With no sign of objection from the others, the herbalist rises to his feet and leaves, the group trailing after him, and a silence hanging between them. The ogre returns to the bar to find it empty, cellars restocked and safe filled, with her benefactors nowhere in sight.
The morning weather is bright and cool, a rainbow streaking through the sky above the World Spring, which can be seen clearly through the crisp air. A light mist lies gently on the ground, but it has yet to raise higher. The streets are almost empty around the square, the loudest sound being the distant bustle of the fish markets - for even at this early hour they are well and truly under way. Sea birds circle overhead, omens of the fresh stock brought in overnight, and far out on the ocean a sand coloured sail flaps in and out of view.
The barracks lies back up the path which the party descended just the day before. Today, however, the gutters beside the path lie dry, and clean - although whether this is due to the previous days weather or simply their normal state is unclear. The fresh risen sun catches the marble of the steps rising up onto the second tier, and a faint ringing echoes down to them. As they move further, the ringing grows louder, mixing with the smell of freshly prepared meat and bread and yells of all volumes and pitches.
The guard of the Central City is strange group. Their motto - Udossta dron whol Duul'ssom - is one of the few reminders of the origins of the city, born from a lost Drow vessel seeking a better life, free of the stigmas that they had suffered. The stigmas failed to follow them beyond their homeland, and the settlement grew into a fishing village, named Duul’ssom - Freedom in the drowish tongue. From here the village grew further, becoming the trade hub which it remains today, and much of its history is forgotten to most.
And it is a Drow that opens the doors to the group. An elderly man, the heavy brass handles slow to turn beneath his grasp, with blue veins acting as highlights to his black skin. He motions for you to follow him, and a weaving path of stone corridors follows, before the torchlight is once again replaced by the sun.
They stand now in a courtyard, and the Drow motions for them to wait as he continues onwards. In the yard a number of figures fight in various stages of arms and armour - in one corner an Ogre, in full heavy plate, swings a club that would not look out of place planted in the ground at a beardless dwarf, her armour made of leather and her weapons small daggers that barely protrude beyond her fists. In another, an Elf spars unarmed with a Drow, the latter sweeping the legs from the former as they watch, before helping him to his feet.
The centre of the courtyard draws the eye however, in part due to the peace that seems to occupy it in contrast with the surroundings. In the centre of this space two Mira slowly circle - one male, one female - each with similar light swords in each hand. Their hair - one a light blue and the other a vivid crimson, though both possess a pale silver skin - flicks lightly despite the lack of wind, and their ears twitch at every step. Then an especially large blow sounds from the ogre in the corner, as if to mark the beginning of combat, and the two collide in a blur. It is hard to follow their hands, but the blades seem to hit with scarcely a whisper before the force is removed. A single bright streak of red marks their separation, and a crimson line marks the thigh of the man. he bows to his partner, before limping from the field to a door where white robed individuals help him inside.
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Topic: The Lone Isle RPG: The return (Read 23806 times)