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The Styx Oarsman (Lower Ward)

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The Styx Oarsman (Lower Ward)

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(Open RP Location: Any may join this thread.)

Deep in the Lower Ward, around a darkened corner, and down an ill-lit alley, stands this inn. Owned by the Bleaker, Zegonz Vlaric, the bar at times falls into a bit of chaos. After all Zegonz has of recent begun to decend into the Grim Retreat, and at those times can rarely be roused to do much of anything. Luckily this is only an occasional problem, but if it worsens he may very well loose the bar. Drink here is strong, and not nessecarily fine to the tongue.

The inn boasts two stories, and the shell of the building is composed as much of Sigil's buildings are - out of stone. Inside, wood dominates, and occasionaly provides impromptu weapons for the occasional barfight. A number of well known faces can be found here such as the Three Toads, a hezrou, a slaadi, and a hydroloth. But the most regular customer here is Rule-Of-Three. This cambion speaks and interacts soley in terms of threes, and is a lynchpin in a number of underground dealings in the city.

The bouncing at this inn is handled by a tiefling at the door wielding a blunderbluss marked with the sigil of some little prime kingdom he'll name as Cormyr. Inside, this duty is handled by a cambion and a mezzoloth. Of particular note, this *is* a tanar'ri bar - baatezu
are not welcome here, and most patrons of this place will enforce that rule with glee.

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The Styx Oarsman (Lower Ward)

A Red Slaad is wandering through Sigil muttering curses under his breath that would make Demogorgon blush. Before, it was just hungry, now it is hungry and angry since getting kicked out of the fortunes wheel. (Sure it wasn't really so much kicked out, as it was pulled out after knocking itself silly, but don't try to tell it that berk.)

It eventually wanders into the lower ward, where it stops and says "Xixisomistosramiestopha smells tanar'ri! Xixisoeomeijije like tanar'ri! Xixisomistosramiestopha go spread wonderful XAOS with joyus tanar'ri! Too bad tanar'ri don't taste good."

With a new found bounce is his hop, the overjoyed slaad runs into the bar, and sits in the first available seat.

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*An inferno of energy enshrouds a particularly blemished portion of the Inn's ceiling, even as obsidian formed thorns the size of shortswords screech out from the newly created pocket to another reality.

A thunderous column of air follows the portals opening, as do the two forms that spill out from the window as it closes behind them. The first to enter (err, fall) into the tavern is a dangerous seeming but contemplative clueless with an assortment of tatoos running along the backs of his hands and what you can see of his collar bone, though the rest of him is covered by an odd assortment of clothing. His pants seem to have come from a desert world, they're stark white, and formed of loose fitting cotton tightened at the waist by another red band of cloth. His shirt is black with a glyph inscribed mantle stitched in. A close observer would note that while most of his outfit shifts in the wind current the part with the mantle stays rigid as iron. His face is clearly human, though it depicts depth and a barley concealed sense of grief.

The creature that follows is much more insectiod then mortal, with four pincer claws and the head of a scarab emerging from a chitinous but humanoid shaped body. It screeches a threat to the tavern as it attempts to drive it’s pincers into it’s fellow traveler. Fortunately for the humanoid the monster bubbles and melts now that it's out of it’s environment, turning into a rather nauseating pile of goo on the floor of the inn. Startled by his sudden loss of an adversary, the human looks around the tavern in a kind of stupefied awe as he slips his rune covered spiked chain into a pack, he has the very picturesque look of a clueless primer.

Undettered he looks around the bar- “Can anyone tell me what gate I have wandered into?”

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The door flies open as a man in a brown cloak with a hood over his head walks in. The mezzoloth bouncer grunts. "Take off your hood. Gotta make sure you ain't a devil." The man in the cloak sweeps his hood off of his head, revealing bright red scaly skin and bright green eyes. "I'm not a baatezu, you insolent twit," begins the man. "I am, in fact, part tanar'ri, so you'd better let me in quickly." The mezzoloth opens his mouth to warn the man not to insult him, but quickly stops as he notices the man's eyes slowly changing from green to the same red as his skin. Instead, the mezzoloth gives him a quick little smile and steps back. The man smiles back as his eyes change back to the same green they were before. He walks over to the bar, sits down, and orders the strongest ale the bar's got. He then grabs his mug, spins around in his seat, and begins to drink as he studies the other patrons of the bar.

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*Still looking Rather quizzical at the eerily silent bunch of monstrosities, Kabiel taps one of the tatoo's visible to catch the mental persausions of the strange place in which he'd found himself. What he gets is much more then for what he bargains.
The bar shifts and blurs under a rush of information, Kabiel's vision swimming as doubles over and spews his breakfast onto the floor of Styx Oarsman. Thoughts and Sentience unlike any he had before witnessed or sensed flood his mind, rushing over his mind as a tidal wave. Kabiel slowly gets up, and shaking the nausea from himself he meekly walks to the bar, nearby a what appears to be a man in a brown cloak.
He glances at the cloaked figure sitting next to him, covering his mouth as he feels more alien psychich impressions waft from the patron and the strange inn. He dispatches the affect when he notices several of the patrons glaring at them, obviuosly disliking his inspection of their aura. He looks twoards the barkeep and orders mead, though fully expects that there is no such comfort in this place. At last coming out of his sickness the human turns to the figure in the brown cloak.*

"Where in the hells are we?"

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"Kabiel" wrote:
At last coming out of his sickness the human turns to the figure in the brown cloak. "Where in the hells are we?"

From a table in the back of the room, light reflected off of yellow eyes for a moment. "Three new faces, I shall see. Useful they'll be." The githzerai breathed across the steaming mug before him. He raised a hand, wracked with age - knuckles knobby and twisted, and signalled one of the bouncers to his attention.

"Those. Bring them here." As the bouncer nodded, turning to the bar - the githzerai called after him, louder with a bang of mug on the table. "And three chairs!"

The bouncer paused, then nodded to the old gith, walking to the Slaad first. "... Rule of Three would see you. Go there." He said gruffly, pointing to the back table and moved on towards Kabiel, and their recent newcomer in the hood, with the same message. Chairs were brought to the table for each of the three.

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Froggy McCroaksalot stares intensely at the 'zerai for a minute, then walks over to the waiting Tanar'ri. Still hungry from all the running around the city it found itself in, it decides to start chewing on the chair sitting around Rule of Three's table.

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*Kabiel looks twoards the bartender, looking longingly at the yet unpoured ale. Sighing at lost possibility he walks slowly and unmeanacingly twoards the seated individual that motiened for him. He calmly bows to the graybeard, and makes sure to keep his aura reading under check. These weren't patryn or sartan brethren, but neither were they insignificant enough to be mensch. Strangley enough Kabiels reading of this man had yeilded to his powerful protections and wardings, wrought in interlocking patterns of three. He takes a seat and keeps his hands locked upon the table, attempting to seem as unthreatening
as possible. He waits for the thrice warded one to introduce
?himself?itself?*

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ooc: If I don't hear from Chaotic Myth by Wendsday nite EST - then we'll move on without him with you two. There's still three even if I have to count myself. Smiling

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Rule of Three paused, two of them had come at the summons - but the last was reserving himself. He shrugged, finishing his drink off. "It's well enough, we make three, as it is." He looked around the table, hefting the mug in his hand, and nodding in semi-bow that gave a hint of previous strength and grace. "I am Rule-of-Three."

"Who are you?"

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*A little taken back by such a direct question, Kabiel still answers quickly and respectfully, using an alliace picked up during one of his last escapades.*

"I am Tallis of the Ninth String, warder of the fifth gate at Antigedda. If it is not to presumptuous to ask my lord, where am I?"

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I am Xisjeij eater of Githzerai. You must get githerzerai when they are young, because when they get old they get less crunchy and more likely to stab you with sharp things. Githzerai at bar look old and stringy. I'd rather stick with this. *It takes a bite out of it's chair* anyone else like some?

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"Kabiel" wrote:
A little taken back by such a direct question, Kabiel still answers quickly and respectfully, using an alliace picked up during one of his last escapades. "I am Tallis of the Ninth String, warder of the fifth gate at Antigedda. If it is not to presumptuous to ask my lord, where am I?"

The gith smiled into his mug, then frowned down into it and slammed it on the edge of the table with a loud cracking sound. Presumably this was some sort of call for another round - as the quasit currently chained down behind the bar sneered in the direction of the table and poured another drink to be delivered.

"You are... here. Maybe there. Likely Sigil. Do you know where you are?" Rule-of-Three smiled widely at man.

"A Red Slaad" wrote:
I am Xisjeij eater of Githzerai. You must get githerzerai when they are young, because when they get old they get less crunchy and more likely to stab you with sharp things. Githzerai at bar look old and stringy. I'd rather stick with this." It takes a bite out of it's chair. "Anyone else like some?"

"Clever." The gith said shortly, eyeing the Slaad for a long moment. He then shook his head, "I may have a use, a need, a place for you. There is a task that needs doing, a man that needs dying, and a message to carry. Are you interested?"

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The door bursts open to the gasping breath of some berk not being able to take the stench outside. This berk is dressed not like a typical basher you'd see but is obviously a primepeeler, with sword on back and holy symbol and all. Probably one of those "High and Mighty" types. He's some young human type with long hair. He'd probably seem more noble if he wasn't leaning against the door, sweating, gasping for air, and staring blankly into nothingness.

The poor sod stumbles across to the bar, trying to ignore everything before his eyes it would seem, and simply drops some jink on down in front and says, "Something replenishing.....please."

He sits down and tries not to make eye contact with anyone, seeming not scared but still confused enough to go barmy.

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Rule of Three glanced up as the new one stumbled through the door, then looked back to the two he'd just proposed a job opportunity to. "... three works better. That one will be good to bring, perhaps. Perhaps not." He shrugged, nodding across the room to the newcomer before he looked back at the two at his table, "Are you interested?"

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The rules of this place were changing fast, never one to miss his chance at survival, Kabiel responds the-third-rule

*The following is said telepathically*

I'm Interested, Intrigued, and more then a little suspiscious my Lord. You see I've only just come here, have no idea what here is, and have even less of an idea of whats required of me to function, here. I need information in only the most general sense, the kind that wouldn't get me cut in a dark alley for knowing. A name for your client, a reason, and a price paid in knowledge. These are whats required for my aid. Which I can assure you will be adequate in solving your problem. But first things first, tell me what I need to know to survive here.

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"I might do it, but if you want me to hurt blue Slaad, I won't. They are big and strong and like to hit me."

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Apparently the poor sod had been very dehydrated for he managed to down his drink in less than a minute. Wiping the moisture from his face he barely dared to look around.

As he looked around he noticed the table of the three, simply nodding a "Hello...." to them with the most polite look he could manage under the circumstances.

With that, he left the jink and began to rise to leave, making sure not to cause a ruckus of any kind.

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"Kabiel" wrote:
I need information in only the most general sense, the kind that wouldn't get me cut in a dark alley for knowing. A name for your client, a reason, and a price paid in knowledge. These are whats required for my aid. Which I can assure you will be adequate in solving your problem. But first things first, tell me what I need to know to survive here.

The gith seemed to twitch at first at the telepathic touch, but he tilted his head slowly as he 'listened' to the man's speech, then nodded minutely, responding in kind. "Very well, your deal... is made. To survive here, three things needed - wits, blade, respect. Wits and blade get you money. Wits and respect get you friends. Blades and respect get you followers." The gith smiled toothily as he leaned forwards with the last piece of advice.

"Always, always, always have respect for Ladies with blades."

He sat back with a smile, as if he'd delivered the most pithy wisdom of the gods. "Satisty you? Fill your craving? Complete your thoughts, no?" He shrugged, "A map of the city, a well known tout, and gold to pay for both will solve the rest."

"A Red Slaad" wrote:
"I might do it, but if you want me to hurt blue Slaad, I won't. They are big and strong and like to hit me."

The gith smiled, nodding to the red slaad as it volunteered.

"Orendil" wrote:
As he looked around he noticed the table of the three, simply nodding a "Hello...." to them with the most polite look he could manage under the circumstances.

With that, he left the jink and began to rise to leave, making sure not to cause a ruckus of any kind.

Unfortunately the gith at the table was smiling his way with a gleam in his yellow eyes. Lifting a knobby hand he very exageratedly looked at the slaad, lifting one finger. Then at Kabiel lifting a second... then directly across the room at Orendil lifting a third, as a wide smile crossed his face. Rule-of-Three held his hand out and curled the three fingers towards him in a summoning gesture, his hand passing over the empty third chair in invitation.

ooc: Hop on in, the waters fine! Smiling

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"Rule of Three" wrote:
The gith seemed to twitch at first at the telepathic touch, but he tilted his head slowly as he 'listened' to the man's speech, then nodded minutely, responding in kind. "Very well, your deal... is made. To survive here, three things needed - wits, blade, respect. Wits and blade get you money. Wits and respect get you friends. Blades and respect get you followers." The gith smiled toothily as he leaned forwards with the last piece of advice.

"Always, always, always have respect for Ladies with blades."

He sat back with a smile, as if he'd delivered the most pithy wisdom of the gods. "Satisty you? Fill your craving? Complete your thoughts, no?" He shrugged, "A map of the city, a well known tout, and gold to pay for both will solve the rest."

((OOC-well deserving of the name and title, I tip my hat to the glamered Gith))

*The patryn smiles quietly as he leans back in the chair, taking in the scenes of the rather slumish bar. With his wits now recollected, Tallis was outside his homeland but once again in an arena he knew. 'Sides, any pit was better then the Labyrinth.*

*The seeming human nods gravely at the elders advice, and waits for response from the surrounding patrons.* [/i]

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"Kabiel" wrote:
((OOC-well deserving of the name and title, I tip my hat to the glamered Gith))
ooc: Thanks Smiling Drove my DM nuts that I could do the 'three' speech better than he could when I went to deal with RoT in his game ... Smiling

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Quote:
Rule-of-Three held his hand out and curled the three fingers towards him in a summoning gesture, his hand passing over the empty third chair in invitation.

So the poor sod noticed the invitation before leaving. And, seeming that he did not want to seem rude, reluctantly came over and sat down. But one could easily tell he was not used to the faces he saw for he kept his head down and simply played with his thumbs.

"I apologize for my lack of words, but I thank you for inviting me here to sit with thee. May I inquire of what it is you need of me?"

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"Orendil" wrote:
"I apologize for my lack of words, but I thank you for inviting me here to sit with thee. May I inquire of what it is you need of me?"

The githzerai smiled widely. "You make three." He said, at first as if this was all that truly needed to be said. Then he continued, "You are lost, confused, wandering seemingly?"

"I am Rule-of-Three. You have employment. If you're available?"

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Quote:
"I am Rule-of-Three. You have employment. If you're available?"

The lost, confused wanderer seemed to perk up at this. As if his bewildered state of mind had now been given a purpose. He looked up, but obviously avoided eye contact with the Gith, or anyone else for that matter....

"I am willing to take any job if it truly serves a just and good cause."

Little did this poor questor know that he might eat on his own words.....

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"Orendil" wrote:
"I am willing to take any job if it truly serves a just and good cause."

The gith smiled slightly, "It serves a cause, myself, and your belly... if you plan to keep eating in the future." He then smiled at the three gathered around the table, gestured to the bar for another round of drinks - recieving a glare from the server he had been running back and forth all evening.

Propping a foot up against the chair the slaad had been crunching on he leaned back. "The task that needs doing. A box must be delivered unto a man, unopened, for his eyes only. The man that needs killing. The one who recieves the box will tell you the location of our doomed one." He paused, glancing at the peel beside him, and added for the man's benefit. "A slaver, seller of flesh, and men." He then looked to the slaad, "And the message to deliver... feel free to eat the body. Leave enough to be identified, destroy the rest."

He paused, looking around the table. "Agreed?"

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*Tallis watches Ro3 and the other 2 seated with keen interest, noting the aged means influence within the inn, he decides to side againts the err of caution.

"Ah, slowly there. Maker knows I have no problem with wetting my edge on slaver blood, but thats two tasks your setting before us. I'm going to need a kip to call rest at occasionally, after the blade work of course. While not exactly like home, this place seems secure enough. A few nights should be all it takes to gift myself with enough to coin to grace my own room, but until then I'll need sleeping room. I'm sure you can convince the owner that he has room to spare?"

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ooc: My apologies folks, a bit of real life got in the way. As I recall the topic on the table : An assignment to go take a box to a fellow, hunt another, and "make an example outta him"... with (hopefully) three takers on it.

"Kabiel" wrote:
"Ah, slowly there. Maker knows I have no problem with wetting my edge on slaver blood, but thats two tasks your setting before us. I'm going to need a kip to call rest at occasionally, after the blade work of course. While not exactly like home, this place seems secure enough. A few nights should be all it takes to gift myself with enough to coin to grace my own room, but until then I'll need sleeping room. I'm sure you can convince the owner that he has room to spare?"

The gith smiled, and leaned forwards - light gleaming off his yellow eyes for a moment. "*Three* tasks, Kabiel. An example to be made - makes it three." There was a peculiar emphasis on his words... He then leaned back in his chair, returning to the relaxed smile he's had on his face for the entire conversation.

"....I may, may not, perhaps. We shall see." He lifted a hand, signalling to the barkeep across the room. An unheard message seemed to pass between the two before a set of key were thrown in the gith's direction. He slid them across the table to Kabiel.

"And you two?" The gith looked to the others, curious to see their price.

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*The Patryn snatches up the keys from the table, depositing them in a hidden compartment among his clothing. His grin takes on a razors edge as he leans back in the slightly damaged chair. Oh yes, he was going to fit in quite well.*

Very well then, you have my service, for the time being.

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*Waits. And Waits. Aaaannnnndddd, waits.*

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ooc: I've got the feeling we've lost em... we can continue and I'll just slip in npc's for ya if'd you'd like to continue Eye-wink

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OOC: Sorry for being lost, it's a long story..................I wasn't sure we were continuing.

"Well," The bumbling fool now spoke, after a long pause and staring at his own thumbs, "I need no price but merely wish to know where I am and to find a way to reach home. But if this deed be good then I need not ask for much payment."

The clueless sod gave in as he slowly placed his hand on the table and lowered his head. "To put it shortly.......I'm in."

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ooc: that's ok- pbp on these forums tend to go in spurts Eye-wink but i've got no plans to abandon a run once i've got it going Eye-wink

Rule-of-Three smiled a crooked tooth smile. "So be it. An if ye price be information, ye price shall be met, with ye completion of my tasks. You will learn."

He drummed fingers lightly on the table, seeming to consider something, then nodded to the barkeep a second time, gaining another set of keys. "Lock your door." He said shortly, handing it to the obviously clueless across the table.

He eyed the Slaadi for a moment, but it seemed to be occupied crunching through a chair - further food arrived for the Slaadi - in an attempt to minimize the loss of customers later in the evening.

"Tommorrow with breakfast, your first task." He stood, with a salute of his mug. "... enjoy your evening."

The gith walked to one of the stairs leading up to higher levels of the inn, his walk a touch too smooth and strong to match his withered look...

[Thread continues in: A Good Morning's Work]

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ooc: *thread tap* Anyone still alive?

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