Chapter 7: Unconscious Revelations

[Jeff]

After a few moments of waiting, the doorman offers a polite smile. His beard is neatly combed, beaded with Mrorian adornments. "Do you have reservation, young masters?" he asks.

[Darren]

Kal swaggers towards the doorman, his sleeve pushed up to expose the blue dragonmark which stands out starkly against his skin. "We were in the area. Heard this place was the best and thought we'd stop by. Surely you can find a table for us?"

[Jeff]

The dwarf sees Kal's dragonmark but says nothing about it. "I understand, my lord. If you will give me your name, I will place you on the list, though it may take upwards of an hour to seat you." Despite his amiable tone, there is iron in his voice. He has a job and he won't be bullied into anything.

[Ken]

Belarin says to Adamant as they enter, "Oh, no worries, Adamant! That was great fun." He relays the meeting information to Condign.

After hearing the host, he steps next to Kal and interjects, "Actually, we may indeed be expected. Would you have reserved a table for eight, for 10 o'clock? We have a business meeting with a new client, a ... oh, Khyber, what's the name again? Zeeman... Zigurd...?"

[Joe]

Jan 14, 2011 1:10:06 GMT -4 Ken said:

Belarin says to Adamant as they enter, "Oh, no worries, Adamant! That was great fun." He relays the meeting information to Condign.

After hearing the host, he steps next to Kal and interjects, "Actually, we may indeed be expected. Would you have reserved a table for eight, for 10 o'clock? We have a business meeting with a new client, a ... oh, Khyber, what's the name again? Zeeman... Zigurd...?"

"...Zebra? Zarathustra? Khyber's breath, but his name escapes me as well. I know it begins with a Z."

He turns to the doorman. "Anyone expecting a party of eight for ten named Z by any chance?"

Streko smiles warmly.

[Jeff]

The doorman lets out the slightest of sighs. He doesn't look fooled. "I'm sorry, we don't hold reservations by a single letter. Perhaps if you give me your names, I can find you that way? Or a reservation key? A bauble of some kind your host may have given you to mark the reservation?"

[Ken]

"Ah yes." Belarin reaches inside a belt pouch and, after a few seconds, withdraws the blue gem that was inside Z's coffer. "This bauble, perhaps, will shine a light on our reservation?"

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Damn, I knew I should have made a Bluff roll on that last one! Oh well, thanks for backing me up on that, Joe. It made for good comedy, at least.

[Jeff]

"Ahh," the dwarf says with a nod, accepting the gem from Belarin. He walks over to a short podium and consults an open ledger. With one hand, he searches the page, and in the other, he holds the blue gem up. Suddenly, the gem vanishes.

"All present and accounted for," he says, tapping the page.

An attractive female attendant steps into view. "Right this way, my lords," she says, meeting Kal's eyes. "Your dog, is she trained to say near?" Tangat lets out a grumpy whine at his misguessed gender.

The attendant flushes, then smiles at Kal warmly. "We don't require a leash if you assure us that she...err, he will be no problem for the other guests. We have certainly seen more unusual animals here at the Gateway."

[Darren]

Kal winks at the girl. "He's not the one you need to worry about," he says, his eyes flickering back towards Belarin.

[Jeff]

"Please, sir," the attendant says to Condign demurely. "Please put your weapon away. Violence of any kind is not permitted here."

The attendant leads you into the restaurant, winding a path among the well-to-do morning diners towards the back (or side?) of the place. Adamant feels vaguely uncomfortable as he walks through the establishment, as well-dressed humans and other humanoids eat around him. He gets several looks—one or two of open disgust—but most slide their glances to Condign when they see him.

Then Adamant spots a table full of Cannith lords. He knows them from their colors and clothing, and one of them even bears the Mark of Making on his arm. At the far end of the table, another warforged sits. It seems to be attempting conversation with one of the guests sitting with the Canniths, and it even has a place setting in front of it. But no food, of course. The warforged lifts its head and meets Adamant's gaze. It inclines its head slightly, acknowledging him. Adamant feels a little better.

And then out into the garden seating you go, emerging back out beneath the blue sky and sunshine. The attendant leads you to a winding path, where small tables seat only two at a time, until at least you come to a smaller, sectioned off patio that sits at the very edge of the restaurant estate. A balcony, lush with plants, overlooks Cloudpool Park and its wispy lawns and puffy foliage.

The private section is divided by a low stone wall and an open archway. Two young women in courtly clothes sit at the nearest table, gossiping, and now casting glances your way. Their words become more hushed: there seems to be some excitement at the exotic nature of some of your party members.

A long table has been set up, with eight chairs arrayed around it. Plates, silverware, goblets, and wine glasses have been neatly arranged, but as yet there is no wine. Lidded platters have been lined up in a row against the wall, buffet style. Rolls and pitchers of various citrus juices are arrayed. The air smells like a garden and like breakfast.

Windows in the walls around you peer through colored glass at indoor diners. You can even glimpse some rooftop diners situated further in and above you. You hear birdsong, and even see a brightly-colored parrot perched in one of the small tree-like bushes (bush-like trees?) garnishing the scenery.

"You are a few minutes early," the attendant says when you've all filed into the private section. "The other member of your party has not yet arrived, but please please make yourselves comfortable. Do not hesitate to ask for whatever you require." She indicates the nearby waiter station, where a black-uniformed slim young man stands.

With a polite curtsy, the attendant turns and walks away, leaving you alone.

Tangat immediately goes over to the buffet table, then sits like a good boy.

________________________________

The "P" icons are just other patrons. The "W" icons are waiters. I won't be updating this map with every small movement, but I did think this scene warranted something of a visual.

[Brian]

"Please, sir," the attendant says to Condign demurely. "Please put your weapon away. Violence of any kind is not permitted here."

"It is not the sword that is violent," says Condign, "but rather the hand that wields it. As I find myself absent a scabbard"--he glances at Syrdan--"may I leave it safely here? I can retrieve it when he leave."

[Jeff]

Before disappearing, and in answer to Condign's request, the attendant says, "I'm afraid it's our policy not to be responsible for our customers' possessions. However, I will have a wrapping cloth sent to you so that you can...better secure your weapon."

[Joe]

Strreko goes over to Condign. "If you will allow me..."

He reaches behind him and lifts the cover of his handy haversack. "Just place it inside and I will ensure you get it back the moment you require it."

Once the sword is inside the haversack (assuming Condign places it inside), Streko goes to the table and pulls out a chair.

"In the meantime, shall we sit and have some wine, enjoy the view and the peace, for I fear neither shall last long, at least if one considers our past encounters with mysterious strangers."

[Jeff]

A long table has been set up, with eight chairs arrayed around it. Plates, silverware, goblets, and wine glasses have been neatly arranged, but as yet there is no wine.

Streko:

"In the meantime, shall we sit and have some wine..."

Streko realizes he'll have to be disappointed, at least for now. There is no wine to be found, not even morning wines. Just juice. But there are glasses about, suggesting that some will arrive eventually!

[Dave W.]

When Adamant sees the diners stare as they enter the restaurant, he quickly abandons the upright posture that was trappings for the Nobles game. Once again he slouches, losing a couple of inches of height and tries to appear as non-threatening as possible. The habit of tracing the octogram on his chest also re-appears. "Perhaps I could return to playing the bodyguard; a role more suited to my proper station."

When the other warforged acknowledges Adamant, Adamant also bows his head, the morning light highlights the ghulra on his forehead. The group follows the waitress to the balcony room. Adamant stops in the archway and looks at the view. Immediatly one metal finger absently traces the octogram again.

Adamant stays on the wall-side of the table, gaze fixed on the clouds beyond the balcony, as though expecting something to fly from them... or perhaps waiting for that side of the room to seperate and fall.

Carefully and dilberatly he stands behind the seat on this side of the table and nearest the archway.

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Good placement Jeff... Adamant will try to move to the chair just beyond where Kal is now.

[Darren]

Kal catches the arm of the nearest pretty waitress and gives her a winning smile. "My dear, it turns out that our friend, the last one who hasn't arrived, yet? He's a very generous fellow. Great tipper, too." Kal winks. "Now, I've never had the pleasure of eating here before, but I've heard everything is wonderful. So bring us a plate of whatever the most expensive, best tasting thing is that you have on the menu, would you?"

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Anyone else watch Lie to Me? I was just watching it, and now I have Cal Lightman in my head whenever Kal speaks.

[Ken]

Belarin walks toward the edge facing the expanse of sky. Peering down, he says, "Hmm, yes, definite avenue of retreat that way... definitely fatal, that is." He looks around and above. "'No violence permitted,' they say," he continues in an offhanded manner, almost as though he's talking to himself. "And we've always been so good at following the rules, haven't we? Well..."

He walks to the far end of the table and sits down. With a deeply seriously tone, he says, "Welcome to my breakfast. My name is B. I've spent so much of my wealth on mysterious activities that I had to sell the other letters of my name. Please drink as much - gahk - juice as you'd like. Juice, Streko, really, that's what they said? Feh. Excuse me for a moment, friends." And then he gets very quiet.

----------------------------------------------------
Belarin will take a minute to make an Arcana check to detect magic on the surrounding area. He'll do another sweep after 'Z' arrives. I'm hoping to get a before-and-after snapshot of magical auras so that Belarin can more accurately identify what arcana aura may be present on 'Z.'

[Brian]

Condign gladly accepts Streko's offer and places the broadsword in the halfling's haversack.

At the table, he marvels at the sights, so different from the craggy, barren vistas of the Demon Wastes, and shakes his head. What would his mentor, Lorjad, say if he were to see his pupil now? Sitting among the clouds, surrounded by the elite and their finery? Probably, "Don't let it go to your head, or you'll likely lose it." Condign smiles. The wily old orc was practical if anything.

He sits and takes a sip of juice, then immediately sets it back down. Definitely not to his liking. Settling in, he is content to let Kalarian act the spoiled noble--or was it acting?--until their host arrived.

[Mike]

Syrdan watches the others move into the room, and follows.

Listening to Kal prattling on with a waitress, the elf rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the windows, gazing outwards as he waits for his companion's mysterious host.

[Jeff]

Belarin walks toward the edge facing the expanse of sky. Peering down, he says, "Hmm, yes, definite avenue of retreat that way... definitely fatal, that is."

It is the park that Belarin finds himself looking upon, not merely an expanse of sky: Despite the misty white fog that clings to the ground, it seems to be solid. Looking out upon it, with so many constructions of wispy white cloud, it looks unsafe. Yet you can see figures strolling leisurely through the park, stirring the mist.

However, there is at least a twenty foot drop down from the wall of your patio room to the ground of the park.

Belarin begins to concentrate on the scene around him, and he does sense the presence of magic. But it's all around and difficult to pinpoint. Much of Skyway is made possible through magic, so he finds it hard to separate one aura from the next: The room itself, objects carried by some of the other diners, and the cloud-sculpted park itself.

When Kal orders something expensive, the waitress nods and drifts away.

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Perhaps my fault for coloring it as I did on the map. I made it blue and white so you'd get that bright blue sky sort of imagery. But really, the park is green (grass) and white (clouds). I've changed that here.

[Darren]

Preferring to seat himself where Belarin is, Kal contents himself to sit at the opposite end of the table. Let this mysterious 'Z' sit in the middle, he thinks. He leans his sharrash against his shoulder and crosses his legs to wait. A small smile creases his lips, enjoying the anticipation of sparring with a new opponent.

[Dave W.]

The warforged stands still behind his chosen seat and watches several of his friends sit. "Umm, should we be sitting before our host? I am not an expert but it feels rude somehow. I suppose Streko and Kal being lords can do as they please but we wouldn't want to appear arrogant would we?

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I've always loved that sentence structure: "I don't want to appear[/b] fill-in-the-blank but..." [/color]

[Ken]

Belarin stares across the long table at Kal seated on the other end. He holds his friend's gaze for a moment, and then smiles broadly, yet Kal senses that the smile is one of amused disbelief, as opposed to Belarin's more common grin of playful mockery. It's almost as though he's saying, Can you believe we're here, in THIS place?

"Well ordered, Kal," he says finally. "So... shall we all tell stories while we wait? I'm sure we're being watched, so we might as well be entertaining before the main performance begins. Every bard appreciates a smaller act to warm up the audience."

Dave wrote:

"Umm, should we be sitting before our host? I am not an expert but it feels rude somehow. I suppose Streko and Kal being lords can do as they please but we wouldn't want to appear arrogant would we?'

"You're quite right, Adamant," says Belarin, seeming to give the warforged's observation serious thought. "Still, considering the way we were invited here, it seems only polite that we respond in kind to our host. Any behavior that's more modest... well, now that would be rude."

[Mike]

Adamant: I suppose Streko and Kal being lords can do as they please but we wouldn't want to appear arrogant would we?

"Respectfully, I would agree with Adamant," Syrdan says quietly. "We chose to accept the invitation of our mysterious 'Z'. I see no reason to offend our host unnecessarily. If we didn't like the manner of his invitation, or we didn't want to come here, then we shouldn't have done so. But having accepted, it's only polite to act a proper guest, or at least as we'd want a guest to act, were we the host."

[Ken]

Belarin frowns. "I hate it when people use rational arguments on me," he says. "But yes, the invitation was gracious, I suppose..." Pushing the chair back, he gets to his feet, then he walks, pouting, to the ledge overlooking the park. His manner seems like that of petulant child.

Whether it's authentic or manufactured for the sake of anyone observing is up to the viewer to decide.

[Darren]

Kal leans forward. "The manner of his invitation? Are you referring to the part where he tested us by trying to kill us?" Kal leans back in the chair again and chuckles. "Yes, maybe we should treat him with the same respect he's showed us."

Kalarian leans back further, almost lounging. "As for this," he says, spreading his arms to the side to indicate his surroundings as he then folds his hands behind his head, "why shouldn't I be treated in the manner I deserve?"

[Jeff]

Ten minutes later, the attendant who first led you in leads brings in a newcomer. Kal has to turn in his chair to look. Tangat whirls away from the buffet table and stares.

The newcomer appears to be human, but he's quite handsome and has an ethereal quality that suggests elven blood or perhaps something even more unusual. He's middle-aged but obviously quite well kept. His face is clean-shaven, his white-gray hair neatly combed, his skin evenly tanned, and his eyes a light golden hue. His clothing seems to be as modest a nobleman's clothing can be while still conveying wealth and comfort. It's a stylish turquoise and black, cut just a few years behind the fashion trends.

For his age, he looks fits, and he carries himself like a man who might have seen some action during the war but is long out of practice. If he was ever a true warrior, you're guess is he's spent more years in patrician politics or other scholarly pursuits than in combat. He wears a circlet on his brow, gold-hued with a pale stone set in the center. It's vaguely elvish in appearance. There is a jeweled dagger on his belt, but no other obvious weapons, not even a wand. He does wear two rings.

He pauses beneath the archway of the private patio and, like you, takes it in with a slightly appraising look, as if assessing a battlefield and wondering what's unseen.

But his expression is polite, even friendly.

"Good morning, and thank you for coming. I am Professor Larest ir'Zathyran of Morgrave University. It is good to see you with my own eyes." He inclines his head in a token bow, then holds up his empty hands and offers an apologizing smile. "Please, be at ease. I realize my actions have painted me as something of a villain to you. For that, I apologize, and I can only ask you to believe that I do have greater interests at heart. Can we make a conversation of this?"

At the table behind him, behind the archway, the two young women take notice of him and start speaking rapidly, and quietly, to one another. As if he's some local celebrity?

Then they quiet as another figure joins the man, stopping to stand right beside him. This one's very obviously full-on human, cloaked and hooded in dark silk, with a pair of long knives on his belts. His hands are empty, but gloved. His face is inherently untrusting, scarred in a few places, and not particularly pleasant. But compared to the "professor," he's clearly a man of action. The man's dark eyes sweep your party, taking stock of each of you. He looks like he expects trouble.

The professor indicates the man beside him. "This is my associate, Rolten. He has merely seen to my protection. He won't be joining us for breakfast."

Rolten offers no nod or bow. It's hard to guess the relationship. He looks more martially capable than a manservant, but less subordinate than a bodyguard or mercenary. He makes you think of an assassin. A nicely dressed one.

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Just to dispel any confusing, this whole patio is an open-air sort of place. It's outdoor seating. The only windows are those looking into the interior of the restaurant, where other diners are seated.

[Dave W.]

Adamant bows to the mysterious Z. "I apologize, Professor ir'Zathyran, I don't mean to be insulting, but could you prove you are the watcher? A simple mention of something seen where we were when you claim to have seen us last?"

"Before we begin it would good to know we all who we are."

[Darren]

Without turning, Kal motions to a seat. "Please. Sit. Let us talk."

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Oops. Dave and I simul-posted....

[Joe]

Streko also stands politely, surveying both the wizard (for that is what Streko immediately concludes, based upon his abilities and his mention of Morgrave) and the assassin (for that is what Rolten looks like to Streko). He says nothing, merely watching the events unfold, gauging reactions and such.

"If you are still with us, Mattheu, this should prove to be quite an enlightening experience for you, whomever you might choose to watch during this little game," Streko thinks.