In Character Posting

[Here is where all of us can post as our characters. In fact, I want you all to start out here getting character introductions done before Friday's session. ]

Someone posted flyers for people willing to stop the demon spread by any means necessary should meet at this tavern by the name of Hoof and Hammer. The tavern, located in the grungy forging district of Gronmeck, is pretty rowdy when you all arrive. You all know, though, that with the war going on as it is and factories running day and night, the taverns near them are always full with one shift leaving for bed and another just leaving work. The place, as such, doesn't get much cleaning. Stale vomit can be smelt and seen splattered on the floor. Older Minotaur ramble on about the plague of the war and how it wasn't like the good old days. Some recall old glory from the revolt and how they acquired various wounds. In the corners and back rooms, deals are transpiring between many groups and races, and as they leave drop a few coins in a jar labeled "Pay your dues". An empty table sits in the middle with a small wooden plank reading "Reserved" propped on it.

[This is the place you were told to meet. The first to post is the first to arrive. I will be posting as any NPC's you might encounter. Have fun ]

A silver furred Minotaur, wearing green robes and carrying a silver rod with a sky blue orb at the end enters the tavern and takes a quick look around. Seeing the tavern as it is, he orders a drink of something not quite strong but not weak and sits down at the table. He pulls a small book about the size of his hand from somewhere inside his pocket and begins to read it intently.

A Tiefling dressed in elegant crimson and orange robes walks into the room and announces with a booming voice: "Who is the one searching for allies against the demonic hordes?"

Rapture raises his hand, but keeps his gaze on his book for slightly longer before looking up and staring straight at the newest arrival.

All of the occupants of the main room suddenly turn to the loud voice who came in. Some doors slam to the back rooms and a couple of stifled laughs get caught in beer. The bartender leans over the silver haired minotaur and whispers "Your 'guests' get out of line and its on you."

Asmona smiles and approaches him. "I too am in the market for allies."

((Borris has a moderately thick Russian accent))

Borris walks out of the shadows from one of the corners and eyes Asmona critically.

"Wonderful. Is another loud one. Why is it always the loud ones?"

He approaches idly twirling a dagger through his fingers. As he reaches the two, he spins a chair around and sits in it backwards. Once he's seated, he stops the dagger's errant movement and holds it in a downwards position. With one deft motion, he slides the blade into the table like a hot knife through butter, the blade falling precisely in line with the grain of the wood. Borris turns to look at Rapture.

"Now you, you I like. Quiet, calm, collected. .....Mysterious." He waggles his thumb between the two of them. "I think you and I are going to get along juuuust fine."

Rapture nods in understanding to the bartender and tosses a couple coppers his way. He then turns to the devil woman and smiles back. "Enemy of my enemy, or so the saying goes. I'm glad to see capable people answered the posters, though I'd recommend keeping your voice quiet, at least for now. We don't want to upset anyone in the bar, they might cause unneeded complications." He then turns his head and address the other newcomer.

"I appreciated the compliment Serra. Your bladework is impressive."

"I have no fear for the likes of these," Asmona says, "But I will avoid making a disturbance now that I know with whom I came to speak. Now, I understand our plan is to assist in the destruction of demon-kind without stressing petty moral tenants?"

"Who is this 'Serra' you speak of? I not named Serra? I'm Borris."

"Serra is a term of respect from where I come from. I lacked your name, so I called you such. But it is a pleasure Borris." Rapture says, then turns to Asmona.

"That is correct. I've taken the liberty of attempting to secure financial backers. However, without much of a history to work with I was mostly told 'we shall see.' Two notable groups expressed interest; despite their best efforts not to. The Black Cowls, a large group that has been blamed for crimes in the past would be impressed if we delivered proof of our abilities. So I think the heads of some of them will do the trick nicely. And the bodies, if you'd like. There are a group situated near the elven borders.

Another group, called the Golden Scales, has a fascination with demonic artifacts and weapons. The government of this area loaned me some money as a government contact as well as a bag of holding. My plan, if you all would be willing, is to collect all the weapons, artifacts and corpses we can. We can bargain for a better position with the Scales and Cowls if we make it appear like we have options."

"These Black Cowls....they want... proof of our abilities? Hehehe. My friend, I do not mean to brag but...these knives," Borris opens up the right side of his black trenchcoat revealing a multitude and variety of knives strapped in, "are not just for show. Again, I stress not bragging but I, eugh, have a bit of a reputation where I come from, and it's....it's not exactly the most pleasant.

"They want proof? Show me one of their people and I will show you proof."

"I'm sure most of us have pasts that could be defined as unpleasant. And I would like to see proof of your skill Borris! But I am looking for allies to kill demons, and demon killing is what I am interested in. If you want bodies, I shall gladly give you some." Rapture says. "Ah, but where are my manners. What is your name Ms...?" Rapture says to Asmona.

"Asmona," she replies. "And yours?"

Rapture pulls out a piece of paper and scribbles something on it, then passes it over to Asmona. It reads the following.

I apologize for the mystery around this, but there are several people who don't like what I am and who know my name so I am hesitant to say it out loud. If I am to trust you and the others with my life in coming battles, I can assume you must be able to trust me as well. My name is Rapture, and I am a changeling. It is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Asmona.

He then scribbles down the same thing, but addressed to Borris instead and passes it to him as well.

Asmona carefully and lightly scorches the paper so that black lettering appears.

Your people's powers are useful. I too am an untrusted race - and not a Tiefling, if we are being so upfront. Rather I am the daughter of a powerful infernal entity. However, I need to clarify that I am not working for you, but with.

"Borris," she says "I do not believe it wise to prove one's lethality using our potential benefactors as examples."

Writing back to Asmona.

But of course, I have no rights to claim leadership over you or anyone else who wishes to join our cause. I simply put up the posters; I am glad to work with you.

Asmona nods to Rapture.
"Very well. Additional funds are always in order, so let us rack up a demonic body count."

The front door burst open and a figure in a long black trench coat walks inside. His face is concealed from the shadows of his hat. As he walks the thud of metal and cranks of gears can be heard. He walks over to the bar orders a drink and walks over to the table and grabs the seat, sits down and leans back. He lifts his hat to reveal a glowing yellow cybernetic eye.

"I be guessing you three be the mates I be looking for. If it be dead demons you wanting then look no further."

His drink arrives and he drinks it quickly and orders another one.

"Ah! Good, there are more then just us three." Rapture says. "And who are you Serra?"

He lifts his drink and looks at Rapture.
"Well first matey, my name is not Serra, but I be known as Captain Mordrik. Terror of the great sea. An' who would all ye be?"
He shifts his gaze around the group.

Borris looks at Asmona in confusion for a moment before realization hits. "Ah, I see what you mean. My apologies, I must have misheard the statement."

He looks down and reads Rapture's note. "Hmm, very interesting indeed. Truth is, I care little who someone is. We all bleed, same as everyone else. And if that's true, we must not be all that different. ......Except for gnomes, but we can discuss that at another time."

Once Borris is finished with the note, he quietly lifts the note off the table and breathes on it, freezing it solid. He then picks up and swiftly twirls his dagger, edging it into and through the frozen paper. The note is quickly reduced to a pile of ice powder and paper pieces.

Mordrik's shamelessly noisy entrance leaves Borris in a facepalm. "Another loud one? Mercy, I'm beginning to wonder if I signed up for the wrong group."

When Mordrik sits down and poses the name game, Borris merely replies "I am Borris. That is all I say. If you quiet down, maybe I say more. But 'til then..." He ends the sentence with a helpless shrug.

Mordrik raises an eyebrow at Borris.
"Best be careful wit those butter knives lad, as fer the group, it all depends on the Heifer over there," he says, pointing to Rapture.
"And as fer my words, I'm afraid there be nothing I can do about that." he says as he lets out a roaring laughter, slamming his mug on the table. A waitress arrives with his next drink, and quickly leaves.

"I don't what you say about me. I do care about what you say about my friends, but how offended I get depend on my friends. But..." Borris leans forward, a very menacing glint in his eyes. "Never disrespect an artist's tools. That is easily quickest route to afterlife. My knives are sharper than the knives of the most respected chefs, this blade in particular and it's twin sister are enchanted with spells more powerful than many mages could ever hope to see in their lifetime. These are not mere butter knives."

To emphasize his point, Borris reaches his dagger over to Mordrik's empty mug and with a flip of the wrist, slices it in half lengthwise.

"I tell you again. Never disrespect artist's tools."

A gust of wind quickly and violently rushes through the tavern, sending loose papers and a number of hats flying. This doesn't persist, however, as the room falls still and silent. The wind leaving as suddenly as it came. A figure now stands in the doorway, cloaked in a flowing white robe, obscuring his features. As the figure looks around the room, a glint of platinum scales and a sneer of displeasure can be seen beneath the hood. Spying the group at the table the figure glides across the room towards the boisterous group, the flowing robe almost hovering inches above the detritus on the floor. As he nears the table, his features become more distinguishable. Beneath the white robe hide the vestments of a cleric, adorned with chains and the symbol of Bahamut, it's owner best described as a platinum-scaled dragonborn with thin, predatory features.

"I will guess that you are the ones responsible for these?"

The dragonborn holds up one of Rapture's posters.

Asmona visibly stiffens at the sight of his holy memorabelia.

Rapture raises a hand. "Relax gentleman, relax. We have a common enemy here, no need to get upset at eachother. As for me calling you Serra; it is simple a term of respect from where I come from. No harm meant." He then goes on to explain to Mordik everything he relayed to the group earlier about financial backing and the demons nearby to kill. He scribbles another note explaining himself as well like before, though including a clause that if Mordik decides to take offense to Raptures nature Rapture has five different escape plans already prepared. One of which involves crashing the roof down.

When the priest enters the room, Rapture nods at him and says "Yes, I am. And who are you Serra? I didn't expect to see a man of the cloth. Though I am by no means upset by this."

Pausing for a moment he then says "In case of confusion, Serra is a term of respect."

"I will not work with a paladin who nags about "saving innocent lives" or some shit. That'll serve only to get in my way."

" Oh calm down you she-devil" he says as he carefully eye the chains and scales of the cleric. Calmly continuing to drink his new drink.
"as for me priest I now better then to mess with Bahamut,"
Picks up the note and reads it carefully.
"oh ye be that, I have fought with and against yer kind so I have no problems, as long we have an understanding that I'll be halfway out of town by the time that roof lands."
Drinks some more from his mug.

As Black Moses dramatically enters, Borris' jaw hits the floor. "Another one with no sens-....No, you know what? I give up. It seems I'm stuck with three creatures who have no sense of subtlety. And I don't care anymore! Haha! I don't care!...... But don't come crying to me when you're all captured by demons because you didn't have the sense to pipe down and act quietly."

Borris hangs forward over the back of his chair in hopelessness.

"I've got spells to make them quite when the time comes. Have no fear Borris. Well, actually, still have fear. Fear keeps you sharp; but you know what I mean." Rapture says.

"That is comforting, friend. My thanks. And you need not worry about my sharpness. I tend to keep my wits as sharp as my blades."

Rapture shrugs. "I judge people on results. I've faced enough hatred for just being something that people dislike. As long everyone is capable and able to get the job done then we can get along. But please, lets let the Man of the Cloth speak. We haven't given the man a moment to talk yet! This is quite rude."

"Many thanks"

His gaze fixes on Borris

"Fret not, your chance for subtlety was lost the moment the first guest arrived, there is little more you can do now... and as for you."

The figure turns to the tiefling, flashing an almost predatory smile as the poster disintegrates in a shower of sparks.

"You'd do well to watch your tongue, heretic, lest a paladin and his 'nagging' cut it from your throat. Your day of judgement will come soon enough, but you should be mindful not to hasten it's coming."

The figure then turns to Rapture, his smile turning more polite.

"I will assume that you were the one responsible for the posters. I am Justicar Heston, and I seek the destruction of this plague of demons. However seeing as good help is so hard to come by these days it seems I am forced to turn to..."

His eyes narrow as he surveys the group in front of him...

"... the less than pure."

Borris shrugs. "Eh, I don't claim to be a saint. The only thing I claim to be is an artist. If you want to...dirty your hands with the **air quotes** "unclean masses" more power to you."