The Council of Thieves

The Adventure Begins

The long-haired orc surveyed the scene with fiery amber eyes, watching the rats scuttle away from her approaching bulk. Kragri's armor clacked as she made her way through the orderly, but inevitably dingy streets towards the tavern in which they were to meet. Vizio's Tavern; reputable enough to avoid a dagger in the ribs, but disreputable enough to avoid the watchful eyes of the Authorities: and by extension, the order of the rack. The most ruthless and merciless faction of the hellknights, the Order of the Rack is the Cheliaxan gauntlet that kept Westcrown, and much of the empire, in a death grip. The hope was to avoid their notice, of course, but knowing Janiven and her sloppy methods, it was only a matter of time before we were discovered. Unfortunately, she was the only option right now. Readjusting her scalemail, and the Lucrene Hammer slung across her back, she strides towards the doorway of the small tavern in a small cacophony of jangling metal.

Donovan's mug of ale sits untouched in front of him, the brim of his round hat still pulled down over his vampiric features despite the fairly dim lighting and the film of dirt on the windows reducing the fiery gleam of the sun. The upturned collar of his coat further casts a shadow on his pale features .He slowly surveyed the room from his perch by the doorway, his foot tapping time with the antique and slightly dysfunctional clock on the opposite wall. The tavern is sparsely populated, with individual customers drowning their sorrows in the depths of their tankard at sporadic positions around the bar. A particularly rowdy one with religious symbols etched into his dark clothes glances in his direction with slightly glazed, but intelligent eyes. Their gazes lock for a second, and then a moment, but the drunkard doesn't seem the least uneasy. Brew does that for you. Donovan was the first to break eye contact: the intensity of the drunkard's gaze was unsettling, and unfamiliar. Once they'd seen under the hood, most people treated him with contempt, fear, hostility, or in some rare cases, indifference. Strangers didn't react well to Damphirs, so it was a surprise when this strange man showed curiosity in who, or what, he was. Once they saw the unnatural palor of his skin, it was usually enough for passerby. Interesting... Donovan takes a sip from his mug as an excuse to run his eyes across the place once again. One unusual character accounted for. If more didn't start showing up soon, this meeting wasn't going to be worth his time. He checks the clock on the opposite wall. Thirty minutes shy. Donovan settles down to wait.

Lilly meandered along the alleyway, driven by her wanderlust and a healthy dose of curiosity, her bushy tail twitching, and pointed ears swiveling on the top of her head. She wore a loose black garment that accented her figure, and a pack was draped casually over one shoulder. She was a kitsune, one of the changeling fox folk. Lilly had run into Janiven when a couple of hellknight recruits at the gate had wanted more than they were due. Janiven had stepped in just before things had gotten bad. Lilly had already had the guards fighting amongst themselves, but the arrival of the next shift of watchman had thrown a wrench in the works. Lilly's unbridled tongue hadn't made matters any better. Janiven had whisked Lilly away from the dozen or so guards she had expertly antagonized and into the unfamiliar cityscape. It was probably best to steer clear for now. Janiven had promptly invited Lilly to her secret meeting. It wasn't like Lilly had anything better to do now that the city gates were closed to her. Lilly slipped into the tavern, taking up sentinel opposite a shadowy figure in a long cape.

The pad of small Halfling footsteps is accompanied by the clitter-clatter of various inventions and flasks bumping along against the pack to the rhythm of his stride. He rounded the corner, barely glancing up from the notebook he had been squinting at just a moment before. Caramere readjusted his pack as he rifled through his pocket with a free hand, achieving a distinct wind chime sound as the various flasks, inventions and crossbow swung into each other. This Halfling is dressed in studded leather smelling vaguely of sulfur, and possesses an untamable crop of blond hair. Finding what he was looking for, and barely breaking stride, he checked the procured timepiece, satisfied, and wanders into the tavern at precisely 4 hours after sun high, his nose still mostly buried in the depths of his personal tome. Not far behind, a Tiefling followed in the alleyway, his muddied red skin and reptilian length of tail marking him separate from a mere human. Yet where the proud v-shaped ridge of horns would normally rest, only one splintered section remains. With shield and hammer rattling against his scale mail, Akemon continued to follow the same route towards the tavern, casting wary glances at the curious creature who padded on some ways ahead of him.