Minigrift wrote:The hooded male with albino eyes appeared from the coiled mist which had instantly manifested out of thin air. The elf was dressed from head to toe in black leather and had so many daggers stashed about his person it was a wonder he wasn't accompanied by a chiming musical score. He was an assassin, that much was obvious. His eyes were completely white and his mouth was covered with a black mask. He greeted with a nod from several metres away and held out a sealed envelope, ready to be taken from his grasp.
The letter reads:
As Drachua and ruler of Noble House and the city of Everain, you have been summoned to counsel with me and my inner circle. Make haste, for time is of the essence. You will find me at the city hall. Let my messenger know you accept my invitation and he will transport you here.
Regards
_______________________________________________________________________________
The letter is addressed to your character - I sent the same PM to everyone so couldn't add individual names. The letter will also be delivered when your character is alone so there are no witnesses to the exchange. Your character accepts, obviously (he'll kill them if they don't ) and the messenger will then transport you to the city.
The city hall is your characters destination
Have fun!
MG
The city of Everain was well known for it's miserable climate, but this night was particularly vicious. Lashes of rain bounced off the walls and pavements, and cascaded down the roofs of of the buildings in unending rivulets. Dark, foreboding clouds swirled thickly in the night sky and the occasional, yet persistent, rumble of thunder reverberated through the night. The wind howled in morbid song, relentless, unmerciful, battering against the two melancholy guards huddled up against the barred southern gates of the city.
Two guards, dressed in furs, sea dragon cloaks and the medium armour of the city watch, looked out along the South road leading into the country side. Both held halberds close to their chests, as if seeking some small comfort from the unceasing weather. One spotted a figure approaching the city then stared to his companion until he noticed the stranger as well. They waited. When the robed and hooded elf was ten or so foot away the first guard walked out to greet him.
"Traveller, Everain is closed. Don't you know there is a plague sweeping across the countryside? We also have, ah, troubles with restless souls and the Drachau of the city has ordered no one to enter - or leave. What is your business here?" The second guard moved up to stand at the opposite side of the road to the first, he loosened his halberd threateningly but made no other move towards the stranger.
* * * * *
In the north-eastern section of Everain another portal appeared and a dark-cloaked mage stepped out, only to fall, stumbling forward onto his knees and be violently sick into the drenched grass. His crystal-topped staff tumbled out after him. The dark figure of the assassin stepped out after him and lingered just long enough to grin at the sight before stepping back into the portal. Both he and the portal disappeared in an instant.
The mage, still feeling groggy from his impromptu journey through the magical portal, could ascertain his whereabouts well enough and, looking up over the garden wall, could see the high-spire of the city hall rising up from the centre of the city like a giants spear. A destitute house with shattered windows stood behind him - it was clearly, once upon a time, a house which belonged to a noble. There was no signs of any residents, or indeed, any life whatsoever. The garden gate was up ahead, leading out onto a cobbled street which ran in the direction Clavisson needed to go.
The subdued sounds of a skirmish were heard over the garden wall, possibly several streets away.
* * * * *
A similar occurrence happened just minutes later at the north-western side of the city, only this time the mage had the misfortune of arriving with the portal suspended several metres above ground level. He tumbled out with wide-eyed shock as he was propelled towards the ground like an elven missile. Fortunately, the elf was dexterous enough to land smoothly on his feet. His stomach felt somewhat unsettled from the magical voyage but he was otherwise fine.
Valin looked up to the portal but it was already gone. The mage had arrived at the end of a residential street which was empty of life and polluted by the stench of the city sewers. The stench emanated from one direction, the mage needed to go in the opposite direction where he could see the high-spire of the city hall illuminated by a lively spark of lightning.
At the end of the street three armoured town-guards ran past the opening, the one nearest the warrior glanced at him but paid the stranger no heed. The guards quickly disappeared again and were obviously in a hurry to get some place.
* * * * *
A scant ten minutes later another portal appeared in the south-eastern part of the city. A tall elf in light armour and sea dragon cloak stepped onto the curved roof of a squat building. Unfortunately, the roof was both extremely slippery and in serious need of repair. The warrior slid and fell sideways, his bulk crashing through the roof as if it were glass. He landed hard on a wooden floor, though uninjured the fall winded him and he struggled for breath. The after effects of the magical gateway made his stomach churn, though his hardy constitution easily shrugged it away.
From several metres above him came the sound of muted laughter - evidently his guide found something amusing.
For several seconds Grish lay in the dark as he recuperated his senses. There was a pungent stench, near overpowering, of stale alcohol, puke, sweat, and of something decomposing. The table he had landed on smashed on impact, bits of it were strewn around the room. In the darkness he could see tables, stools and a bar festooned with bottles. If Grish needed a drink, this was the place for it.
Then, out of the darkness, a skittering sound alerted the warrior to a presence, followed by a low, keening wail. He could not see it, though whatever it was was behind the bar.
* * * * *
The last portal to appear arrived in the south-eastern part of the city. Of all places, at the end of a graveyard. A nimble, athletically young khainite was hurtled from her portal, narrowly missed being creamed by a large tombstone though her thigh hit it hard and she fell awkwardly into the mulch-wet grass. She propped herself up enough just in time to emit a stream of vomit onto the grave next to her.
"Whoops!" Came a deadpan, monotonous voice behind her. "Most dreadfully sorry, my dear. The portal is losing stability." By the time Se'alara looked the messenger and the portal were long gone.
It was practically pitch black in the graveyard as the moon was hidden by dark, angry clouds and the nearest torches was several hundred yards from where she stood. Looking north, there were torches lighting a path behind several houses. To her left, two torches lit the gates to the graveyard.
Taldein is approaching the south gate and has been questioned by the guards. How does he respond?
Clavisson has landed in a noble-man's garden. He still feels sick from his journey but has managed to recover enough to have a look around. What will he do?
Valin has landed safely and managed to not be sick, though he still feels queasy. He can investigate the guards if he wishes to.
Grish has landed on the floor of a tavern. He is winded (though recovering fast) but otherwise unhurt. He is not alone, however.
Se'alara suffered the worst from her journey through the warren. She will have a bruise on her thigh and still feels ill from her travel. She is alone, for the moment, so can head whichever way she chooses.