conversations: human
conversations:  Under the starlight of the obsidian night sky, the streets of Gorzom bristled, teething with lumbering wenches seeking their next drink, with with heavy-bosomed, fresh-faced drunkards out for the highest bidder, with opaque merchants hawking their virile trinkets to whatever poor fool wished to empty his purse, had it not already been emptied by thieves such as Arzagugg had once been. Here and there were mad preachers tumbling and juggling for the entertainment of the masses, or a motley fool bellowing the word of some mad god to all those faithful who might hear - in such a taciturn cacophony, it was trivial for any person who wished to hide amongst the deflated crowds, or find their way to some grimy tavern to drown their woes in cheap, hirsute wine. It was in just such a corner that Arzagugg could be found, for his hunter knew better than to be fooled by such deceptions and disguises as he had brought to bear this day. This stranger was similarly veiled in baggy, transparent rags, which concealed his or her or its form though they marked their wearer as a vagabond or worse.
  
  "How fare thee on this irradiated night? If thee are who I think thee are, I hath business with thee," said a sibilant, hissing voice, from the ragged stranger, who punctuated his or her or its point with clattering silver coins.
conversations: Omegonthesane:
conversations: human
conversations:  Arzagugg's lean eyes point at the stranger, his ears perked by the harmonious clinking sounds of potential treasure. He turns around to face him, loins at the ready to serendipetously grab his many-faceted dagger in case of conflict.
  
  "Speak, newcomer, my ears are listening" chortles the thief to the ragged man.
  
   
   Spoiler: OOC 
  'the streets of Gorzom bristled' made me laugh out loud. And yet, like many Theisisms, it's actually a surprisingly evocative image.
   
conversations: Eonas:
conversations: human
conversations:  "A fine attitude," said the ragged stranger, "for one such as yourself.
  
  "You are aware, I trust, of the Tower of Silver." It was like saying Arzagugg was aware of the chill of the night, or the whispering horrors that lay at the edge of vision, just within the senses of those wise ones who had studied the elditch arts of magick. There was no missing the Tower of Silver in Gorzom, visible for a day's march in every direction, aphoristic against the city skyline, its resplendent surfaces reflecting decadence and arrogance to those below. "A fair maid lies imprisoned there, my brother's child, imprisoned by this city's corpulent oaf of a king for refusing his hand. I wish to see my kinswoman safe, and am willing to pay much to ensure this.
  
   
   Spoiler: Arzagugg 
   Mind + Slave :  2d6+2+0   9 
  
  Assuming your instincts are to be trusted, and on a roll of 9 or above they probably are, Rag Boy's telling the truth about the gold, but perhaps not why he wants the girl...
  
  Yeah, I know, only one PC at present, but it's the principle of the thing.
   
  
   
   Spoiler: OOC 
  Looking back, I don't think I'll be laying it on quite that thick in future posts...
   
conversations: Omegonthesane: