Heey everyone, hope to get into some nice RPGing with you guys.
Tijminator sat in front of his computer. It's cold he though. Outside, the faint noise of a car could be heard. A MSN window popped up, a guy from school asked if he could come. "Zometeen, ik ben even bezig." he replied. I'll just check the new posts on Druchii.net and go. As he checked, he saw a new topic in the Role Playing Forum. It mentioned Group 10. Then it will start...
Tijminator will post, and hope the way he writes his post is understanable and will not annoy any of the peaple in his group or his mod. If the way he posts isn't clear, he will ask for advice, and react according to that advice. If it is clear, he will just keep posting like this. He will also hope to fight Beastmen or Orcs . He will most definitely try to make this some good roleplaying.
Hey! I was starting to think Group ten had been forgotten! I'm excited to get going and meet my fellow RPGers.
I'm new to the online RPG thing as well, Tijminator, so you won't be alone in learning the ropes. If any veterans want to share some tips for a long and funfilled career, feel free to PM me.
I hope everyone checks in quick so our adventure can get rollin!
Branthon Dalreck
Class: Warrior
Stats: WS-4, S-4, T-5, D-3, I-2
6'2", 160lbs, 98 years old
Greetings to those who are present and those who will make their introductions at a later date. It's certainly a joy for me to take part in a new RP group. As some of you may already or may not know, I took part in the as of now closed Group 2, so I'm somewhat knowledgeable of how the rp's work around here, however I still may yet be surprised, for who knows what's been changed over the time since? I suppose the only way to find out is play along!
My only advice to those who are new here is do your best, don't try to take control of the rp (in other words, if someone's attacking you, do not say you are deflecting his attacks or killing him/her in your post, that's why the DM is there, people, just type what you're attempting to or going to do and the DM will handle the rest), have patience (mainly cause the time it takes for these things to get moving along can be a strain on a person's willpower at times), put as much effort into what you write as possible, and in general, have fun.
OOC: Thanks for your concern. PM received from Darmort. Noble Korhedron reporting for duty, and yeah, it does mean 'In Character' and 'Out of Character'.
So, almighty GM, as the Dubs say;
'What's da story!?'.
Noble Korhedron was dissapointed with his last RP. He thinks he will follow High Executioner Kalus' advice and not try to take control of anything. He will try to take a back seat and not get himself into any new sticky situations in Group 10.
I apologize if I'm breaking silence or the message may be a bit rude, but the fact of the matter is the wait for our last member for this group to call in is becoming somewhat taxing on getting this Group going. I sincerely hope that either our last member falls in, or we simply move on.
Yeah, I agree with Kalus, maybe we should just start and let Khaine's Chosen Newb just 'fall' into the story if he gets ready...
Darmort: You did check if the PM was really sent? Sometimes there's a fault in the send-thing, that makes them disapprear halfway. Had that some time ago too...
I've been starting to have the same idea. I would ahve thought with all the people lined up in the character creation forum that starting new RPG's would go like clockwork. Hopefully Khaine's Chosen Newb is settling into school routine or whatever has kept him from the forums and will be checking in soon.
IC:
Branthon stood waiting, shield slung over his shoulder. He leaned back, letting his wide, thin shoulders rest against the wall of alleyway. His lord Tassonath had been more vague than usual about the task he was being sent on and curiosity was beginning to get the better of him. He sighed heavily and prayed to Khaine again that the informant he was supposed to meet would show up soon, standing around in the dank alley was getting tedious.
Branthon rubbed the thick ropy scar on his forehead and thought back to make sure he had gone indeed to the right place. Past the Old Forum pleasure den, take a left at the Missing Player pub, down three blocks to the abandoned Khaine's Chosen Brewery, another left turn, then a right into the second alley between the warehouses. He was in the right spot, so where was this elf he was supposed to meet? He sighed again and looked up at the dark night sky. Thick dull clouds blocked out the stars and the smell of rain was heavy on the light seabreeze flowing up from the dockyards.
With a grunt, he cursed the reeking filth under his boots, the corner of his cloak had accidently dipped into a scummy puddle and would have to be burnt if the coming rain didn't rid it of the alley's smell.
Thunder boomed somewhere beyond the walls of the city and rolled down the city streets. The wind was picking up and starting to howl past the alley's entrance. Branthon kept his eye on both ends of the cramped little street, watching for the messenger who would bring him word of his mission. He tugged his soiled cloak tighter around his body, feeling the ache in the old scars on his chest and brow that alwasy preceded a cold hard rain.
White lighting cracked the sky open overhead like some huge bowl, spilling down hard sheets of cold raindrops.
"Greetings." A sneering voice said out of the darkness.
Branthon spun quickly to face the voice of whoever had slunk into the alley. The rain palstered his brown hair to his forehead and ran down into his dark eyes, obscuring what the rain and night didn't already hide. Branthon's left hand found his sword sheath under his cloak, and his fingers slowly slid up the scrollwork of the leather. His right hand was slowly inching alnong is belt towards the pommel of his longsword. It wasn't the first time he had run into a dark, unfreindly figure in an alley.
The figure stood motinless in the center of the alley's entrance, letting the rain course down it's deep hooded cloak. Snarling, Branthon opened his mouth to question the shadowy elf, but before a word left his lips, the stranger spoke again in a commanding tone " I have a message for you."
OOC: Just something to keep me occupied, hope you guys like it.
That's nice writing, Musashi, very nice indeed. But let's keep the story to Darmort, shall we? -- Tarbo
Branthon Dalreck
Class: Warrior
Stats: WS-4, S-4, T-5, D-3, I-2
6'2", 160lbs, 98 years old
High Executioner Kalus wrote:I apologize if I'm breaking silence or the message may be a bit rude, but the fact of the matter is the wait for our last member for this group to call in is becoming somewhat taxing on getting this Group going. I sincerely hope that either our last member falls in, or we simply move on.
Regretfully, Noble Korhedron must agree with Malus. Darmort, please, let's get going? I thought it would be me holding up the group, rather than somone else?!
Indeed. I would have posted on Saturday if I had gotten back home sooner, and on Sunday I was to busy with other things... regardless, let's play... Group 10!
Khaine's Chosen Newb - Send me a PM when you get around to read this, please, to let me know what's kept you.
In a dark alley where unknown sell-swords looking for work go, many a bounty has been found. This night, the alley is empty, except for three figures dressed in full black cloaks with hoods up, each of them wearing black cloth and the seal of a Manticore upon the blade pommels, the weapon dangling at their hips, next to a pouch of bolts. One can only assume that each has a crossbow of some kind hidden upon their person. Each one looks at the passers by, and every so often, they beckon one into the alley, until four are gathered within, a group of sell-swords, each of them eager to earn their weight in salt.
Eventually, after a few hours of watching the streets, the four bounty hunters turn to you, and at first you believe that you are their targets, before one by one they pull their hoods down to reveal their faces. Each of them is bald, the symbol of a Manticore tattooed upon his forehead in black ink, contrasting with their oddly pale flesh. The centre one smiles. "You'll do nicely for our purposes. Sorry for... ah... conscripting you the way we did, but it's either you take our mission, or we'll make work very hard around this city for you, and believe me, you do not want that in this hive of mercenaries. My name is Sebelthor, and this is Falanor and Ditrikh, my companion bounty hunters. Recently, we have taken it upon ourselves to track down beastmen in the forests, but as of late, they seem to be heading north towards the Watch Towers and past them into the Chaos Wastes. As such, Lord Keluloth has put out a five crown bounty for each beastman head, six if we bring proof of a leader. Now, what say you, mercenaries?!
Well, this is less an impacting introductory post than I would have hoped... damn fifteen minute jobs... you'll get a better one later on, possibly Thursday or Friday. Promise.
OOC: So my hopes of killing Beastmen are fullfilled… This promises to become a bloody, gory story. What’s there more to want? This is just a 'test' post, I don't expect combat to happen now already, and neaither do I expect fleeing. It's only practice...
IC:
Ar’Khale was walking through the dark streets of Vikarh, thinking about his problems. He had only just got away with his last job, and he was totally out of money, and he had no place to stay. It was cold. He pulled his hood over his face, but it didn’t really keep out the cold. He heard a whistling sound to the left of him. He was beckoned into a even darker alley by a Druchii, wearing dark clothes and hoods. He stopped. This could mean a job, or it could mean a Temple mercenary had found him and was ready to kill him. If I go into that alley, nobody on the street will be able to see what happens. They are with at least three, and I am alone. Better make sure they don’t kill me unnoticed. He quickly made a decision. Waling into the alley, he checked if his trustworthy sword was loose in it’s scabbard, and he looked for possible routes of escape.
He stepped into the shadow of the wall. Taking a good look of the Druchii in front of him, he saw a group of warriors, geared for battle. Seen from the uniform weapons and clothes, he guessed they where considerable wealthy. They’ll get me a nice price I guess… He wondered if he had seen this Manticore somewhere before. He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t look very familiar. Breaking the silence, he asked:
’What do you want?’
Ar’Khale will enter the alley, but will flee if the Druchii make any threatening moves. If fleeing is utterly impossible, he will fight. He will try to avoid all attacks made against him, and he will stab if he sees an opening, making sure he doesn’t overextend, making him vulnerable to a counterattack. He will only fight if all other options have been eliminated, as he knows he is very unlikely to win.
If the Druchii don’t make any threatening moves, he will speak with them, listening to what they have to say. If they offer him the price of five [5] gold crowns. If hey offer less than four [4], he will try to get it up at almost all costs.
If they have shown their faces and told their name, he will show his face, and tell them his name. He won’t tell them any excess information about himself. If any others arrive, he will check if they look very devoted to Khaine. If they do, it’ll make him suspect them of everything bad that’ll happen during this mission. To all others, he’ll take a neutral but distanced (That’s the word?) stance.
OOC: It's great to get started! I'm pretty excited about this whole thing and look forward to a blood soaked adventure.
IC:
The message from the mysterious figure in the alley had been simple but unsatisfying. The rain drenched shadowy elf had told him to go to a certain street and walk along untill he was contacted by a group of elfs bearing the sign of the manticore. Apparently he was to listen to thier proposal and aid them if he thought their offer would be of use to his Lord Tassonath. Before he could ask any questions to the messenger, it had truned and strode out into the night, disappearing down the gloomy city street.
As the messenger had said, he had been called into another alley and found a small group wiaiting, bearing the sign of the manticore. Wary, Branthon wited for them to make thier offer and nodded when they did. Though he didn't like the depths of secrecy that surrounded his mission, it was probably Tassonath's wish that he have some represntative helping this obviously well off group. The manticore was something he had great respect for, held as an aspect of the almighty Khaine, and as a symbol of strength, seeing this symbol being held in such esteem by Sebelthor's group convinced him to enter thier service. He shrugged his armor into a more comfortable position and spoke queitly:
"I'll join your little hunting expedidition, but not for your price. My sword will cost five for each cursed beastman head, plus another gold peice for my lord. My life is useful to him, and I have heard much of the horrid monsters and enemies that stalk among the northern wastes."
He was silent a moment as another thought occured to him,
"I'll need to know more of your group too, who do you serve? And what gaurantee do we have that you'll not slit our throats out in the wastes when you've slaughtered your fill of beastmen?"
Warily, he eyed the leader of the manticore wearers for any sign of weakness or deception in his response.
OOC: hope that wasn't too long winded. Let me know of anything I should fix for posting next time.
Branthon Dalreck
Class: Warrior
Stats: WS-4, S-4, T-5, D-3, I-2
6'2", 160lbs, 98 years old
IC: Noble Korhedron thought to himself. Hmmm, if we accept, we get 5gc for every beastman head, if we refuse, we survive, but will have trouble finding work? I think I'll accept. He turned to Sebelthor. "I accept your lord's bounty. Beastman blood is still blood, and they are formidable opponents to test our skills against. Them, and the marauders of those wastes. BLOOD FOR KHAINE'S CUP!".
OOC:Noble Korhedron decides to join the other members of his party in accepting the mission, and wonders what patrolling the Watchtowers tractless sourrounds will be like. He is looking forward to offering some beastman blood to Khaine!
Maen'Shalar couldn't help but twitch his fingers in frustration as he meandered in an almost aimless manner through the rain soaked streets of what he simply viewed as another drab city of his people, his expression morose and flat, something that he felt quite often when thinking of how his life had turned out so far. He was cold, almost thoroughly drenched by the rain if it weren't for the Sea Dragon Cloak he had managed to hold onto after his resignation, along with the other gear he had been given as standard issue during his time as a corsair, deprived of most of his bounty earnings from the past whether from the lure of women, drink, or other base pleasures, business was almost dead in this city in spite of its supposedly large number of mercenaries, and to top it all off, mad as hell at his family, wanting nothing more than to carve into each of their black hearts and feast upon them as they watched helplessly.
His cloak and shield were hitched up over his head, offering him some respite from the rain that almost seemed as if to mock his rotten misfortune despite the annoying patter of droplets banging off his shield like thousands of miniature projectiles, gray eyes shifting about nervously beneath his cloak for any sudden movements, one of his hands almost constantly near the hilt of his sword. The last attempt on his life had failed, but only narrowly and by the largest stroke of luck had he escaped, and by all accounts and rumor's he had heard as he assumed the alias Kastov, the assassin was still on his trail. Maen would've normally discarded his clothing in favor of something that would grant him greater discretion, however for the first time in his entire life, he had become tired of running, weary of constantly looking in every direction for the trace of an assassin's cloak or the gleam of one's dagger. Vengeance was the goal now, but it would be a long and arduous road, and one that'd he'd most likely die along, but the prize was worth it, reflected Maen'Shalar with grim satisfaction. Whether he lived or died, he would be happy in the end.
Maen'Shalar couldn't help but catch a glimpse of a beckoning hand from one of the alley ways. Normally it was more than a blatantly obvious sign for Maen to keep walking, but whether it be morbid curiosity or sheer desperation, Maen turned slowly in the direction of the figure hidden beyond the shadowy veil of the alley, his boots reflecting his cautious nature as they slowly advanced across the cobbled streets, creating silent reverberations through some of the small puddle's whose tranquility had been disturbed.
His hands twitched beneath his cloak in an almost mad dance, his body forcing itself to remain relaxed in spite of the tense, heavy, almost threatening atmosphere, cold sweat beading across his pale forehead as he made his way through the winding alley ways that briefly sparked fond memories of childhood adventures, also noting other figures, mercenaries like himself no doubt, that followed ahead and behind him as well, finally ending his journey as he came upon a small clearing, greeted by three peculiar individuals, each bearing a manticore seal upon the pommel's of their weapons as well as their ghostly pale forehead's, each of them smiling in turn.
Maen'Shalar kept his shield above him as well as hitching his cloak over his head, listening intently to what their newfound "employer", Sebelthor, had to say in defense of luring them into what was quickly shaping up as a setup rather than an opportunity. Despite all his years in and out of mercenary groups and various social circles, Maen'Shalar couldn't help but silently grit his teeth as the symbol his "employer's" bore, as well as the name of this Lord Keluloth, both eluded him. It was discomforting to say the least, but than again there was an air of intrigue about it, both because of the mission itself and the identity of his employers, and who knew, there may be a chance to gain a foothold in his ulterior agenda's. For now he'd play his part in whatever scheme was afoot, but would find sooner or later the truth behind this matter whether it be presented to him foolishly by his employers, or by his own devices.
As their employer's wrapped up their speech, despite the numerous questions popping up in his head, he remained silent, only nodding and replying with a gruff "I'll take the hunt.", taking the moment's time to measure up each of the mercenaries who would for the time being be his team mates for the duration of this trip, judging two amongst the group to be shades due to their apparel, and one of them a warrior like himself, but who they each truly were, only time would tell, reflected Maen'Shalar.
Ar'Khale: The Druchii make no threatening move and offer you the job. You can accept and gain the possible notice of Lord Keloloth, or not and find work very difficult.
Branhon: "All in good time," said Sebelthor. "And as I said, we work for Lord Keloloth, of one of the Watch Towers. He wishes beastmen scalps, and we'll give them to him in return for our rightful earnings. And as you wish, you will get a crown for your Lordling." Sebelthor smirked. "You have no proof that we won't; we are Druchii hunters, and we honour our words... provided none of you turn out to be against our Lords and Masters, the great Malekith and the Bloody Handed One."
Korhedron: "Indeed, blood for Khaine's cup indeed. You'll do nicely hunting down the beastmen scum."
Maen: "Then welcome aboard, Corsair. A wise choice indeed."
Sebelthor looks at each of you for a time, then asks. "Any questions before we leave?"
OOCHeh, I guess Noble Korhedron and I will get into some high-tension situations, seen his devotion to Khaine...
Hmm, so far I guess this story will contain blood, blood, gore and violence, infighting, intrigue and betrayal. Bound to be fun
IC:
Ar’Khale stood in the alley. He thought over his options.
If I accept, I’ll have work for the coming few weeks, maybe more. If I don’t, I won’t get killed, but mercenary’s are plenty, and paymasters aren’t in here. Also, more and more people seemed to get to know about his little conflict with that Noble, even though it was some time ago already. He was tired of hiding and using all kinds of names he could hardly memorize. He needed to get out of here, and it needed to be fast.
“I will accept you offer. You can count on my sword, crossbow and skills to sweep all of those vile Beastmen before us.”
He looked around to the other people who had gathered around after his ‘recruitment’. He saw someone he classified as a Shade, a warrior who clearly had not been very lucky in previous battles, judging from his impressive amount of scars and missing finger, a warrior in a rare kind of armour. While he looked around, another figure was beckoned. It was a Corsair whose hair was nearly as short as that if the elves who recruited him. The Corsair looked particularly nervous, and Ar’Khale couldn’t hold that against him.
Sebelthor offered him a job, and Ar’Khale quickly considered the option. Seen none of the crazed devotees of Khaine where present, he accepted the mission.
Hearing the tall warrior shouting about Khaine and blood, he sighed. Maybe there are some of those religious zealots in the middle of us. I’ll keep an eye on him as often as I can.
“I am Ar’Khale,” he declared. “what are your names?”
Ar’Khale will accept the mission, and he will follow Sebelthor to wherever he will lead him. If the other mercenaries have presented themselves, he will memorize the names, and remain silent unless someone asks him something.
"I'm glad you've agreed to my prices, and remember I'll be waiting for the extra gold peices for my lord at the end of the hunt. But understand this: betray me and my sword will taste druchii blood as well as beastman. You may slit my throat, but you'll pay for it in pain."
Branthon had no mind for convoluted plots and shadowy layered mysteries and his curiosity overcame his intention to speak as little as possible.
"I'll hunt with you and your group but I must be told why you wear the manticore upon yourselves so promenintly."
Branthon looked at the motley group of mercenaries gathered in the alley and rested his tensed hands on the buckle of his sword belt, it looked as if he wouldn't have to draw his blade against them this night. The group looked rough and spoiling for a fight. The mercenary with the crossbow, a shade from out in the mountains somewhere from the looks of him, spoke, asking for the names of the rest of thier new hunting party.
With a grunt and sneer, Branthon turned and made a slight bow in greeting,
"I am called Branthon, of the Dalreks of outer Clar Karond, in the service of my Lord Tassonath."
At the mention of his lord's name, he let his eyes sweep across the assembeled fighters, seeking some hint of recognition, but saw none. If they knew anything concerning the minor lord, they did not betray it. This confused him but it was not his place to delve too deeply into the machinations of his superiors. It was better that he keep his mind on the task at hand for the moment.
Branthon Dalreck
Class: Warrior
Stats: WS-4, S-4, T-5, D-3, I-2
6'2", 160lbs, 98 years old
Maen felt inclined to ask about the nature of the symbol that his employers wore, but smiled underneath his cloak as the question was already provided by one of his team mates, the one named Branthon. "Name's Kastov," replied Maen in response to Ar'Khale's inquiry, before turning to his employer's again as he said, "and yes, I have some questions," clearing up his throat before resuming. "Do you have anything that might aid us, such as a map that might direct us to roughly accurate locations of this particular herd's feeding grounds, shrines and the like, or will you be providing us a guide with aforementioned knowledge? Also, do you have an accurate description entailing as to how large this particular herd you've been hunting is, does it have a shaman amongst its flock, perhaps any particular tactics this herd might employ, and do they know that you are hunting them?"
He was surprised that neither of the shade's amongst his group were asking these questions, but than again, why would they? They were masters of the wood and mountain, unparalleled trackers who undoubtedly would be able to aid them in guiding their way through the perils of the wilderness better than any map. However, Maen had yet to see the capabilities of the two shade's in their midst, and he'd be damned before going into a battle blindly without some foresight of what to expect.
Sebelthor grinned at Ar'khale. "Excellent, we'll get along well then."
The bounty hunter turned to Branthon. "Fine by me, just be warned though that if you think that you can best any one of us, then you'd best think again. Now, the manticore signia is the sign of the Lord Keluloth, his mark, if you will. We are under his permanent payment and with that, his permanent service also."
The bounty hunter nodded in Korhedron's direction. "That is correct. A leader would claim six coins."
The bounty hunter frowned at Maen. "Now I don't know of any map, but heading North will be our best option, as that is where they're going. We have no idea how large the herd is, or whether the herds we'll run into are the same herd we're hunting, but rest assured, the more beastmen we run into, the more coin we claim from our beloved Lord. As far as we're aware, there are no shaman's amongst them. Yet. Should they reach the Wastes, then no doubt they'll find one before too long. We also do not know their tactics, and we do not know what they know. Do you expect that if we knew this information we would hire more mercenaries to share our coin with?" Sebelthor spat Maen's feet. "Fool," he hissed. "Now, if there are no more questions, then we will proceed at eve. For some advance payment, each of you may take this so that you may sleep in whatever pit you wish, or rearm yourselves with the furs so you can travel. Meet at midnight by the city gates." One of the bounty hunters withdrew four pouches, and dropped them, before kicking them towards you. You hear the distinct tinkling of coin in the pouches, and when you open them, you see that there are forty coins within each pouch.
OOC - Shopping spree! XD Go ahead and get some rest. It's approximately 14:00 right now, so you've got ten hours to waste and spend that coin, or invest or save it, or do whatever you like. If you try haggling with anyone, well, I think that'll involve a post from your beloved GM. Have fun. I'll post during the half term, possibly Monday or Tuesday, but for now, have ten hours to yourself.
"The only fool is the one who goes into a battle without knowledge of the enemy and what to expect, dear employer, so please bear with me if I have enough common sense to consider these sort of possibilities" said Maen in a quiet and contemptive tone to his departing employers, just a bit below their range of hearing, but enough for his mercenary partners to hear, regarding the slightly wet bag full of gold at his feet for a moment before crouching down to grasp it with cautious fingers, peering into the bag and examining its contents. Nodding with satisfaction, Maen stood up slowly, strapping the damp pouch securely on his belt, adjusting his sea dragon cloak in order for his small fortune to remain hidden from prying eyes of thieves.
Without another word, Maen turned towards the exit out of the alleyways, heading through the murky streets in the direction of the nearest armory, hoping to find what he'd need to add in order to stand a better chance for the battles to come.
Maen will head to the weapons shop (or armory, whatever you call it) in order to find either a shortsword or a repeater crossbow, or both, and if possible, purchase one or the other (more likely the repeater crossbow).
Hmm… Looks like they don’t have a lot of information, or they are unlikely to share it with is. I don’t really trust them, but then again, trusting a mercenary is like trusting a rat. Just don’t. Hearing one of his colleagues mutter something about the foolishness of this mission, he silently agreed. His employers had a strange altitude towards this hunt.
Maybe they are bounty hunters, looking to please the Temple by bringing them my head… Seems not though. He saw the Corsair pick up the bag of gold, look in it, and from the look on his face, he was content with what was inside. Ar’Khale picked up the bag by the thread on a way hidden needles couldn’t hurt him, and opened it. He saw no hidden blades, and tucked the money in his sash. Looking at the disappearing employers, he walked after the Corsair. Heading for the market, he thought of what would be useful for this particular mission.
A small dagger, maybe some throwing knifes. Ar’Khale headed for the markets. As he reached them, the usual chitchat came drifting his way. Seeing he had about ten hours until his appointment, he started looking around here and there.
Ar’Khale will head to the markets, and if he finds some throwing knifes or a dagger, nibble of as much of the price as possible. If he doesn’t find one, he will head for the armoury, and buy one there.
OOC: I assume I have enough bolts for this mission? If not, he will buy more ammunition instead of a knife.
OOC: Yaaah! Shopping spree!
OK, considering this carefully, I am deciding I will try and puchase the following(the order is of preference. I only want to buy one of the weapons): * RxB with ammo * Draich * Medical supplies * Food * Warm clothing
IC: Korhedron thought to himself. 'Hmmm, I wonder what these mercenaries will be like. Oh, well, worry about that later! Looks like I've got some haggling to do. I think either a Draich or RxB will be a good weapon to have along, but which to choose? Also some medical supplies, extra food and warm furs.'.
Korhedron turned to Ar'Khale, Maen and Branthon. "Shall we go and search together? We may have more success bargaining collectively".
Lapsing into daydreams, he awaited their responses.
. He will most definitely try to make this some good roleplaying.
Had that some time ago too...
