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Name: Avara
Age: 24
Occupation: Mercenary
Weapons: Naginata
Appearance: Image coming soon.


She should have been used to the stares by now. Only at home, a town far from here, had people learned to ignore her oddness. But then, they'd had a good ten years to get used to her. Brindol had gotten a mere few minutes of her, and of course the looks hadn't stopped yet. As if her cloak could hide her odd appearance. The end of her tail, the scythe like spikes on the end of it, her feet, elongated and curved like a dragon's, weren't covered by the long brown cloak she wore. And the hood couldn't really conceal the horns on top of her head, even if it didn't have two holes on the top for said horns to stick out of. She had the suspicion that her naginata, held securely in a sling across her back, was drawing a few stares as well. The weapon surpassed her own height, thanks to the two foot blade and five foot long staff. It was far from unwieldy in her hands, though.

And Avara really wanted to unsling it, to have it in hand. She knew perfectly well what might happen if enough people took offense to her presence. She'd been run out of towns before, fleeing before groups of people screaming 'Monster!'

The sight of a soldier made her pick up the pace. She was only passing through. Really. Alright, a stop in the local tavern would have been nice, so would a night's sleep in an actual bed, under an actual roof, but not when she was being stared at so intensely. And when Avara spotted a man talking to a soldier, and pointing at her quite insistently, her quick walk turned into a sprint. Getting out of town and camping in the woods amongst the real monsters seemed much safer.

And she never saw the red robed man until she ran into him, staggering back a few paces from the impact, her cloak sliding off one shoulder. Under the cloak, she wore nothing but armor, and it covered little but the essentials, protecting delicate pale skin. She quickly straightened the cloak out, and bowed her head. Running slap into a holy man. Could things get any worse? "My apologies. I wasn't watching where I was going." Her voice was surprisingly quiet and feminine for someone so inhuman looking.

Name: Gar Izrien Ja'Abrazien
Occupation: Lieutenant of the Black Tower
Carrying: One 'black ash' 'quarterstaff' inscribed with Sigils of Changing at each end
One composite bow, one mixed quiver of eighty hardened bodkin tip and broadhead arrows
Innumerable bands, rings, and baubles of magical origin, all directed towards facilitating the Tower's unique fighting style.
Rations, basic medical equipment, assorted important stuff in a small pack.
Appearance/Personality/History: These are the sort of things we invented formal profiles for, laying it all out here would make this post stupidly long, so I guess we'll learn as we go, yes? I might even write a journal entry about it, later.

Name: Zilzad Zabaara
Occupation: Captain in the Isalutian Naval Corps
Carrying: One warhammer. While the weapon is small enough to be used by someone like Zilzad with one hand, most would find it cumbersome as a two-hander. Worked over with very basic sigils of hardening.
One composite bow, one mixed quiver of eighty hardened bodkin tip and broadhead arrows
Rations, basic medical equipment, assorted important stuff in a small pack.
One very ugly, very vibrant coat
His badge.
Appearance/Personality/History: ^ above

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They had been travelling together for weeks, but they could not have been more different.

The one in the austere, black robes was short enough to be funny, but he was not the sort of man that a sane person would laugh at. They had never heard more then rumors of Ishri this far into the boonies, but it was not a title alone that made him threatening. For all the swarthy, mercantile cunning that his face advertised, his eyes were flat and hard and unreadable. His head was shaved, save a single, long black topknot, and the many plain rings and bands and necklaces that he wore were carved over with symbols that seemed to wiggle and shift if you stared too hard at them. He didn't smile or frown when the people they passed on the country road stared at him. He simply stared back, his face a dead man's face. His name was Gar.

As though in defiance of the other man's stoutness, he had grown to the unimaginable height of seven feet. Dreadlocks that hadn't seen the business end of a comb in months fell to his shoulders in an almost panicked rush, and brilliant gray eyes stared out of a dark face. They were friendly eyes, and he was as apt to smile at hardship as Gar was to bear it without complaint, question, or distress. His dress sense was blindingly awful. A bright yellow beret sat balanced atop his hair-avalance, and he wore a coat with broad, horizontal stripes of red, yellow, and orange over a purple tunic. While his boots were, like the other man's, covered in mud, it was still obvious that they had at one point been an eye-catching sky blue. His pants, on the other hand, were black, perfectly acceptable, and military in their cut and style. There was significance in that, but he was fairly certain they were too far away from Isalut for anyone to pick up on it. He too was strange looking, but like Gar, he appeared to be made entirely out of muscule, so people didn't laugh. At any rate, he had the sort of broad, open face that people laughed along with, not at.

Zilzad hadn't had much to laugh about lately. Gar never laughed.

They had lost their horses in an ambush, and the other half of their party had run off in the wrong direction. Between the four of them, there had been enough military expertise to overthrow an empire, and it had barely been enough. They had survived, but their group was scattered and much of their equipment in the hands of their enemies. The wounds to their pride were, therefore, much deeper then the wounds to their physical beings. At least the bandits who had carried out the assault wouldn't be troubling anyone for a long while. The brain behind it, on the other hand, was still at large, which was where Brindol came into the equation. Gar's last contact hid in the miserable little town, and if he knew nothing of what had happened they were at wits end.

* *

When they approached the Gate, the guards stiffened. Since Gar and Zilzad were both very obviously human, neither of them made a move to bar the entrance. That isn't to say that they didn't think about it, but the two men moved through the Gate faster then the wardens could arrive to the conclusion that it was better to be safe then sorry. There were a lot of dirty, wounded, weird people wandering around, after all, and most of them had enough coin for at least a drink. Even if guards trained themselves to think like this (nobody really wanted to start a fight with every weirdo that drifted in), it didn't mean that the peasentry was equally open minded. At least, it usually meant that.

"Strange." Zilzad said as they made their way towards the Inn, his massive size enough to make people scurry out of their way. If that wasn't enough, a good look at Gar was. "No crowd materializing, nobody staring out of windows at us. I feel accepted. Loved, even."

"It's not love, Zabaara." Gar's voice was as blank as his face. His eyes never stopped scanning the windows and the alleys that surrounded them.

"Inside every cynic is a wounded romantic." Zilzad recited the words with the air of a teacher imparting wisdom to his students, a single finger held high in the universal symbol of pontification. He had been saying it since they struck out three months ago, trying to draw some sort of ire out of Gar. The man never pretended to not hear him; it was more like he didn't care enough to dignify the comment with a response. Ja'Abrazien looked up and over, and a window slammed shut. Nobody had ever falted him on being unintimidating, and even Zilzad (who was quite the believer in the divine spark of humanity) found it hard to see goodness in him. He did good things, certainly, but he did them with an impartiality that made Zilzad wonder why he even bothered. It was clear the man didn't care about others, at least not in any way that made sense.

"Maybe they just recognize us?" Zilzad suggested to break the silence. At this, Gar shook his head.

"They think Ishri a myth, they know nothing of Isalut, how would they recognize men of either for what they are?"

The narrow street gave way, and they found themselves standing in a marketplace. In their hearts, they laughed, because they had seen the markets in the Capitol, and they had seen the grand markets that grew up around the Wizard's Towers. It was too quiet to be a real marketplace, for one, and neither of them had to break any fingers to dissuade pickpocketers. Anywhere where thieves could be cowed by appearances alone didn't qualify in either of their books as a real marketplace. This was more of a... more of a... well it was the boonies. Couldn't expect much. Then they blinked as one, and before Gar could implore upon his larger ally to be cautious, he was walking towards the center of the small commotion in the marketplace, his face alight with joy. Gar, who already knew exactly who it wasn't, merely shook his head and ambled on after him, one hand in his pocket and the other gripping his quarterstaff.

"Elwing!" Zilzad shouted at the serpentine woman. "Next time we get split up you go with Gar, the man is-" He got close enough to make her features out clearly, and the smile slipped off his face like water down a mountain. He barely seemed to notice the Priest, who did not have the good fortune to resemble one of their travelling partners. Unlike so many present others, he recognized a Priest of the Holy Order when he saw one. Despite worshipping the traditional Isalutian Wargods, he managed a small, quick bow. His tone was dissapointed when he continued. "Insufferable. I am sorry." He should have been feeling something like acute embaressment, he knew, but at the moment there was just the feeling of a balloon deflating inside his chest. Gar was still a ways behind, and moving none too fast. He could be faster then anyone, when he needed to, but running when there was no need was something he found to be undignified.

Name:Alina
Occupation: Enchantress, Merchant
Age: 27
Apperance: Alina is well dressed, not ostentatiously, but in well-made, and subtly expensive looking, clothing

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Alina winced as the cart went over another bump, jostling her, and disturbing her concentration. While the scarf she was currently make was certainly no masterwork, it did take some concentration to ensure that the “warmth” she was imbuing it with would not be so hot as to burn, and that it could be turned on and off by the correct phrase. Knowing she would have to undo several rows, and refocus herself, she sighed and carefully put her work in her workbag, before looking around. She was surprised to see that they were rapidly approaching the city gates of their destination. She had to struggle for a moment before recalling that it was called Brindol. She had picked it more or less at random as a border town with a large enough, and rich enough, population for her to be able to support herself as a merchant of enchanted clothing and woven goods, but not prosperous to attract the attention of the noble class. Her cover story was good, but if she ran into a former acquaintance, it was all done for.

The thought of being once again trapped by her families disdain for her ability to make her own choices, of perhaps being forced into another loveless marriage, and of having to practice her spells only in secret, brought a wave of panic, and she had to take several deep breaths to calm herself. The driver of her cart seemed to sense something was wrong, because he asked if she was alright. “I’m fine, just a little tired. It will be nice to sleep in a real bed tonight.” He nodded, looking relieved, and returned his attention to the road.

The rest of the day’s travel passed without incident, and Alina soon found herself within the city, her cart and merchandise safely locked away in the new store she had purchased. The seller had seemed surprised that she was able to pay in one lump sum, but made no overt comment. It would take a few days to get things set up to her liking, and at any rate, she needed to contact the Profiteers Guild to arrange membership, or at very least make sure she had their permission to open her shop. Her next task was to find the Inn, and bespeak a room, for while her new shop had living quarters on the second floor, they would need to be cleaned and furniture purchased before she could stay there.

As she made her way down the city streets, she noticed a group gathering, and curious she approached to see what was going on. Her face paled when she saw an acolyte of the holy order, and she started to back away before realizing that that would look suspicious. She told herself there was no reason for a priest to know her, or even of her, for while both her family and husband had been rich and noble, they were not that active in the church. So while this priest was probably from the more civilized parts of Logan, she had nothing to fear. Shoving her fear down, she quickly searched her work bag, looking for something appropriate to gift the priest with. She found an embroidered bag. It was an experimental design with a spell to defeat pickpockets. With a softly spoken word while pressed against a garment, the bag disappeared along with it's contents, leaving a patch of embroidery on the garment. Another softly spoken word brought the bag back. She had made a slightly larger one for herself, but this had been her trial piece to see if it would work. The bag was white muslin, but the embroidery was gold, and she decided it would not clash with the priests robe. She pulled it out, and carefully approached, waiting for the conversation in progress to finish before speaking.

Kai glanced up curiously when the large man approached and called to the unusual woman. Judging by her subtle and nervous movement she did not know who he was. The man's smile faded as well. A case of mistaken identity. But as far as the priest was concerned that was much more welcome than a potential lynching. He returned the short bow, maintaining his graceful nature as he did so.
"Quite all right, sir." he smiled in response to his apology. The man appeared to be quite disappointed. He had to guess that he had lost someone and had been hopeful that the woman was his missing companion. "You look like you have something troubling you as well."

He turned his silver eyes to the merchant woman and flashed her a warm smile. He would be able to address her directly in a moment. She seemed quite patient however. A virtue indeed. He turned himself back to the partially reptilian woman, gazing down at her with all the softness of a man to a child without being patronising.
"Perhaps you might be fortunate. I was just heading to the local church. I am sure that the priest here will be more than happy to provide you with a bed for the night. I shall see to it." He had the confidence and authority of someone that knew fine well than even if Brindol's priest disagreed with the idea he would not dare to deny a High Priest a request for sanctuary. And there was not a soul that would attack a woman under the protection of the church, it simply was not done.

His pale features seemed never to lose the serene and porcelain quality as he turned his eyes from one spectator to the next, with almost boundless patience. He even took a moment to look up at some of the crowd that was stopping to stare, his even gaze meeting their own. Most of them ducked their heads and scuttled away in embarrassment at being caught out staring. People were curious beings. No doubt that the small group was providing quite a show for them. The guard at least was hanging back for the moment. The priest hoped he would have the good sense to stay back unless there was an actual threat.

He smiled again at the merchant woman. There was a vague familiarity to her features. Chances are she was related to one of the noble families in another city. Judging by her respectful approach and the way she waited quietly for him to to turn to her he guessed that it was likely this was not her first encounter with one of the Order. Even if he had been able to place her, her reasons for being here were only his concern as far as she chose to share them.
"Good day to you, miss." he greeted her, bowing his head to her politely and languidly.

By the time the priest spoke to her, she had become distracted by the strange appearance of the, well, Alina supposed she was a woman, but she wasn’t entirely sure. Had she not been within city walls, Alina would have assumed the… woman was some kind of monster and fled. However by the priest’s attitude, he approved of the woman, and who was she to question a Holy One? Things were supposedly different out here on the edge of the wilderness, and perhaps this was part of it. Thus immersed in her own thoughts, Alina was momentarily taken aback when the priest spoke to her. She quickly regained her bearings, though. “Good day to you, sir.”

She took a deep breath, then spoke. “I would humbly like to offer you this bag, of my own making.” She proffered the finely embroidered bag. “I know the coloring does not match that of your robes, but it enchanted, and will leave only the embroidery on the cloth it is pressed upon when it is activated. I meant for it to defeat thieves in this manner, which I doubt you have much trouble with, but it will also save you the effort of carrying the bag’s contents.” Alina’s tone was muted and respectful, and a little hopeful, for if the priest accepted her gift, he might offer her his blessing.

She could use such a blessing, for starting a business was a risky venture from what she understood, and although she had enough money to support herself for quite some time, it would eventually run out if she didn’t find a way to make more. Not to mention the looming threat of being found out. Reminding herself that she had done nothing illegal, and if she had an established presence in this town, her parents would be less likely to be able to drag her back, she kept her breathing even and her expression calm.

She was surprised by the priest's offer. And extremely grateful. "I..." What could one say in response to such a generous offering? "Thank you. Very much." Naught but a simple thank you, but Avara had never been particularly eloquent.

But the crowd was slowly dispersing, and that did much to reassure her. Her tail slowly uncurled from around the haft of her naginata as she watched them retreating to their errands once more. At least there would be no mob or attempted murder today. Though her attention was seized by something else.

She turned, talons clicking softly on the cobblestones, and met the gaze of the merchant woman. And Avara straightened up, meeting that look with her own stare. Doubtful the woman intended any harm, but she had never gotten used to being stared at. As the woman's attention shifted to the priest, Avara relaxed. She was only hanging around to talk to the priest.

A crafter? If the woman had a shop here... Well. Avara had wanted to get a better cloak for quite some time. The one she had now was good, but lacked any sort of enchantment. And the reptilian woman would love to find out if there was a way to enchant such an item to help her hide from unwanted attention.