One of the persons at the table was a small gnome. Gnomes are diminutive by definition, but even allowing for race, this one was small. Though the management had done their best (or _said_ they were doing their best) to find a relatively high chair for her, the gnome's head still barely cleared the surface of the table -- when she sat forward and really tried to see what was going on. Which wasn't often. Mostly, she sat back with her own thoughts. She'd been ready enough with her name, which was Arachne Convola of Furthinghome, follower of Eldath. Furthinghome, she'd allowed, was way the hell and gone to the east, and she'd said she didn't like sharing the same continent with the Red Wizards of Thay. Beyond that, she didn't much care to elucidate and the reputation of the Wizards was such that little explanation was really necessary. Not that she looked like anyone who could seriously mix it with any agent of the Red Wizards. She was, as noted, small and slight, and she was also quite pretty -- as long as you didn't set her beside anyone who was really making an effort to look attractive. For a gnome, her nose was very small. She had tan skin and large pale brown (tan) eyes that often seemed unfocused. Her relatively straight, auburn hair was carelessly tied back out of her face and only a moderate amount of it had worked free, so far. Her ears were large and pointed, but her face was more elfin than gnomishly rounded. Her garb was neither visible nor memorable, since the table blocked nearly all of her from view. It also did not advertise her as anything adventurous: A dark green sorquenie dress over a pale blue chemise with ragged sleeves, stockings and soft low boots. She had a small sapphire that she wore on a chain around her neck, but no other adornment. She also did not have any weaponry in evidence. She had come in carrying a purse and backpack, muttering disjointed phrases about pricey lodging houses and people who couldn't be counted on to stay in one city for even a single month. Her conversation was limited both by inclination and by a lack of audibility. Those sitting next to her could hear her if they wanted to, but the racket set up by the rest of the patrons of the Raging Lion made conversation from any further away extremely difficult. So, mostly, Arachne sat and listened. Or didn't.
A tall powerfully built young man stepped into the bar and paused just inside the door as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. His blonde hair was shoulder length and curled in the back, though it was cut away from his face. A smile of self assurance also rested on his not unpleasant visage as he scanned the room for a place to sit.
He looked to either side of the empty seat as if a question was about to be asked. His armor was obviously of an old design and well used, but it looked as if he had taken great pains to keep it in the best shape possible. A tabbard of purple with a black dragon embroidered into it was worn over the aromor and a black long sword with some sort of black leather grip could be seen peeking out and over one shoulder. A gaudy multicolored peace knot of gordian proportions held the blade in the sheath.
Bright green eyes swept across the two seated to either side of teh empty chair as his finely gloved hands rested on its back. "Is this seat taken", he inquired in a mildly deep voice that contradicted his attire. Although he was dressed and acted like a Cormyrian noble, his voice had the distinct accent of a Thayan. His reluctance to move into the room prompted a server to question him and he replied quietly and nodded when she directed him to the back of the room. He walked across the room noisily as his boots stomped upon the boards of the floor. Finally as he reached the table he had to navigate the tight confines between people to make his way to one of the last seats available, one that was beside the gnome.
He removed the large blade on his back and layed it carefully on the table. He lifted the chair with one hand as he slid between the two people, the gnome and one other woman that had chosen that spot. Smiling largely he accepted the beverage that the server brought him and sipped on it quietly as he tried not to intimidate the timid gnome beside him.
He failed. At the klunk of the huge weapon on the meal-table (where do these people get their manners?) the gnome was on her feet (on her chair) staring warily at the man, who'd chosen that moment to ignore her and turn the other way.
Arachne choked on the small beer she was drinking at the sound of the newcomer's voice. Attempting, like as not unsuccessfully, to be surreptitious about it, she both inspected the man carefully and tried to put as much distance away from him as she could at the crowded table.
Aloysius sits silently at the table, shifting his glass rapidly from hand t o hand. He has an extreme smile on his face that would seemingly cause pain to maintain for any amount of time. "Names, names, names . . . . ." he finally m utters. "Aloysius, you may call me, although I have many. Know me do you all, but Know me not as well. Know me again, if you will. I have much to tell." Aloysius sits back, apparently pleased with the confused looks his banter has c reated at the table . . . . . . .
Arachne blinked, then shrugged. "Gnome? Thee art too tall," she said
softly. "Gnome, me, quite so well. Gnome again, else you might fall and
find your own drear darksome --
"Sorry, that's awfully grim. What about this one:
"Wherefore flies the feather free?
Where fur feathers the flier's tree.
Fine the fabric from the fuller
Find the fashioning in the filler."
Resting her chin on the table (it being at the right height and available),
the small one eyed the purple man.
A man of medium build sits at the table beside the gnome. He has long
brown hair that is pulled back into a ponytail. He seems to be in a cheerful
mood, but at the same time is studying all around him.
Azrun eyed the purple haired man and the gnome and smiled, "You two have way too much time on your hands. Course you could take your act on the road. People would pay to come 3 or 4 times just to try to figure out what you are talking about."
Arachne glanced at Azrun and in spite of the smile with which he made his remark, she wilted visibly. "Too much time?" she mumbled, backing away from the table again. "Too much time for what? We're sitting here at dinner. It's dinner conversation. What's wrong with a riddle over dinner?"
Gala looks around at the folks she finds herself seated with and smiles at them. "Hello there. I am Galaret Lachiel, but most call me Gala. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Busy season isn't it. I had no idea. Wonder if we'll find any work here."
The man smiled at the woman, "Azrun. There's not much I can do besides tell a few stories."
As those around the table sat and ate, a slightly portly, middle-aged man with dark hair entered the common room. He searched the crowd with his eyes, skimming over guards bearing ensignias and merchants sticking out in this crowd like sore thumbs. His eyes finally rested on the long table in the corner, and he approached them.
"I am Gordrenn, purveyor of magical paraphernalia, material necessities, and related items to many wizards of note" he told them pompously from the edge of the table, "and I would like to offer you a job. You look like just the type I need," he scanned them quickly, "just the type. I need a chest delivered to the wizard Tauster in the village of Thurmaster, to the east of here, in Haranshire. It's nothing all that important or special but he gets in a huff if I'm even one day late," Gordrenn looked slightly embarassed and even a little desperate.
Gala looked interested, "Aye now, Sirrah," she said, "Don't look so bothered. I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement, mayhap with more than one of us seated here. I'll be glad to be hired for some honest work."
"Oh well, he can't be talking to me," Arachne sighed to herself. "Probably these other nice people. Me? Carry some chest around? Not likely. And a wizard's chest? Probably attract all kinds of scurrilous interest. Need people with sharp and painful stuff to protect the thing. I'd just get in the way. Probably in the way now." She started digging in her purse for the wherewithal to pay for her share of the meal. "Uh oh. I thought I had..."
Azrun slid the gnome a silver piece and winked at her, "You could come along to confuse the enemy. A few poems like the last one and their brains would ooze out their ears." He smiled at her again.
"Oh, um, well, thank you," Arachne mumbled, accepting the coin. "You want me to come confuse people? Enemy? What enemy? Oh, you mean this chest thing? Well..." She stole another glance at the man with the impossibly big eating knife. Uh, Zond. "I'm not sure about that. If I don't come, do you want your coin back?"
Aloysius seemed excited by the man's proposal. He stood up from his sea t and waved his arms about. "Purveyor to mages?!? Why haven't I heard of you then? No matter. Mysteries to delve into I have. Perhaps the road, cold as i t may be, has kernels of knowledge helpful in my search for all that conjoins. Permit me to introduce myself, I am Aloysius Stargazer, mage extraordinaire an d seeker of insights toward the otherwise unknown." With that, Aloysius quickl y and vigorously pumped the surprised man's hand. He then looked about at the other's at the table. "Come friends! The Door of Understanding yawns forth in the form of this box needing transport! Judge not this opportunity by the siz e of the container we are asked to carry! Fate clearly summons us for the chan ce to expand our minds and spirits into the ethros, nethros, and (don't forget) jethros! Who answers with me?????" His previously painful smile was replaced with an open-mouthed look of wonder as he glanced back and forth at those seat ed at the table. His eyes were the size of saucers and brightly lit with excit ement. He wrung his hands quickly as he awaited a response. Those close to hi m could hear him mutter "door, door, door, door . . . . . . .ethros, nethros, j ethros . . . . . .box . . . .box . . . .box".
Azrun looked at the purple haired man, eyes wide at the man's energy "You really need to cut back on the sugar, man. You're way too excited over this."
Azrun then turned to the pudgy man, "So...ummm How much does this job pay? and when does it need to be there? and if we are late are we all going to be turned into fuzzy white bunnies?" He looked at the others after the last comment, "Well, you got to know these things. I look terrible in white." He cracked a smile after a moment.
A well dressed man sat at the corner of the room. His hair was firey red and sported a long mustach of the same color. He wore a dark green tunic under his leather armor. The tunic did much to enhance the color of his hair, and to brighten his emerald green eyes. His breeches were of intertwined leather straps, very fashionable.
His eyes were bright, youthful looking, but upon close examination, you could see that he was a tired man with wrinkles already forming at the corners of his eyes.
Finishing with his meal, Torro grabbed for his purse to pay for it, only to realize it had been stolen. "I've been robbed!!!" Torro exclaimed to no one in particular, and slumped back in his chair depressed.
"Well met sir Gordrenn. Great timing too. I have a need for a job and am willing to help deliver this chest. Maybe some of the others will be able to help you too. What shall you pay us for this job?
Seated across the table from Arachne is a non-descript looking gnome with black hair, gray eyes and a mischievous half-smile permanently etched across his face. Although not as short as Arachne( his head is clearly visible above the table), no one would consider him a large specimen of the gnomish race. He is dressed in clothes of a brownish gray hue. Most of his attire looks as if it were designed to draw attention away from him. He is constantly moving his hands in some sort of deft movement if anyone is paying attention. Most of the time he is fussing with his hat, taking seams out and putting them back in. The hat appears to be very long, so that it hangs down his back almost to his feet, when he wears it. The fabric is woven with a pattern that confuses the eye and makes it look like it's always in motion. His eyes stray to the clothes of other people at the table and he seems to have to restrain himself when he notices any poorly done stitching.
"Pug Trixter at your service and I for one would love to help transport your chest. Quite frankly, I could use the money as well as the fresh air." The small gnome says to the portly man's offer, standing up on the bench. " Of course, I don't think I could carry it by myself." Pug says as he looks around the table sporting his characteristic grin.
A slightly nervous elf sits across from Galaret. His brown hair cascades over his decorative leather headband and partly hides his almond shaped, deep green eyes. His buckskin shirt and breeches tucked into knee high leather boots seem functional, if not fashionable and a green cloak covers his shoulders like a mantle of leaves. A shortbow is leaned against the wall beside him with a quiver of arrows and an ornate oak club carved to resemble some kind of bird. His eyes dart around as a mug shatters in the inn somewhere and the fact that he's not comfortable around humans, especialy Aloysius, is fairly obvious.
When the fat merchant finishes he'll stand up and nod. He speaks with a thick sylvan elf accent and doesn't seem to have fully grasped the common language yet. "I help. I not want stay here with many round ears. I sorry not talk you tongue good, not long in round ears places." He tries to smile but looks awkward and just sits down again.
Sitting at the table with all of you is a short, a little over 5', person. He is wearing a gray cloak, with the hood pulled up and covering his face from view. He is also wearing a gray shirt, black pants, and black gloves. There is a pack next to him on the floor, with a quarter staff, and sword laying on it.
The cloaked figure stands up and says, in a scruffy voice, I am called Maisar, and I would like to go also. I would like to meet this mage named Tauster. with that he bows slightly keeping his face covered all the time and sits back down to finish his meal.
Zond listened carefully to what was said and reached down to his own light money pouch as he considered the man's proposition. Usually he didn't like travelling with so many strangers and this could well be a trap for the unwary as well. He decided to question this mans claim that he was a merchant of magical nessesities.
Speaking in a deep questioning voice, Zond replied. "Gordrenn, my name is Zond. Zond Ebonblade." he started as his hand unconsciously reached out and touched the blade laying on the table in front of him. "Do you deal in prism's, glass rods, alembics, and scales, or do you deal in merchandise of a more rare nature?"
Zond's question left no doubt that he knew what these devices were and
that he expected an answer sufficient to confirm that this man was indeed
a merchant like he said. He looked over to the gnome Arachne and to Galaret
Lachiel to see if they two were interested in these answers.
