his hand forward in anticipation for a hearty handshake.

"Well my friend, it might be me that could possibly help you. Hello, my name is Samsa, and I am a man of certain skills who is unfortunately without a job, and looking to help out your organization in any way that I can."

Orion's good humor quickly vanished at the man's words, and he grew serious. Part of him wanted to take the man's advice and just drop the subject, but at the same time, he knew he had a duty to investigate any source of contention and do what he could to help. He almost sighed inwardly, knowing that he could be making a very stupid move, but devoted to Malatar's teachings.

The paladin glanced at the sailor who had spoken. "If that is the case, are you sure there is nothing I can do to help? Clearly there is something going on here that has you all on edge." He spoke softly, not wanting the angry man on the dock to necessarily overhear and the situation to deteriorate. ((Diplomacy check: 15 +8=23))

As he spoke, he set down the last crate. If the sailors refused his help, he would leave; he had done his duty in simply offering it. Otherwise, there was still a chance that he might be able to help these men.

OOC: Funny, I missed BNC's post...

IC:

The halfling gets up and reaches his meaty hand across the table. "Welcome to Cliffport, then, Samsa," he says. "Now, a job, did you say? Interesting proposition indeed. As the sign says, we are a guild, and as a guild we require certain standards of our members. Both of quality and professionalism; making the clients happy means they come back and hire other members of the guild. So, what, shall we say, credentials do you have?" he asks in a knowing tone of voice.


On the barge, the sailor looks at Orion in a look that conveys concern for him as well as a certain amount of fear on his own part. "You have asked too much already," he responds in a low voice. Suddenly the sailor goes white. Orion suddenly senses a presence behind him - that of the old man. The stunted man whispers something, if it is a language, it is none that Orion is familiar with. A sense of dread seems to creep over him as the withered, stunted individual speaks, and then begins to step, haltingly, aside.

GM rolls something behind his screen.

A creeping sense of dread began to seep into Orion's heart, but he was a paladin, and he would never let fear rule over him. He turned to face the withered man who had glared at him so malevolently before as the man began to mutter again.

He reached down and put a hand on his sword, but didn't draw it. He wished he had his shield with him. Regardless, he didn't want this to come to a fight. What is he doing? Is he an enchanter of some kind? he wondered.

There was nothing for it but to wait and try to judge what the man was about to do and why, to see what his motives were, and if he was about to try to harm Orion or not.

((Sense Motive: roll 4 +7= 11. Ouch.))

Gregor rose an eyebrow in momentary confusion. "Credentials? Oh, you want me to prove that I'm capable. I understand. Well unfortunately I don't carry any kind of documentation on me, and I don't have anything nearly as fancy as the things adorning your walls. If you would like, I can prove my worth for you by doing some preliminary work."

He added another smile to his words, hoping to recover from his stupid stumble. Working with people had never been his strong suit, trying to stay to the shadows more than anything else; he just hoped that this guy didn't want him to perform a jig or sing a song.

Quatzal recognised one of the guards. It was a friend of Tauron, a nephew of Húrin that had helped Quatzal with some combat training a few years ago. This friend, Maglor was his name Quatzal now remembered, had sometimes helped Tauron train him. He stepped closer to Maglor and asked:
”Maglor, why is nobody helping that poor woman? And who was those human soldiers?"

The old man looks at the gruff man who talked to Orion. The gruff man nods, and begins speaking words in a tongue unfamiliar to the Tibatian. Several of the men begin grabbing ropes tied to various parts of the boat's mooring, and one of them rings a bell. The gruff man directs it - obviously, he is the captain, or the mate, or something. Every so often, he casts a glance back at Orion, as if imploring him to do something. Clearly, they are starting to get the barge underway...


Meanwhile, the halfling nods. "And something to demonstrate trust," he adds. He pauses for a moment. "Most of our trophies," he waves around the room, "come from the fact that our clients like us... and come back." He pauses. He looks "Samsa" up and down. "We have some jobs that we've been asked for, but normally, when clients pay for our services, they want someone they trust. What sort of things do you specialize in?"


One of the guards, perhaps on Quatzal's suggestion, bends down and hoists the cowering woman up onto her feet. Maglor steps forward. The soldier begins to talk to the woman in as soothing a fashion as possible, trying to explain to her that they don't want to punish her, but they can't really help her without her cooperation. She is clearly terrified, but adamant.

Meanwhile, Maglor leans close to Quatzal. "From what I gather, she stole some food earlier and just now got caught. She begs us not to arrest her or her kids will starve, but she refuses to tell us where her kids are, and doesn't seem to believe we would not mistreat them..." he tells the lizardman. He then shakes his head. "I don't know what colors those other soldiers are wearing. They arrived by boat last night. Somebody should keep an eye on them, make sure they're not up to no good, or that they leave again swiftly," he says.

Quatzal sensed a chance of adventure when Maglor said that somebody should keep an eye on those humans. He figured that that someone could as well be him. The humans would probably not suspect that he actually lived in Cliffport, but rather assume that he was an outsider like themselves. ”Thanks for the information” he said to Maglor. He then moved in the same direction as the humans, pretending that this was the way he had wanted to go all along.

OOC: Quatzal will follow the humans from a distance, seeing what they might be up to

Orion frowned as the barge began to move. He had no desire to be trapped onboard, nor to go for a swim. At the same time, there was clearly something wrong going on here, and from the pleading looks of the sailors, he could tell they wanted him to help.

The problem was he had no idea what he could do. He couldn't seem to communicate with the captain ((I mean the man who was angry and vicious before...I'm getting a little confused as to which one is which :-D)), and most of the sailors seemed jittery and unwilling to risk the captain's wrath by answering the paladin's questions. He had to decide quickly...

Taking a deep breath, he offered up a quick prayer to the Great Lion, asking for wisdom, guidance, and compassion. Then he stepped towards the gruff, angry captain, his hand on his sword, ready to respond instantly if the situation turned violent for any reason. "Captain," he said. "Clearly, there is something going on here that requires investigation. Your men are nervous and your actions have not been open or hospitable. I pray you, talk to me. I cannot in good conscience leave this vessel until I am sure that there are no illegal or unsafe actions occurring. If I must involve the Hylar, I will. But I am sure that if you be reasonable, we can come to an agreement."

He didn't know if the captain could understand him, but he was determined to try to communicate. Hopefully he hadn't just made a very stupid mistake.

[This message has been edited by BeNotConformed (edited 09-13-2010 @ 05:37 PM).]

Gregor decided that now was the time to begin to talk business, and curtly but politely replied, "Entry, Exit, Acquisition, all while remaining unseen." He crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one foot, giving an air of confidence. "And now that you know who I am, and what I look like, if I did wrong you in any way, I would find my time in Cliffport very short. Something I don't want. Charming place."

Sirius watched as the group started to split up. The situation seemed pretty much resolved, although the woman wasn't being helped directly. There wasn't anything Sirius could do about that anyway, of course, so the situation itself was starting to lose his interest. However, the lizardman he had spotted earlier was having a conversation with one of the guards, apparently in elvish, which Sirius could recognize but not understand. If I'm gonna keep travelin' like this, I best see ta learnin' ta speak at least Elvish, he figured.

Anyway, the lizardman was a bit more interesting than the woman, so he sauntered over to it. "Hullo, friend," he said. "I be new in town, but 'tis rare ta see a lizardfolk such as yerself, if ya don't mind me sayin'. I saw ye askin' about that woman... anythin' interestin'?"

The three soldiers walk away sullenly back to where they had been sitting when the woman started screaming. After a few minutes, they resume their card game, and, at first glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary apart from the immediately obvious three outlander men from some faraway land. But as they begin talking and joking, about the woman among other people, Quatzal is able to pick up a little of their conversation.

These three men are former soldiers, and evidently on the run, although they don't speak as if they are fearful of their superiors or former commanders coming after them. As for where they came from might be, they came down the Gentourin from the north, and are evidently a long way from home. The woman it seems they recognize as a citizen of the nation these soldiers were at war with, or in part - they show no pity whatsoever for her or her plight, but they don't really care enough to want to harm her either. Perhaps both their lands lost out to a third challenger? And then, catching Quatzal's waiting ear, one of them mentions some great, fallen, elven kingdom, somewhere in the north.

At that moment, though, an Eluchish man approaches Quatzal from behind, asking him if he has learned anything 'interesting'...



Meanwhile, the halfling smiles. "Good," he says. There is a gleam in his brown eyes that Gregor can't quite place. He then reaches under his desk and pulls out a book, and opens to a green bookmark, and then counts backwards several pages, before turning the book around and showing what is on the page to Gregor. "I can think of several things you could do," he says. "But a man came in earlier this morning asking about this object," he says. On the page there is what looks like a stylized idol of a winged figure of indeterminate race, although the figure's shape clearly belies it to be female. "It would be made out of wood, and be about so tall," the halfling says, holding his hand about a foot and a half off of the desk. "And supposedly it's in a wharehouse, three blocks down and two blocks inland, against the cliff, with a red circular sign on the door. Someone went looking for it earlier this morning before light, but strangely is not back yet: if you encounter him, call him to reveal his sign," the halfling points to one of the symbols emblazoned on the cross-beam over his head, of a diamond with a red bottom and a white top. "If you can find out what has happened, that should establish your skill aplenty..."



On the boat, the old man casts his menacing glare at Orion again, and then looks at the burly gruff man, who nods silently. "Come over here, please," the burly man says to Orion, heading into the ship's hold.

[This message has been edited by Beren V (edited 09-15-2010 @ 11:31 PM).]

Orion nodded. He didn't quite feel safe, per se, but he had determined to see this through. He didn't relax his guard--and seriously, none of the sailors could expect him to--but he nevertheless followed the man to the hold.

As he did so, he wondered for a split second what his master would say. But he pushed the thought aside. While he was loyal to his master, this was a matter of honor.

Gregor nodded to the halfling after examining the picture a few more times as well as the symbol. "So does this individual respond to red-white diamond? Also, is there any guard the individual knew about before they went?"

The job seemed easy enough, but that just meant it would be harder than what it appeared.

Listing to the men believes that they can only refer to the old kingdom of the Hylar. Could it be possible that these humans had come from lands south of the old Hylar kingdom? Could it be that the evil forces that had overwhelmed the Hylar was coming south to attack them again? Taking any lands that was in the in the way?

Quatzal was a little surprised when the Eluchish man approached him and asked about the woman.
”She tried to steal some food to feed her starving children, and when she was captured she feared that the guards would jail her and her children starve to death…” A thought came to Quatzal; perhaps he could help the woman, and then ask her about where she was from? Unfortunately his appearance would likely make her even more scared of him than of the guards… But perhaps this Eluchish man could help… he seemed like the type that could get a scared woman to trust him.
”Actually” he continued ”I would like to help the woman by buying her some food, and then hopefully get her to answer some questions about her homeland… But I fear that she would be even more scared of me than she is of the guards, so perhaps you could help me with that? I bet you could clam her down easily enough…”

OOC: Lighthawk, I'm going to let you and TOE discuss what you're going to do before putting more narration on your characters.


IC:

Orion is led down a stairwell into the ship's hold, where there are three other men who show him a pile of crates. As he begins to look at them, however, the men suddenly jump at him, three of them drawing saps!

~~~Round 1~~~

map

New Enemies:

Gruff man (C)
Level 3 Expert
Sap*, no armor
Str 14, Dex 13, Con 11, Int ?, Wis ?, Cha 11
Wounds 15, Vitality 10
Base AC 10, AC 17
Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +4, "Wound" +1 (+ Wounds / 4)

Sailors (S)
Level 1 Expert
Sap* (S1, S3), or unarmed (S2, S4)
Str 12, Dex 11, Con 11, Int ?, Wis ?, Cha 9
Wounds 12, Vitality 4
Base AC 10, AC 12
Fort +0, Ref +0, Will -1, "Wound" +0 (+ Wounds / 4)

*A sap is a bludgeoning weapon that causes d4 + Str modifier in nonlethal damage (nonlethal damage to vitality is treated as normal damage, but nonlethal damage to wounds is still nonlethal. Being "killed" by nonlethal damage results in being knocked unconscious but not dying or otherwise in mortal danger)

(HP are given as Wounds/Vitality, AC as Base/Actual)

Progagonists
Orion 23/17, AC 12/21

Antagonists
C 15/10, 10/17
S1 12/4, AC 10/12
S2 12/4, AC 10/12
S3 12/4, AC 10/12
S4 12/4, AC 10/12


***

The halfling leans back, and looks at Gregor with a disappointed look on his face, then looks less upset. "Yes, he will respond, but he also has that sign, so you will know who he is." He pauses. "Nope, no guard, that I know of. Doesn't mean there are none, though," he says, smirking. There is a twinkle in his eye.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at the lizardman's explanation, then request. He actually had about 10 gold in his pockets, himself, enough to buy a feast. It hadn't occured to him simply to buy the woman food, but that was probably because it wouldn't actually solve the situation. There had once been an old saying about giving a man a fish.... Unfortunately, Sirius didn't see any permanent solution, and figured that this was the least that he or the lizardman could do.

He nodded. "Aye, I'll have a word wit' 'er on yer behaf'," he said.

He followed words with action and approached the woman carefully. "Hullo, miss," he said in a friendly manner. "I dinnae fail ta notice tha' yer in a bit o' a tight spa. Meself and me friend tha lizardman thar was wonderin' if we could give ye a hand, buy ye a meal 'r somethin' ta help. We be na soldiers."

(Diplomacy 13+10=23) The words came smoothly, and Tirius was pretty certain he had come off as sincere as he felt. He hoped the woman wouldn't be too wary of his armor and weapons.

[This message has been edited by that one Elf (edited 09-21-2010 @ 09:54 AM).]

His sword was in his hand in a heartbeat, his highly trained reflexes enough to save his life and keep him on his feet as the men jumped him. He raised his chin. "So be it, then."

He was surrounded, but hopefully he could keep them off his back. He could only deal with one attacker at a time; it would have to be enough. "In the name of the Great Lion!" he cried, and brought his sword down towards the sailor.

((Orion attacks S1 with his sword. 6 +7=13. Hit on actual AC. 6 +3 =9 wound damage to S1. S1 makes a saving throw against DC 14 [5+9] with a +0 bonus [0 Fort+0 armor+3/4=0 wound points]. He rolls a 10. S1 is dying.))

The sailor cried out and dropped down easily. Orion was taken aback. He hadn't meant to deal the man a lethal blow. He had no proof that these men deserved death; in fact, he believed them to be stuck as a part of something that they didn't have a choice about. He immediately sheathed his sword. "I will defend myself, but I don't bear any of you ill feelings. Put down your weapons, let me heal your friend, and let's talk this out. We don't have to be enemies."

He hoped they would listen. If they didn't, his paladin code obliged him to defend himself, and the fallen man's sap was within his reach. But he wouldn't make the same mistake of using his sword again unless he had to. These men were obviously not made of strong stuff.

[This message has been edited by BeNotConformed (edited 09-29-2010 @ 07:42 PM).]

OOC: You may have noticed that I'm still swamped - sorry for the delay!

IC:

The soldiers glance up at Quatzal and Sirius periodically, but don't seem to be paying them a whole lot of mind. It isn't a matter of obliviousness, but apathy for the woman's plight.

Sirius is just in time to see the woman being led by the guards into the barracks. As he approaches, carefully, one of the guards invites him in. The woman has been seated at a bench, and a bowl of porridge with the occasional walnut is in front of her. She is hesitant, not knowing whether to eat the food or not. She does look up when Sirius enters and adresses her.

Her eyes widen in what has to be shock as Sirius offers to buy her an additional meal. She stammers for a moment. "I... actually... matter to you? To the people here..." she says. She then swallows, and suddenly her demeanor becomes intent. "I don't care about me. Please... my children..."

The elven guard watching this straightens himself up and takes a step back.

Sirius was a little surprised that the soldiers had given her a meal after all the fuss that led to them nearly arresting her. It was good to see that the system wasn't completely unjust. Stranger to him was the guard's reaction when the woman mentioned her children--much stranger than the request, as it was quite understandable that she would want to look out for her family when she had a meal herself.

"Of course ye matter, lass, as a livin', breathin' human bein'," he said encouragingly. "An' me offer stands for yer children, too. D'ye mind tellin' me where I c'n find 'em? Me an' tha lizard'll head over thar fort'wit'."

He was guessing that the guard's issue with the children would come out quickly if he got the woman to talk about them. He wondered if they were the real issue here--perhaps they were criminals? Sirius tried to guess the woman's age and thus the age of her children.

OOC: I'm sick, sorry for (yet another) delay.

IC:

Sirius isn't easily able to guess the woman's age - she could be anywhere from middle twenties up to forty. Right now, she looks closer to the latter, but it's also clear that she is starving or is nearly so, and would for that reason appear older than she is. But at the same time, it's also clear that she was once healthy, which would serve to make her appear younger.

The woman shivers as she takes another look at the porridge. She glances at the guard, and then whispers to Sirius. "Do you trust them?" she whispers, indicating the guards. "Are they going to sell me into slavery? I'll never lead them to my children."

[This message has been edited by Beren V (edited 09-28-2010 @ 03:42 PM).]