Griznuq Gaming

Bastian's eyes were sparkling with excitement and his face fixed in a broad grin. "Yes, actually. These symbols are symbols of Sardior. These little pockets along the sides once held gem stones, doubtlessly rubies. This would have been used in a number of ceremonies, no one specific rite or anything."

His face grew even more excited as he considered what to say next. "What's truly fascinating though, I can't determine how old this piece is! It's shape and style seem to predate any such item from any of the time periods I've studied." Bastion lifted his gaze and fixed a very dry, almost weary matter-of-fact look at Dale and said, "and I've studied a lot..."

He returned his focus to the chalice.

"But then it's all together possible that it belonged to a splinter group or particular sect I've not heard of."

Bastions head snapped up as if a thought just occurred to him. "You know, I must wonder if it's possible our octopedal adversary may have liberated this from an unsuspecting soul such as we were when we found him along the road? It would explain why it's the only element that speaks of religious influence in the immediate area."

Bastion's curiosity was suddenly sparked by Dale's mention of the chalice. Bastion had a vast passion for knowledge, particularly when it had to do with religion and this ritualistic instrument may have been extremely old.

"Of course!" Bastian said excitedly. "Truly, it's origins have been poking at my curiosity as well."

Bastian took the item from his saddlebag and removed the cloth he'd wrapped it in. He turned it in his hand, giving it the first real once-over for what could have been a very, very long time.

OOC: Ready for your description mr. GM sir.

Bastian was fumbling with his horse's feedbag, wondering idly what life would be like, if his diet was restricted to oats and hay like that of his horse. He decided it would be unpleasant, and shot a silent feeling of relief and gratitude to Sardior that he was not a horse.

Dale was a bit of an enigma to Bastian, though a lifetime of lust for knowledge and information yielded an education rich enough to give birth to a handful of suspicions regarding the fellow.

Naturally Bastian refrained, as he always did, from making any judgements. He always felt a man should never be judged on his profession, but rather his intentions and actions. Thus far, Dale had proven to be nothing less than honorable.

"Certainly, my good man," he said, dusting the loose bits of hay from the front of his robe. "What's on your mind?"

We done here?

Laren could feel his face flush as the reality of his situation began to boil his blood. This once jovial prankster had worn a scowl more often in the last couple months than he had in his entire life. Patience had never been something the gods blessed him with, and he was also never much of a strategist. He wasn't sure what infuriated him more about the situation, the fact that everything he wanted seemed so complicated and so out of reach, or the realization that he wasn't equipped to deal with it alone, and would have to ask companions for help. What if they were to say no?

He wanted nothing less than to slip a dull knife between the blades of Crimson's bony shoulders. He longed to hear the muffled grinding of metal on bone and to help her perfumed lifeless body find it's way to the floor in an unceremonious heap where he'd leave her to stew and rot in her own blood.

His fingers ached as he clenched the the back of the chair that stood in front of him. He realized he was breathing heavily, and the corner of his mouth twitched in a sinister sneer. He was almost horrified at the rage that he had churning inside. Nervously he flickered a sidelong glance at Gibble.  

"Perhaps it's time I bought some bread," he said somberly, his voice smoldering like the embers of a quenched fire. Smoothing over the indentations he'd left on the plush back of the chair, he added "Maybe that pint would do me some good too..."

Laren nodded his agreement. "You're probably right," he said. "I have to go gather some disguise pieces as well."

"You know," he said frowning. "I think since coming I've gathered more questions, rather than answers."

Laren ran a hand over his now smooth head. "Just how much do we know about these dragonmen anyway?"

"Well," Laren said, squinting one eye and making a face like he could smell something funny. "I'm kinda thinkin: no one bothers him, and looking like me probably isn't the best idea."

Laren thought for a moment, and showed a little more of his hand. "I'm going to need to know who and where my friends are here. I've been gone a long time, and I know how things change."

Hot damn! Good find sir.

Laren was more than a little surprised to find that the dragon men had been in the actual town. This was disturbing to him.

As for Crimson, Laren remembered his father saying that intimidation had nothing to do with brawn or even brains. It was all attitude.

"Yeah," Laren nodded absorbing the information. "So I thought I'd pick your brain about some disguise items... You'd mentioned Odball Oscar... Has he been around these parts lately?"

"sure"

Laren couldn't remember the last time he'd passed up a free drink, but decided it would be better for him to stay sharp.

"Actually, I'll have to pass. But thanks all the same," Laren said graciously. "I don't imagine I'd have to tell you how important it is that I stay unrecognized around here."

Laren didn't wait for an answer. "How strong is Crimson's hold on this city right now?"

Harrison's mind was blank, and he struggled to fill it. "well, I guess, but I... What... who is she? Why would she talk to me? What do I say??"

Harrison tried to make more questions, but he was tripping over his own thoughts. He really didn't understand any of this. Why would a priest be in charge of entertainment?

Harrison's ten-year-old mind was getting in his way. Adults were so strange sometimes. Things were always so complicated, and no one ever really said what they meant, or even meant what they said. It was so aggrivating to him. All he wanted to do was find some little piece of information, and he felt like he was jumping through fiery hoops for it. Was everyone trying to hide something?

Harrison's words failed him completely, and he stopped bothering to try. He was so frustrated to be holding something he knew was important and not understanding why. He was angry that Emma was telling people he didn't know about things he'd shared with her in confidence. He was angry that he had to resort to sneaking and trickery just to do something as simple as change studies. This city seemed so big and unfriendly. Harrison was overwhealmed.

He felt his throat tighten, and his eyes well up. He took a deep breath and said weakly, "Yes please, take me to her." The fact was, he had nothing left to lose. Michael seemed to understand why the fact that she and his father had a history, and it didn't seem like something a lot of people knew. Maybe she knew why too. Maybe if she thought Harrison understood, she'd cooperate.

"Thank you, Michael." Harrison decided he'd trust Michael. Emma clearly did. If he was going to figure things out, Harrison was going to have to make some blind leaps of faith, and hope that not everyone was so rotten. There had to be more Montey's out there.

Laren was surprised to find that Gibble actually didn't recognize him. This should be easier than I thought! he thought.

"Well master Gibble, it was not very long ago that someone very close to me was also someone very close to you," he said cryptically.

Laren knew there was a back room in this bar where his father used to talk with Gibble and other folks Laren never met. Alton once told Laren it was the only room for miles around where you could speak your mind and not be over-heard. Until now, that was something Laren could not appreciate.

"Before preceeding with names, might I request a brief chat in your office?" Laren asked, making sure to make obvious his hawk ring.

"Indeed we shall."

Ten years old was a lot more recent for me than it was for you. :) Post coming soon