Original Submissions

• 

  The Criminal, part I: Fallen Templar by Eru
  Added on Feb 6, 2007

  A templar of Blue gets disrobed, and is banished to Labyrinth. There he meets an old friend.

  ---

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  Submitter's note:
  
  This log is part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak.  In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather short-tempered,  or one may call, a nasty templar, had been involved in many plots/projects, touched  many PCs whether for good or ill.  Here, I am giving you a snippet of events that had transpired, giving some light to him getting disrobed and fallen from the Highlord's grace.
  
  I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is.  I hope you find it a good read.
  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  
  <95/95 111/124 75/101 - sneaking >
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf sits at a long, low and cracked clay table
  
  <95/95 111/124 80/101 - sneaking >op door
  Ok.
  
  <95/95 111/124 83/101 - sneaking >w
  A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
     Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
  this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
  freshness at all.  Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
  unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
  confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
  rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at.  The walls of the room are
  short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
  feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
  precision.  A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
  array.  Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
  begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor.  The
  center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
  change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
  three cords deep and ten cords across.  Broken stonework sculptures surround
  the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
  Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
  them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room.  An equally
  battered wooden door is situated just behind it. 
     Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
  jagged hole in the ceiling of the room. 
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A message board is propped up against a wall.
  The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
  The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
  The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
  
  
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpent. As it happens, I have some information for you."
  
  With the coming of night, darkness steals over the Labyrinth.
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish:
       "Hey, Chief!"
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "I have learned that a man formerly known as Lord Templar is to be banished to the Labyrinth."
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, rubbing his temple.
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Now, he is only Haadith. If you have anything you wish of him..I would suggest that you welcome him to our part of the city."
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, to the thick-set, sideburned bartender:
       "Pass me an ale, Effen."
  
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender trades a chipped, red-clay mug to the short, scar-faced man.
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "He has been removed from the templarate. What you do with him is up to you. I'd suggest that you don't let him fall into anyone else's hands, though."
  
  The scarred, well-muscled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "That is all."
  
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  
  You send a telepathic message to the scarred, well-muscled man:
      "Of course.. I will reach to him right away and accept him."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  
  You stand up from a sturdy old bar.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts.
  
  
  His chest heaving up and down, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks over the battered doorway.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  Ok.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Uttering a loud curse, you rest on a rough hide sleeping mat.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the soft-featured, black-haired man with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Whenever you need a help, your old friend is here at your side.. Just wanted to say that.  I think it should mean something."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Something happen t'ya?"
  
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
      "*pain, desperation* I can pay you...Whatever you want....please..."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Come to the Labyrinth..  I will provide you the sanctuary you need."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Come to the Elementalists quarter.. Near the temple of Whira."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Before the false wall.  I will take you in."
  
  You stand up from a rough hide sleeping mat.
  
  
     Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
  this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
  freshness at all.  Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
  unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
  confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
  rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at.  The walls of the room are
  short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
  feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
  precision.  A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
  array.  Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
  begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor.  The
  center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
  change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
  three cords deep and ten cords across.  Broken stonework sculptures surround
  the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
  Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
  them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room.  An equally
  battered wooden door is situated just behind it. 
     Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
  jagged hole in the ceiling of the room. 
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A message board is propped up against a wall.
  The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
  The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
  The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
  The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
  
  <95/95 119/124 33/101 - sneaking >close door
  Ok.
  
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "Tell everyone to keep the alleys safe.. All the Blood.. Whoever you can fimd."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the soft-featured, black-haired man with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
      "Or tell me your place..  I will come and pick you up."
  
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
      "I'm at the entrance to Hathors. I'll hold you to nothing but the knowldge that if they haven't
  emptied by bank account, it still contains a great deal."
  
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * Confused, Serpent moved through the familiar alleys, making his way as fast as *
  * possible to meet his old acquaintance that was once Lord Templar Haadith Oash. *          
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Hathor's Way [NS]
     This wide, dusty road -- named after a deceased Templar -- leads north
  toward the poor, crime-infested section of Allanak, the Labyrinth, or as
  most of its denizens call it, the 'rinth.  Old, crumbling red-clay brick
  buildings flank this throughfare on either side where piles of broken stone,
  filthy rags and old bones lie strewn up against them.  Thick dust and
  the sickeningly sweet-smelling air do little to ease your state of mind.
     Hathor's Way runs north and south from here, amidst the crumbling
  buildings of the Labyrinth. 
  A blue silk sash lies here.
  A half-giant soldier of Tektolnes walks along here.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
  
  Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
  wraps itself delicately around high, well-born features.  Boyishly smooth, his
  face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
  but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
  avoided the pitfalls of gluttony.  His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
  by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
  scar or line of age.  His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
  scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
  into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder. 
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is in excellent condition.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is using:
  <worn on head>           a bloodied glossy-black, chitinous helmet
  <worn on face>           a carved carru-skull face-guard
  <worn around neck>       a bloodied dusky chitin neck-guard
  <worn on torso>          a jade-studded, black-leather hauberk
  <worn on arms>           a pair of jade-studded, black-leather sleeves
  <worn on legs>           a pair of jade-studded, black-leather leggings
  <worn on feet>           a green-toned pair of chitin shell boots
  
  
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man spits at the half-giant soldier's feet and turns bravely toward
  the alley.
  
  Pointing northward, the half-giant soldier says to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
  sirihish:
       "You go in."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to the half-giant soldier, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Fucking traitors...The lot of you."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Fall in."
  
  You speed your pace a little.
  
  The half-giant soldier growls and starts to reach for his heavy bone, jade-emblazoned greatsword.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man pauses his eyes falling on you, widening with fear.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man falls in behind you.
  
  Head down, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Just promise me it will be quick."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "You have too much valuables on you.  I will have you dress up like any other one resident
  here, so you won't get mugged on the way."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf:
      "Vlen.. Bring a set of outfit.. Quick!  Near the Templar statue.. Now!"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  Crude Intersection [NSW]
     Detritus and debris dominates this junction of twisting alleys.
  Refuse of all varieties is strewn all about, including rags too torn and
  filthy for even the most desperate to find useful, excrement, and perhaps a
  humanoid corpse, most likely stripped of its possessions, perhaps even some
  of its flesh gnawed or cut away.  The overpowering, putrid odor of the
  labyrinth is overwhelming here, and even in the relatively open space, the
  tall, crumbling buildings seem to close in, creating a profound feeling of
  claustrophobia. 
     Alleyways run north and west from this dilapitated intersection.  A
  wider throughfare opens up to the south. 
  The headless and crumbling statue of a templar sits off to the side of the alley, one of its
  outstretched arms missing.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What? "
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Don't."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  You ask the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Where are you going?"
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf sends you a telepathic message:
      "Somethin' more than what I'm wearing? I'll grab it anyhow..."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  Eyes flickering around widly, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I...Don't...Know..."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "We will move to the safety of my people."
  
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Wait a little.. It will be alright."
  
  Breathes heavily, clasping his chest, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Traitors...Traitors..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "All of them..."
  
  In a calm tone, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "You will take your revenge.  Just relax."
  
  In a calm tone, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "You need a shelter now."
  
  Clasping his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "She was in my mind..."
  
  You ask the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Who?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "So powerful...more powerful then I could have imagined..."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks a few times.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Marsellus...Maewon."
  
  Stepping away from you, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "You have no reason to help me...Why....What do you want..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man grasps at his finger and realizes with a sudden horror that
  nothing is there.
  
  Tilting his head, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man,
  in sirihish:
       "You are a good tool.  We can help each other."
  
  You hear a man's voice from the west say, in sirihish:
       "At the entrance to Hathor's Way, he said..."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf has arrived from the west.
  The short, scar-faced man has arrived from the west.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man looks down at the short, scar-faced man.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf opens a dusty leather strapped, traveling knapsack.
  
  Lifting a hand at the approaching figures, you say, in sirihish:
       "Give the pack."
  
  The short, scar-faced man looks up at the soft-featured, black-haired man as he approaches.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "I just grabbed what I could find...pants and a smock."
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gets a pair of patched sandcloth pants from a dusty leather
  strapped, traveling knapsack.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man breath quickens as his eyes dart with every  sound.
  
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gives you a pair of patched sandcloth pants.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gets a stained ragged linen smock from a dusty leather strapped,
  traveling knapsack.
  
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gives you a stained ragged linen smock.
  
  Sighing, the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf says, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Damn, wasn't sure what ya needed...I got some spare boots. He could wear mine for a bit."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf raises the hood of a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  You say to the figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
       "Give me your cloak, if you did not bring any.  Give a pair of boots too"
  
  The figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
       "Eh...just hope I get 'em back."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf lowers the hood of a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf stops using a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gives you a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  
  Shaking his head quickly his face still panicked, the soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to
  you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Wait, wait, wait...Whats wrong with this...This is excellent gear...?!"
  
  The short, scar-faced man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "If you wait a little, I've left some gear in one of the buildings, Chief!"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "These boots cost near two hundred sid!"
  
  Turning to him, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
  sirihish:
       "Till we get to safety, dress like we do.  Then you can wear them again."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf stops using a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots.
  
  His expression paled with fear and miscomprehension, the soft-featured, black-haired man stares at
  you.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf grudgingly pulls of his boots and tosses them on the ground in
  front of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf drops a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf gets a pair of smooth grey-hide footpads from a dusty leather
  strapped, traveling knapsack.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf slips his feet into a pair of smooth grey-hide footpads.
  
  With a nod, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
  sirihish:
       "Till we get to the shelter.  Just till then.  You can keep your nice gears with you, I am not
  going to ask them"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man clasps at his chest, his eyes filled with panick.
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf looks at the soft-featured, black-haired man with an appraising
  squint.
  
  Turning to the slight, wispy-bearded half-elf and the short,
  scar-faced man, you say, in sirihish:
       "You two.. Go back.  The rest of it, I wil lhandle myself."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "If you see Rocker.. Tell him to find me.  Or any other of the Blood."
  
  To your ear, the short, scar-faced man whispers to you in sirihish:
       "Tell him to put all into some pack, Boss."
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf says to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in
  northern-accented sirihish:
       "I'd put that cloak on quick...try t'cover anything flashy."
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "You see Rocker or any other of the Blood, tell them to find me."
  
  Alley [EW]
     You are standing in the middle of a poverty-stricken alley, the
  Highlord's chamberpot of human life.  All about you, piled against
  dilapidated stone buildings, are piles of garbage, excrement, and the
  occasional corpse -- or perhaps that's simply a sleeping child -- that
  gather here.  The sky above, what is visible of its dome through the
  blood-tinged air rank with foul scents, shines less brightly upon you, the
  sun's rays blocked out by the tall cracked structures of crumbling red
  stone, buildings which give this alley a claustrophobic feel, despite its
  being quite wide. 
     This alleyway runs fairly straight, heading in an east-west direction. 
  A dusty pair of soft, black leather boots lies here.
  The short, scar-faced man is standing here.
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf is standing here.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
  
  His expression grim, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "No...I can apologize...They let me live."
  
  His expression grim, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "He'll forgive me...He'll forgive my insolence..."
  
  Shaking his head, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man,
  in sirihish:
       "You can.. But not now.  Not now."
  
  The short, scar-faced man nods to you, then flashes a grin to the soft-featured, black-haired man,
  inclining his head.
  
  
  The slight, wispy-bearded half-elf nods to you, then turns, ducking warily down the side of the
  shadowy street.
       "Just give it an ease.. Let it pass.. Sometime."
  
  Bursting with anger, the soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "They can't do this!!!"
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man watches the soft-featured, black-haired man, his brows furrowed.
  
  The short, scar-faced man stops and glances back over his shoulder.
  
  Shaking his head as the flash of anger passes and only weariness remains, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm sorry....Whatever you want...Don't leave me here...please."
  
  
  The sun rises, filling the sweltering streets of the 'Rinth with heat.
  
  The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
  
  The short, scar-faced man stealthily moves east.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft sigh.
  
  You pick up a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots.
  It is very light.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Come.. We need to get this over with quick."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man stumbles behind you, whimpering softly.
  
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * They move a little deeper into the alleys, to somewhere relatively safer. *
  * The ex-templar's thoughts and speech carrying little coherence as he finds*
  * it hard to believe what has been transpiring around him.                  *
  --------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Dead End [S]
     Worn and cracked walls of red-clay brick and old stone flank the sides
  of this narrow and twisting alleyway.  Trash, excrement and old gnawed bones
  lie in scattered heaps on the hard-packed earthen ground giving off foul,
  sickly odours that thicken the air with the telltale reek of disease.  The
  entire length of the alley lies in shadow, the sky being but a narrow crack
  overhead between the shattered tops of leaning ramshackle buildings.  The
  air hangs thick and deathly still, as if even Whira found it too repellent a
  place to move about in. 
     The alley comes to an abrupt end here.  A section of the western wall,
  however, seems to have recently collapsed exposing a parallel alleyway on
  the other side that one might be able to crawl through to. 
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is standing here.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Looks clear."
  
  His voice hoarse, the soft-featured, black-haired man whispers to you in sirihish:
       "the templarate....Nobility...."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares at the soft-featured, black-haired man, his brows furrowed.
  
  Shaking his head softly, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm sorry...."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "It is alright.  We are not dead people here."
  
  You give a pair of patched sandcloth pants to the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  Staring at you with pleading eyes, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I can still be of use to you....I can fight..I'm trained....And I can read....I'm literate..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Please...You're not going to kill me are you? Please? "
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "You are useful, old friend.. I know that."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man frowns with disgust as he holds his pair of patched sandcloth pants.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "I could kill you way befoe it I wanted."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Even when you were still a templar."
  
  Almost afraid of the pants, the soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Oh...These are utterly vile..."
  
  Chuckling quietly, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Just for a while.  You will still have the chance to keep your nice leggings."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man coughs bitterly, pulling off his pair of jade-studded, black-leather leggings with a painful frown.,
  
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------
  * A short time passes as the old templar changes his outfit, looking *
  * more like a rinth dweller than a noble born in the end.            *
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
  wraps
  itself delicately around high, well-born features.  Boyishly smooth, his
  face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
  but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
  avoided the pitfalls of gluttony.  His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
  by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
  scar or line of age.  His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
  scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
  into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder. 
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is in excellent condition.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is using:
  <worn around body>       a dusty dark, hooded cloak
  <worn on legs>           a pair of patched sandcloth pants
  <worn on feet>           a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots
  
  
  You ask the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Do you have any weapon, old friend?"
  
  Shaking his head his eyes wide with panic, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
       "Nothing...My ring...He took it..."
  
  Slipping beyond the horizon, Jihae fades from the sky's stage.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man nods once.
  
  Looking at his hands, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "My power.....all gone...."
  
  > draw sword
  You draw a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  You stop holding a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  You begin guarding the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  You drop a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.  Shown to the
  room as:
  A sharp, bone halfsword lies here.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Take it."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "*Her thoughts holding confusion* Seems I'm, not employed by Haadith, any longer.. I.. don't
  know what's going on.."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "I will give you a pack.. Once we get to my tavern."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods nervously at you.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Haadith is no longer a templar.  He is in the labyrinth now.. Banished."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft sigh.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man gives you a jade-studded, black-leather hauberk.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man puts a smelly glass vial inside a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  Nodding to a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword, you say to the
  soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Now.. Take it."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Are they going to banish me?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times, with a desperate acknowledgement.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes...yes..."
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man picks up a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man brandishes a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "No.  I don't think it has anything to do with you my love."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "-I- am -his- aide. It seems that it could have to do a lot with me.."
  
  You say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Raise your hood.. That will make you look more like a regular folk."
  
  Keeping his gaze ahead, you say to the soft-featured, black-haired man, in sirihish:
       "Don't think we will have any trouble.. After all, you are with me."
  
  Whimpering after you, the soft-featured, black-haired man says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What a fitting end.....for a vile bastard...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times to you, his head lowered, face slick with sweat.
  
  Turning halfway to check the soft-featured, black-haired man, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man keeps along the twisting alleys.
  
  Keeping your razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword at his side, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man drops a single nod at the short figure in a dark, hooded cloak.
  
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * Each step cautious, eyes scanning their surroundings with utmost alertness
  * they start moving again, this time to a more familiar place for almost
  * all the alley dwellers: Folley.
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  
  A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
     Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
  this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
  freshness at all.  Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
  unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
  confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
  rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at.  The walls of the room are
  short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
  feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
  precision.  A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
  array.  Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
  begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor.  The
  center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
  change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
  three cords deep and ten cords across.  Broken stonework sculptures surround
  the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
  Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
  them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room.  An equally
  battered wooden door is situated just behind it. 
     Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
  jagged hole in the ceiling of the room. 
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A message board is propped up against a wall.
  The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
  The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
  The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak has arrived from the west.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak follows you into the dingy bar his head lowered submissively.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks into the cramped room, eyes passing through few rough figures.
  
  Raising his voice over the crowd, you say to the thick-set, sideburned bartender, in sirihish:
       "Effen.. Give us a couple of ales."
  
  
  You give a chipped, red-clay mug to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  You hold the mug.
  
  With a nod to the thick-set, sideburned bartender, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks toward the battered door.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak accepts his chipped, red-clay mug face shadowed by the hood of his cloak.
  
  Leaning close to him, you whisper to the muscular, hatchet-faced man in sirihish:
       "I got a new friend, and he needs to get in badly."
  
  You initiate the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak into 'The Guild'.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  Ok.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak has arrived from the west.
  
  Following you, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak takes his place at a long, low and cracked clay table, hands clutching his chipped, red-clay mug.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak places his elbows on the table, and laws his face in
  his hands.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Why did they let me live...surely...."
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm too dangerous alive..."
  
  You give a bone-studded backpack to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Here .. Your things."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "So... Want to talk a little?"
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, clasping his face with panic and shame:
       "What is there to say..."
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm humbled you've let me live this long..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "What happened and you ended up in my side of the city?"
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "I don't know...I couldn't take it...The traitors...The double alliances...."
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "They were lecturing me....the pure hypocrisy of that fucking lecture!"
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I couldn't take it....When she entered my mind, I snapped...I tried to kill them both...Both Reds..."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man toys with your chipped, red-clay mug, staring at the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak in the face.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You attacked them openly?"
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, with a moan:
       "No...Never..."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "In the Quarter....A closed room, just the three of us."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Haadith is here.. Seemingly he did something himself.  Not you involved in it."
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish, near sobbing:
       "What have I done....."
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak lays his face onto his hands, his nails digging into his forehead.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man lowers the hood of a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Just three of you?  Then what happened?  What lecture was it?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Veralius...."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "He paid me...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man grits his teeth, for a moment before swallow.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man furrows his brows, tilting his head as he listens to the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Did he say what he did?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Veralius paid me to kill a senior of his house, fifty large..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Someone found out...Told Marsellus..."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "As a precaution. I emptied my place.. incase they go searching for anyone."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "He is saying."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Seemingly, he attemted to kill a borsail senior."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "He sat there and chatised me for it....But months before he had praised me for what happened with Tor...It was the same fucking thing..."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Him or not, they always seek someone to blame. A Borsail senior? Veralius?"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "He told me not to go to Veralius.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But now the heat was on him, and he was with the red that the fucking traitor reports too...And they sat and accused me of treason..."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Veralius is just another noble.  Not a senior."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "So I decided to test the strength of their authority..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I set the Highlord's flames on him..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "On Marsellus?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods firmly, his eyes taking on a malevolent, empty stare.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I see."
  
  sip mug
  This tastes like ordinary ale.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But he didn't flinch, he was barely harmed....He crushed me with his bare hands."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks, scratching his scarred cheek absently.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I've seen men's flesh burned away by such..."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "He is truly HIS chosen...I have sinned greater then any have ever..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And now I have been cast away.....With the outcasts..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
       "Unfortunate."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man wipes sweat from his face, his expression grim.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Wonder if I ought to just stay here.."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Unsafe for me to venture out?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Want to see your former employer? Nah.. It is nothing about you."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "All he did was his own doing."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
       "You are safe here."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You are safe out in the bar as well."
  
  You think:
       "I will learn how to read and write.  By you."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You will be safe in the streets, so long you don't flash out your southsider side."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "There is a recruit....Named Tada...He might be loyal...Perhaps Dasyk as well..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Or look too rich to anyone."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Or Sophie...poor Sophie."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I know them.  I can check them out."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "In the streets..? I have to leave here??!!"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man eyes widen with a sudden fear.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, a cloud of concern coming to his face:
       "Do you think they will go after Sophie?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "No.. You can live here all the way.  I meant if you want to step out."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I don't mind seeing him. What do you think he'll say?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "No...No they wouldn't ...I told her to go to Palimus...But what if he's with them..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, grasping his head:
       "Fuck!"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
       "Nah.. She does not need to go anyone."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Just that.. Will she be put guilty because of your situation?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I don't know..."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man knits his brows thoughtfully.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Do I need to change or anything?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Bloody hell....Maybe they won't tell anyone....Perhaps they'll make some story to protect the reputation of the Blue."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Do you want to see Sophie now?  I can bring her here very quick as well."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "No! No...I can't take the shame of it all..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Tell her I've died...I was killed..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I have to get out of this city....They'll all know me here."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shaking his head:
       "No need for it, old friend.  In the wilds you will be found, humiliated, tortured and face worse than death."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "So wait before I go to the whiran temple?"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I want to see him, I worked ofr him for about two years!"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Tell him too bad."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head and lowering his shoulders:
       "And what will I do here?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, licking his lips:
       "I am a curious mind, old friend."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I always wanted to learn.. How to read a text.. Or write."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I wanted to learn your strange tongue as well.  I have heard it so much.. So many templars I have seen, and heard talking."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Yet.. Without someone teaching, it did not go well at all."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man runs his bare hand over his face, smearing a mix of dirt and grim over his face.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Also.. I would not like to see an old friend, being turned into a trash in the streets."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I can grant you the protection."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "And.. You said you have been trained."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You can perhaps train my little boys?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man shakes his head his eyes going wild.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I...I...I...I can't..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Why?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man touches his forehead, narrowing his brow.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Kerne...The Mul...Tada reports he's killing everyone."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "See.. You also have some loyal friends.  You can always be helpful."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "And I can help you take your revenge.. On veralius."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "In time."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "The Highlord...If I taught such things...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Highlord did not kill you.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But sent you here."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "A greater sin then ever has been...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Perhaps he wanted you to teach me those things?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "As punishment...."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "No..."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The amber skinned, tattooed male sends you a telepathic message:
      "Borsail barracks is open! Kerne went crazy in there"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, folding his arms over his chest:
       "How do you know it is not so?"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I'm at the temple of Whira."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, his eyes weary and beaten:
       "I don't....I'm wretched...No better then the infidels..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, putting a black inked hand on the soft-featured, black-haired man's shoulder:
       "Sophie is in my mind.  Nearly crying to see you.. She says all those years, she served you,
  and she wants to be at your side now."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man closes his eyes.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I can take her here for a short time.  Real short."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Want it?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times at you.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man eyes light up with a sudden rage.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man shouts, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You are right! "
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Be at ease."
  
  Pointing at you, the soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You are right!"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I was right about the sword! The Mul's escaped! I told them!"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man tilts his head.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Sword?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "Wait.. I will come and pick you up."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You were at the fucking arena were you not?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Yes."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You saw the sword the gifted the Mul?"
  
  You think:
       "No..I did not."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "what about it?"
  
  
  Shaking his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I told them not to give it away. It was too powerful."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks a few times.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "It would fall into the hands of our enemies, and now it has."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "So.. Mul is .. oh.. That won't work."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Mul is a mindless slave.  They would not think it is an enemy."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What? Don't be daft..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Besides, probably that mul has killed more Borsail even now."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Wht?"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
       "A raging mul..in Borsail estates.. Who would he kill first?  Borsail."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "So.. Borsail is not enemy, because they are the ones dying now."
  
  The amber skinned, tattooed male sends you a telepathic message:
      "That Mul, Kerne, that won the metal sword, just faught himself free of the Borsail barracks, Outside the barrack is a dead body with a full outfit of Crimson Wyvern stuff"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And? What is your point...The sword, you don't know what it does!"
  
  The amber skinned, tattooed male sends you a telepathic message:
      "And just me around..How much will that score?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But a mul can enrage with or without any sword.  It does not mean the sword."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the amber skinned, tattooed male with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the amber skinned, tattooed male:
      "Fifteen smalls."
  
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  Shaking his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You don't understand....I was right."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I understand.  I am telling you..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "They won't understand."
  
  You think:
       "I have no fucking idea .."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Of course....But the sword...It's a **censored**...The wielder ********censored********"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  His tone becoming serious, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented
  sirihish:
       "It is the ultimate weapon against *****censored*****"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips:
       "And against the **censored**"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Right....But I *told* them not to let it go...to destroy it...But Malenthis and his
  pride...his ambitions."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man furrows his brows.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Do you recall when I last threatened you?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
       "Yes. How can I forget."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "It was over that..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Really?  Why did not you just fucking say it? I had no idea."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man chuckles quietly.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I thought you sought it...I entered Tada into the contest, so pumped up on Rukian magicks I thought he'd kill them all."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But Malenthis foiled it....and Kerne won."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Hmm.. Maybe I could just enter the arena, and win it.. Damn."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I did not know that was the prize."
  
  Shaking his head, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "To be fair I didn't trust you."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man puts a carved carru-skull face-guard inside a bone-studded backpack.
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "On what?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You would not give me the sword if I won it?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "To trust you to win and then give me the sword."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Fuck no...I just told you, I wanted it destroyed."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Oh.. I see."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "For this very reason. Who knows who get it from the Mul."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, with a nod:
       "I guess Templarate will get it back."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "How?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Wait..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If we could summon the mul as an friend...the three of us..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And the sword..."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Wait here a few moments.  I will get Sophie.  She is outside."
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Quite an alliance."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods once, settling back into his seat.
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man shoulders slump at mention of the name.
  
  -------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * The old templar is left to his own thoughts, as the crime lord leaves *
  * through the cramped door to fetch the clueless woman waiting outside. *
  * For a few moments, the office was empty save for the shadow of the    *
  * noble born, cast upon in the cracked table in the flickering light of *
  * the solitary candle.                                                  *
  -------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man beckons the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak with a black inked hand.
  
  The short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak falls in behind you.
  
  Her tone soft, the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Hello, darling."
  
  The figure in a dark, hooded cloak quickly walks into the debris, guiding the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak behind him.
  
  You initiate the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak into 'The Guild'.
  
  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  The figure in a dark, hooded cloak walks over the battered door, nodding at the muscular, hatchet-faced man.
  
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man nods at you.
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Stepping quietly in behind you, the short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak
  reaches her hands up.
  
  The short figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak stops using a white silk veil, revealing a pair of pale, faint looking scars.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman lowers the hood of an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man slumps backward in his chair, turning his face from the sleek, honey-eyed young woman and closing his eyes.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man gestures at an empty crate at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks down at the soft-featured, black-haired man with a hesitant shift of her gaze.
  
  Leading the sleek, honey-eyed young woman to it, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  His voice ragged, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Sophie..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man manages a nod to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, his face slick with dust and sweat.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, watching the soft-featured, black-haired man, her features uncertain:
       "Besides the circumstances.. are you.. alright?"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man folds his arms over his chest.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, straightening his chair:
       "I'm well enough...I've gracious hosts..."
  
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding to the soft-featured, black-haired man, her eyes shifting to you:
       "Thank you.."
  
  The droplet-tattooed, swarthy man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpen', I hear yeh picked up a nice new friend t'night. I should be warnin' yeh.."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The droplet-tattooed, swarthy man sends you a telepathic message:
      "This'un is gonna be too hot for yeh t'hold onta. Get wha' yeh can from 'im, 'cause yeh prob'ly gonna 'aveta sell 'im out. Don't bring none'a tha' heat onta us."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the droplet-tattooed, swarthy man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the droplet-tattooed, swarthy man:
      "Just want to learn what he knows.  I always wanted to learn how to read and ride.  And learn
  what the fuck those templars talk about.  Then he can die easy."
  
  The droplet-tattooed, swarthy man sends you a telepathic message:
      "*amusement* Hah..yeh gonna learn t'read? Yeh mus' think yeh smart."
  
  You chuckle.
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The large oval of a pale gold carpet is spread across the floor.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks up at you her attention lifting to you.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts, lowering onto a crate.
  
  You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  You give a bundle of cooked meat to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  Softly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Thank you."
  
  You give a bundle of cooked meat to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man sighs for a moment, his gaze flickering from you to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, offerin your bundle of cooked meat:
       "Want to eat, old friend?"
  
  Wrapping her bundle of cooked meat, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman lifts a piece of the smoked meat to her mouth.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I could barely hold it down I think..."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, smacking her
  lips softly:
       "It's not bad, actually.."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a partially eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  You put a bundle of cooked meat on a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "If you want.. You can take it."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "You shouldn't be here...Don't share in my punishment...You have a child to consider."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If it's found that you're with me...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man shakes his head a few times.
  
  Thoughtfully, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stares at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's abdomen.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "It won't be found out, I made the decision..."
  
  You eat part of a bundle of cooked meat.
  
  Lifting another piece of the cooked meat to her lips, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman glances toward you.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man chews thoughtfully, lifting his gaze to meet the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's own.
  
  You eat part of a partially eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, smirking faintly as she shakes her head:
       "Wasn't two days ago, I was yelling at recruit Tada in the Barrel, hope he doesn't.. nevermind. He'll leave me be, I'm sure."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
       "I can spank his ass if that is the trouble."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head at you:
       "Naah, he was just gawking. I told him my concerns."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman eats a portion of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Concerns?"
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "Didn't appreciate his gawking and remarks. Sounded like he was still a Bynner. But.. it's nothing any of us can help, now."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "He'll be useful in the long run...He loves his black coins..."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Who does not?"
  
  You eat part of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, sighing softly as she rubs her hand over her belly:
       "And women, it seems.. so.. you're going to stay here? In the allies?"
  
  Silently, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man drops a single nod at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "He is in safety."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, wiping his face:
       "For now..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I've destroyed everything else....It's all gone now."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning to beam you a smile:
       "Thank you for taking him in."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You don't have any employer, I am assuming?"
  
  You eat part of a half eaten bundle of cooked meat.
  
  
  You eat part of a small portion of a bundle of cooked meat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes flickering to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "Who did you get to take you in?"
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at you, then giving the soft-featured, black-haired man a glance:
       "That's true.. right? Nobody.. nobody is to be found.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
       "It can go this way."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Palimus...He's the only one I could think of....Or the merchant houses. You must denounce me Sophie..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "No no.. Not so fast."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "She is not supposed to know about your fate yet."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes, I was about to say..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "IF she suddenly knows everything, it means.. Yeah.. You know what."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "Play ignorance and when they tell you, denounce what I've done. It's vile...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "She will be one among the populace.. Whatever the commons know, she will know and then she will move accordingly."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Right."
  
  Her green-eyed gaze shifting between the soft-featured, black-haired man and you, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods slowly.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If you don't you'll share my fate..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I will take care of until then.  Nothing to worry about."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I mean.. I can take care of her as well."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few time to you, rubbing his head.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding slowly:
       "Alright.. I will do so.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, gesturing at the wrapped cooked meat on a long, low and cracked clay table:
       "Take that, old friend.  If you don't eat now, you will eat sometime later."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man reaches out, taking something reluctantly from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man gets a bundle of cooked meat from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I will stash some more meats and stuff into the bags on the this table.  There is also clean water in one of them."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man chews slowly at the dried meat, wincing a bit.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man drinks ale from a chipped, red-clay mug.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "There is also spice.  But don't be sniffing it without asking.  I like to keep track of it."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales softly.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding a few times easily:
       "Of course...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man drinks ale from a chipped, red-clay mug.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Think.. we ough tto tell him?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, gesturing at the cabinets:
       "You can take anything you like from those as well."
  
  Rubbing his temple, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shrugs at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  asses -v haadith
  He appears in adulthood for his race.
  He is slightly shorter than you.
  He is slightly heavier than you.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man is in excellent condition.
  The soft-featured, black-haired man does not look tired.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, rubbing his temple in pain:
       "I need to think....I can't stay in Allanak...Surely you've another place..."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "You tell him, I'll run out the door to get a headstart.."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "*Amusement*"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Perhaps that filthy Red Storm village...Or the Outposts....Someone is going to recognize me here..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Who are you waying to?"
  
  Turning to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man blinks at her.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'm trying to reach Tada....To see if they captured to Mul."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Stay here for a while..Till the southside gets a little easy, then I can guide you to Red Storm."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But I am telling you, the alleys are safe, so long you play by the rules."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Red storm is no better.  If the north hears about it, they will just attempt to capture you."
  
  Sitting quietly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman lifts a hand to rub at her neck.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But in my streets, no one can touch anything, if I don't approve it."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man glances down at his sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword with some anxiety.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman sidelong.
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpent, we've got thief problems at Terash. A neck stole some things from Proprietor Enlil. Any suggestions?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the cerise-haired young woman with the Way.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes settling on her:
       "Sophie...."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "There is more trouble around.. I thought.. Kerne was on rage killing half the city with his shining metal sword."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "You caught him?"
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "*softly* He's dead, aye."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "What happened to the sword?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Kerne is dead."
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Any idea why? The sword is safe."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And the blade?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "At Borsail?  Is it?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "Or templarate?"
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I turned it over to my Lord Commander."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "In Borsail Lord commander's hands."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "I see."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning her attention to the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "Yes..?"
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, slamming his hand onto the table:
       "Blast!"
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "He'll see that it is where it needs to be, such things are far beyond my experience. Krath...
  I cannot believe I held a metal sword. Insane. Any ideas on how to catch an elf?"
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "How to catch an elf is easy.  Just go to barrel and hold one tight."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "But the one that thieved, well.."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "Does Terash know what he looks like?"
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I don't know."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "There are lots of elves.. Need to have an idea which one got lifted."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, touching his face suddenly his fingers tracing his own eyes:
       "The last of HIS touch.....Gone..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "What?  What was it"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man leans backward in his chair, slumping lifelessly.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "My ability to see the unseen....The effects still lingered."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But it's gone now..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Come now.. You are still someone of note withouth his touch and shit."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You are trained."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, with a twinkle in his eyes:
       "You are literate."
  
  Listening, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman peers btween you at the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "We can help each other.. Old friend."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting his sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword and looking at it warily:
       "I used to think these primitive..."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man has entered the world.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
       "I have nothing else..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "With that primitive thing.. I killed a templar once."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Come? "
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "A member of HIS Templarate?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Nah.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But who cares?  Who touched to who and what."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "A templar with his Higlord or Muk balls or whatever.. Still bleeds, and that thing makes it
  bleed."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, peering at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "You've still that gift I gave you? That seems like that would.. hurt.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman his eyes heavy with guilt:
       "They took it....I'm sorry..."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman shakes her head silently to the soft-featured, black-haired man, her hands still folded over the slope of her midsection.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You are on the safe hands, friend.  We help each other, we stick together.  And we will find a way to get your revenge someday."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his
  head:
       "But do I want it...I'm confused...My god has forsaken me...."
  
  Yawning, the swarthy, fork-bearded man stretches his hands, waking up from a rough hide sleeping mat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I've blasphemed....But I still live....And the sword, I was right about it...It should have
  been..."
  
  Gesturing at the battered door, you ask the swarthy, fork-bearded
  man, in sirihish:
       "Give us some moment, alright?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man looks up at the swarthy, fork-bearded man quieting down, and turning his eyes on him.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man nods absent-mindedly, heading for the door.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks up at the swarthy, fork-bearded man with a slight turn of her head.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man opens the door.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man walks west.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man closes the door from the other side.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the swarthy, fork-bearded man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
      "You did not see anything in the office, alright Jubal?"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Right boss - the office was empty - as usual!"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lowers a black inked hand from his temple.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man exhales for a moment, shaking his head.
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Black hair and recessed yellow eyes is what Reneli says the elf looks like. That help, Serpent?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You can rest here, I will keep leaving edibles on the table.. Maybe some coins if you want to go and get some drink.. You can wander in the alleys, if you are any curious about it."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Just don't try something too early."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the cerise-haired young woman with the Way.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes settling on you:
       "Try something?"
  
  Sighing softly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman watches the soft-featured, black-haired man for a quiet moment.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "Better."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
       "Don't know. Taking a walk to southside and spitting on Veralius."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Veralius didn't betray me...He's as guilty as I...Likely he might join us..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man chuckles for a moment, the first sign of a smile forming on his lips.
  
  The cerise-haired young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "He have a name?"
  
  A brow quirking, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman watches the soft-featured, black-haired man quietly still.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I hope he does.  We need a better dartboard anyway."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the cerise-haired young woman:
      "No.  But I will have it looked around."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the swarthy, fork-bearded man with the Way.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Alright then...I'm past this whimpering kank-shit. If it's here I am, with or without the
  Highlord, Haadith Oash is Haadith Oash."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
      "An elf.. Black hair and yellow eyes.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What do you want from me, in exchange for my place in your "organization"?"
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Or our alliance...however you want to call it."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
      "Is doing nicking on the protected people.  Pass the word around, and lets see who this elf is and what he is up to."
  
  Listening, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman smiles faintly as she sits perched on a crate.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I said it already.. You can do anything you like that is to start with.."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But I am a curious mind, old friend."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding once:
       "Good, so am I. "
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "And also.. You can maybe help train my boys around."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, wiping his nose:
       "Hmm.. Thinking about it..."
  
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "You can go out in the alleys, and make sure no southsider or the eastsider starts shit around."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "That is basically any Blood does."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I mean... Blood.. A gang."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'll need to lay low, I think for a while.  Until rumors get around that I'm dead."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Gotcha boss, I'll spread tha word. By the way, there's an in'erestin fella out here - who jest
  might be lookin fer a job. Sounds like he's from the rinth too - want me ta talk to him?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "That is fine."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
      "Sure."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting halfsword:
       "But here's are the terms. You teach me to stay alive, how to better use this pin prick, I'll teach you want you want to know. "
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And when you've learned all you like....You let me go..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Of course."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "He acts as if he's a prisoner."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "All too easy old friend."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, pushing himself to a straighten position:
       "How is Sadie? Doing well I hope?"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Who is Sadie?"
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman peers toward you curiously.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, chuckling quietly:
       "Quite a pretty woman is not she?  Not seeing her around much lately.  She is always somewhere else."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Nierse was around though.  This week we had a little walk around."
  
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "It's fine, Serpent."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "Sadie..is my superior.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Well.. Was.  I don't know where she stands now."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods toward you as she smooths a hand idly over her inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "So...Now that we're on the level..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Nierse."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "The one you accused of being a slaver so long."
  
  You chuckle.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "No, no...I meant undead elves...."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "But I don't doubt it...One needs to press the buttons he has..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "No, you mentioned not long ago that another undead elf has surfaced, did you not?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       " Oh, **censored**.  You sought him."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Died in **censored**."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes, I'd heard that."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Funny, I'm much less interested in kill such a creature now....."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Mistress is kicking I heard.. Though did not see."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling softly:
       "An undead can be a little trouble, old friend.. Though they are not yet."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You need a **censored**..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, with asmirk:
       "**********CENSORED***************************"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his chin.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "When *******Censored***********....They die...Instantly."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, repeating slowly:
       "**censored**.. So we shall have."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Thats how Malenthis killed that **censored** Lordling so easily. Word has it he was **censored**..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "All it took was one word..."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man scratches his jawline.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, chuckling slowly:
       "Why do you think I was so desperate to get into the Alley's to meet, them? "
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Nah.. Not to meet."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding:
       "Every strength has it's weakness..."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I just wanted to go a brief history."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Hmmm....Yes. The source of such things....Do you still think it's those Nilazi?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I do."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "That I have little understanding of...Nilaz is the one element with which I am the most unfamiliar."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Ahh.. Alright then."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sits quietly, listening to the two banter.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the sleek, honey-eyed young woman with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "You want to say anything to him?"
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "You getting ready to take me back?"
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "I am just asking if you want to tell him about the kid."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, closing his eyes for a moment:
       "Defilers.....There are some running about these Alleys I assume?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Not nowadays.. There is one magicker I know of.. Using drovian magick at least, but can be something bigger."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Not sure."
  
  Lifting a glance to you, then shifting it to the soft-featured, black-haired man, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman draws her lips to one side thoughtfully.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods a few times easily.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "What do you think he'll say? I don't mind telling him, now that he can not do anything about it.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes flickering to you:
       "I have a curious mind as well"
  
  You chuckle.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "And what does it wonder now?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "How truly different can it be from what I once held in my hand."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
      "I don't know.   I don't mind telling him either"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Perhaps this time without a leash...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man runs a thumb over his chest were once hung a large medallion.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his jawline:
       "How are you going to learn it?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, wetting his lips:
       "I don't know...the method for invocation of such things....I still know it....But the power...His power is gone."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, furrowing his brows:
       "Now you got me even more curious."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Yes....These defilers....They summon magicks without the aide of Tektelones...."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, clearing her
  throat softly as she sits up on the crate, her eyes still firmly fixed upon the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "Haadith, my days as your aide were.. and forever will be my most pride-filled. I'd never
  imagined that my studies would take me to your hands."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glances at the sleek, honey-eyed young woman sidelong.
  
  Cutting off, the soft-featured, black-haired man turns his gaze to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, glancing toward you with a soft smile:
       "I never did you wrong in my services, infact, I kept myself isolated from most everyone I met."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man remains silent, listening to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man returns the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's smile, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, peering back at the soft-featured, black-haired man as she draws in a soft breath:
       "There was a man who did treat me right and spark my interest as I so desired. And I am having his child. You know him."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man opens the door from the other side.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man has arrived from the west.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman reaches over to give your arm a light pat, her eyes remaining on the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man closes the door.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, dipping his head:
       "Of course."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man staggers in bleeding profusely, and collapses on the mat.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Wait..."
  
  The swarthy, fork-bearded man sleeps on a rough hide sleeping mat.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man grunts.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman looks down at the swarthy, fork-bearded man her attention straying.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, gesturing to you:
       "It's his?"
  
  
  With an angry glare, you exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Fucking shit.. My carpet!"
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  You pick up a pale gold oval carpet.
  It is no problem.
  
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man looks down at the swarthy, fork-bearded man.
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes your pale gold oval carpet, cursing as he brushes off some blood droplets.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man glares at the swarthy, fork-bearded man.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man lifts his brow, ignoring the commotion and watching the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the sleek, honey-eyed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, tearing her gaze from the swarthy, fork-bearded man:
       "It.. is. No matter what was happening.. do not think that he ever asked of my dealings,
  never. He just ..was there. I'm not sorry. I'm very proud."
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the soft-featured, black-haired man say in southern-accented sirihish, shaking his head:
       "Not the Tor privates?"
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the soft-featured, black-haired man say in southern-accented sirihish, rolling backward in his chair:
       "For fucks sake....Who would have guessed."
  
  Muttering angrily as he walks over an open shelved cabinet, glaring at the swarthy, fork-bearded man, you say, in sirihish:
       "You are so going to pay for this."
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the sleek, honey-eyed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, motioning to you:
       "He never had interest in what I ever was doing for you, and I was never telling. No.. the Tor
  private.. I was avoiding him at the time that it seems that I concieved.."
  
  You put a pale gold oval carpet inside an open shelved cabinet.
  
  Breaking his gaze from the sleek, honey-eyed young woman, the soft-featured, black-haired man says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Congratulations."
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the sleek, honey-eyed young woman say in
  southern-accented sirihish, lifting her hands to her cheeks her as peers at the soft-featured,
  black-haired man:
       "I wouldn't have. I.. just.. it was both of us.. he carried a table for me.. once."
  
  Shooting an angry glare at the swarthy, fork-bearded man, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the soft-featured, black-haired man, his features easing down slightly:
       "Oh.. Thank you."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, waving his hand with dismissal:
       "Oh it hardly matters now, does it? If nothing else it's a bit convenient..."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, lowering her hands to smile toward the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "It seems so. Definately in your favor."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Seems we're one big happy fucking family now..."
  
  Moaning weakly, the swarthy, fork-bearded man turns around, coughing out some blood in his spit.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, giving a gentle pat on the sleek, honey-eyed young woman's abdomen, chuckling quietly:
       "It seems so."
  
  
  Hearing a few moans, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman turns her head to glance over her shoulder at the swarthy, fork-bearded man.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man stiffles a chuckle, taking his hand back over a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, eyes
  narrowing on serpent:
       "Well, I guess sending her to overhear your conversations was fairly futile."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, turning to peer up at you:
       "He was to be a teacher to me, in the art of killing, but.. I'm not in such a condition.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking:
       "Sending her to what?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man offers you something that reassembles a grin.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Once or twice, she never came back with anything. I could never understand why...."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man offers a smile to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "No, no.. it's because I couldn't get anything."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, reaching a hand to poke at your ribs:
       "We don't deal in business together."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking rapidly, then slowly:
       "Huh?  Oh..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, waving his hand over the table:
       "Doesn't matter. Still you should have told me you were getting handy with a knife."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "I would sent you after Malenthis..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods to you.
  
  You chuckle.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Malenthis would eat her in the breakfast."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shaking her head again:
       "I'm not handy.. not yet. I was too developed.. when I asked him. We knew I was expecting, by then.."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, beaming you a grin:
       "A gave quite a few men to be here. What's a few more, eh?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "It is not an easy feat to pass through a templar's guards, knock him down and get away with it."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, motioning with a hand:
       "Perhaps.. since it is me.. he would hav eleft his guards elsewhere, hmm?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "My thoughts....But still...He has a toy that makes him very dangerous."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
       "How much would it have cost? Theoretically...If all this hadn't have happened...and I asked for Malenthis' head?"
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, peering back at the soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "Malenthis asked me once if you'd died yet because his aide wasn't showing and he wanted me as
  his. Pissed me off greatly.... what's his toy..?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
       "Depends."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "A sphere...He can summon **censored** with it....Very dangerous."
  
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "I thought you had it."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Fuck no. He'd be dead already."
  
  Her brows lifting, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods toward the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "And so would Marsellus for that fucking matter."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, with a grunt:
       "Malenthis is not an easy feat.  He would require a lot of hard work.. but maybe somethig in
  the lines.. Like thirty, might get us on the work."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, curiously:
       "Want me to ask to be his aide? He wanted me sooo bad.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "You want to be?"
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging:
       "My way to help or something of the like?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging:
       "I can see how it matters anymore....If it's what you wish. Having you as an aide to another
  Templar would certainly be beneficial..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Especially one that holds such a precious tool.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Tool?"
  
  Nodding slowly, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman chew she rbottom lip in thought.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "The sphere.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Oh.. right.."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "The sphere."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You know..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "As I recall...Malenthis once said there is an entrance to ****censored*****
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Yes.  I think there is."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If Tada or Dasyk stay loyal...They can get Militia cloaks."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man opens his hands easily.
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If Malenthis bled, I could rest easy in my disgrace."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, scratching his jawline:
       "Yes.  Something to be considered.  Well.. Militia cloaks are everywhere, we don't need Tada or Dasyk doing it."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "But we can ask them to help in the work."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, glancing at you:
       "If I remember corectly.. you're friends with Dasyk?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, waving a hand dismissively:
       "Something to be considered in the future."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Huh? Yes.. Kind of."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, her eyes squinting:
       "I -think- I saw you both speaking once.. ahh.."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Dasyk's loyalty to me is questionable..."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, chuckling:
       "Guess I have to start being nice to Tada..."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "If it were Kuroi...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "No."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man sighs for a moment, his face going long.
  
  Glancing at the soft-featured, black-haired man, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman bobs her head.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, lifting her shoulders in a mild shrug:
       "I'm suprised Tada has lasted since the death of that Borsail."
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Well...He did have my protection...."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, to the sleek, honey-eyed young woman:
       "Well.. Tada has a fool's luck somewhere.  Fool's mouth as well."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, breaking into a chuckle:
       "I was so laughing, when he shouted at Kerne."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at you:
       "You're the rest why I got so mouthy with him. Better me than you."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What did he shout?"
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, to you:
       "Still, he crushed that Wyvern. Five years of training....to Tada's one."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "Something like, ill bred bastard..monster?  Like that."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man nods once to you.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, waving a hand:
       "All those Borsails ... slavers or guards.. they seems to be the sneaky types, rather pride
  themselves in other things than what their house wants or needs..."
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, nodding at you:
       "Ahh, yes.. I heard that..I was trying to comfort Iyn and Miko."
  
  
  At your table, the soft-featured, black-haired man says in southern-accented sirihish, wetting his lips:
       "Tada will make a good enforcer. He just needs motivation, and discipline."
  
  Tendrils of whispery shadow coils through the cracks in the table briefly, as though someone's
  fingers were attempting to claw their way through before being dispelled by the flickering
  torchlight.
  
  At your table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, smirking:
       "It's true what I hear of Borsail, they hire whom they can get their hands on.. in the Gaj, in the street, where ever.."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man slams his hand over a long,low and cracked clay table.
  
  With a grunt, you say, in sirihish:
       "Fuck..."
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man lifts his chin, pushing his chair away from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Peering toward the cracks in the table, the sleek, honey-eyed young woman draws in a slow breath.
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "What?"
  
  The soft-featured, black-haired man grip tightens on his sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, peering beneath a long, low and cracked clay table:
       "It is ***censored***.  He is here."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the *****censored***** with the Way.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman nods lightly toward you, her lips drawing to one side.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the ****censored****:
      "Get.. Out of my office."
  
  In a smooth motion, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man twirls your razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword in his hand, stabbing it over a long, low and cracked clay
  table where the shadowy form was.
  
  ....
  
  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  * After the arrival of the magicks the situation got a little bit confusing.  But it
  * somehow settled well in the end.  A crime lord, and an ex Lord Templar:  two old friends,
  * one burning with revenge and regain what was once his but now lost to him, one seeing some
  * profit out of this, settled an agreement.  At least for a while.  Though, in the end,
  * nothing turned out to be as expected.
  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  
  

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  

  Submitter's note:
  

  
  

  This log is part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of

  Allanak.  In his time, Haadith Oash was a rather

  short-tempered,  or one may call, a nasty...
  Continue Reading...