The tavern of Infinity...

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Ironbeard grips the stock of his crossbow tightly, his gimlet eyes scan the dank confines of the Silver Monkey kitchen for any sign of an ambush or trap. Satisfied that he is safe for the moment he turns his attention back to the man in front of him. "Ye have made an interresting prroposition there, me frriend, but I feel there arre cerrtain points which rrequire further discussion. Firstly, there is the matter of payment - our friend "herf" appears dangerous in the extreme - and I dinna go angerin' dangerous people wi'out a sizeable pile o' shinies ta sweeten the deal. Yer offer is, frankly, no enough fer me ta go riskin' me neck.
Secondly, there is the matter of execution. If ye think I be a warrior, ye be mistaken. No ta say I canna handle meself," he pats the heavy forge hammer hanging from his tool belt meaningfully, "but direct confrontation is no my style. Me battlefield is wi the springs and gears. Now, if yon swordsman has a room, or other place we know he'll be alone..."
The dwarf looks expectantly at Sapiryl. The man does not speak. Sapiryl summons a waiter and indicates that he wishes a drink. The waiter brings over a tankard of ale. Sapiryl takes a draught, and then opens his mouth to speak...

 

The man in black armour lies bleeding on the pavement, seemingly close to death, the creature stands and watches him bleed. The monster, apparently sure that the man is dead or close to death, walks away.

Herf stands up quickly and silently without thinking about it, he runs after the monster and quickly catches up. Without a sound or thought he plunges his long sword into the creatures back, and watches as the monster falls to the pavement in agony, writhing in pain, not able to gather enough strength for anything but a scream.

At last Herf The Forgotten Warrior Of The Blade will be remembered again.

 

A large and tall muscular man steps in, his brilliant pure white hair standing perfectly atop his head. He sees great adeventurers form ages nad ages hence, and with a small sick little smile, put his hand into his trenchcoat. He pulls out a sword that glitters perfectly, and drips blood on the floor seemingly out of nowhere. Cautiously the adventure steps farther into the tavern, his eyes now visible, but still as dark as before. He can tell that he strikes fear into the hearts of all who sit in the tavern, and he is happy about it. He smiles a liitle wider now, as he adjusts his grip on the menacing blade, it almost seemed to be alive. He quickly strikes the table next to him cutting it cleanly in half. His sword let out a high screech, which struck horror into everyone in the tavern, he left with a sigh, he was looking for a battle, but nobody offered up one here.

 

Gathering his belongings in the room, Shura sets off after the demon, tracking it through the planes back to Faerun, Athakla. He needs the demon's heart for his instrument of vengeance, a weapon so mighty that it can strike down Solars and rip their essence apart.
Catching up with the demon in an alley, Shura sees the warrior known as Herf slay it with his terrible sword. Herf walks off arrogantly, his shoulders heaving with cruel laughter. Unnoticed, the swordsman rushes to the demon's body and begins dissecting it eagerly with his wakizashi. Ripping out the mass of muscle from the demon's chest, he holds it up before his eyes, attuning his senses to it.
After a moment's contemplation, he flings it to the floor in disgust.
"Not powerful enough! It seems as if nothing short of a Balor or Pit Fiend will have to die for my revenge!" he mutters in rage.
He stalks off, his hands dripping black blood. The next stop would be the abyss, a place where he was moderately known and feared among the lesser fiends for his role in the Blood War...

 

The closed door sparkles in a dark red, as it opens without being touched. A gaunt figure clad in scarlet robes with an long black mantle thrown over his shoulders, scans the room slowly before advancing. The bartender's look changes from disbelieve to hard recognition.
He knows the man, not by name but by experience - bad experience. The mage had turned all his beer sour after complaining about a fly in the food - and left without paying.
So when the mage approches the corner table he had chosen, he sees the bartender and a dozen guests charging a full attack on him. His mouth contorts a bit to what only the knowing would interpret as a smile. He thows some coins on the table even as the first arrows find their mark and simply dissappear, seamingly entering his body.
The attackers cool down and disperse back to their places after seing the content, victorious look on the bartenders face - and after the boldest of them has seen the tip of his expensive blade dissappear just like the arrows before.
A wink of the hand has the barmaid scuttle to bring him an ale and take his food order.

A little dispute evolves in the center of the room. A full dozen of the guests get involved in the fight of minds and bodies. His friend had been right in praising the renewed quality of this tavern. Some light entertainment soothes his mind exhausted by extensive magic battles of the last days.
Some of these fighters really know their profession. It's a joy to watch, wakazashis, battle maces and giant swords used to their
maximum deadly potential. He refrains from throwing in some magic missiles. Let them have their fun; he shure had his, just watching.
The litle fight finally ends and the barmaids, start cleaning up as the exhausted brawlers settle back to drink some healing potion between their ales.
A young woman catches his eye. He follows her smooth walk as she approches one of the fighters, a cute little fellow clad in shiny silver armor, wearing his helmet even now. A low voiced discussion devellopes between them. A small moneybag discretely changes hands and disappears behind the scales of the silver armor. The girl quickly leaves the tavern with the fighter following after a minute.
A slow sigh eminates from the mage as he thinks of the poor girl wasting her time on the young fool.
He drinks more of his ale as he waits for his friend to arrive.

 

Mere minutes later the Medium-Sized Monstrous Humanoid picks itself up, all it's fatal wounds fully healed and severed limbs fully regrown.

The Medium-Sized Monstrous Humanoid has damage reduction 20/3 and regeneration of 2 hitpoints per round. Fire and acid deal normal damage to it. In addition, it may psionically manifest Plane Shift at will, along with Mind Blast, Ego Whip and Id Insinuation. Unfortunately for the tavern patrons and the heroes, they know none of this, and now they will pay for jumping to conclusions.

 

The man in black armour re-enters the tavern, he walks quietly to his table in the center of the room, drawing gazes as he walks. He revels in the thought of all those people seeing the blood of the beast dripping from his hands and his magical blade, which he has now set on the table.

 

All "those people" give the black armoured guy a wide berth, and they sit further away. To them they only know that the guy has poor hygiene and couldn't even bother to clean his filthy ass before going to a public place. In an instant, the man in black armour has become a social pariah.

But the black armoured man will make them all suffer, won't he? And then they will learn and accept their lessons on bowed knees won't they?? Muahahaha!

And then they will truly know who is better.

[This message has been edited by Rakanishu (edited March 24, 2001).]

 

"You don't fool me, friend. Cogs and wheels and levers may intrigue you, but by the look of that crossbow, and a ready supply of bolts, you could pass for a fighter. I see that you need some encouragement. Very well, I will raise your salary. You will receive 7,000 gold in hand before we even begin our little expedition. I will also offer you full immunity from any guilds already in the city, or did you think you could hire yourself out and not pay a guild tax?"

Sapiryl sips his ale and begins to turn away.

"Oh!" he pauses, "I forgot to mention one more thing. Any goods that you lose, etc. will be compensated for. And how would you like to earn a government badge so that you can ply your engineering trade?"

Wishing that the dwarf would make up his mind, Sapiryl begins to fret. He needed this. If he could prove to the Order that he was no criminal, and in fact, a lawful citizen, then his standings amidst the thieves would rise.

Not only that, but helping a Kara-Turan might well cancel a debt he owed...

 

The dwarf's eyes gleam with greed as he hears the figure mentioned. "Aye, he says, yer offer is intriguing, but there be the small matter of the execution tae attend to. Herf is known tae be one o the finest swordsmen in the realms. How dae ye intend me tae tak him on without finding myself too dead ta enjoy yer generous offer?"

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited March 25, 2001).]

 

Within moments the bloody battle has been forgotten and soon servants are clearing away the debris scattered about the tavern. The aroma of spiced potatoes waft from the kitchen entrance and a forgotten entertainer tests his lute with a few hesitant chords. The gambling tables pick up where they left off and soon drunken patrons are throwing their hard earned coin down on the table.

Moeken slips the seemingly frail gauntlets from his hands to hang them within his robes and once again they form the simple leather coverings given to him by his master. Shouts arise from the dice table, obviously someone has been bending the rules. A figure at the table quietly hands a small pouch full of coins to his comrade who wastes no time scooting out the door.
"Thief! Stop that man!" the dice keeper shouts as guards take up pursuit.
Sir Belisarius prepares to wield his lethal mace, but stops short at a touch on his shoulder, "Hold one moment, just follow my lead," Moeken whispers, "this way."

Looks of awe and approval follow the men as they make their way towards the dice table. The true identity of the warriors are no longer a secret. The man at the dice table resumes play but the distrustful glances of the dice keeper betray the man's status as a shadow thief.
Moeken clears his throat, "You say the man who stole your amulet was a shadow thief?", Moeken nudges the massive paladin. The thief's face turns ashen as he frantically tries to hide the tattoo on the back of his hand.
"Well perhaps our friend here knows something about it", Moeken expertly flips a small dagger between his fingertips, "let's ask him shall we."
The shadow thief cowers in the shadow of the towering paladin, his tunic shaking like autumn leaves. 'A young lad in the wrong place,' thinks Moeken as he swallows the guilt of his actions.
"I'm innocent" wails the boy," I've never laid eyes upon you before. There is a frequenter of this place who is a regular customer, if you know what I mean. His name escapes me at the moment."
"Just the same lad, we're taking you in for questioning. Sir Belisarius, we've found your man."
The lightning fast hand of the paladin grasps the pilferer by the collar. The young man is lifted from his feet and gasps from the crowd are matched by the struggling thief.
"It was Snitch!" the boy gasps in desperation, "He runs the Silver Monkey across town!"
Moeken suppresses a smile, "I believe the boy is telling the truth Belisarius, I have read somewhere 'It taketh one to knoweth one'. Belisarius?"
The good natured paladin gives the thief one last glare before placing him on the ground and turns for the door.
A deep throated growl from Moeken finishes the boy's lesson as he turns from the trembling lad to follow his old friend from the inn. Grins escape both men's lips as they walk away from the sounds of the boy's shaking whisper, "My thieving days are over..."

 

the warrior in black watches the paladins...interogate...the young thief with interest. he laughs to himslef when the thief gives up the knowledge that the proper thief was actually shura, the owner of the silver monkey.

"Ive had enough of this bar, im going to the *SILVER MONKEY* where they sell real drinks!" the warrior bellows at the top of his voice, looking straight at the paladins as he says so. "Anyone else who wants a drink and can hold their stomach is welcome to join me, especially anyone who hates thieves!"

with that herf walks out of the tavern, meaning to take the fight to the thief with the help of a few paladins...

 

Sniper walks out of his lodgings and sees a familiar face...he spots a large tall muscular man sitting down with a blade dripping blood...Sniper is sure he has seen him somewhere...but where?

Then it struck him! It was Fat Egg with his trusty sword 'bleeding blade'. Sniper strides over to Fat Egg and gives him a light punch in the arm...

"Long time no see Fat Egg...hows it been?"

Sniper then sits down and has a deep conversation with his old war buddy...

"You old rascal! Still been chasingthe ladies have you? Me? nah, i've been busy with magic for them...i might start looking soon...anyway, what brings you here then?"

 

A slim figure veiled in a long dark coat enters the tavern, looks around and quietly moves to the mages table, here lets the water drop off the coat before removing it.
This reveals a dark skinned lady in a soft silken dress the colour of her skin. Few pieces of exquisite jewlery around her neck and bare arms give a contrasting sparkle of gold, yellow saphires and dimaonds. Deep dark eyes dominate a somewhat stern but still beautifull face crowned with straight white hair flowing down to her hips. On her right side some strands are woven into five braids showing an intricate pattern joined into one braid falling to her front by little platinum chains lined with bluish diamonds.

"Ho Silroth, you arrogant fool insult the gods with your sloppyness. Do you think your powers so immense that you can stand against them!"
The mage selfconciously moves his right hand over his shoulder long braids - somewhat simpler than hers but still obviously similar. In a lightning move her hand darts forward and with a little black dagger cuts the leather band holding his hair.
"Drow-defense-magic needs care and discipline, rivin! ...". She makes some subtle corrections on his braids and leaves it to him to labourosly rebind the now too short leather string.
"So how've you fared with the dvarves?"
"Well enough, they respect drow, if only for fear! But I have, what you seek ..."
Loud voices interrrupt her. The paladins, and the fighters creeping around them, are comeing back from 'The Silver Monkey'. They're heavily drunk and show no sign of decreased thirst. The bartender gives the maid a sign to switch to serving the lowest class stuff.
"D'ya know e one where two fmale pawadins, ... "
"...Muhaaaahhh HaaaaaaHaaaaaa...."
They erupt and one black clad fighter falls face down to the floor, where one maid is just wiping up the results of another guest getting sick. The whole group cheers him vigorously, as he systhematically tries to get up and his attempts spread the slippery grime all over his body sending him sprawling again and again.
In short they're all in a jolly good mood, and the bartender started to polish his wakisashi, preparing for the inevitable.

"The book tells of a group of outcast drow in company of a goblin shaman. I can read all but the last chapters. They are the ones we seek...."
Her eyes rest on the golden spurrs of one of the paladins.
"He seems to have a new benefactor, our cute little Bel!"
"Huhh, ... , oh shure him, ... but he has to work hard. Though he's probably better off than he was on your leash, ... huh?"
Her eyes close for a second, and a sly smile appears.
"Likely.... Do you want to replace him, or why do you ask?"
Silroth's smile widens for a moment. He knows, he has the choice of her body or her respect. He has control over his bodily longings, although control is easier at some times, harder at others, and now he has to hold his breath. Bloody robes show everything!
"Hey youuuuu lillle cuuuuuutie!" "Come to daddie"
The dark fighter finally managed to get up and the group, seeking a new focus, finally detected the drow.
"Droww could ne'er walk by me 'thout staying 'e nite."
"Say, weeee have a little fun 'gether"
Sir Bel spreads his arms trying to hold them back "Donnn' Moeki.... Vicci heere's a dane.. daner... danerous bich....."
Too late...
Seven of them - all of the group still able to walk - rush toward the drow as fast and by as direct a route as possible in their state. The drow, her grim face clearly showing her anger starts an incantment. The mage fearing the worst - a major killing now would warp all his plans - with the flick of a finger sends a myrad of magic missiles swarming over the mob. Ther high piched screaming and spastic dancing - as the would be romeos are hit at different parts of the body - evokes laughter even from Viconia, who, interrrupted in her first spell, now simply waves an arm to send a cloud of dizzyness covering the bunch.

As the barkeeper sees the drunkards crawling in all directions, he finally looses the last muscular controll, as he rolls of his chair in a fit of hysteric laughter, barely and very, very luckily avoiding a not so inconsequential selfmutilation of his private parts with his wakisashi.

Mage and drow resume their discussion of the impending adventure.


[This message has been edited by Silroth (edited March 25, 2001).]

 

Fat Egg is surprised to find his old buddy sniper at the tavern. His eyes now older, his hair just a bit greyer, aye, it has been a while now, years and years. Sniper talks for a while, Fat Egg lsitens intently, a small smile on his face as he sips his stagnant ale. It is his turn to talk, but the horrors he commited in the past seep slowly out of his sub-concious, he sheds a tear, but does not openly weep, he laughs hardily trying to hide his tears, and then coughs a bit and tries to play off that the ale is simply too strong, but sniper knows him too well and can still tell. He gets slowly up and leaves, as he goes through the doorway he raises his hand up high in a gesture of "goodbye", but as he steps out of the tavern he is stabbed, the sword goes through his magical chain armor and pertrudes through his back, he gasps quietly and slumps down on the ground, he tries to look up and see who the killer is, but a dark red covers his eyes now, he realizes it is the end...

 

(that's so sad fat egg )

Having arrived at a dilapidated and filthy looking building, Duskai peers up at the creaky old sign, painted on which is a silvery simian grinning like a young boy in a brothel. Cautiously approaching the doorway, she reaches out for the handle. At that moment the clock tower bell rings out the hour, she realises that she should not linger at this place long, she could not risk missing the one she had waited many hours for, she should get back to the tavern as soon as she had discovered what plots are afoot. Thinking again of what she was doing here, she thought how strange that she should go out of her way to follow a simple thief.
"It's not even like I need the company"...she sighs.
Laughter floats out on the breeze, the place must be packed. Drawing her hand back she creeps around the corner in search of an alternative entry, after all can't have our dice master knowing that he has a secret shadow...
Luckily the owner had let the local flora run wild, spying a sturdy climbing plant Duskai ascends to the balcony of a second story room. She reaches into a pocket sown into the lining of her cloak and brings out a leather roll. Opening it up she selects a hair thin sliver of silvery metal and slides it between the windows. There is a soft 'click' and the window falls open. Stepping lightly into the darkened room, she stops still as a loud snoring comes from the bed, trying not to breath she makes her way silently to the door and lifts the catch. Under the covers the sleeping person shifts in his sleep. Duskai's heart beats loudly in her chest, she feels as if it could wake the entire building...but the snoring continues and she is suddenly well inside the silver monkey, unsure exactly why and what she would do. Taking a deep breath she looks around, "well" she thinks, "I will know when it happens, for now the thrill of the chase"...she makes for the stairs. A giggle comes from one of the rooms, it seems the entertainment is still in full swing.
"Damn shame" she thinks, "but I simply do not have time to dance on tables and make merry, but the night has many an hour left...but first..." No one notices an extra shadow on the stairs.

 

Sniper looks at his drink...Egg said that he was departing and had gone 20 minutes ago...yet something is wrong...but what? He doesn't know but nevertheless he decides to stand up and stretch...
As he is doing so he notices some items on Fat Egg's seat...there is a rolled up parchment, a book and a note. Sniper picks up the note and it reads...

Dear Sniper,
It has been awhile and it was nice to see you again. Of course i wish i could stay longer and chat but i am afraid that i will have to leave to go to the Sword Coast west of here...i have important matters to attend to...i hear of great evil in the area. Anyway, i have left you a scroll of teleport and a replica of my spell book. i want these to serve you well. And we may meet again.
But till then,
Fat Egg

Sniper smiles as he recalls memories good and bad of his days with Fat Egg bring a tear to his eye...He stands there for a few more moments before picking up the scroll and the book before purchasing 2 bottles of rum and retires to his room.

Once inside, Sniper places the items in his bag, jumps onto the bed and bursts into tears...

 

"Well, my dwarv...Ironbeard. I assume that you know how to use that crossbow? I simply do not think that I can handle this on my own. I am a fair swordsman myself, you can handle the long range end. And I assume that you know trap building as well? This attack need not take place in the city at all, but the outdoors is quite a large place. Of course, if you know a good accomplice that you can bring along, the work may not be as arduous. Conversly, the pay will decrease, but you look like a man who values his life. How about you sleep on it? I have many comfortable rooms, and entertainment of quite a variety. We can work on the execution when the details are finalized."

Ignoring the dwarfs protests, Sapiryl rises and motions a maid over to take Ironbeard in hand. Returning to the front rooms, he notices a new arrival. His appearence meant that others would soon arrive.

"Here! There right behind me!"

Gritting his teeth, Sapiryl takes the pouch and motions the courier down to the basement. Spewing obscenities, Sapiryl glances at an old man by the window who raises two fingers, and then blesses himself.

"Geven!" a burly bouncer wandered over, "Grab that <noun form of an expletive involving unmarried parents> downstairs and knock him out. In ten minutes, bring him up here and make sure that this is in his coat."

Sapiryl tossed over the pouch and a gaudy gold ring. When he looked around, everyone met his gaze.

"He never spoke to me."

The dangerous looking pair had reached the door...

 

Footsteps echo down the dark alley Shura was in. The black-draped swordsman halts, attuning his warrior senses to his immediate vicinity.
The silence screams as loudly as a siren in the deserted street and the tension is almost prominent enough for someone to reach out and pluck it like a harpstring.
An armoured man steps into the alley, drawing his mace and heavy sword while 2 shadows flicker at the edge of Shura's vision.
"Your evil ends here, paladin-bane! For the deaths of thousands of my brothers will not go unavenged!" the knight says in a deep booming voice. He begins to advance steadily towards Shura. At the same moment, twin shadows burst into action around Shura. The swordsman again displays his dazzling speed, dodging the sweep of a black sword while intercepting a fist with an open palm. He throws the puncher over his shoulder and leaps high into a backflip, jumping over the head of his armed attacker.
Dropping into a crouch, he places one hand forward while the other readies the sheath of his katana. He recognizes his assailants as Moeken, Belisaurus and Herf from the tavern. Why have they attacked him now? Herf charges forward, his black sword leading. Herf was a mighty swordsman who could probably stand up against Shura's skills for many minutes. Shura knew he was doomed if he allowed that to happen. Death from a flanking attack by either the monk or the paladin or a magical assault by Herf were not much choices to choose from. His only chance stood in taking Herf out at the onset of the battle.
Herf thrust his sword at Shura's face, grinning horribly at the apparent advantage for the Kara-Turan had yet to draw either of his swords. The tip of the black sword was less than an inch away from Shura's eye when Herf felt a tremendous blow to his side that knocked all the air out of his lungs and sent him crashing into the wall, breaking it and burying Herf in a shower of rubble.
The monk blinked in surprise: Shura was now standing with his katana drawn as if he had already struck.
"Did you see that?" his voice an awed whipser. "No." was the paladin's equally stunned reply. Herf roars in rage, struggling under his earthen prison. Shura's sword had failed to penetrate Herf's mighty armor but the force of the blow had nonetheless broken a few ribs and incapitated him for a while, however briefly.
Shura knew that it would not be long before the mighty Herf got on his feet and so he dashed forward at the monk and knight, now both blades drawn in a dazzling display of swordsmanship. The paladin's armor turned a few blows but a katana slipped in through a crease under his arm. He twisted at the last moment so the wound would not be fatal. The monk's arms and legs moved with deadly force in strange and unexpected twirls. But Shura had studied under a monk before and had bested many in his blood-stained career. He pulled back both blades and kicked the monk who was expecting a sword attack hard in the face. Reeling back, the monk had the shape of Shura's knuckles and hilt impressed upon his belly as the swordsman hit him hard again. Shura stomped on the Monk's head once as he kneeled over and ran towards the opening of the alley, but not quick enough to avoid the paladin's thrown sword. The holy blade hit him squarely in the chest, ripping apart his ribcage and impaling his heart, pinning him to the wall. The bite of the celestial fire running down the paladin's sword awakens the rage in him again. Dropping both his weapons, he pulls out the sword and flings it away. His magical ring is already doing it's work as he retrieves his precious swords, hunches over and flees into the shadows, not knowing why he was attacked...

 

Statistical description of Shura:
Kensai Level 14, Monk Level 1.
Strength 15, Dexterity 20, Constitution 17
Intelligence 16 Wisdom 8 Charisma 9
Planeshift 1/day. Kai 3/day. Mindshield 1/day. Timeless body.

(Shura is simply a wandering swordsman who is unaffliated with any prominent power structure nor owns any property at all.)