conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Aquateenflayer: Just another rainy morning in the city of towers. The condensation from the upper towers gathering all the filth and grime and tossing it onto your doorstep. Seems like the natural order of things  in Sharn. That the people up top spit on those below them.
  A woman’s shrill scream echoes off the crumbling heap of stones that make up the  the Black Gate district. A disturbing sound, but made less so from the fact that for the past week that same scream could be heard at about this time of the morning. More likely than not someone with more morals than sense will soon be relieved of their purse.
  A loud knock comes from your door. When you arrive at the door you see an intoxicated elf in a silver and teal nobleman's outfit leaning on your door frame. His clothes are of Cyrian cut and his heavily scarred face seems oddly familiar.
  He takes a moment to squint at you before launching himself at you and sweeping you into a hug. “Tobho my old friend, I’ve missed you soo much. What have you been upto these last 30 years? I brought you a bottle of wine and thought we could catch up.” He holds up a rather large and mostly empty green bottle. The label is black and features a picture of a bloody unicorn skull.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Galteland: Tobho gives a snort from his bull-like nostrils. "Come in," he grunts, then turns his back to his guest and walks back to the room adjacent to his door and sits at his coffee table, where he was sitting honing his prized bastard sword, as he does every evening at this hour. There's only a dim fire lighting Tobho's sitting room. creating long shadows from the sparse furniture, spanning to the ceiling. Tobho gives up trying to remember who this interloper is, as he begins to continue to sharpen his favorite blade. Probably some refuge he's seen around camp finally making his way to his house to ask for some favor. Every new refuge to Black gate eventually finds the courage to ask for Tobho's charity. He decides to make it as awkward as possible for this Elf to beg a favor. Tobho will likely comply with whatever it is anyway, so he might as well get some pleasure out of it. So Tobho sits, waiting for his visitor to find him and stammer over some silly request. At least he'll get a glass of wine out of it. It'll be interesting to see how the visitor solves the dilemma of a bottle of wine and not being offered any glasses.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Aquateenflayer: The elf drunkenly limps in behind you with a hand bracing himself along the wall. He lets himself collapse into a chair at your table. He gives a wince and sucks in a breath between his teeth. “The damp always makes the old leg act up.” Patting his right leg.
  Your guest lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a long pull getting more down his chin and onto his shirt then into his mouth. He slides the last mouthful of wine across the coffee table at you. The heavy glass of the container makes a low hum as it glides across and leaves a small trail of wasted drink.
  The smell brings you back in time. To having drinks with an old friend in Metrol who insisted on the superiority of goblin vintages over traditional spirits. The mans name was Thorontur Handior or Handsome as his business associates used to call him. An elven importer of Exotic materials if you recall correctly. The details are still rather fuzzy but you do recall being indebted to this man.
  “How rude of me I didn't leave hardly any left for you.” He slurs reaching across the table and taking back what was left of the wine and downing it. “Here,” He says reaching a shaky hand into his purse and scattering a fist full of silver sovereigns across the table. “Make the next one a double.” He mumbles as he places his cheek on the table. His eyes start to glaze over as he stares into your flickering hearth.