Chapter 7: Unconscious Revelations

[Mike]

Syrdan finds Varna's reluctance to offer any specifics about her business in the Little Plains a bit odd, but says nothing. Particularly as several people besides him asked similar questions, and all received tight-lipped responses.

Being a warrior of few words himself, though, Syrdan decides everything could have a perfectly rational explanation.

Being a pragmatic warrior, Syrdan keeps his eyes open as he and his newfound companions follow Varna, looking for signs of any threats or danger.

[Jeff]

"Relax," Varna says, glancing back at Syrdan and the others. "There really isn't a safer place in the city than right here."

Syrdan detects no real threats about him, but in a bustling city, it's very hard to be sure. "Keep your pouches close," Varna adds. "Just in case. It's not usually a problem here, though..."

Varna leads you through a threshold in the face of one of the towers and you find yourself in a small atrium filled with plants, tables, and socializing halflings and their visitors. The whole place is noisy and lively. On two sides of the four-sided food court are restaurants every bit as appetite-inducing as Esthryn's Eatery. The smell of roasted tribex, as well as stewed vegetables, permeates the place. Everything is sized for halflings, though a few human-sized chairs are scattered throughout. A shifter chats with a pair of halflings at one small table, an elderly human couple are hunched over another, while a half-elf and a halfling argue loudly with each other at yet another table.

Varna pauses, looks around as if trying to find an empty table, or maybe a specific person. She looks in thought.

I shall wait outside, Matheu pronounces suddenly, though of course you don't see him.

"Wait here a moment, all right?" Varna says, turning to the rest of you. "I want someone to meet you. I just need to find him first." She dashes off.

While idling awkwardly, feeling a bit too tall—except for Streko!—you find yourself simply taking in the sights and sounds and smells. After a couple of minutes:

A male halfling in a finely made but ruffled waistcoat and shirt walks up to you, a mug in his hand. "So a warforged, a tiefling, and an elf walk into a bar..." he says to you with a grin, and you see that several other halflings are watching, smiles on their faces. "What do they do?" the halfling asks, expectantly.

[Brian]

"We offer greetings, my lord," Condign says loudly. Then he bows, pushing his red face close to the halflings. "Is there something you wanted," he whispers, "or are you simply making a jest? For I currently do not have much of a sense of humor."

[Mike]

Aug 12, 2010 10:35:11 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"So a warforged, a tiefling, and an elf walk into a bar..." he says to you with a grin, and you see that several other halflings are watching, smiles on their faces. "What do they do?" the halfling asks, expectantly.

"They offer a hand in friendship," Syrdan replies. He extends a gloved hand out to the halfling. "I am Syrdan Sar Dathiel, a stranger to Sharn. It's good to make your acquaintance."

[Ken]

"No, no, no," says Belarin with amusement. "'They order a drink!' - that's what they do!" He looks at the halfing before them. "And you, good fellow, you clearly know the ideal place for such refreshment, yes?"

[Jeff]

The halfling shrinks back when Condign leans down. Then he cracks a slight smile, as a good-natured tone creeps into his voice. "'My lord'? Yes, well, umm...that's Lord Lockesh to you, then." A few halflings snicker around him. "Do you hail from the Shadow Marches, friend?" he says as his eyes drift to Condign's horns. "Surely not....Droaam."

"I am Syrdan Sar Dathiel, a stranger to Sharn. It's good to make your acquaintance."

Then he pivots and accepts Syrdan's hand in a firm shake. "Syrdan, is it? You're from Aerenal, unless I am wrong?" This halfling, Lockesh, seems to have no noticeable Talentan accent, just purely Brelish.

"And you, good fellow, you clearly know the ideal place for such refreshment, yes?"

The talkative halfling points to Belarin and smiles. "Trust the human to call for spirits." He cocks his head. "You've a Brelish tone, but an unguessable accent. Do tell, where are you from? I've been discussing with my friends here"—he gestures to the nearest table full of halflings—"the pros and cons of being Brelish, and being from the city vs. the country. You and your friends appear to be...the adventuring type, mostly from abroad. Is that right?" He eyes stray to Kal. "Are you all affiliated with House Deneith?"

A halfling child, a girl probably no older than seven years of age, walks up and pets Tangat. He immediately flattens his ears, sits tall, and wags his tail, and pants happily. "Is this your dog, mister?" she asks Kal, looking up with enormous eyes on such a small face.

A number of halflings look upon Adamant, but say anything directly to him. Adamant does notice one middle-aged halfling several tables away, eyeing the warforged with a smoldering gaze.

[Joe]

Streko notices several of the nearby plants appear to be herbs. His curiosity and salviary glands are piqued, but nonetheless, he remains nearby, deciding to step closer to Adamant.

"You might have noticed," Streko says to him in a soft, but clear voice, "that city ahlflings and country halflings tend to be of a different sort. In my experiences, I can honestly tell you that city halflings can often leave much to be desired. Granted, Halflings from the Plains tend to be be more adventurous and wild, they are alos more trusting and trustworthy. That's just my opinion, Adamant. Yours, and others, may differ. However, I would suggest caution. Many of my fellow race might not consider warforged to be alive. Some may even blame you for the Cyre Disaster. Blame you personally. They are the less intelligent and accepting of my kind."

He glances overn at the little girl petting Tangat and smiles. "Of course, all of us tend toward good taste."

[Darren]

Kal smiles at the girl. He remembers Halfling children from his time on the Plains, and it is with sadness how often he saw them without smiles on their faces and laughter in their hearts. "He is my traveling companion, my dear. He's Talentan, like so many of you. That's where he and I met. His name is Tangat. Are you familiar with that word?" Secretly, Kal hopes she is not. He would prefer that this little girl know only peace.

[Dave W.]

Even before they reach the courtyard, Adamant has been trying to appear less intimidating.

When greeted by the halfling Lockesh, Adamant allows his friends to answer first, and then adds, "I'm afraid I don't have a clever answer, though obviously the warforged doesn't drink. In any event, I thank you for your welcome. I am called Adamant, created in Cyre more recently from High Walls."

Adamant does not offer his hand immediately but if Lockesh shows a sign of offering his Adamant will shake hands.

Adamant will scan the area for potental threats and obviously note the halfling with hatred or anger in his eyes. Adamant will calmly but quickly try to assess how big a threat the halfling poses and then lean in to Kal, "I seem to be attracting attention," the warforged says to the dragonmarked human without mentioning specifics, "perhaps I should wait down the street?"

[Darren]

"You're fine," Kal says. "I understand these people. Inside, they're noble. And generally not so hot-headed as to start a fight against someone more than twice their size, even if the numbers are in their favor." Kal grins at Adamant and then at the halflings around him. He leans back in his chair and puts his feet up. "I like it here."

[Ken]

Aug 12, 2010 14:23:36 GMT -4 Jeff said:

The talkative halfling points to Belarin and smiles. "Trust the human to call for spirits." He cocks his head. "You've a Brelish tone, but an unguessable accent. Do tell, where are you from? I've been discussing with my friends here"—he gestures to the nearest table full of halflings—"the pros and cons of being Brelish, and being from the city vs. the country. You and your friends appear to be...the adventuring type, mostly from abroad. Is that right?" He eyes stray to Kal. "Are you all affiliated with House Deneith?"

"Well, we're affiliated with A Deneith," says Belarin, following Lockesh's glance toward Kal. "As for my voice, yes, you're quite astute, 'Lord' Lockesh. My parents were indeed Brelish, though I was born and raised far from here. I'm enjoying this visit through the Home That Never Was." There's a wistful, almost sad tone beneath the warlock's friendly smile. "My name is Belarin, good Lockesh, and yes, I fear we are the 'adventuring type.'"

[Jeff]

Belarin:

"My name is Belarin, good Lockesh, and yes, I fear we are the 'adventuring type.'"

"No shame in that, Master Belarin," the halfling replies. "Just depends on who you adventure for...and for what."

Streko:

He glances overn at the little girl petting Tangat and smiles. "Of course, all of us tend toward good taste."

Only a moment after that, Streko notices that a few of the halflings are looking at him, too, realizing that he's part of the group. Their expressions are respectful; it's clear that Streko is a halfling of the cloth, and the symbol of Olladra is well known among Talentans. Streko even sees a young girl, probably just a few years younger than he, smiling shyly at him.

Kal:

"He is my traveling companion, my dear. He's Talentan, like so many of you. That's where he and I met. His name is Tangat. Are you familiar with that word?"

"A blade stick?" the girl answers hesitantly, but without any expression of dismay. Among the halflings, weapons are a source of defense and food-gathering first, and for use in war second. Been a while since Kal remembered that.

Lockesh points at Adamant, having heard the warforged's words to Kal. "No, no, don't you go anywhere. We may not share drinks, man of the forge, but you're still welcome here. Here, you're innocent until slandered guilty." He grins.

"So what's it going to be?" Lockesh poses to Belarin and the rest of you. "Tal, or spirits?"

"Neither," Varna cuts in, suddenly reappearing. "We can't stay. Maybe later, Lockesh."

"These...these are your friends, Varna?!" the other halfling returns. "Then is this...." He looks to Streko. "The legendary Streko? Favored of Olladra, adventuring cleric?" He looks to the domino around Streko's neck. "Yes, I daresay it is. Welcome, boy! We've all heard of you. And—"

"Belarin," another halfling calls from the gathered group of halflings. "That's the 'agent of the fey!'"

Another says, "And...the tiefling....he's the 'child of savages raised in the desolation of the Demon Wastes!'

And anther, "Lord Kalarian, 'dragonmarked heir with a flare for battle magic.'"

"Didn't realize who you folks were," Lockesh says, excited now. "The elf and warforged threw me off. And no shifter, no Thrane? Your company has changed."

Neither Adamant nor Syrdan have ever seen or even heard of the Korranberg Chronicles special editions that the halflings are referring to.

[Joe]

Streko smiles at first, then his trademarked frown begins to appear...and deepen.

"That...GNOME again. By The Traveller's greasy whiskers, she's everywhere!" He sees the welcoming smiles from all the halflings around him and shakes his head in bewilderment. "Olladra, bless me, I hope they don't believe every word of Otyugh poo that creature writes."

He looks over at his friends. "At the very least, we weren't attempting to be anonymous, so there can be little harm in allowing the good people here to feel gracious."

He catches Varna's look and shrugs. "Then again, we are in a bit of a hurry. Perhaps another time, we can join them for a meal and a round or two."

"The elf and warforged threw me off. And no shifter, no Thrane? Your company has changed."

At the mention of his two friends left behind, Streko's demeanor changes yet again. A deep sadness wells up and fills his soul, as he recalls others who have been taken, simply disappeared, hurt by the villain known as Malov or have quietly moved on of their own accord.

Streko seems to erect a barrier around part of himself. He stands taller and creates a smile as fake, but as well-meaning, as he possibly can, given his thoughts.

He turns to his sister. "Shall we leave this place, Varna?"

[Ken]

Belarin, too, smiled -- gleefully -- at the crowd's recognition. But, as with Streko, the casual references to the missing Grafth and Charis sour his mood. "Yes, let's be moving on, Varna." Turning to Lockesh, he adds politely, "Thank you for your kindness, sir. Yes, I look forward to that drink with you in the near future."

[Brian]

"Why do I have to be the child of savages?" Condign mutters, and then turns to Adamant. "They never even met my parents. I favor my mother, you know. Around the eyes." He pauses as he realizes what he has just said to the warforged. "I am sorry. You never had parents. That was thoughtless of me."

[Mike]

Aug 12, 2010 14:23:36 GMT -4 Jeff said:

Then he pivots and accepts Syrdan's hand in a firm shake. "Syrdan, is it? You're from Aerenal, unless I am wrong?" This halfling, Lockesh, seems to have no noticeable Talentan accent, just purely Brelish.

"Indeed, I'm from Aerenal," Syrdan replies, gripping and shaking the halfling's hand strongly. "Lockesh, is it? A pleasure."

Seeing Varna's insistence on leaving, he looks at Lockesh with a wry smile. "Business has concluded a bit quicker than I expected, I'm afraid. Perhaps we can have a proper conversation later, I hope? I'm sure you could tell me quite a bit about this strange city of yours ... no offense intended, for every city is strange to me."

The whispered descriptions of his companions cause Syrdan to raise an eyebrow in mild surprise, but otherwise he says nothing.

[Darren]

Kal leans back a little further in his chair, soaking up the praise from those around him. "Most of what she wrote is true, you know?" he says with a wink to those around him. He holds his hands in front of him, and make sparks dance and arc between his hands.

Kicking back from the table, Kal puts his feet onto the floor as the front legs of his chair land with a heavy thump. "It seems our time here is up, my friends," he says to the halflings. "I'm afraid we must go. But if you wish to hear more of the adventures of myself and my companions, come to Esthryn's Eatery. Not only will you hear tales of my exploits, but you'll have some of the finest cooking this side of the Plains. I promise it." Kal winks at Varna and Streko.

[Jeff]

Varna glares at Lockesh for a moment. "You and your friends read too much." Then she grins, though it seems forced. "But...yes, some of what you've read is true, as it turns out." She winks at Kal and Belarin, then beckons to the rest of you. "C'mon, let's go have a chat with someone. Another time, Lockesh."

And with that, Varna leads you out of the atrium by way of a doorway that Adamant and Condign both have to stoop a bit to get through. The inside of this tower is dimly lit by a few strays shafts of sunlight piercing through high windows. A few turns later and you find yourself passing through some small but well-maintained storage rooms, filled with crates bearing no obvious markings.

Varna stops at one junction, strokes her chin for a moment. Streko sees her hands trembling slightly. "Ummm...this way, I think."

Then you go up a couple flights of stairs, turn again, and enter a well-lit room that looks like some sort of small training hall. Wooden posts are fitted with combat dummies and armored with batterd and torn chainmail. It smells only lightly of sweat in here, but more strongly of herbs.

There are several windows, though most of them are shuttered at the moment, admitting a fair amount of indirect sunlight from the city outside. From the sound, you're two or three floors above the main street level of Little Plains. One large round window in the middle hangs open completely. At the moment there's no one else in here except your group and Varna.

Varna turns. Sighs.

"All right. Don't fret. You're just here for introductions, that's all. But I want to clue you in on some things that...it's just safer for you to know when you're in this city."

She pauses, takes a deep breath. Actually looks nervous, and her eyes go to the floor. "Have you heard the name Boromar before?

[url=http://ashlock.proboards.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=gameplay&thread=172&page=24#9998
]Adamant and Streko have.[/url] Even Kal has heard the name, recognizes it as an old halfling clan name, but out on the Talenta Plains, it was never of any consequence.

[Darren]

"Of course," Kal says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, "but what does that have to do with where we are and why we're here? Who are we meeting, Varna? I don't like being set up." Despite the coldness of Kal's voice, he leans towards Belarin and adds in a low voice, "Unless she's pretty." He winks at the man, then returns his face to practiced calm.

[Ken]

Belarin shrugs, a wry smile on his face. "I confess that I'm still scarred by Lamara. As you should be, Kal." The whispered and pointed reminder issued, Belarin says to Varna, "No, I haven't heard the name. But I have the feeling it's one I'll need to remember for quite some time."

[Jeff]

"Lamara," Varna says. "Yes, I've heard of her." Her voice quiets a moment. "She's one of Malov's....his chosen one with the Mark of Detection..." She shakes her head and looks at Kal. "No, I'm not like her, Kal. If she showed her face here, in this city, if you could point her out....well, we'd take care of her, nice and quick."

Varna looks at her brother. "Streko...I know you know who the Boromars are. And...I know you won't approve my connection to them, but...Olladra works in crazy ways, you know that. I've been mixed up with petty thieves before, back in Vathirond. This isn't like that. What I've done...agreements I've made...they've kept our family safe. Even when you were away, even when I've been away. Even under Malov's...schemes. The Boromars kept watch. They even helped recover me from him."

She pauses, looking at him, emotion mounting. "I'll explain it all, best I can, Streko. But I need to know you'll really listen to me. Need to know you trust me, as you once did." Her eyes moisten visibly. "Will you listen?"

[Joe]

"Have you heard the name Boromar before?

Streko coughs and sputters. "Varna..."

He looks into her eyes and all the questions he might have asked vanish. How could she? She had to. Do mother and father know? Of course, mother and father have no idea. They wouldn't approve, if only for his sister's safety. And, if there is one thing Streko has learned in his travels, it's that there is safety in numbers, even if those who would be charged with your protection might also be piercing your heart with a dagger.

He closes his eyes and sighs heavily. "Of course I will hear you out, Varna. It is not my place to judge your actions. They have kept you alive and they have kept our mother and father alive. While I may not agree with your decisions regarding the Boromar, I certainly cannot find fault in it. Tell me what you need from me."

[Brian]

"Who or what are the Boromars? I, like my lord Kalarian, do not like surprises." He looks at Varna. "Yes, you have earned some measure of trust. But the deceits of the Inquisitive are still fresh. There is an old saying in the Demon Wastes: The sting of a single hornet is a better warning than the buzzing of an entire nest."

[Darren]

Kal moves behind Condign as though he were simply pacing, but he makes sure Varna can see him. Then he puts his fingers together like a hornet's stinger.

________________
I couldn't help it! He said hornet! I had to! ;D

[Mike]

Aug 14, 2010 20:32:33 GMT -4 Jeff said:

She pauses, takes a deep breath. Actually looks nervous, and her eyes go to the floor. "Have you heard the name Boromar before?

Syrdan shakes his head. No.

He listens intently as Varna speaks. The word trust captures his attention most, as it means the most to the elf, and is not something that he gives lightly. As he does so, he also glances about at his surroundings. It seems the perfect place to Syrdan for tells secrets best unheard by unwanted ears ... or an ambush.

"Are the Boromars friend or foe?" the elf asks quietly. "Or both?"

[Dave W.]

"I know only that the Boromar are related to crime. The name has been mentioned with some fear by the people in High Walls. Are we to be meeting with them? For what purpose?"

-------------------------
Sorry, I've been kind of out of it for a while. There were a couple of posts I should have responded to back there...

[Jeff]

Varna glares at Condign. "Don't start that again, tiefling. You of all people should not like to be compared to others who've come before you. I have heard stories of the devil-men of the Wastes, who devour children and cannabalize their own. Shall I hold you accountable? Am I to be mistrusted because some half-elf bitch betrayed you? And I am Streko's sister. Place some trust, at least, in his family."

Syrdan:

"Are the Boromars friend or foe?" the elf asks quietly. "Or both?"

"Friends," she answers, "If you'll allow it."

Streko:

"Tell me what you need from me."

"All I want is for you to hear me out. And then you can decide if I'm worthy of being your sister or not." She frowns. "Or flip a coin and let Olladra decide."

Adamant:

"I know only that the Boromar are related to crime. The name has been mentioned with some fear by the people in High Walls. Are we to be meeting with them? For what purpose?"

"Crime is relative. If a king orders the execution of an innocent, is that a crime? No, it's considered law. When a noble from the Upper City gets away with murder, is he a criminal? Not if his barristers are paid well enough. In Sharn, the criminal is sometimes in the right. I'm not excusing everything—no way—but you'll find legalities get muddy fast. The Boromar Clan is the most powerful, and thorough, organization in this city."

"So..." Varna looks at Belarin for a moment. "I was originally only going to bring Belarin here, because he needs some things that...the Boromars can supply. But I've been thinking about it ever since we came out of those sewers, after spending time with all of you...and seeing my brother as I've never seen him."

"Listen." She fidgets, then addresses Streko most. "When I ran away from home, I came to Sharn first. Spent some time here, then left, then returned, then left. I love and hate this city. I've seen some wonderful things here, and I've also seen some terrible things...things I don't even want to think about. I guess I can add the sewers to the list now..." The ghost of a smile lingers on her lips.

Varna walks over to the large round window, peers out, then she turns back in to continue.

"I ran into the Boromars when I was still fresh off the Orien caravan. I picked a nobleman's pocket. Wasn't my first time, but it was the first time in Sharn. It was my third day here, and I'd run out of sovereigns. I was scared to stay the night on the streets...they didn't look safe. So I chose a mark, someone traveling alone, as he got off the rail in Terminus. He was new to the city, too. Ignorant, unsuspecting. The perfect mark. So I nabbed his coin purse. Walked off, counting the money as I did—such an amateur's mistake—and then I discovered too late that I'd been followed. By an ugly old half-orc with a club. He grabbed me, accused me 'working his street,' threw me to the ground of an alley, and said he'd take more than the coins for payment for my transgression."

At this, Condign recalls the orcs and half-orcs of the Ghaash'kala, how proud and viruous they live their lives as they work to keep the evils of Fah'lrrg in check. Clearly the orcs and half-orcs of the wider world are as diverse as humans in their virtues and sins.

"Then these two halflings appeared, came out of nowhere. They weren't even masked. They spoke a few words to the thug—I couldn't really hear what it was—and he ran off, terrified. By their reputation alone! These were Boromars. Apparently they'd already noticed me roving about, had followed me for more than a day already to assess my skills."

Varna shrugs. "So I become a pickpocket for the Boromar Clan. There are many in this city. It wasn't so bad. I got to pick my own marks, and they got a cut of it. The Boromars are—"

"One of the most admirable entities in all of Sharn," comes a new voice, interrupting. A well dressed male gnome strides through the door, checking his cuffs as he speaks and not even glancing at your group. "Worthy of your respect, despite—or perhaps because of—its reputation."

He looks like a hard-edged aristocrat, but there's a curved knife on his belt and a sheaf of rolled up scrolls in his hand. His age is difficult to determine, but he has the sharp, spiked hairstyle of most gnomes and even a small goatee pointed in the opposite direction. His eyes are black, glittering orbs, but there are bags under them. He looks underslept. A pair of spectacles are tucked up into his hair at the moment.

"Castar," Varna says, offering a slight bow to the gnome, her tone immediately demuring. "I didn't expect you to be here."

"I'll choose to treat that as a compliment, my dear," the gnome, Castar, replies. Then he smiles and finally looks up at the rest of you. "Hmmm. An heir of Deneith, a feybound mage, an Olladran priest, a Cyran 'forged, an Aereni, and...oh, a tiefling. Quite a medley of talents you've gathered, Varna. I'm suitably impressed. Bringing them here, you must really hate them, or admire them so much you wish to open their eyes."

Varna reddens. "Castar...this is my brother, Streko."

[Darren]

Kal dips his head slightly to Castar, the merest hint of a bow. "If Varna trusts you, then I trust you. Until you give me a reason not to." Kal takes a few steps closer to the gnome, singling himself out as the leader of the group (at least in his own mind). "If you are in charge of this clan, then we are both men of action and it would be a waste for us to stand here exchanging pleasantries. Varna obviously brought us here for a reason, which means either she needs something of you or you need something of us. Either way, we are here which means we are listening." Kal's eyes move between Varna and Castar. "So what do you need?"

[Ken]

"'Men of action' should still want to have a drink when introductions are being made," mutters Belarin. He acts distracted, and he scratches his ear in an annoyed fashion.

___________________________
Belarin is paying close attention, but he sees value in playing up the "half-mad bard" routine right now. He's happy to let Kal present himself as The Leader in these situations.

He makes an Insight check on Castar. (I was originally going to say Perception, but it's safe to say that we're probably being watched from a half-dozen different spots.)

[Brian]

As introductions are made, Condign wanders around the room and admires the sparing dummies. Uncomfortable with having the entire group gathered in one spot--a decidedly tactical disadvantage--he uses the ruse to spread out their numbers and familiarize himself with the room's layout.