A Gathering Storm

The rain comes down like an iron sheet, hard enough to sting the eyes. Still it isn't enough to wipe the stink from Thistle Hold. While not even a city, the town holds 6,000 permanent residents, but nearly 10,000 dwell there at any given time. The press of so many is cloying, and the peltingly harsh rain cuts that. Some.

In the shadow of the Beacon lies a large, circular plaza surrounded by taverns and dives, including the Salons of Symbaroum (the notorious and varied pleasure house). If one were to name one single place as the most dangerous in town, it would have to be the block neighboring the Toad's Square. More deaths occur there than in the rest of Thistle Hold combined, and it is in close vicinity to the Beacon's foundation that most of the town's shady affairs take place - affairs that often go overboard since active town guards aren't seen in the district.Of course, it is in Toad's Square that you find yourselves tonight. You're headed for The Infested Bole, a seedy tavern with a reputation for dour business. A place of drinking oneself to oblivion, rather than making friends. Unfortunately, the dogged pursuit of oblivion is not what draws you here, but instead, rumor of a new exploration contract, just today. A contract would come with an Explorer's License, a somewhat expensive writ to allow one to enter the forest of Davokar for a specific and limited purpose -- the Queen guards the forest's secrets carefully. Anyone who wishes to travel the woods without risking hefty fines or the loss of fingers/hands there is no alternative but to come up with the sum dictated by the authorities.

When you enter The Infested Bole, few eyes turn to the door. A damp and smoky atmosphere obscures much, and an Ambrian barkeep leans on a keg, trying to coax a few murky drops from the dregs into a stained, wooden tankard. You're each looking for a woman named Revora.

---

Describe yourselves as you enter the tavern, and include two things: 1) the name of the person who gave you a hint of this contract, and 2) what hope you have for the expedition.

Lothar hated the big city, too many people living in a tiny hovel. The land lost the natural scent of leaves and earth, and smelled more like a shit pit lain too long without lime. Man was not meant to live in such oppressive means. Ambrians thought they were safer here, but life had taught the hunter a long history of the truth. A man was twice as likely to be shanked or stolen from here than in the forests. It was just better hidden. Out there, your fate was all about your skill and your motivation. Here, it was hate mired by the pleasantries.

Lothar pushed through the throng. Not that he hated the "civilized folks". Nah, they were just cowed milk-sops in comparison to the free folk. He would have preferred trading in one of the smaller villages. Yet, despite the freedom of the forest, he needed licenses to ply his trade, and he needed another before the coming season. Of course, in this place, he could come by one less than honest measure, but Lothar preferred to try to abide by the customs. He liked having all of his fingers.

He eyes the dirty sign swinging next to the door The Infested Bole. Terrible name, but it was the right place. As he enters, the interior leaves a lot to be desired. Davion was right about this place, a miserable little piss pot. He stays silent as several strangers turn to eye the man with the muddy cloak, noticing the tufts of wolf's fur as he brings the hood down. Lothar rubs the scar on the right side of his face before ruffling the strands of his fading brown hair, trying to shake the disgust from his mind. Lothar just hoped this Revora would be able to supply what he needed. The extra coin wouldn't hurt as well.

Kvarek made his way through the streets of Thistle Hold, the press and stink reminded him of the battlefield. Minus the ever-present blade swinging at his head, mostly. Not that he was complaining, there were few places in the world that he'd been that would be remotely referred to as 'clean'. Actually, clean was probably one of the few things so fanciful, he couldn't actually picture it.

The Infested Bole, seriously, find me a tree in Davokar that wasn't infested with something. But, again, it wasn't the worst place he'd chanced to find work. Shebla said someone name Revora was planning an expedition and anyone with enough coin or influence to secure an Explorers license should be worth following. Shebla was an interesting one, she wasn't half as good in the sack as her information was. But it was the cheapest way to get to that information as her other rates were ridiculous.

Kvarek ducked his head as he entered the bar. Scanning the room he was looking for this Revora as his first step to retiring from this nasty life.

Oria preferred to take her chances in the woods rather than remain any longer in the city that was slowly killing her spirit. She couldn't breathe very well in its stifling, stinky air if you could even call it air. She was certain her nagging cough was because of it. She never had occasion to go to Toad's square let alone the Infested Bole whose name didn't do its reputation justice. No, from what she had heard it was far worse. Yet here she found herself, her cape of soft fur tightly wrapped around her slender, lithe frame as if to fend off the evil that lay within. She had been grateful to her old friend Jari who had told her of the contract in the queen's woods. He alone knew how desperate she was to escape the cloying atmosphere she called home.

As disgusting as the nauseating stink was in the tavern, she was grateful for the thick air that made it hard to make out the details of the patrons inside. She did not need to be robbed at knifepoint and relieved of her valuable cloak before she even received her quest. However, she could be very persuasive and could probably talk her way out of most situations. It didn't hurt either that she had a lethal weapon under her fancy cloak.

This was her chance to change her life. Now all she had to do was find Revora.

As the rain soaked into his burgundy and gold trimmed robes; Ansel was reminded why this wretched place needs the light of Prios. Thistle Hold is familiar to Ansel. Yet he rarely passes through Toad's Square. As he looks for the sign indicating The Infested Bole; a fleeting thought comes to mind Perhaps it'd do good to spread the light of Prios here.

Ansel enters the sodden tavern. He slowly scans the tavern, not hesitating to lock eyes with any who stare. His purpose is greater than guiding these poor souls to Prios. There is much work to do to bring Prios Glory. There is more to uncover in the forest of Davokar that may serve the Church. It's a good thing Garek is not in the hierarchy of the Church. That way he's not being manipulated here through some scheme from other members of the Church.

Yes, this looks like a place Gerek would visit. Now Ansel just needs to find Revora and enable him to bring more glory to Prios. Or perhaps to uncover an unknown truth...

Lothar shifts his feet. Might as well get this over with... He overcomes his aversion, and shuffles toward the man tending the bar. It was getting more crowded by the moment. "Hey, lookin' for Revora." He tosses an orteg on the counter, as an offer. Money always made things easier. "You seen her about?" His ascent is thick marking him as one of the freefolk.

As Oria threaded her way through the haze of unwashed bodies toward the bar she heard a voice asking for Revora. Sidling up beside the voice and taking stock of the man belonging to it she noticed his aversion to the crowd was similar to hers and the proferred coin signaled that perhaps he was a man of means.

"Revora seems to be a popular woman today," she said in a low voice. "I too seek her out."

"Lovely," he responds flatly before even looking over to the voice. But his demeanor shifts as he puts a face to the words. She was... There was something different about her, but Lothar couldn't put his finger on it. He obviously wouldn't be going alone, and of course this could be Revora herself so it made sense to be civil. He subtly checks for his purse, just in case. "So it would seem." His voice is quieter, realizing how much it carried even with the noise of the patrons.

Kvarek smiled at the exchange at the bar. Of course, any expedition would require many bodies. Especially one into Davokar, that wood tends to extract the life from these sorts of endeavors. Quite literally, more often than not.

Kvarek leaned back against the wall near the door, waiting to see who appeared. As there was no need to announce himself too early.

Garek was correct with regards to expecting many to catch wind of this contract. Ansel casually listens to the two at the bar while heading straight for the bar keep. Placing his elbow on the unkempt wood he leans so that his body is facing towards the two. "I too seek Revora. Looks like I am in the right place. Ansel sizes them up. Judging what their faith and worth.

The barkeep disappears the coin, and places the keg back on its stand. With his eyes, you see him look to a closed door to the back room, barely visible in the smoky dinge. "In there," he says, his voice raspy as he drains the tankard of dregs. "You want ale?"

"No thanks." Lothar declines the offer. He looks over this third seeker, taking in his vestments, letting out a partial sigh. This was going to get more complicated. He abandons the coin on the bar, and points toward the back room. "I guess... lead on, priest."

Oria declines the offer as well. She wants nothing clouding her judgment on this day.

A priest! she thinks as she walks haughtily behind him and the man with the scar. He'll not convince me to believe. He can lead me to the back room but that's all the leading he will be doing for me!

"Not at this time." Ansel nods his head at the barkeep in thanks. Likewise He nods to Lothar in acknowledgement while offering a brief glance to the lithe woman, but says nothing. He smooths out his robes and straightens to his full 6"2' height. Looks like Garek's information might be accurate. Ansel heads to make his way through the closed door in the back room.

Seeing the others have gained some insight to Revora's location. Kvarek falls in behind the group as they head for the backroom. From the looks of the three in front of him, none were comfortable with this location. That was probably a good sign, city folk tended to fair poorer in the Wood than most.

Realizing his potential disadvantage for entering behind the priest, Lothar spreads out to the side, and answers first, "Davion the Tanner."

Not having a full view of the room occupants with the priest and the man with the scar in front of her, Oria slides along the wall as she looks for a good vantage point to view the proceedings.

"I was informed by my friend, Jari if you must know. Is it not good enough that I am here?"

Her haughty air was disrupted by a short coughing fit, which did not serve to inspire confidence in her abilities.

"And fresh air. The other reason I am here. Fresh forest air."

Lothar gives a deep chuckle almost like a cough, before clearing his throat. He knew he liked this woman. Has a spine and some sense.

"Dearest Bart,

I'm sorry to learn of the loss of your Master, it came as some surprise. But I must keep this short - time is of the essence. There is a Queen's Explorer's license to be had to enter Davokar! I know your heart and mind, young whelp. I imagine you can smell the herbs of the forest and no doubt you've played out conversations with that place's barbarian witches many time in your young and unfocussed head.

Make your way to Thistle Hold with all haste. Once there, head to the Infested Bole in Toad's Square. You will find it in the shadow of the Beacon. Keep your wits about you, though. This is a dangerous place. You must find a woman called Revora. I will try and meet you in Thistle Hold if the gods and circumstance allow it, but more than anything, do not miss out on this opportunity.

Yours,
Master Vernam"

The novice Wizard finished reading the parchment once more, and thurst it back into a pocket in his robe. Then, squinting across the driving rain, he looked at the sign and mouthed its name silently to himself - Infested Bole. Bartalom paused for a moment, as if on a threshold. He looked around him. How the huddled, teeming, masses of this miasmic hole seemed to contrast with him - bent over as if life was a weight they bore on their shoulders; squat and stout, especially when compared to his tall and slender frame. With a deep breath, the novice wizard drew himself up to the full height of that frame and entered the Inn...