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Post by Shiningwolf on Apr 17, 2009 13:48:50 GMT -8
The Glove Not really interested in the planning, Gavril leans back in his chair, eyes sweeping the bar, while listening in. Their plans mattered little to him. He would make his own decisions upon seeing the camp, and anything else would have to be dealt with as it came up. Jobs like this tended to be to unpredictable for planning too far in advance.
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Bladedancer
Fighter
Our only line of defense against the return of the thylacine
Posts: 141
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Post by Bladedancer on Apr 17, 2009 15:13:19 GMT -8
Damara
"Sounds sensible to me." Standing, she adjusts the lacing on her armor slightly and gives them all a charming grin. "When do we leave?"
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Post by Nephallim on Apr 17, 2009 15:26:26 GMT -8
The Spellsword
The half-elf puffs on his cigar, "I'm certainly ready," He looks to Zeke and the Glove, "Well, how about it?"
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Post by Shiningwolf on Apr 17, 2009 15:45:29 GMT -8
The Glove Glancing back at his companions, Gavril makes a vague hand gesture, as if to say 'ready when you are.' He almost immediately returns his attention to the bar, waiting for the others to move.
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Post by Myridd on Apr 17, 2009 15:57:09 GMT -8
The Dragon Kissed
Ezekial nods when Quel asks who is ready."I am ready. The sooner we leave, the better."
He stands, and gathers his things, making sure everything he needed would be well within his reach.
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Post by Nephallim on Apr 17, 2009 16:04:33 GMT -8
The Spellsword
Quel slowly rises to his feat, removing his sheathed longsword from its inconspicuous place under the table and belting it on under his faded greatcoat.
"Lets be off then," He says before taking a long drag on his spiced cigar, "Time's wasting."
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Post by Shiningwolf on Apr 17, 2009 16:08:55 GMT -8
The Glove Standing up, Gavril makes sure his sword is buckled securely to his back and prepares to leave.
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Post by Myridd on Apr 17, 2009 16:21:51 GMT -8
The Dragon Kissed
Once everyone looks as though they are ready to go, Ezekial nods to them. "Alright. Lets go."
He gives Serina a parting wave, and than exits the inn, heading in the direction of the orc camp.
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Bladedancer
Fighter
Our only line of defense against the return of the thylacine
Posts: 141
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Post by Bladedancer on Apr 17, 2009 23:14:59 GMT -8
Damara
Chuckling softly to herself, Damara drains a glass of wine and then falls into graceful step with the others, whistling a cheerful tune and brushing her fingertips against the crossbow at her shoulder in comfortable familiarity.
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Post by Myridd on Apr 18, 2009 16:44:07 GMT -8
The Dragon Kissed
Ezekial was a step or two behind Quel, and in a postion where he could keep an eye on everyone traveling with them. He didn't know much about Gavril or Damara, and granted about Quel either. But he would learn.
He spent the time they were travelling observing, listening, and keeping quiet. Some may see it as he wasn't paying attention, cloudgazing and daydreaming. And he wasn't doing anything to kill that perception of him.
One day, everyone would understand. Everyone would be shocked at what he learned. Except for himself. . . Ezekial wouldn't be surprised. After all, it was a part of his plan. . .
((Insight +10, Passive insight 20: attempting to learn anything he can about the characthers of Quel, Damara, and Gavril. ))
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Post by Nephallim on Apr 18, 2009 16:57:20 GMT -8
The Spellsword
Insight: Quel constantly acts in the manner of one freezing to their bones, keeping his coat pulled tight, flexing his fingers as if to keep their circulation going, and often rubbing his hands together as if for warmth. His jaw is almost constantly set to keep his teeth from chattering, often with that constant cigar clenched in them. It is also worth noting that when passing through crowds, particularly of those of obviously elven or eladrin heredity, he keeps the tarnished gold hilt of his sword hidden under his greatcoat. Its not as if he wants to make it look as if he's unarmed though. . . even with the hilt concealed its obvious he's carrying a longsword.
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Bladedancer
Fighter
Our only line of defense against the return of the thylacine
Posts: 141
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Post by Bladedancer on Apr 18, 2009 18:49:25 GMT -8
Damara
Insight: Damara walks like a hunter, with a long-limbed lupine grace that would be more at home under a forest canopy or on open plains than in the narrow streets and broad avenues of the Imperial City. She carries herself with a steely confidence, the unconscious authority of someone used to being obeyed and to having control of the situation, to having a purpose which brooks no compromise and no opposition. Still, something flicks under the surface now and then - an abstraction, as though she's looking for something or trying to solve a nagging puzzle she can't quite get her mind around.
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Post by Shiningwolf on Apr 18, 2009 19:27:09 GMT -8
The Glove Insight: To the untrained eye, Gavril to looks as if he is inattentive, but with close observation, it becomes obvious little happens around him that he is not aware of. In large crowds, sight of him is quickly lost, only to reappear on the other side, ahead of the group, moving slowly and deliberately. Not much else can be told, as he keeps himself wrapped up in his cloak not showing an inch of skin, and not a word escapes his mouth. Only his dark black eyes can be seen faintly behind his mask, and even then one is confused, as it appears he is wearing lenses over them, for there is no white, and no pupil can be distinguished.
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Post by Trailfoot on Apr 19, 2009 10:52:42 GMT -8
The Narrator
The walk out of the Imperial City is an uneventful, almost relaxing, one, apart from a merchant who just won't stop trying to sell Damara a jug of spiced cider of rather suspicious origin. Soon, the group is out the City's north gate, making their way toward the orcish mine.
As they go, Damara and Ezekiel feel an odd stirring... like the call of home. As they continue, it becomes visible... two tall willows, leaning against each other, a patch of purple-and-red mushrooms growing between them... a gate to the Feywild.
Not long after spotting the gate, the group begins their trek out of the Valley of the Sorceress and into the Iron Mountains.
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Bladedancer
Fighter
Our only line of defense against the return of the thylacine
Posts: 141
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Post by Bladedancer on Apr 19, 2009 15:47:23 GMT -8
Damara
Damara's long, easy stride eats up the miles with practiced comfort, her dark hair catching lightly in the breeze and some of the weight seeming to lift from her shoulders with the familiar ritual of letting the road go by under her feet. She even begins to hum, now and then, a lilting little tune as bright as the day's sun.
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