Thrice Blooded (Human) (Inactive)

[DM-Delfon]

A wave of laughter, and the mixed smell of pipe smoke and good ale washes over you as you open one of the double doors that leads into The Wayfarer's Rest. Guardsman Jackson at the gate into Clifton suggested this inn, saying, "If you need a place to stay, the Wayfarer's Rest is a great place to find a bed. Tell Ol' Borris that Guardsman Jackson sent you, and he will give you a free pint of ale." A fiew steps into the common room and the cooking smells coming from the kitchen make your mouth water.

The inn itself is a fairly large three story rectangle, the exterior recently white washed, and the windows and doors are bordered in chestnut stained wood. The common room is quite large, with twin fire places set in opposite walls. A dozen round tables cover the center of the room, with several long tables with benches along the outside. A few more private booths line the back wall. Groups of men sit at all the round tables, laughing, dicing, and listening to a fellow play the dulcimer.

When you enter, several people look up for a moment before going back to what they were doing before. One fellow even nods a greeting. The closest server brushes past you with a laden tray, "Find a spot where you can M'deary, we will be with you shortly." Another server finds you almost immediately after you find a spot, "What can I get you?" Her smile slips a bit, but you’re used to that with your features. After placing your order, you spot another fellow entering the common room from the back where the servers have been coming and going. The front half of the man's head is bald, and the rest is graying. He's wearing simple white cotton, and a leather belt strains to contain his considerable girth. Over the rest he wears a pristine white apron. He sets to work cleaning an already meticulously cleaned bar. Based on description this must be Old Borris that Guardsman Jackson was speaking about at the gate.

[Greyling]

The hunger awoken in him puts a wicked predatory look in his eyes and curl to his lip. Catching himself before too many notice it, he dons the more mundane sheepish guile of civilized society. The feral orc culture was sometimes hard to suppress - old habits.

He considers a private booth in the back. Privacy would be preferable, but few exit route if the need arouse. He finds a spot at one of the long side tables. A spot wide enough to leave vacant space on either side of him.

"Food. Meat," he replies to the server that asks for his order. He shakes his head slightly after she leaves. Growing up, the orc treated him different seeing how he wasn't like them. If his two hereditary race only realized how similar they were.

[DM-Delfon]

The server approaches your table with a smile that only waivers for a moment when she sees the marks of your heritage. To her credit, she recovers quickly, almost quickly enough that you missed the tightness around her eyes, and the twitch at the corners of her mouth. “No problem Sir, anything to drink?” By her drink request she has lost all evidence of her apprehension.

It doesn’t take long before a steaming plate of thickly cut pork loin is laid before you. The food is prepared just the way you like it, and the taste makes you pause at each bite to relish the experience. The cook here is fantastic.

Eventually a man wearing a pristine white apron approaches, offering you a greeting in heavily accented Orcish, “You’re welcome before my fire.” He left off the second half of that greeting. You’re not sure if it was ignorance of it’s completion, or unwillingness to complete it. ‘May your blade wear the blood of your enemies.’ Floats across your mind.

[Greyling]

Some of the water he asked the waitress for washes down a mouthful of meat, clearing his mouth to speak. Replying in accented common speech, "don't know many humans that speak Orc.


"Is there something that you need from me?"  Taking another bite, he waits for the answer.

[DM-Delfon]

The man takes a chair from a nearby table, and spins it around to sit so the back of the chair rises before him, <Orc> “I haven’t had much reason to practice this tongue.” He smiles then, warm and friendly. He wouldn’t last a minute around an Orcish table with a challenge like that, but these are Human lands and smiling isn’t a challenge here.

<Orc> “Everyone round here calls me Old Borris, and this.” He pauses to open his arms to the rafters, “This is my establishment.” Lowering his arms, he continues, “I hope everything is to your liking so far?” He seems genuinely interested in your answer, and he hasn’t stared at any of your Orcish features. This man has been around the Blooded before, or he doesn’t have a racist bone in his body.

[Greyling]

He is slightly curious if the man meant reason or opportunity to practice. No matter really. Maintaining eye contact, though tilting his head to examine the apronned man.

"Is there something that you need from me? Did I forget to pay?" Taking another bite, he waits for the answer.

[DM-Delfon]

Old Borris looks scandalized, enough so that he switches back to the common tongue, “My appologies friend, I did not mean to imply anything by my presence here. I simply overheard that there was a patron that I might be able to converse with in the Orcish.” He seems to realize that he switched back to common, adding in Orcish, “If you would rather be left alone, I will leave you be. I know the city well and I can offer you a wealth of information as to where to begin your story here.”

[Greyling]

Switching to Orcish, "and what do you think this city has to offer me?" He finishes the meat, slides the plate to the center of the table and wipes his hands on piece of rag his had in his pack.

[DM-Delfon]

With the question asked, Old Borris seems to settle into the chair as he begins to speak, "Well if you're seeking accommodations, you've come to the right place." He gestures to your daggers and crossbow, "If those are for more than personal protection, there is always work for adventurous types protecting miners and their shipments between town and the Sinkhole." He runs his fingers along his flesh, exactly where you have a visible patch of scales, "If you have a mind for the Arcane, the mages guild can provide a career filling customer requests while you continue your own studies." He looks like he's going to say more, but seems uncomfortable and falls silent for a moment. He brightens seconds later, and continues, "You tell me what you're looking to do here, and I'll give you directions or a contact name for that."

[Greyling]

<Still speaking Orc> "Perceptive. I will take accommodations. What should I know about this guild for mages?" Smiling now as he strokes his beard. A smile that is equal parts warm, as he is starting to like this Borris, and worrisome, suggesting it would be better friend than foe. "By the way, Borris, you may call me Human," his face shows NO sign of mocker.


The half-orc named Human listens closely to what information Borris shares. Any more interesting parts cause the orc-blooded man's ears to twitch with intrigue.

[DM-Delfon]

When you agree to accommodations Old Borris brightens even more, his smile beaming. You have to remind yourself that all those exposed teeth are a smile, and not a domanence challenge. Old Borris gestures to one of the servers, and holds up four fingers. The server nods, and moves off behind the bar.

Old Borris turns back around, the chair creaking under his bulk, “As to the Mages Guild, they provide many services like information brokering, crafting magic items, and magical imprisonment. You can visit the library to do some research of your own or speak with an expert on the subject. Those mages often hire out adventurers to collect reagents or track down leads their research uncover.”

Another server arrives, this one has an impressive valley of cleavage. So much so that you think it might spill out of her corset at any moment. She presses something into Old Borris’ hand. “Thank you Goldie” Old Borris says as she walks away, to which she simply waves over her shoulder. “The key to your room Human.” Old Borris says with another toothy smile.

[Greyling]

Human's ear twitch at various time while Borris describes the guild, and during Goldie's short time at the table. "Ahem, I might talk to someone at the guild,... after a short rest in my room."

The half-orc stands to collect his things and head to his room, then pauses before leaving the table. "You need not worry with me, however, you may want to be careful smiling at Orcs. They don't see it as friendly, but rather a challenge for dominance. Be smart, be safe."

[DM-Delfon]

More than your ears twitch as Goldie moves about the room. She doesn’t so much walk as sway. Her ample curves move in an almost hypnotic rhythm, so much so that you can tell where she is in the room based on where the male (and some female) patrons are staring. When she leans over a table, which she does often while going about her work, you’re sure her generous cleavage will spill out. Part of you wonders if magic was involved in the creation of her garments.

Old Borris does his best to wipe the smile from his face with limited success while speaking with you, “I thank you for that bit of advice. Your kind are exceptionally rare around these parts.” He manages, before having to wipe another smile from his features, “You’re only the third Blooded I’ve had the chance to speak with.” The fact that he knows how the Blooded refer to themselves proves that he has been on good terms with at least one Orc in the past.

You make your way to your well appointed room, taking note of the simple elegance of the decor. Everything you could need is laid out simply enough: bed, washstand, storage chest for your belongings, and a simple desk make up the furnishings of the room. Two walls have paintings hung, one depicts a temple on a hill in a village, while the other shows a cabin by a river near a forest.

[Greyling]

He secures his backpack and crossbow in the storage chest. Moving to the bed, he lays mindful of the sheathed daggers and component pouch at his hip. Soon he drifts off into unconsciousness.

An hour later he lurches awake. Fractured images in his mind slipping away like sand through fingers. Red eyes. A ruined building. A dark circle.

He shakes his head, trying to cast off the images and feelings they bring. Recalling Old Borris' information, and gathering his belongings, there was a mage guild I planned to explore.

[DM-Delfon]

Flashes of Old Borris challenging you for dominance with a smile, but this time you lunge across the table at him. His eyes bulge and glaze over, your hands crushing his windpipe. That image fades away quickly, but the feeling of elation that floods your system as you killed Old Borris fades away much more slowly. Your Orcish blood-lust has been haunting your dreams, and those dreams have been happening more often as of late. You thought you escaped the influence of Gruumsh, but he will never let you forget where half of your blood came from. You're used to those dreams however, and know them for what they are. These new dreams, the ones you can never quite remember are worse. Those red eyes feel sinister, staring into you deeper than any gaze should. Perhaps right into your very soul. The ruined building is always the same. Weathered and crumbing stone, with vines creeping toward the sun that never shines here. Sometimes it's just dark, while other times rain pounds down until you can barely see the ruined structure. Both the red eyes and the ruins fill you with trepidation, but the final fading image makes your mouth go dry with fear. When you think on it, you can never place why. The circle itself is perfectly round, and set into the floor of a square room. The circle seems like it's etched into the stone itself, and is the blackish colour of old blood. The only oddity of this entire image is the feeling of pressure building. Perhaps more frightening, is what happens when that pressure finally pops?

You make your way through the hustle and bustle of the city of Clifton. Once you step into the crowd a small pocket opens up around you, and that pocket seems to travel with you. As soon as people see the colour of your skin, and the pointed ears that mark you as one of the Blooded they always seem to have somewhere else to be. You make your way South to toward the High District, the docks, and the Duchess' Palace. Each of those districts is separated from Commercial District by one long wall. To the South-West and up on the cliffs bordering the sea, the Duchess' Palace towers over all other buildings. A monument to her power and influence in the Empire. Also up on the cliffs, but this time to the South-East the roofs of the guild-houses, the splendor of the Pelorian Temple, and the tower of the Mages Guild can be seen over the walls. Splitting those two districts is the docks, with a long road descending down to the sea. You only recently passed through that gate when you arrived here.

As you approach the gates to the High District one of the chainmail clad guardsmen steps in front of you. He holds up his hand, palm forward in a stopping motion, "Whoh there swampskin, the dock gate is that way." He gestures toward the docks, "Try Tusker's Alley, I'm sure you will fit right in down there." He laughs then, a harsh single bark. The guard behind him looks uncomfortable, but remains quiet. The other two guards on this side of the portcullis, but on the other side of the steady stream of Humans passing, by continue passively looking over the crowd. They have taken note of their companion stopping you, but either don't care or think that he has it well in hand. Two guard faces watch you carefully through arrow slits in the barbican above.

[Greyling]

A slow smile spreads across Human's lips. A human guard exercising dominance while smiling to himself. He'd make a good orc. "I'm not heading for the docks, pinkskin. I seek to ply my arts at the mage guild. Perhaps you'd care to be my guide. You have a calming aura about you."

[DM-Delfon]

The guard pauses, reassessing your lack of large sharp things that normally accompany the more brutish of the Blooded. He swallows hard, but then becomes more confident as he realizes how outnumbered you are, “That will be Guardsman Randell to you Orc.” He growls, one hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. The guard that remained silent before places a hand in his shoulder, and then steps in front of him, “Good afternoon to you. If you seek the mages guild, I would be happy to be your guide.” He gestures into the tunnel through the wall, and when you begin walking he falls in beside you. Once clear of the wall he says, “Sorry about him, he lost a brother in the Hoard Wars. What is your name, friend?” He says with a smile.

[Greyling]

When motioned ahead by the previously silent guardsman, he glaces to each of the other guards nearby to confirm they aren't as hostile at Guardsman Randell.  Once that is confirmed, the half-orc gives the hospitable guard a nod of the head and starts to walk forward.

"I have survived scarier than your comrade.  It would probably vex him, but your fellow guardsman sees things like many of my tribe, or ex-tribe.  When he looks at me, he only sees the orc.  The those of the Orc tribe only saw the human in me, and named me as such.  Human, you may call me Human."  Human's face shows puzzlement, "though, maybe I should shirk such a title and name myself".  He smiles slightly at the consideration.  "And you, what is your name guardsman?"

[DM-Delfon]

The guardsman nods as you suggest naming yourself, “Where I used to live I heard that Kobolds are often named by a physical or personality trait. Sometimes by an item they carry or wear. I didn’t know Orcs did the same.” He shrugs then, an acknowledgement that that tidbit of information was inconsequential, “You’re new here, and can be whoever you want to be.” He stops moving then, and extends his hand in greeting, “My name is Rupert, how do you wish to be called?” That question asked of you again, but this time you feel the weight of it. How do you wish to be called? The first real choice of consequence you’ve had to make since leaving your tribe.

[Greyling]

Human raises an eyebrow, posing a question in dry humour, "I suppose being called Rupert would make things confusing?" He clasps the man's forearm in a greeting meant to show one is unarmed and not a threat, "I've gone by Human so far. I'll mull over the thought and if that changes, I'll let you know".  No need to rush the choice. Renaming, if done, wouldn't be for orc or human but for himself.

Releasing entangled limb, "now, I have a guild to explore. As I'm sure you wish to return to guarding Guardsman Randell's sword-hand from over exertion."

[DM-Delfon]

Rupert doesn’t seem to get your joke. At first he just looks confused, but then he catches on. “You got me Human.” He shakes his head before adding, “I suppose you’re right. I’m not sure how I would feel about changing my name.” Once you suggest going into the mages guild he nods, “Try not to draw too much attention to yourself, the guards here can be rather aggressive, especially the private security.”

The Mages Guild itself is a large perfectly round white sphere. There is a long cylinder sticking out of the roof at an angle. The sphere seems to be made from a single piece of stone, without a seem or join to be had. Just while you've been talking to the guardsman about a dozen people have gone into the building. If the floors are standard height, it must be really cramped in there.

As you approach the building you can feel the weave like it were a lite string recently plucked. It’s vibrations passing through you in waves. Opening the door itself, you’re greeted by a ten foot long hallway. There is a window set in the wall in front of you, and a door to the left and right near the window. A placard reads ‘Reception’ under the window.

As you reach the window, you see a Tiefling woman wearing a shirt so tight that her modest chest pops distractingly. You could see how a man might be so distracted that he might not notice the jet black horns sweeping back, and tapering to sharp points about eight inches later. She glances up as you approach, and says in a perky high pitched voice, “Ah, a Blooded Sorcerer.” She gets a little smile, more a smirk like she just thought of something funny, “You’re thrice Blooded.” She chuckles then, a musical giggle, “Have you come to register yourself with the guild?”

[Greyling]

Nodding to accept the guard's advice.

Moving closer, he suspects the guild building isn't all that it appears to be.  A suspicion that is seemingly confirmed with the vibrations in the weave as he draws closer to the building.

Inside, his ears warm as he approaches the reception and the woman beyond the window comes into view.  Thrice blooded?  "I am."  When he answers her, it strikes him.   Is my voice really that baritone, or does it sound more so in contrast to her musical vocals?  "I am considering registering.  I believe I understand what I have to gain from registering.  What would be expected of me in return?  Annual fees, or simply a percentage of wages earned?  Are jobs taken on volunteer basis, or obligation?"

[DM-Delfon]

She smiles brighter than before, inhaling and leaning forward slightly before she speaks. You’re not really sure what she said after that, but your ears seem really hot now. You’re brought back to reality by something warm and softer than you thought possible touching your hand. You realize that she has touched your hand with hers. “Here deary, take these forms and go through that door.” She gestures to your left. You’re handed a sheef of papers, and a small sample box.

Opening the left door you proceed where directed. You feel a strong magical tingle as you pass through the threshold, and find yourself in a ten by ten unadorned room. In the center of the room is a writing desk, with all the tools needed to fill out the paperwork she provided you.

Once seated at the desk you read over the paperwork. The basics are as follows: it is illegal to cast any sort of magic within the walls of Clifton without first registering with the mages guild. You don’t have to join the mages guild, but you must be register to cast. Registration consists of filling out your basic information — in triplicate — trimming your nails into a small provided vial, a few strands of hair into another, and lastly a few drops of blood into yet another vial.

Another form details joining the mages guild. For 10gp a month, you gain access to the guilds sizable library for research purposes. Additionally, you gain access to the various labs, so you can perform your own experiments. You can earn income by lending your magic to the guilds item creation industry, working jobs for Clifton, or doing quests for other guild members. There is quite a bit more in the forms, did you have any specific questions?

(The receptionist has a Cha of 20 if that helps put things in perspective.)

[Greyling]

Human stands and looks for the exit, and if none are present speaks out assuming someone is monitoring, "I'm done here!" In his hand he holds the still blank papers.





((OOC : Pardons for the delayed post. Life will do that. I've also been debating what his view on the guild/Clifton.

Additionally, I was looking at his character sheet and think I mixed up the cha vs wis scores, especially considering cha's importance to sorcerers.  Would you be comfortable if I switched those now?))

[DM-Delfon]

(No worries my friend, life cramps my gaming all the time. Feel free to adjust whatever you need to on your sheet.)

You announce that you're done to the empty room, and nobody responds. If they're monitoring the room, they're not bothering to answer you. You make your way to the door you came in, and open it to find the same hallway you came into before. The Tiefling woman stands as soon as you open the door, "You're remarkably quick to finish, or did you have a question deary?" She asks in that same musical tone. Once again, in order to be seen by you she has to lean against her side of the counter. You thought her bust was straining against her top before, now it's pressed against the counter and about ready to pop right out of her clothes.

[DM-Delfon]

The receptionist asks again, "Did you have a question?" When you don't respond, she begins to look concerned, "You okay deary?" Still no response from you. She vanishes from the window, returning a few moments later, "Help will be here soon." Almost as if on queue the door you entered the building from opens, and two of the Pins enter the hallway. They approach, and take the paperwork from you. They ask you some questions, and when they get no answers they lead you out of the Mages Guild. A short walk through the High District finds you at the Pelorian Temple. You're brought into a secure room to await a healer.

(I'm going to be moving old inactive threads forward every Friday.)