Post by The Dude on Jan 16, 2004 17:31:27 GMT -5
Okay, I had a vision strike me this morning while I was waking up and I had to write it down. Naturally, this may not be the way Brett wants things to go, so this is just my own personal vision (I should be working on Privateer stuff, but what the hell)...
Here goes:
--
Marpenoth 2, 1371 DR
It was an hour before dusk and much of Waterdeep was already in the mountain’s shadow when the foursome returned to their manor house in White Bull District. The carriage came to a stop once inside the iron gates and the porter hopped down from his seat, hurrying to help the intriguing young gentlemen and lady unload their belongings.
The first to emerge was a striking young man with tousled, shoulder-length raven hair and seductive eyes resembling moonstones. He was bedecked in a fine red coat trimmed with gold resembling filigree at the thick cuffs and high collar, as well as a black velvet half cape, and polished, knee-high, black leather boots with silver buttons. Despite his noble air, he wore a scimitar at each hip, and appeared accustomed with their use—the porter could immediately tell these were no ornamental blades.
The woman took his hand as she descended from the carriage. She, too, was striking in appearance, and obviously the man’s lover from the way they took to one another with their gazes, smiles, and frequent touches. She was sleek-bodied and silken-haired, the lady, with wavy tresses of dark cinnamon tumbling not quite to her small waist and eyes of jade. Her face was one of those that instantly made ordinary men forget themselves and act like fools. She was garbed mostly in dark leather from neck to toe, but with a heavy indigo scarf of Tethyrian design draped loosely about her shoulders and a rapier at her waist—it, too, the porter could tell, was no mere decoration.
Next, a toe-headed boy of fourteen or fifteen winters with apple cheeks and a friendly face came up alongside the carriage, having already hopped out to open the gate. He wore simple garb—beige tunic, plain brown leather vest, and a long, shadow blue coat. He hurried forward to offer his hand to the last person to emerge.
If the porter thought the preceding lord and lady looked formidable with killing steel at their hips, this last man had a look of dark menace in his watchful gaze and the bearing of a spellwielder. His hair, like the other man’s, was jet black, although longer and tied back. Indeed, the two men resembled one another to a point, as if brothers, save this one was drawn and lean with gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes the color of robin’s eggs, rimmed in the southern custom with a thin line of kohl. He wore a long black coat that buttoned down below his hips and draped to his ankles, and like the lady, he too wore a Tethyrian scarf, blackish green with marine colored swirls resembling peathingy feathers. In his hand was a dark staff.
The man in the red coat thanked the porter for his help, putting three shards into his hand, but declined his aid to carry the bags to the front door, saying, “Our lad can handle it from here, thank you.”<br>
The carriage made its way across the small cobbled courtyard and back into the street. The boy hurried to shut the gate behind it, and then quickly returned and began hefting several items over his shoulders, however there was quite a bit more than he could carry in one trip and he struggled beneath the weight of several bags as he bent to pick up a small chest. “Cyrus can’t bear all of this,” said the lady as she lifted a bag and tossed her long locks of cinnamon-hair over her shoulder. “You might not have sent the porter away just yet.”<br>
Both of the men’s interest, however, was suddenly drawn away by an explosion of cheers from inside the building. They looked at one another and the lean one snorted. “It appears Hailstaroon has not yet vacated the premises,” he said.
The handsome one exhaled and smiled wanly, but that was the extent of his reply as he shouldered a bag and followed the woman and boy toward the front stoop. Another cheer exploded as the dark-garbed man looked down at two remaining bags on the ground. “Do you expect me to carry these?” he called after the retreating trio. The three of them appeared not to hear and he watched after them as the red-coated man fished a key from one of his pockets.
The man snorted through his nose in exasperation and then jerked his right hand in a circle, waved two fingers, and spoke a few clipped words in Draconic. “Pick those up and follow me,” he said to nothing at all, yet the bags immediately lifted into the air and trailed closely behind him as he made his way toward the manor house.
The smell of pipeweed greeted them as they opened the large oaken door. A scantily clad woman was crossing the foyer as they entered and she jumped back in surprise with a small yelp, nearly dropping the three flagons of mead in her hands. Apparently, despite the missive sent hours ahead, their arrival was unexpected. “Corlis,” she called anxiously, “there are people in the doorway!”<br>
“Oh, well then don’t be rude, my sweet,” replied a voice from an adjoining room. “Invite them in!”<br>
“Aye!” came another rumbling voice that was immediately familiar as Blades Blackawyn’s. “Welcome them to the party!”<br>
* * * * * * * * * *
Here goes:
--
Marpenoth 2, 1371 DR
It was an hour before dusk and much of Waterdeep was already in the mountain’s shadow when the foursome returned to their manor house in White Bull District. The carriage came to a stop once inside the iron gates and the porter hopped down from his seat, hurrying to help the intriguing young gentlemen and lady unload their belongings.
The first to emerge was a striking young man with tousled, shoulder-length raven hair and seductive eyes resembling moonstones. He was bedecked in a fine red coat trimmed with gold resembling filigree at the thick cuffs and high collar, as well as a black velvet half cape, and polished, knee-high, black leather boots with silver buttons. Despite his noble air, he wore a scimitar at each hip, and appeared accustomed with their use—the porter could immediately tell these were no ornamental blades.
The woman took his hand as she descended from the carriage. She, too, was striking in appearance, and obviously the man’s lover from the way they took to one another with their gazes, smiles, and frequent touches. She was sleek-bodied and silken-haired, the lady, with wavy tresses of dark cinnamon tumbling not quite to her small waist and eyes of jade. Her face was one of those that instantly made ordinary men forget themselves and act like fools. She was garbed mostly in dark leather from neck to toe, but with a heavy indigo scarf of Tethyrian design draped loosely about her shoulders and a rapier at her waist—it, too, the porter could tell, was no mere decoration.
Next, a toe-headed boy of fourteen or fifteen winters with apple cheeks and a friendly face came up alongside the carriage, having already hopped out to open the gate. He wore simple garb—beige tunic, plain brown leather vest, and a long, shadow blue coat. He hurried forward to offer his hand to the last person to emerge.
If the porter thought the preceding lord and lady looked formidable with killing steel at their hips, this last man had a look of dark menace in his watchful gaze and the bearing of a spellwielder. His hair, like the other man’s, was jet black, although longer and tied back. Indeed, the two men resembled one another to a point, as if brothers, save this one was drawn and lean with gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes the color of robin’s eggs, rimmed in the southern custom with a thin line of kohl. He wore a long black coat that buttoned down below his hips and draped to his ankles, and like the lady, he too wore a Tethyrian scarf, blackish green with marine colored swirls resembling peathingy feathers. In his hand was a dark staff.
The man in the red coat thanked the porter for his help, putting three shards into his hand, but declined his aid to carry the bags to the front door, saying, “Our lad can handle it from here, thank you.”<br>
The carriage made its way across the small cobbled courtyard and back into the street. The boy hurried to shut the gate behind it, and then quickly returned and began hefting several items over his shoulders, however there was quite a bit more than he could carry in one trip and he struggled beneath the weight of several bags as he bent to pick up a small chest. “Cyrus can’t bear all of this,” said the lady as she lifted a bag and tossed her long locks of cinnamon-hair over her shoulder. “You might not have sent the porter away just yet.”<br>
Both of the men’s interest, however, was suddenly drawn away by an explosion of cheers from inside the building. They looked at one another and the lean one snorted. “It appears Hailstaroon has not yet vacated the premises,” he said.
The handsome one exhaled and smiled wanly, but that was the extent of his reply as he shouldered a bag and followed the woman and boy toward the front stoop. Another cheer exploded as the dark-garbed man looked down at two remaining bags on the ground. “Do you expect me to carry these?” he called after the retreating trio. The three of them appeared not to hear and he watched after them as the red-coated man fished a key from one of his pockets.
The man snorted through his nose in exasperation and then jerked his right hand in a circle, waved two fingers, and spoke a few clipped words in Draconic. “Pick those up and follow me,” he said to nothing at all, yet the bags immediately lifted into the air and trailed closely behind him as he made his way toward the manor house.
The smell of pipeweed greeted them as they opened the large oaken door. A scantily clad woman was crossing the foyer as they entered and she jumped back in surprise with a small yelp, nearly dropping the three flagons of mead in her hands. Apparently, despite the missive sent hours ahead, their arrival was unexpected. “Corlis,” she called anxiously, “there are people in the doorway!”<br>
“Oh, well then don’t be rude, my sweet,” replied a voice from an adjoining room. “Invite them in!”<br>
“Aye!” came another rumbling voice that was immediately familiar as Blades Blackawyn’s. “Welcome them to the party!”<br>
* * * * * * * * * *
