"Every Man Has His Price": WHFB RP IC Thread

[McScottish]

Welcome to the Republic of Verezzo...


Verezzo is a republic, but of a completely different kind to Remas. Verezzo lies inland, dominating the fertile plain with its walls and many bastions. The city is very compact and crowded with people. The streets are very narrow and winding and the houses are built very tall because of the lack of space. Some have risen so high that they have become towers which have been built into the defences. The reason for this is that the walls are so strong and occupy such a good vantage point on the only rising ground for miles around, that the citizens are reluctant to change them and build a wider and less formidable circuit.

Like Remas, Verezzo became a republic as a result of the great famines in Tilea. The Prince hoarded up grain and tried to sell it to the citizens at an extortionate price. He was soon toppled from power with the help of mercenaries and a republic was proclaimed. The republic of Verezzo is much more democratic than that of Remas, probably because there are so many merchant families and anyone with aspirations to great power is likely to risk assassination from several quarters.

In Verezzo there is an elaborate voting system in which the merchant families are divided into factions distinguished by voting colours (the reds, greens, blues and yellows). The colours are associated with particular factions and policies, so after the voting in Verezzo it might be said in Remas or Luccini, "the reds are in Verezzo, we are in for trouble!" or "don't lend Verezzo any gold while the yellows are in", and so on. The colours are also used to designate teams in various rowdy games played in the cramped piazzas of the city. Naturally, these games are flavoured with politics and intrigue!

Gossippa Lotta is said, to be the exiled Ducess of Verezzo, the city was one spot in the illustrous career of Vespero, the famed duellist and leader of Vespero's Vendetta as well as Dadallo, the founder of The Birdmen of Catrazza was from here.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

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If any 'normal' city of the Big Folk was tall to a Halfling, then the towering buildings and structurally unsound architecture of the Tilean city-state of Verezzo was almost a living Hell in itself!

Jan, known to many as The Cleaver, had only recently arrived in the city after an altercation with his last employer- a rather forward and fat Imperial chef, who sadly would not be able to taste anything anymore due in most part to the very recent lack of his tongue.

The muscular Halfling smiled to himself as he remembered the look on the fools face, the eyes wide with fear and dread as his cleaver descended to sever only instrument for speech and for his occupation at mansion of some Ostland nobleman and his rather loose wife. Thinking about it now, would it not be a surprise when the stunted baby popped out of her, yes, that made the grin on the mercenaries face even wider. So wide in fact that people on the street moved to avoid the glance of the crazed...beardless Dwarf? Wayward child?! Most of them could neither tell, nor did they care, as to what he was or where exactly he had come from; a state of affairs which suited him just fine.

Whistling tunelessly to himself, he placed a hand inside his jerkin and pulled out a scroll of parchment, unravelling it as he walked and giving not a hoot if there were tuts and loud sighs from those that were forced to move out of his path.

On the paper was handwriting that looked like a spider had run all over it, worse than the hand of almost the youngest child even. Clearly the writer had either been wounded, or else really was a strange child. Either way, he was on his way to meet them and once more glanced at the scroll which read:

To whom it may concern- loyal traveller, dutiful retainer, or crazed mercenary all!

An opportunity of a lifetime awaits you in Verezzo, at the tavern of The Emperor's Bastard, located on the Street of Merchants near the fountain of seven streams; I shall be in this tavern for several weeks, and then I will be gone. Those who appear at the tavern and ask for Remanes 'The Pike' Vesprazzo will be shown to my personal table, but will only be asked to sit if they can produce one of these letters.

If you have gotten one, by any means, then I shall welcome you to sit with me and discuss a rather unique proposition. What is it, I hear you cry? Well, let me say that it shall make anyonew who accepts the dangers inherent in any venture a rich, rich, man...or woman.

Do you have what it takes, then come and find me!

Signed,

Remanes Vesprazzo

There was a unique seal of wax dangling from the fringe of the letter, bearing two pikes crossed over a grinning skull, a seal that was crucial to helping the transaction along smoothly; Jan had had to kill two Dwarfs and a Man for this letter, and he would be swallowed into the Chaos wastes before allowing this chance at riches to pass him by.

So, set on his path, he headed for the tavern and, Gods willing, enough money to return to the Mootland a wealthy Halfling.

[Oznerol]

"Stop it"

"Show me the parchment!"

"You have read it half-a-dozen-times-do-you-really-need-it? Or you're only trying to piss me? By the beard of Grungni!"

"Well...but may I see it?"

"Ah! You little...!"

"Stop you both"

Gorm caressed his temples. The towering and narrow alley suffocated the dwarf, filled with stench and indescribable odors, with so many people going up and down, announcing their goods or throwing their bowls' contents out of the window, everyone a couple heads taller than he. Gorm was used to tunnels and narrow passages, but this was different and disgusting. He hated the city, dirty and crowded, crowded by scum and villainy, of course. And his retainers weren't making it easier, with their never-ending squabbles. He caressed the sharp edge of his axe, relieving and relaxing himself; sharp metal, sharp enough to cleave and behead, that is what a dwarf needs, what a dwarf trusts.
Gorm caressed his white and gold formidable beard while looking a map drawn by a local showing the location of the inn. Behind him a young dwarf, with 'short' red beard and mail, by his side a bitter and mature dwarf, with black, graying beard, and mail. One had freckles and smiled, the other scars and frowned. Both carried hammers, in the old tradition of Dwarven Royal Guard. Both were his bodyguards, the only remnant of his household, together the old ale brewer, left at the 'camp', with the immense chart, which could not enter the compact city.

"It's over there, I think"

Gorm scratches his head. Clearly the person who did the map wasn't an engineer from Nuln. The three dwarfs advance through the alley using ankles and knees to walk through the crowd, many step back at the sight of a proud dwarf and two bodyguards.
Hopefully the job would give him enough coin to rebuild and recover his manse, or at least stop living as a filthy mercenary for a while. Gorm was sweating in his heavy crimson robes, with golden thread and lined with fur, splendid clothes, but in a state of decay. Under it he wore a splendid mail, because you don't know what is lurking in the shadows. He caressed his axe once again. An old heirloom, engraved with runes and of magnificent craftmanship.

"Grungni!"

He had stepped over the content of someone's bowls. His young companion found it amusing. His old companion frowned.

Disgusting town... I hope I'll find as many gold as on this city.

While he cleaned his boot he glanced an inn's signboard...

[Zectorman]

Bulgric grunted in annoyance as he had squeezed himself through another one of the streets of Verezzo. This city was built for skinny humans and Bulgric fit into none of those descriptions. Having walked for miles to get to this city, going through no small effort to "convince" the guards to allow him inside, needless to say Bulgric was angry about having to go through so much effort to reach some inn...not to mention he starting to become very hungry.

He had walked all the way from Luccini, off a boat he had done work on for months. After a few days in the port, spending his well earned gold on barrels of drink and whole flocks of sheep, a letter arrived for the Ogre. This confused Bulgric greatly because the letter was tiny in his hands and he was completely illiterate. After taking thirty minutes staring at the paper, hoping to discern something, he finally grunted in frustration and grabbed another patron from his stool and thrust the man's face into the letter. "SPEAK WORDS ON TINY PAPER!" He shouted at the trembling man. As a pool of liquid stemmed from the pants leg of this human he started to hurriedly read the letter."READ SLOW!"shouted Bulgric again, his head hurting trying to keep up with the man's fumbling speech. Finally Bulgric was able to pick up some of the words he knew: Inn ,Bastard ,Verezzo (From a crewman on the ship he recently worked on, who enjoyed singing in the galley which annoyed Bulgric's feasting) and Rich, Rich, Man woman.

He had the captain of his ship point in the direction of Verezzzo for him and began his trek for riches.

This was the more enjoyable part of his travel. Wading through and depleting whole vineyards of there crop, much to the dismay of their owners. Though the first couple of estates had sent personal guards to end his life, they met his big stone maul (a pillar from an ancient temple) and his gaping maw. Word had soon spread of this roaming Ogre on a path to Verezzo; none would stand up to his overwhelming size and gluttony for fear of being his next course.

Once he arrived at the great gates of Verezzo, the towers of which reminded Bulgric of miniature version of the Sky-giant towers in the Mountain of Mourn, he had to deal with the cost of his ravenous appetite. He gave away most of the gold he had earned to repay for "Damages", and was given entry. Though he noticed a few guards shadowing his movements. Now having lost most of his gold paying just to get in the city, Bulgric was pinning all his hopes and hatred on this "Emperor's Bastard Street Merchant Remanes Vesprazzo"

Wandering for hours, looking for a man he did not know (not ...intelligent enough to ask anyone for directions, not that they would give it) his stomach bested him and he followed his nose to a local Inn. Not looking where he was going, letting his stomach guide him blindly, he knocked aside what he thought was a metal pot which was actually a Dwarf. He entered said inn, not knowing that this happened to be exactly where he needed to go.

[Narf]

The City, Verezzo, Tilean, It was a bustling city of many people, towering buildings chatting people and the Merchant roars for attention, haggling, shake down's, Guard Patrols, and women carrying groceries back home. The city had a pulse like a beating heart. Captain Lavinia enjoyed this testament to human civilization, even though a calm person and one who had recently endured a great loss, she couldn't help but to walk through the city enjoying the pulse. She was a woman from the Empire, who had taken to Piracy some years ago, and quite successfully for a long time. But a few weeks ago, they sailed by a Naval Battle between some states, the magic deployed went wrong and the following storm proved too great a foe after seven bitter hours trying to weather it. She and her crew had been forced into rocks. Like a spit in the face the storm receded shortly after.

She and her remaining men spend the night on these treacherous rocks until Lady Luck decided to smile on them. A merchant ship saw them and helped, offering them passage to Tilean. They lived some days in the port they arrived in and two of the men decided to go their own way seeking employment on one of the ships in the harbour, being more sailors than Pirates/Mercenaries. The last three, loyal men decided to follow her inland to the city of Verezzo where they had been invited to an opportunity of gold. She had received the letter after she had spent some days at the Inns mourning her loss, raising mugs for the members she remembered the names of and such. The letter gave her a destination, something she had frankly needed..

The three men were not some of her closest friends, most of those perished, they were two Deckhands and one gunner. She herself the Captain was a tall woman, the complexion of one who spend her time outside. She had red wild curly hair and piercing green eyes. Some scars could be seen on her arms and a few on her face, but none that diminished her beauty much. But it did enhance the air of authority and veterancy. She looked capable like she could back up her confident mannerism with action.

She was wearing a long trench coat, old thick leather which had properly once been very fine, but over the years one could see it had weathered salt water, wind, sun, rain and battle. It had been a Red Officers coat once, of Empire craftsmanship, a coat to show rank and authority, and still had small remains of ostentatious imperial embroidering, but the colours had faded and the leather revealed, the only red that remained was on the inside of the folded neck/collar. It fitted her well, so at one point it had been fitted to her size and form if it had not been made for her in the first place. Her belt was also leather and had a big belt buckle of silver, portraying a skull. The belt held three pistols and a cutlas with hacks and marks of much combat. And even if everything was worn and old, it still seemed practical and functional, and the thing that gave away that she was not poor was the attire under the trench coat, it was fine garments fitting her body well, relatively new brown leather pants and a clean white buttoned slightly aristocratic shirt. One could see on her form that she wore some kind of light corset under the shirt, and it was all quite good craft. Her boots were of the same quality, new black solid boots. And her hat was in the same state as her trench-coat, old with a few cuts and bullet-holes. She was a thin and an overall beautiful lady.

She walked through the city enjoying seeing life pass by around her. The Gunner Silas held a map and made way for her and the two sailors through the crowd, people send wondering looks her way, didn't know what such a type did in the city. "Silas, Did you turn the map the right way this time?" She said in half jest, but he looked at her with a slightly indignified look. "Yes, Captain.. It's just through this square in that direction. We should be there soon... " He pointed towards a couple of buildings. She nodded and pulled forth a long pipe from her coat.. "Good, let's go and earn us some gold.." She lit the pipe and walked calmly following Silas.

Soon they stood before the inn, she looked at it and pulled forth the letter from a pocket inside her coat. Affirmed that it was the right place.. "Well it's here boys. Go get you something to quench your thirst, I'll see if the man sending this letter is there." As they walked in she paused for a second, the pipe losing some elevation in her mouth, A huge Ogre had just pummelled a Dwarf looking like Nobility, to get into the Inn. She raised her eyebrows and awaited the dwarfs reaction, knowing dwarves this could turn to be not so peaceful fast. Her men paused too, but then headed for the innkeeper, less interested in the outcome and more interested in liqueur. She pocketed the letter and kept her hand on it, she didn't want to lose it.

[Oznerol]

Gorm fell to the ground as heavily as a stone, laying on the dust as long (or as short) as he was, his face muddied by the floor's dirt. For a moment he was so enraged and embarrassed that he didn't move, but soon he was on his feet cursing, his axe held with both hands. His bodyguards quickly rushed to his aid and helped him trying to clean up the mess that had become his splendid beard.
Gorm roared and his bodyguards prepared his hammers.

"By the frowned brow of Grimnir! Nobody tosses a dwarf you brutish creature! Your head will be stuffed and impaled, you brainless beast! By the beard of Grungni I can't tolerate this offense! And I have killed beasts as large as you!"

His axe shone under the sun, covered in runes. Under his heavy brocade robes the resplendent gomril mail, light and impregnable. His bodyguard readied themselves for battle.

[McScottish]

Jan watched the entire series of intertwined incidents with a roguish smile, leaning his less than ample frame against the corner of the building opposite the tavern, the correct tavern, a small hand delving into his jerkin and pulling forth a two-week-old stale pie and mindlessly stuffing it entirely into his mouth in one go. Moments later he spat it out again, disgusted at the taste, texture...just about everything about it really! What in the Gods names had he been thinking, why to even contemplate eating such a foodstuff would usually be social- if not actual -suicide for a Hafling.

"Better gets my money..." he muttered angrily to himself, wiping his hairless chin and cheeks free of any clinging food particles, "need something better than what I 'ave. That's fer certain."

Within the tavern sat Remanes, surrounded by any number of hardened veterans and slayers of all things mighty, bestial and overlarge- Ogres included in that description. He was tall, almost Elvishly tall, and just as slender; it was because of his waistline, and the piercing gaze of his eyes, that he had earned the nickname of 'The Pike'. No doubt the fact that he was strategically brilliant and a silver-haired warrior of many wars in the Old World helped somewhat with that as well.

One major thing differed between he and the Halfling though. No, not height...not age...no, not the size of his...no! What differed most of all was the fact that Remanes was quite happy to sit astride his expertly carved chair, quaff fine Estalian wine, put his hand up the skirts of lusty bar wenches, and watch as one of the ugliest looking Ogres he had ever seen was hacked apart by an out-of-luck Dwarf and his two retainers. On the other hand, Jan was not. In fact Jan knew that he could turn this situation to his advantage, oh how he knew.

"Stop!" Piped up the diminutive chef-cum-warrior-cum-lover-cum-adventurer, his voice a deep boom of bass...or at least to him, his stout and muscled form sliding between the back of the Ogre and the reach of the Dwarfs axe. He knew, of course, that any other Dwarf would never kill an enemy in cold blood from behind, but one as shabbily dressed as this one? Eh, he was none too sure.

"Please, yer...Dwarfishness..." he pleaded, waving his hands about in a way he eagerly hoped would placate the red-faced warrior with the mud and excrement in his beard, "before ye lordship kill 'ee, if ye must, at least let me talk to 'im first. Might be that I can even get 'im to apologise?"

What had he gotten himself in to?! His explanation was weak, and this Dwarf was angry...oh, Jan Batten, what would your wife have said to such a rash course of action?

[Oznerol]

Gorm was first surprised of seeing a halfling meddling of his affairs, a grudge was always between the offended and the offender, and this was indeed an offense done to him, Gorm Sigurdsson, Lord of Karak-Yar. However Gorm wouldn't strike such a character like the halfling from behind, it wasn't honorable, more so if he was guiltless. Also dwarfs were patient, incredibly patient, and could wait few minutes to behead the brute, in fact then would be more delightful.

"Do you think, by the bottomless wisdom of Valaya, that beast will offer his apologies? I think not halfling, the only language they know is the chant of steel and iron, and I will happily provide him with it. Also he must offer a seriously good apology if he wishes to retain his head on his shoulders"

Gorm wiped more dirt from his gold-and-white beard and tried to compose his braids. One of his retainers looked the halfling half amused, the other frowned.

[McScottish]

"Do you think, by the bottomless wisdom of Valaya, that beast will offer his apologies? I think not halfling, the only language they know is the chant of steel and iron, and I will happily provide him with it. Also he must offer a seriously good apology if he wishes to retain his head on his shoulders"

Now this was more like it, thought Remanes to himself. Some real, and potentially bloody, entertainment at last!

With a snort of derision at the dirtied Dwarf, his eyes glaring at the two retainers, eyes filled half with madness and half with cunning, Jan swivelled around on his heel and approached him while he was still looking for further food and drink to fill his rather huge belly; to Jan the Ogre may as well have been a mountain, a walking mountain of flesh and iron, the great oaf of little brains and plenty of muscle gently hitting his head on the beams of the tavern with every step he took further in.

All around him other patrons began to move, tables being accidently knocked over and drinks spilt, all to the vast amusement of the mercenary genera who happened to own the establishment.

"Pedralez," He said, turning to a rather grim and one-eyed man beside him, "go and fetch Gorg from the back. We might need his services if things go bad."

Meanwhile, Jan had clambered onto the bar counter, his foot dropping into a glass of ale bought by a man who looked very much like some form of sailor. He was sitting beside another man, but Jan had no time to think of them, taking a small running jump and a leap straight at one of Bulgrics huge arms. Only by gripping as tightly as he could, and shimmying upward using his legs, did he ever make it to one of the Ogres broad shoulders.

What to do now? He thought, swaying as Bulgric tried not to step on anyone.

Taking a small step back, he then hopped forward and kicked the brute right in the side of his head.

"I say!" He yelled, giving another, smaller, thud of his foot just below the ear, "OI! OGRE! OVER HERE."

Now to wait...and pray that he wasn't eaten immediatly, before having a chance to explain why he was teetering atop the shoulder of the obviously dim-witted creature.

[Narf]

Captain Lavinia Katarina Vanderborn watched with increasing interest as a halfling of all things decided to get involved. This would surely be a good tale for later. She packed the pipe away and went to the table where the Gunner had sat down, took his mug from his hand as he was about to drink and drank... He looked at his empty hand and sighed, leaning back for right now it wasn't exactly safe going up to order another. She hoped the Deckhands were wise enough to remain out of the conflict, since they had been so unlucky as to take place by the bar in the middle of the conflict. She sipped the tolerable liqueur, this would be a tale for the Captains Log/Diary..

[Zectorman]

The Ogre was used to noise, in fact his own father was known for being a rather loud belcher in his own time. A fact that he liked to boast on all the time back in the many feasts as he would scream and bellow at the top of his lungs to demonstrate his musical ability. Taverns and inn from the world of man where not nearly as loud but at least offered a comforting hum of talks and drunken laughs that at least soothed Bulgric's mind.

He never really paid any attention to the noises made in Inns, as it usually involved screaming over his mere presence or the drunken outbursts of some man or dwarf. Sometimes they would pick a fight, but Bulgric found out soon after entering the human world that friendly bouts between bar patrons are not supposed to end with the winner eating a few fingers or ears. So that did take the fun out of the social aspect of the tavern.

Bulgric did not care one bit when the tiny man thing ,which he later realized was a dwarf (Sometimes he mistook them for fat ugly human children), threatened him. He was too hungry to care. Luckily for the Halfling and the Dwarves , Bulgric lifted up an entire table that was filled with plates of food, eaten and some still full, and proceeded to gorge down everything on them. Food, drinks, plates, silver ware. He swallowed it all down, sometimes with effort.

Only thing did he realize he was being talked too, because he had to avoid stepping on another dwarf. They were so very touchy about their hieght, though made good little morsels on most days, he had learned to avoid them for there own sake. He looked down at the.....

Bulgric scratched his head and then squinted his eyes. He finally noticed that the noises he was hearing were coming from his own shoulder!. His head still way above what seemed to be a half-man, he grumbled something in Grumbarth ( the language of Ogres). Mostly about if halflings tasted better than human children or dwarf but finally he sighed. He then noticed the metal pot he almost tripped on walking in was fuming at him, now realizing it was a dwarf with shiny armor. Taking another 5 seconds it finally dawned on him that he tripped on a dwarf...That was probably why he might be mad, as he knew throwing your weight around was not very appreciated in the lands of men.

he looked back to the pleading halfling,"What...do you want, Half-man" spoke Bulgric in slow low tones. Thankfully he had eaten something, for the halfling and dwarves sake, but unfortunately he was still very hungry so he was still a little easy to upset. He wanted them to leave him alone soon or he would really start to take interest in them.

[Jokern]

The human city smelled funny, like a mountain of and corpses. Noisy too, humans screaming everywhere, even though there were no fights here. So many humans, so many he could not count how many there were. Most of them could probably not even make a good fight, though the little ones looked kind of tasty. No fun at all, so he just had to get to his destination and he would get a proper fight and gold, sweet, sweet gold. The giant orc smiled and let out a great laugh, scaring most of the humans on the street into small alleys. This was very good, for now could Morkar finally see his guide again, the thin human walking at a high pace a few yards ahead of the orc.

Morkar Skullchain had been in Trantio, fighting off some pirates from Sartosa, when he found a small piece of paper on the table in a captain's cabin whose resident he had just cleaved in half. Though he could not read it, it was easy to find some puny human who nearly pissed himself when the orc grabbed him by the throat and demanded to know what it said. After throwing the man off-board, Morkar had smiled greatly. Riches waited for him in Verezzo, and riches meant gold, which meant better weapons for killing. After getting paid for another successful job, the orc walked from Trantio to Verezzo. On the way he met some garrisons who thought him to be hostile and tried to stop his quest, so he cracked their skulls open and went on his way, in a bad mood because of the lack of good fighters. Where were the proper orc warbands when you needed them?

Once he reached Verezzo he became exhilarated at the thought of loot, until he realized he did not know how to find the inn, or what the paper said. What was an honest proper orc supposed to do? Grabbing some important-looking human dressed in red and gold from a horse, Morkar bellowed at him to lead him to the location written on the paper. After letting go, the human walked through many streets towards the Emperor's Bastard.

Morkar had put on his cloak to hide himself better from the humans. They were easily scared, the orc had gathered, so being sneaky would mean the soldiers would not try to fight him. Not that he did not want to fight, but he suspected that he would be bored after fighting weak humans. Better to find the good ones, or some orcs, to cleave with his axe.

Finally he saw the tavern he was looking for and ignored his guide who quickly ran away when the orc stopped and watched it form the outside. The smells coming out were even funnier than the rest of the city, and there were some smells that were not human. Did not matter much, because the sounds he heard from within were music for his ears. Angry screams from warriors ready for battle, weapons being drawn from their sheaths, those sounds he would never forget.

Morkar kicked in the door and walked into the Emperor's Bastard. There he saw three Stuntiez with their weapons drawn, a big Fattie and a small something on the Fattie's shoulder. There were some other folks in there as well, but they were boring. Whatever was going on, it was a fight Morkar wanted to be a part of. Then he remembered that he was looking for some Remanes Vesprazzo, and if they fought they would be in his way to find the man who could get him gold. He drew his axes and let out his war cry.

"WAAAGH! Where'z da git who'z Remaz Vesrzzo?! Da git'z got gold dat Morkar wantz! And yu gitz, Stuntiez an' Fattie, get outta da way o' Morkar'z gon' look at ye insidz!"

[Narf]

As the ORc entered and bellowed, demanding that the already enraged group to do as he command; Get out of his path, Lavinia felt some small hairs down her neck tingle, fearsome.. This was amazeing, the sailors at the bar had had quite enough and left in a circle around the conflicting parties and joined her and the Gunner by the table.. This was a fascinating once in a lifetime experience. Dangerous, yes, but fascinating.

[McScottish]

It was at that moment, when things seemed so close to turning into a pile of steaming manure, that 'Gorg' appeared from the back of the tavern; a Stone Troll, hunched because of his height, carrying a large hammer- actually a stick with a rock on the end -shuffling slowly into the bar and eyeing both patrons and those that had began to cause the distruption that may very soon break into an all-out blood-bath.

"Ladies and gentlemen," shouted Remanes, rising from his seat and projecting his voice in a way that only a seasoned military leader could, "this is my good friend Gorg. He is my personal guard, and has never lost a fight. He has beaten Orcs, Ogres and Minotaurs, all simply because he cannot truly be killed without certain things."

General knowledge to most experienced warriors was that most Trolls, particularly Stone Trolls, could not be killed except with magic, lots of fire or magical weapons. Apart from that, even after losing their head, there were those that could regenerate, the older ones regenerating faster than the younger ones.

"Now, please, if you do not want the Guard, my own company, and Grog here to massacre you where you stand, then show me your sealed letters and go through that door there..." he imperiously told them all, one gloved hand pointing to a door leading into a courtyard behind the ale-drenched establishment.

In the courtyard was a wide space, surrounded on all sides by towering buildings of merchant families, a huge table imported from the Empire and long drinking benches from Norsca set out in the middle. At this very moment there was nothing there, no food, no wine, but that situation could change once everything calmed itself down. If it calmed down.

If not, well then, it would be a shame to lose potential clients and multiple members of the City Guard.

Now the choice was there's.

Knowing the nature of Halflings, Ogres and Pirates, he gave a small tut and shouted again before being seated once more.

"Should you except, there will be as much food as you can eat, and as much as you can drink."

Meanwhile, Jan had already clambered down from the monsterous Ogres shoulder and was in the process of heading toward the doorway into the yard. If anyone was going to get there first, it would be him!

[Zectorman]

Bulgric turned his attention to the only man in the room making any noise, then to the Troll he had not noticed until now. Ugly by even Ogre standards and really terrible tasting. He recalled stories of a Troll's head bursting from the chest of an Ogre than had eaten it early, its body regenerating within him....A terrifying tale for a race that savored all sources of food. His appetite had vanished with the sight of it.

Moments later after being threatened with death, which did not concern Bulgric being a common theme, the pompous human mention a feast. Suddenly the Ogre's appetite had returned! A feast was sacred to a Ogre, he would relish taking part in one once more. He never even noticed that the Halfling had leaped down from his shoulder. In fact it probably would have been wise for the Halfling to stay there as Bulgric almost jogged forward towards the courtyard, his larger form quickly catching up with the little person.

Bulgric did not notice him being too concerned with eating as much as possible, though the Halfling would be wise to avoid being stepped on!

[McScottish]

Bulgric was fatter, smellier and uglier than Jan- oh, and bigger -but the Halfling was far faster; no matter how many steps that lumbering wall of bone and muscle took, Jan would outrun him within the confines of the tavern. In an open field or area, perhaps not.

"Watch your head," he managed to yell at the Ogre, right before a solid oaken beam bounced from the food-lustful devourer of all thing edible, Jan grinning from ear to ear and wondering just how many times that would happen before Bulgric actually got outside. Not to mention how many angry patrons would want drinks for free, or the cost of furniture for Remanes when all this was said and done.

Perhaps, luckily enough, Remanes was nevertheless a man of great foresight- he had already rangled up as much cattle, pigs, chickens, and any other livestock he could find as possible. In one of the buildings down an alley and leading away from the courtyard, a huge arch the only way in our out other than the tavern entrance, was a veritable army of cooks and servants (mostly peasants from neighbouring Estalia) preparing and creating dishes that would at least mostly fill the belly of even an Ogre. Remanes would daresay a whole warband of their dull-witted but strong kind.

Gorg just watched with his beady eyes, sunk deep into his floppy-eared head, as Jan half-slid and half-sprinted out into the courtyard, pursued by a romping, stomping, Bulgric. As stupid as he was, even Gorg knew an idiot when he saw one.

Jan saw two long benches, feasting benches, either side of the table, a table which at the head of it was placed a great seat of fine carving- almost certainly the seat upon which Remanes would place himself when all had gathered.

Grinning like a maniac- which he was and is -the formerly rural and jovial psychopath clambered like a small murderous child onto one of the benches.

If anyone loved food more than Ogres, it was Halflings, and this Halfling let the grin slide from his face when he realised that now, sitting there alone, he would have to wait for everyone else to join him.

"Arr, Griffin shite..." he muttered, pulling a small clay pipe out from the back he carried upon his back and stuffing some odd-smelling leaves into it, "may as well get comfy, Jan, me old son."

Soon he was puffing rings, creating smoke-borne illusions of sailing boats, and generally becoming more-and-more high by the moment.

[Jokern]

Morkar muttered something unintelligible in Orcish and sheathed his axes. He liked the look of that Stone Troll, big and strong, and the human's description intrigued him. Fighting something unkillable would be great fun, and killing it would prove that the Orc was simply the best. But that would mean no gold. The Orc was very split on the issue: gold or a proper fight, his two strongest desires. The smell of gold finally defeated the bloodlust and the walked after the Ogre out into the courtyard, taking out the letter from a pocket.

"Dere bettah be som' Gob meat 'ere..."

Morkar took a seat next to the Halfling, the bench bending under the weight of the massive Orc. He could always eat that one, which looked about the size of a Goblin. He probably would if the food did not show up on the table as soon as possible.

[Narf]

She drank out as small hairs on her neck tingled again as the one who had invited them announced his companion. In here she and her men would be doomed against such a creature, luckily it was not towards her that the brunt of the threat was levelled. She was not afraid of a lot. Stone Trolls too had been included once, due to ignorance. She remembered that many died and it was the cooks home made spirit bombs that finally took it down. It was now a creature she feared to do battle with. For she knew shed not survive a second time in these surroundings, and with only three men.. Yet she was a woman with a confident outlook and a daring boldness. "Sailor Glogrian Gustaf." She said in the calm way that was her mannerismn.She spoke without looking at him and stood up. He got the message and came and took her old trench coat, her gloves, her hat, her three guns and their holsters as she removed them. "Thank you, buy yourselves some new refreshment."- "Yes, Captain." Now she looked quite aristocratic, Ladylike even, were it not for the worn sword by her side, a few scars here and there, the aura that surrounded her person, the long elegant bone pipe in her one hand and the fact that she wore pants instead of a dress, but somehow it didn't seem odd on her. Her bearing now that the items obscuring most of her person was removes, Miss. Vanderborn looked to be one who was either raised among refined surroundings or had learned it later.

She removed some pleats from her white sleeves and took the letter from where she had been sitting with it. And then she approached with only her sword and the letter as items on her person. She calmly and without hurry folded it out for their host and handed it to him politely with a small nod.

After she was allowed entrence she made sure to sit as close to the big chair as possible as she feared a lot of noise from the more notewhorthy big and smallfolks that were also attending the meeting. Looking at the company a bit she noticed the halfling smoking and thought it a good way to kill the wait aswell, she summoned her long elegant bone pipe and lit it.