Adventures of Caelereth

Queprur’s Gate is located on the western side of the Southern City of Nyermersys. Near the portal, the Wind Tower looms over the smaller structures of the city below, the stone of its walls a cloudy grey and the scattered narrow windows creating a slightly ominous appearance for the structure.

A single man stands before this gate clad in light leather armor and a dark blue tunic. A short sword hangs comfortably in its belt sheath like it had most of the man’s obviously long life. The wrinkles appearing around his eyes and mouth had been there for a while now, already past his mid forties Gerald’s appearance held little of his former youth. His beard was accompanied by similarly graying hair tied back loosely and he stared out with a sullen gaze holding experience and wisdom but no trace of the alertness reflected in his attentive posture. As you approach he turns to watch cautiously, “G’day. What brings you to the City of Death?” Gerald demands in a husky voice.

A lone figure commences to appear on the distance , it was Tiras , the infamous "White Rose", after a disastrous passage by the city , where he barely escaped with his life .

It wasn´t an usual sight anyone travelling by foot on this roads , but Tiras had no other choice , Rotten luck! Tiras began to say to himself , How could i known that girl was the guards captain daughter?
The only thing i could grab was this puch with some coins , barely 100 sans ...

As Tiras continued to lament his luck , a city appeared on the horizon , and a making of a smile appeared on his face , removing the dust of his clothes he walked with a renewed confidence and arriving at the gate a guard asked “G’day. What brings you to the City of Death?”  .

With a innocent smile Tiras answered , “Businness good man , i hope to make some coin , by using my skills” .
Tiras continued to smile ,waiting the guards response

The sun was by no means blinding today, but Leida still keeps her beaten leather tricorner cap firmly on her head, a thick mass of red hair tucked to near invisibility beneath it.  Her Rusik horse trods King's Road slowly, hoofs clip-clopping along mismatched stones as Leida flops down onto his neck with a groan.  Shatan grumbles, deep in his equine throat, and Leida pats him affectionately.

"I know, love, I know," she says gently.  "I'm hungry too.  Haven't seen anyone or anything in days.  Can't very well steal our meals, or at least our gold, without some patronage!"

Shatan whickers, a brief shake of his mane removing Leida's weight from his neck and shoulders.  She flicks him behind the ear, hearing every mocking scold in that noise. 

"Look," she nudges Shatan in Northwest.  Over the horizon looms Nyermersys, the great City of Death.  "There's food and wine to be had there, my friend."  They soon arrive at the gate and Leida dismounts, standing significantly below eye-level than she had been before.

"G'day.  What brings you to the City of Death?" the guard grumbles down at her. 

It has been some time since she has been in Nyermersys, but she has not forgotten manners.  Eyeing the guard carefully, perhaps sizing him up, she flourishes a bow with her cap, red locks tumbling down.  "Good day yourself, sir.  I am but a traveler, passing through the gates of fair Nyermersys."

Gerald eyes up Tiras as he states his reason fro entering.  "And what skills would that be?  We don't need any..." he begins to say as another person approaches and cuts in.   Turning his attention upon the newcomer, Gerald grants her a stern stare. 

"Whoa Miss.  You can wait your turn just like all those who have passed before you.  This young man here had my attention first and I think it rather intrusive what you just did."  Saying nothing more, he turns his attention back to Tiras. 

"Now...where were we? =  Ah, yes, that's right.  What skills would that be sir?"

Damn , this guard is clever than it looks , usually most of them don´t care what my business are .
Ah well , ill just have to make something up ....

Finishing his thought , Tiras blinked his eye to the young woman who just arrived and answered the guard :

Well sir , since the young lady seems to be on a hurry , lets make this quick as possible .

I am many things , from a merchant to a bodyguard , you can say i am a jack of all trades , if the money is right and of course not illegal , i can do it.

I suppose this answers your question , no ?

Not waiting for the guards answer , he turned to the young woman looking up and
down at her , with a humorous smile he continued :

But enought about me , i am more interested on you dear lady , i am curious what are you going to answer on the kind guards question on what are your skills ...

Tiras knew that was rather insulting , but just couldn´t help himself when a pretty face is present .

Leida stands up gracefully, all the poise that agility and umbrage can give her tiny form manifesting in one straight-backed nod and an arch look at the guard.  She says nothing, turning to Shatan with a little "hmph!" to groom his mane, as if this state of his hair was all that mattered in the world. 

The man beside her answers eloquently, and she runs her eye over him, perhaps curious, perhaps sizing him up.  A smile curves her lips, though with significantly less humor than his own, and she does not turn fully from grooming Shatan.  "I am in no hurry, sir, and I need no charity from a poor wanderer such as yourself," she says smoothly, every hint of arrogance in her words.  Her fingers drift across her stallion's neck, as if to emphasize her possession of such a fine beast, and moreover, of the man's lack of it. 

"As for you, sir," she continues to the guard; her back has not become slack, nor has her eyebrow lowered, and she speaks in clipped tones, "I am visiting an old friend."  Nothing more, nothing less.  To get away from these men, from the traveler's roving eyes, keeps her response terse.  Shatan's companionable nuzzling is the only thing holding back an urge to move quickly away.

    Gerald stares at Tiras as he obviously seems not concern about his entrance within the city.  "Well then, if you really must insist, enough of you till I let the others pass through.  Then I'm sure you'll be more then happy to discuss your entrance within the city with me."

    Turning his attention to Leida while he approaches her, smiling as it seems she has taken to the same impression of this wanderer.  "Well then.  I may as well say it now.  If you wish entrance within this city, you'd best leave that tone on he road behind you.  What is your name and how long do you figure your visit with us may last?"  The tone of his voice is the same as he began, husky.  As Gerald waits for the reply from Leida, he pays no attention to Tiras who stands beside him.

Leida inclines her head, gathering her hair up in a loose twist and replacing it beneath her cap.  A wan smile widens across her lips.  "Yes, sir, of course, sir," she says, as obliging as is possible for someone trying to hide their irritation.  "I am Leida Kereborn, and I shan't stay long.  Perhaps a month, to visit with old acquaintances."

    "Now that's a little better, though you could work on your sincerity a little more," Gerald says with a slight smile.  "Well, I see reason to stop you from seeing some friends.  Just be sure to pick yourself up a set of identification papers at the town hall if you plan on staying a month.  With that in mind, I'll let you pass while me and my friend here have a little talk," he says as he firmly slaps Tiras on the back.

    Gerald waits a moment till Leida is on her way and then turns to address Tiras once more.  "Now then, are you interested in entering the city or shall we wait for the next lass that comes through these her gates?"

Resting against the gate , Tiras waited with patience as the girl explained her reasons , with an ironic smile he taught :
Friends ... sure you are .
And i am the next on line for the throne ....

Still smilling on his thoughts , Tiras looked as the guard asked:
"Now then, are you interested in entering the city or shall we wait for the next lass that comes through these her gates?"
Raising his eyes , never loosing his coolness , Tiras answered :

No , while i do enjoy to rest my eyes on such beauty , if the next ones that come are cold as this one with a significant look , he pointed to Leida i prefer to enter the city , if you permit it  

"Thank you, sir."  Leida smiles primly and inclines her head, tugging along Shatan's reins as she walks past the men and into the city. 

  As you coax Shatan through Queprur’s Gate, you pass a small group of people dressed in robes, who you surmise are a throng of supplicants to Eyasha.  They carry lit candles, intoning “Quiet Night” in low voices to themselves, and smile and meet your gaze as you look on.

  You are almost cut off by a distracted man mumbling under his breath, “…and if I don’t get there…sure to eat another two men…I’ll not pay for more lost,…” crossing a mere palmspan in front of Shatan’s snout.  He is paunchy, middle-aged, and ruddy in complexion, with yellow slippers that curl up at the toes and a tall pointed deep blue conundrum.  He gasps as he whips his head to look squarely into Shatan’s nostrils, then looks up at you, returning to reality from his daydream.  “Here, young woman!  See ya don’ bowl me over, or I’ll do you for it!  Where I hail from, lords and ladies bow down and make way for powerful mages such as myself!”  His pompousness is almost nauseating, certainly alienating, and he turns brusquely, ambling in the direction of the Black Market.

  Shortly after this encounter, a small, balding gnome woman leads a donkey, walking on foot, smiling contentedly to herself.  The saddlebags on her “steed” jingle and clink with the movements of delicate flasks and urns which poke out here and there.  She gives you a wave and flashes you a grin, then turns once more, apparently in the direction of the hospital.

Leida eyes the the middle-aged man, pulling Shatan back by his reins with a quiet, "Whoa, love."  The stout man's accusations and mutterings send a defensive arm curling round Shatan's lowered head, petting him gently to keep his dancing hooves from trodding the little man out.

“Here, young woman!  See ya don’ bowl me over, or I’ll do you for it!  Where I hail from, lords and ladies bow down and make way for powerful mages such as myself!”   It is an idle threat, she knows, with the city guard so close by--and, more importantly, a dagger held at the ready along the inside of her wrist--but she still keeps a wary eye on the supposed mage as he scuttles off in the direction of the Black Market.  At least, it should be the Black Market, if the city hasn't changed its layout since her last visit. 

Half a moment later, a gnome woman hobbles past, her smile disarmingly kind as she hobbles off in another direction.  Her saddlebags jingle and clink temptingly, and for a minute, Leida stands in the middle of the thoroughfare staring after both her and the cantankerous mage.

"Well, Shatan," she says quietly, "I've got quiet a decision on my hands.  Shall I try my hand in the Market, where it is significantly less likely I'll come out unscathed, or follow the gnome woman, and see what riches await me on that end?  Bother indecision."  Her lips purse, and her face looks, for a second, significantly younger than it actually is. 

Shatan nudges her ear, whickering quietly and making general horse-like noises of disgruntlement.  She lenas over and eyes his feedbag, startlingly empty.  "All right, all right," she mutters, pushing his face away.  "We'll do things your way.  Town proper it is."  And with that, she leads him after the gnome woman and into the city proper.

  You stride forth, Shatan following your lead, on your way toward the center of the Southern City.  Your sensitive eyes and ears soak up the myriad dance steps of this complicated ballet of a bright spring morning in Nyermersys.  A milk white-skinned elven male of aquiline features and expressive purple eyes strides alongside a broad, stocky dwarven female with dark brown hair tied in plaits and deepset eyes, both chattering at feverish speed but in low tones.  A copper-skinned man with long black hair flowing to his shoulders swims in his luxurious, multilayered, blue Uderza tunica, sauntering as if in no particular hurry to reach his destination.  A bow string whines quietly somewhere out of sight…

  [ZZZIIIP!]  A scant moment after hearing the arrow loosed, you hear the female gnome you saw earlier shriek with unthinking terror.  The arrow punctured one of the saddlebags her donkey is carrying, and brown fluid stains the bottom of the pouch.  Her donkey brays, bolting at break-neck pace in the direction of the Fountain Plaza.  The gnome tears after him, more to calm her animal and reclaim her belongings than to evade her assailant.

  You remark to yourself at the lack of any discernable response from the personal guards posted in front of inns and shops lining Thiefwalk.  One huge man, almost a troll in stature, whistles a ditty and picks his fingernails with his dagger.  A stooped woman covered in a gray shawl backs out of the road long enough for the dust to settle, then continues on her way toward Queprur’s Gate.

  You spy the little gnome woman returning a long ways off, trudging towards you with her donkey plodding along.  Her free hand gesticulates madly, and, though you can’t hear what she’s saying, you can vividly imagine what words of wrath are spewing from her.  She takes her time guiding her steed back down Thiefwalk Lane, and as she draws nearer you can start to make out her wet hair slicked down at the sides, and a small dome of her balding scalp glistening with moisture in the sunlight. 

  Glancing over your shoulder toward the shrine of Eyasha, you see a late-arriving aspirant kicking up dust as he hastens to join the group who has just entered.  His color of robe is slightly different than the others who have already gone inside; perhaps he is a servant or a young attendant who lagged behind completing some morning chore.

  A brown stain in the road remains from the recent excitement, and a few leeches wriggle and shrivel in the dirt.  Shadows of overhanging rooftops still stretch out over the lane, with beams of light piercing between them occasionally.

With a barely bit-back oath, Leida tugs at Shatan's reins to pull him safely out of the arrow's way.  Her eyes scan the rooftops, the windows, looking for anyone who might have loosed the arrow--no luck.  Whoever, whatever, it was, is gone from sight, and she is in no mood to go hunting after him.  Shatan certainly has no desire to do so, if his whickering and nudging are any indication.

"Come on then, you great lummox," she says to him, leading him after along the dusty road.  "You can't expect to avoid arrows if you just stand there.  I trained you better than that!"

Shatan's only answer is a rather wet snort into her neck.  Leida turns a rather irritated eye on the animal before tugging the edge of her cloak up to wipe away the remnants of equine scoff. 

"Just for that, we're going down Thiefwalk first," she says lowly to him, tugging his reins after the gnome woman.  "After all", she thinks, "there was the distinct sound of gold to be had there, if my ears did hear correctly..."

  Dreams of glittering gold and trinkets of silver wend through your thoughts, and the throng of morning market-goers becomes more populous.  As a back alley behind the establishments lining two major roads, the Thiefwalk draws a different sort of crowd than the innkeeps of White Gass and the merchants of Silver Road.  Wayfarers looking for a place to squander their recently earned lucre eagerly traverse the lane.  Some search for absolution at the bottom of a glass of leithe, others wager their rent money at gaming tables, and still others prowl for more dangerous and exotic pursuits.  Fenced goods are bartered for, sans and copperbards exchange hands, and robber barons become rich on the purloined treasure of the newly impoverished citizenry.

  As these thoughts sift through your imagination, the gnome struts huffily toward you, still muttering to herself as though no one else can hear her.  “What is this, a sanitarium?  Are we all after one another’s throats now?  Can a peaceable woman not walk the streets of this city with some protection of the law?  Hmph, guess that’s asking for too much from this duke.”  She approaches you, pausing in the middle of a particularly convincing rant, to size you up.

  “Now, here’s a fiery one, if I’ve ever seen a lass who’s got fire in her veins!”  she chuckles to you.  She reaches out a small hand toward your arm—“May I?” she asks, and without waiting for your response, squeezes your upper arm.  “Not much muscle there, but what you’ve got on you is firm and fit!  Not too bad, for a woman born of humans!”  Her voice, though somewhat smoky and lower than you might have expected, is also matronly and soothing, giving her an air of trustworthiness.  “What’s it to be then, eh?  How much are you askin’ for these days to escort a feeble woman through these dangerous streets?”

-=[OOC: You may post in {SC}Thiefwalk (http://www.santharia.com/adv/index.php?topic=2969.0), if you go with this woman; or, choose where you will go within the Southern City.]=-

Alassiel trudges up to the gate with Fern, her Bregolian cat, tucked under one arm as usual. She looks up at the single man in front of her. "Um, hi,"  she says, a bit unsure of herself. "Um, I'm here as a performer to see if I can make any money here."  she looks at him anxiously, hoping that what she had said was enough to get her through the gate.

  Gerald is in a particularly spiteful mood this morning, with his earlier encounters still resounding in his head.  "G'day, lady, and g'day to you, kitten.  Which one of you performs, the cat or you?  What does your cat do, then, eh?  Mewl in tune?  Yelp in harmony to a lute?"  He is in good form today, his barbs sharper and with more sting than his usual dismissive, surly exchange.

Alassiel's eyes darken in anger. She gives the man a haughty look."G'day, old man," she says in a pleasant yet seemingly insulting tone. "We both perform, and we earn a decent amount of money for ourselves." she says, stressing the 'decent', implying that she doesn't think he gets paid very well, if he gets paid at all. She lets scorn fill her gaze at the sight of this man who is being so rude to her.

  Gerald shakes his head for a moment, a double take at the moment he catches your implication.  He recovers quickly, and his eyes brighten.  "Decent, eh?  What's a town guard to do, if a thief, unbeknownst to the guard, slips into your pockets as you approach the gate, and--Whoops!  Your coin's gone before you know it!"

  An older-appearing guard descends from the guard tower next to Gerald, apparently having heard this exchange.  His brow is knitted and his hands are trembling even before he has reached the ground.  "Because I would know who the thief was, fool!  That's what's stopping thievery at our gates!"

  "Master Kessen, your watchful eye and ear are a reassurance to us all," Gerald spits through clenched teeth.  Turning to look at you with a menacing false smile, he states, "You may pass, m'lady.  May your stay be a pleasant one."

Alassiel returns the man's menacing false smile with a smug false one, which disappears as fast as it appeared, and enters through the gate with a polite nod to the older guard. As they pass, Fern spits and hisses at the rude man, and Alassiel's lips twitch, but she continues walking.

  Surveying the southernmost extent of Queprur's Path, you first notice what you surmise to be a group of aspirants filing out of the Shrine of Eyasha, intoning some chant, mostly in Tharian, with some Styrash words thrown in intermittently.  At the tail end of the procession, the last aspirant to exit wears a different shade of light brown cowl than the others in line, and appears looking around to all sides nervously.  He skitters away from the group down White Gass.

  Further ahead, to the east, you see a short, stocky, slightly balding woman standing next to her donkey.  She is dusting herself off, mumbling curses under her breath in a tongue phonetically very similar to Thergerim.  Standing next to her is a tall, red-headed woman pulling her steed by the reins.  They appear to be headed northeast along Thiefwalk Lane.

-=[Alassiel, you may post in {SC} Thiefwalk (http://http://www.santharia.com/adv/index.php?topic=2969.0) if you choose to follow the gnome and Leida.]=-

"A good day to you then ."  Tiras bowed and continued into the city , wondering what to do now.

Well , first of all i have to get some money , i don´t think such a meager sum would get me by for long , throwing the small pouch up and down in his hand , he gave a more attent look into the city and the few people that passed by him .

Interesting town , but i feel something strange on it , some unease that i can´t explain .
Bah , as long are women and wine in abundance why should i care ?
Let me see if i can find someone to give me some directions , since that rude guard was not in the mood of giving  them ...
Looking around he observed for someone who could help him .

Surveying your surroundings, the streets fairly empty, with only a few men and women walking through,, you happen to see another guard, currently amusing some children, telling them the story of a thief he caught. He seems nice enough, and in a good mood.

Moving towards him to ask a question, you are distracted at the sight of a pretty woman, dressed in fairly expensive attire. The perfect girl. As she walks away from you, you now have a choice. Do you ask the guard, or follow the woman? She begins to turn her way onto another street, more crowded, possibly meaning you'd lose her forever.

Childrens laughts caught Tiras attencion , and  turning he saw a guard amusing some children , as he started to walk towards the guard , another person caught his attencion with more strenght , a pretty young woman , Now that is someone that i would love to get some directions .

As she turned to another street , he run after her and asked ,"Good day milady .
A thousand pardon for disturbing your ladyship in this fine morning but i am a stranger in this city and i was hoping that you could show me the nearest tabern ?

  Tiras, no sooner have you addressed the pretty lady than he turns to face you, revealing a lump in his throat and a pronounced, masculine jawline.  With clothes that are unmistakably feminine, his gravelly voice startles you immensely.  "Sure, anything you say, if you're payin'!  But you can probably find a handful of 'em yourself, all within a stone's throw from 'ere.  This one 'ere's the Red Rooster's Perch, and it's just a short ways to Brok's Rest.  The service is much better at the 'Rest, if you ask me."

Bloody Hell !! Tiras cursed inside him , as he watch that the young women was indeed a young man ,regaining his cool , Tiras smilled and said "Red Rooster's Perch you say ?Very well my sincere thanks and i hope you continue to have a good day..."

Tiras quickly left the area towards  Brok's Rest, still cursing for himself , Curses ! I must be getting old , how could i confuse a women with a man , may the gods .... after that some curses that thankufully nobody heard , for the most sensitive would be outraged .

     Slowly sliding off of her sidesaddle, Leonie grabbed the animal's reins and led him the rest of the way to the gate.  While she didn't travel with her own horse, Sir Guibert never seemed to have a problem lending Old Sam to her when she had the urge to ride, so she made a habit of bringing along her own saddle when she travelled. Gently rubbing the horse's nose with the tips of her fingers and smiling softly she whispered to him. "We're almost there and then you can rest before we head back to camp."
     They were short on flour and eggs so Leonie volunteered herself for the journey to the city and had to talk fast in order to be able to leave unaccompanied, claiming that the ride between the camp and the nearest city was barely an hour and that she would find her way to it quickly and safely. "Honestly, what could possibly happened to me that they are so concerned about?"
     With a smile and a sigh of relief she approached the gate. "There, see Sam? We made it safe and sound." Old Sam stamped the ground and shook his head, almost as if in agreement with his rider while Leonie affectionately stroked his long neck.

  Gerald stretches his arms, yawns, and whistles a tune to himself, thinking, Well, this day’s turned sour, sure!  There’s bound to be someone who’ll be an easy jest.  He stops whistling as he hears you approach, Leonie, and smiles broadly.  Thanks be to the gods—an easy mark!, he muses inwardly.

  “Hail, and welcome to Nyermersys!” he proclaims to Leonie.  “What’s your bizness in our fine city?”

     Stopping her mount she glancing around, realizing that the man was indeed speaking to her. She tilts her head thoughtfully to the side and bites at the inside of her mouth before replying. "Hello there.  I'm on an errand for some flour and eggs."
     Looking him over for a moment, she wondered to herself if she should be talking to this stranger.  She would never hear the end of it from Sir Guibert if something did indeed go array with her short trip. "Perhaps you could point me towards a general store of some kind? Or any place where I can find what I need?"

  Don't sneer, you fool!, Gerald thought to himself.  Don't let her see you sneer!  The jest will be up as soon as she sees it.  He bites his lower lip for a couple of seconds, obviously restraining himself, trying to formulate an answer.

  "Well, I'll have to think on that one.  Here, yes, I've heard of a general store of good repute at the other end of the southern district.  Can't recall the name of it off th' top of my head.  Head east along White Gass, and pass through the South Garden.  Turn left once you get to Beggar's Alley, a right on Hound's Way, and," [smack!] he says, punctuating his statement by slapping one open hand down onto his other, "you'll be facing Nightwind Plaza.  Finest place in all of Sarvonia for jellied orms--what's that, you've never tried jellied orms?  Oh, they're delightful!  You must try 'em!"

     She blinked and stared at him while she tried to take a mental note of all of the directions this man was giving her.  Nodding, she gave a small but weary smile as she gripped the reins more firmly in her hands. "Thank you very much, sir.  I'm sure I'll be able to find it." Even as she said this, her confidence that she would indeed remember the directions was very small.
     "I've only brought enough coin for the flour and eggs." -- Although I'm not quite sure I'd be missing much... Jellied orms?? She thought to herself before she began to turn around through the gate. "Thank you for you help, I suppose I'll be off towards Nightwind Plaza then. Good day to you sir." With a lovely, cheerful smile she gently stroked her horse's neck and looked at the city infront of her. Now where to begin...

   Stopping just shy of the gate she gave a sigh of relief and placed her hands on her hips with a triumphant smile. Now I finally have a chance to rest on a real bed and eat real food.. Taking the first few steps into the city she glanced around, surveying her surroundings before heading off in search of a place to eat before finding an Inn to spend the night.

  As you pass through the gate under the now cowed eyes of Gerald, you observe a small child leading a brown spotted dog along Queprur's Path, the lane you are currently following.  The boy smiles and laughs, asking if you have time for a game, then, before hearing your answer, he darts down the lane.  He gasps just a short distance ahead, and the dog accompanying him barks twice, sniffing at a lead rope for some domestic animal on the ground.  There is relatively fresh blood just two paces from the end of the rope.

Approaching the gate, Khel was tired. Trudging along the road, she slouched and her eyes were squinted in annoyance. Bristol hadn't accompanied her on this trip, and she was surprise at how good a companion the pony actually was. Sighing, she looked up and saw the gate to Nyermersys, and smiled slightly, thankful that she might get either rest or excitement after the journey. She felt along her belt for her purse, jingling its contents, and shifted the bow and pack on her back more comfortably. She stopped briefly to shake a stone out of her soft boot.

Closer, still, Khel looked up at the guard, who carried a short sword. He looked friendly enough, she supposed. "What brings you to the city of death?" he asked when she was just outside the gate.

With a flourish, Khel raised her arms, "Whatever work I can find, sir!" she called up to him. The answer was short, and vague, but she was tired and she wanted in the city. Now.

Navar adjust his hood as a swift wind kicks behing him, his face is covered in the shadows of his hood. Navar gazes at the city wall.  "City of Death...we'll put that name to the test." Navar sneers as he approaches the gate.

Navar was a fugitive from Nybelmar , he had murdered the Rhun of his clan to avenge the murder of his father. Fleeing into the night at the request of his loving uncle Navar made his way to the main land. Having been baptized n the flame of combat from birth, he knew nothig but combat, death, lonliness. Looking for work the Coorhem assassin thought of no better place to find work than the City of Death.

"There are those who kill and those who are killed..."  Navar laughs as he slowly strolled into the city.

  As Navar approaches the gate, a second guard descends from the watchtower adjoining the palisade entrance.  Gerald, the younger guard, has spitted a meldarapple on his short sword, which he takes bites from occasionally with a lunge of his head and a quick snap of jaw.  He makes a spectacle of his ferocity which is at the same time imposing and laughable.

  The older guard sports thick grey stubble on his lip and chin, though it appears recently groomed.  Pepper-colored streaks run through his close-cropped brown hair, and worry lines frame his alert grey-green eyes.  It is this one who addresses you, Navar.

  "Welcome, elven...hunter, is it?" the elder guard says to you, Navar, facing you squarely.  His eyes fix on yours, or where he guesses your eyes might be were it not for your hood concealing your face.  "I offer you my name, Master Kessen of the Nyermersys City Patrol, as a gesture of peace.  Now then, what is it that brings you to our respectable city?"

  The younger guard, Gerald, runs his eyes over you, Khel, with a grand display of disinterest and feigned superiority.  "Work, you say?  Hah, well, I've got work 'ere fer you.  Fetch me another apple, would'ja?  There's a good lass!"

  Kessen rolls his eyes and gives a meaningful, deep, bitter sigh of disappointment in the direction of Gerald.

Tired and impatient, Khel wasn't prepared for the guard's smart retort, "Work, you say?  Hah, well, I've got work 'ere fer you.  Fetch me another apple, would'ja?  There's a good lass!" Is eyes ran over her in a distateful way and her own eyes narrowed, taking him in. He was young, and the apple he refered to was stuck onto his sword. She snorted, looking him up and down as well. Where were his manners, she wondered? Perhaps she should teach him? Eyeing his sword, she knew it would be inefficient with an apple on it, obviously he didn't see her, nor the other man who had approached the gate, as much of a threat. She wondered if he had never had to use that sword at all in his pitiful life.

"I'll fetch you something else..." she muttered hotly under her breath. How dare he treat her that way? She was simply wanting to enter the city and get some rest. She was in no state to handle this man. She stepped forward, stooping to quickly remove her knife from her boot, and flicked the apple in the air with the tip of the  blade. Catching it deftly in her other hand, she took a bite from it and and looked pointedly at the young guard, her eyebrows raised. "Anything else to say, or may I enter the city now?"

  The older guard, Kessen, steps toward you with his arm extended, separating you, Khel, from Gerald.  "That's enough, young lady.  Now, Gerald, cool your temper.  And you, Miss, I'd advise a bit cooler response with the rest of the guards, here, who may not have such slow reflexes as Gerald."  Gerald grunts a disgusted [grrgh!], and turns away from you.

  Kessen continues, "Now, Miss, do you have any quarrel with anyone in this city?"  Seeing that you indicate the negative, he follows this with, "Alright, glad we could clear that up.  Please be on your way, and register at the Town Hall at your earliest convenience.  And you, master elf, seeing that you have no battle accoutrement on you, may also be on your way.  Please be advised that weapons are not allowed inside the Town Hall nor in the Garrison."

  As you both leave the guards in your dust, Kessen turns to address Gerald this time.  "Now, do you see how easy that can be?  Why do insist on making every engagement with a new visitor into a confrontation?  Were you born without any common sense in your head?"

A couple started to appear in the horizon , an old orc and on his arms a female human child , a strange sight that many of the travelers passing by , opened their mouths in amaze , but Grial couldn´t care less , he was used to such stare and reaching the City of Nyermersys , he looked at the numerous cemeteries and said in a soft voice of comtempt " The City Of Death ... Its name is quite fitting , the stench of past death and battle still lingers on the air ..."  , giving a look at Lyra , the child , he walked towards the guard stationed there and said with a booming voice "Greetings human may i enter ? "

The next shift had come on duty, and Jefferrin had immediately made himself comfortable in the shade of the gate; the hot day was taxing to the nerves and body...

"Greetings Human, may I enter?"

Jeffrin yelped and groped for his pike.

"I say! You needn't yell at a person like that!" he cried in a perturbed voice. "And another thing, don't go sneak..." His voice trailed off when he got a good look at the newcomer. The orc and the child made an odd pair - that such a strong and fierce looking individual should be trying to get into the city with a little child in tow made the guard suspicious.

"Well, I, uh...I'll need a name first." He eyed the orc warily. "How long do you plan to stay in Nyermersis?"

"My name if Grial and i plan on staying on this city of death as little as possible .." , Grial said with a calm seeing how warily the guard seemed by his presence , " Now if i may can i enter ? " , Grial waited for the guards answer , and looked as Lyra began to act impatient , the child was tired and this delay was only agravate her mood ...

Jeffrin mused for a moment, but had nothing to detain the orc on.

"Alright. Register at the Town Hall. No weapons in the Town Hall or the Barracks, and no trouble, Orc." He waved the two on.

" I don´t plan to disturb the peace in this city human , if i am left alone that is .." , his voice was calm , but a warning was clear on his words .
Turning his back , he entered the city walking the towards the city hall , to register .
Register ... this kind of formalities confuse me . Only a human mind to invent such things .

Jeffrin scratched his chin thoughtfully as he watched the two newcomers went into the city.

"...if I am left alone, that is..."

"Oh? A threat, Orc?" muttered Jeffrin under his breath, unheard by anyone. "You might regret that if you stick around long enough." He returned to his shaded spot beneath the gate.

The humidity was causing her great trouble in her travels, exhausting her more than usual from the thickness of the air and the heat causing her to sweat profusely. She rested often, both to give her aching feet a break, but also to catch her breath from time to time. Her auburn locks where a shambles because of the humidity, frizzing horribly and constantly getting in her way and bothering her eyes. Her belly, though not overly large, was still quite heavy when during her travels, especially now as she was nearing the end of her pregnancy. A small pale hand was often below her belly to help with balance and to attempt to lighten the load a bit. At times, she would feel the baby move or kick and a smile would form on her pink lips. Despite her occasional depression and fear, she was looking forward to meeting the child soon.

It had been a good year or two since she had traveled this far north to visit the grand city of Nyermersys. Much like Voldar, she had a decent customer base. Yet, since long spans of time pass between visits, it changes often and dramatically in number and personalities. She prayed she could contact at least a couple of her past customers while she was visiting, yet she did not hold high hopes for such luck. Relief washed over her as she spotted the walls of the city growing on the horizon. Greatly wishing for a good nights rest and a bath, she attempted to quicken her pace a bit, meaning she waddled as fast as she could make herself move.

As she arrived closer, she noticed a single man stands before this gate clad in light leather armor and a dark blue tunic. A short sword hangs comfortably in its belt sheath like it had most of the man’s obviously long life. The wrinkles appearing around his eyes and mouth had been there for a while now, already past his mid forties Gerald’s appearance held little of his former youth. His beard was accompanied by similarly graying hair tied back loosely and he stared out with a sullen gaze holding experience and wisdom but no trace of the alertness reflected in his attentive posture.

"Good day m'lord," she panted when arriving at the gate.

“G’day. What brings you to the City of Death?” Gerald demands in a husky voice.

"Simply looking for work, food, and rest m'lord." She replied, still trying to gain control of her breathing.

Gerald regarded the slightly scruffy, and obviously with child

"Alright, y'll be need'n papers 'en." Just follow me this way.

Gerald motioned to the gatehouse, which was placed within the gate itself, the door still hung slightly off it's hinges and the stone looked worn in someplaces. A few wayward weeds had grown up between cobbles displaced by an early frost some years ago. Gerald could no longer count how many times he'd stubbed a toe on one of those raised cobbles. The gatehouse was out and the wind whistled idly down the chiminey and through the little cracks in the chiminey's mortar.

"We'll be need'n yer name an' I'll having three san off ye, unless ye've got papers, in which case I'd be need'n ta see 'em." Gerald had long since roled his sleeves up and leaned against the wall in the shade where it was marginally cooler.

Mika and Softly, his mount had been travelling since late the previous night since his unfortunate removal from a tavern. Mika hadn't suffered much, and no-one had considered touching Softly after he had come downstairs wearing his full battle leathers after the brawl. It had been a stupid thing to get upset about, after all, he couldn't do anything about the felines after what their owner had done, but it had raised his anger that the man, he had called himself one but Mika didn't believe him, didn't care at all for his actions. Sadly his Lyre had been damaged in the initial scuffle, having only narrowly missing being used as a weapon in his anger. It was the first thing he intended to get seen to when he arrived.

Softly nickered and shook her head as they approached the city, it came into view long after she had told him of it, or rather after she had informed him of the scent of fresh water. "Soon Darlin'" He thought as he leant down and patted her neck and withers, a gentle touch to her brought her to a halt.  He decided to change before he rode fully into sight as more than a speck, his long riding shirt exchanged for a darker sleeveless one, more commonly used when he was fighting than on peaceful business, his intention purely to show his wealth of scars and tattoo's "it might help to make an impression", he thought remembering that many men attempt to size up to each other in the way stallions do. In the same vein he changed his leather trews for a more formal, and infinatly more comfortable kilt. With the breeze between his knees a much more welcome sensation than the stifling he had put up with before he remounted and carried on toward the city.

The crests on his armour would be visible to any sharp eyed archer as he approached, his sabre was resting in its sheath now, his quarterstaff resting in an old lance cup by his right foot. He spotted the guard and the run down gate house, automaticly eyeing up the defense of the gate. His dark brown eyes settle upon the guard as he leant against the shaded wall, even though he was still out of earshot for the moment. It wasn't long however, before Mika and Softly stood near the gate. He dusted himself off slightly as he was questioned.

With a gentle sigh he reaches around into the saddle bag behind his left buttock and pulls out a small bundle of papers, wordlessly he shifts through them, obviously looking for one or two specifically. His movements are obviously slowed and as he swings to return the main sheaves to the saddle bag, it is easy to see that his leather armour restrict him but only slightly. With a gentle and apologetic smile he reaches down and proffers two small sheaves of paper to the guardsman. One will state his permission to trade under the Samuals family name, the other is a vouchment for him from the Centauraurian army of his notable good conduct and discharge from the cavalry.

Still he has not answered the guard and a dark coloured, light scarf remains around his neck, covering the wound there. "I just hope he he isn't the belligerent type" Mika thinks as he indicates for the guard to take the two papers with his left hand, the right still holding the quarterstaff as Softly stands patiently, occasionally idly shaking her mane. 'Water.. soon promised' her actions said to him.

The guard quickly looked through the bits of paper. Gerald had never been one for paperwork, but everything seemed in order. "Looks in order. Ride on sir" he said passing the papers back up to the rider. It was always nice to see someone who knew what they were doing, he thought as the silent rider passed out through the gates.

@Mika: You have free reign within the city for the time being.

The guard quickly looked through the bits of paper. Gerald had never been one for paperwork, but everything seemed in order. "Looks in order. Ride on sir" he said passing the papers back up to the rider. It was always nice to see someone who knew what they were doing, he thought as the silent rider passed out through the gates.

Mika nodded and smiled broadly as he turned stiffly to replace the papers in the saddle bag. He slipped the leather thong back into its noose and secured it again, a nearly imperceptible twitch of his heels and Softly stepped forward and through the gates. 'Were in now lass, lets be finding a place to get you some water and arrange lodgings for the night' Mika thought to himself as they passed through the gates and looking up at the middays sun. 'after I brush you down, I should be able to get a few hours in down at the market, see if there are any craftsmen in.'

He rode slowly down the street thinking slowly, a gentle smile on his face. Perhaps the city plaza would be the best place to start, if he was going to look for a new bloodline, he might as well look like a horse dealer. Humans were so picky about who they spoke to , or where they spoke, and if he couldnt do anything about one, he'd do something about the other.

((OoC: Heading to Main City Plaza, Thanks))

     Brash yawned and removed his left hand from around Cale's ankle to wipe the sleep from his eyes. The boy had fought with him last night like every night before and then decided to wake up before the sun. He has refused to wake up at that time, rolling over in the tent they shared and pulling a blanket up over his head. The boy say by him for two hours, poking him every once in a while and saying 'Dad, up'. When the sun had finally spread its light across the land he had given up and reluctantly untangled himself from the blankets. He had send helped his son change into clothes for the day before sending him out of the tent to check on Jak and Danto. It had taken little time for him to get dressed and pack up their gear and after that they were off.

     When he shook his head to clear his mind and yawned again, the boy took hold of his hair and laughed as he swayed a bit on his father's shoulders. That happiness was infectious and Brash couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. As he walked along the path he exaggerated steps and hopped a step or two sometimes. Cale clung to his father's dark brown hair with little fists as he bounced up and down on his shoulders, laughing almost non-stop. Jak watched the closely and when the little boy got a bit over excited and leaned to one side, threatening to send both father and son to the ground, she growled at Brash, believing it all his father. He straightened and put the three year old back into a position in which they could move easily. The little boy laughed still and grabbed another fistful of hair.

     "Settle down girl," Brash told the dog, "he's fine."

     Jak let out the breath in her lungs quickly, in a manner that could only be called a laugh, and looked warily at the boy. Cale rolled with laughed and called out 'Jak' at that little display. Brash laughed with the boy and continued walking, leading the pack pony by a rope tied to his belt. Ahead he could see the city walls and gate growing larger as the covered the distance. The sun beat down upon them heavily now and his shirt was already damp with sweat, while the shoulders were soaked where the boy was sitting. With a quick warning he let got of Cale's legs once more, attempting to tug his forest green shirt and black legging straight, and wipe sweat from his brow. It would have been pointless to attempt to smooth his hair since little fists still clutched chunks of it.

     The gate and wall were only a half a dozen peds away now and he could hear the youth on his shoulders whispered a word that did little to describe his amazement. Brash had to grin. No matter how many cities they visited, and even though they had lived in Voldar for a time, the boy was still shocked by the sheer size of the cities. As they approached the gate he saw a couple people standing out there. One was a woman, but her back was turned toward the road that she had apparently traveled down earlier this day. The other was a guard, and he leaned against the wall, trying to escape the suns rays. Brash moved forward, figuring the sounds of Danto moving along the road and the slight clanking of his gear would give him away. The last thing he wanted to do right now was sneak up on anyone, but then that probably wouldn't be possible even if he was alone.

     "Good 'ay, ma'am, sir," Brash said politely with a kind smile on his face. He could tell Cale's eyes were still on the wall, but at the sound of his father's voice he turned back toward them.

     "Hello," Cale said in his little high-pitched voice, untangling one hand to wave at the people. The little boy looked at the people before the gate, shaking his head a bit to move his brown hair out of his eyes, mimicking the small motion from his father. Bright green eyes like his father's peered down at the people, while his shaggy hair slowly crept back over them.

"Alright, y'll be need'n papers 'en." Just follow me this way.

She followed him to the gatehouse, noting she was not quite sure by what he meant by papers. Never had she been asked about papers, yet most people knew who and what she was, so no questions were really asked. The 'house' was obviously old and worn, needing a good necessary touch ups to allow it a few more years of life, yet it deemed sturdy enough to not fall on them as he mumbled about paperwork and the like. She had some paperwork on her, but most likely not nearly enough nor what type he was questioning. Yet, something is better than nothing.

"We'll be need'n yer name an' I'll having three san off ye, unless ye've got papers, in which case I'd be need'n ta see 'em."

Sorting through her pack, she gathered up the loose papers - which showed a good bit of wear and tear from travel - handing them less than elegantly into his awaiting hands.

"I am not sure if these are the papers you are requesting, but I hope they are at least partially of what you are searching for." Nervously awaiting a response, she bit her lip and tapped her feet impatiently.

   "Good 'ay, ma'am, sir,"

"Hello,"

The sound of the voices caused her to forget the nervousness she had been experiencing, and it was quickly replaced by curiosity of the new arrivals.

Azhira El'rosse approached the city gates walking with a confident stride. Under her dark cowl, her eyes scanned the gates before resting upon the lone city guard.

Azhira sighed softly and put on her best smile. She worked hard not to appear suspicious and would only tell this guard what he wanted to hear. She hoped that the guard wouldn't notice that she was in a hurry as her face was flushed and her breathing came rapidly from constantly moving and looking over her shoulder for those who would want her dead. Although she was sure that she had left her enemies far back in Ximax, she was not one to take chances. Azhira had used most all her funds to purchase caravan and ship rides this far north and this was to be her final stop.

Once again, she was going to start a new life in a new city. Hopefully, this time she would be more careful with whom she associated with. Her former mentor, Mona, was a fellow thief but unbeknownst to Azhira, Mona was also a wanted woman with a price on her head. Unfortunately, Mona paid that price with her life but only a week ago.

As Azhira approached the guard house, she saw that the guard was busy processing another visitor. Also standing nearby was a man with a small child. Azhira moved to be next to the man in order to obtain a better view of the guard house activity. She watched curiously as the guard shuffled some paperwork given to him by an attractive woman who was...pregnant? Azhira stared at her belly and felt a wave of despair wash over her. Her stomach churned and she forced herself to look away.

The image of an infant boy flashed in her mind. Her son. But he was taken from her after only a moment of being together.

Azhira steadied herself by kneeling to one knee so as not to pass out. No one else seemed to notice as a single tear escaped her eye and dropped to the ground.

"Yes'm these'd be what we're looking for, step this way." The guard indicated the guardhouse. "Be with you in a momment sir, ma'am." Noticing his second addressee had fallen to one knee he went to check, "You alrigh' ma'm?"

Azhira stood quickly and cleared her throat. Such displays of emotion were unheard of with Azhira and she worked hard to control them where her past life was concerned. She dismissed the display as a result of fatigue from her long travel. Nevertheless, if she was to make a new life in this city, she had to not show such weaknesses.

"I am...ok," Azhira replied to the guard. "I am tired is all. I've traveled a long way. I am in need of a rest. I think I shall keep going on to the next town. I may camp in the wilds for a time. But I cannot stay. I may return later."

With that, Azhira turned and left the guard. She waited a while before bursting into tears and allowing herself to cry. This city was not for her but she was confident that she would find somewhere to call home.