Purifier
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2008
- Posts
- 449
The market of ancient Narabez was bustling with activity, now that the sun had set and the air was finally cooling down, making it so much more pleasant to be outside. Nowadays, the once proud Narabez wasn't a big city anymore, actually it wasn't much more than a trading post on the edge of the arid Mundak Wastelands. But it still was an important caravan stop, a melting pot for people from all over the known world.
Traders, mercenaries, prostitutes, exiles, brigands, graverobbers and explorers, all gathered within the walls of the the central market, selling and buying, eating, drinking, haggling, cursing, brawling. Only when things got too violent, the hired guards of the traders' guild would intervene, keeping the peace in the market town.
Among the many travelers stepping aside for the guards as they hurried towards a group of orc barbarians that had drawn their blades on some dwarven mercenaries after insults were traded back and forth, was a tall rather lean man with long black hair and thin mustache. There was a smile of amusement on this man's face as he watched the guards hurry by. “This little town never fails to entertain,” he remarked towards a nearby shopkeeper, before ordering a mug of Tarvellian fire ale.
Even though he was wandering the market in a seemingly aimless pattern, Bararod hadn't come to Narabez for the entertainment or drinks. The tall half-elf was on a mission, given to him by agents of the crown prince of faraway Irias to recover the four-headed Scepter of the Ages, from the ruins of long lost Mundak-Lar. What the prince wanted to do with the scepter was none of Bararod's concerns. What mattered was the reward he had been promised, a reward that didn't include just monetary gains but also the restitution of Bararod's old family name and estate. The sorcerer was more than eager to finally reclaim his rightful place among the nobility of Irias.
Before that though, he had to find that scepter. And while Bararod was not at all eager to share his rewards with any one, he was on the other hand not so foolish to brave the Mundak Wastelands alone. He wasn't build for melee after all. Seeking for a party of adventurers to join him on his quest would have seemed like a logical step. But last time Bararod had done that it had lead to disaster, with the sorcerer being the only survivor of a group of six. He would not repeat that mistake again, he didn't need a quarreling flock of hot-headed fools around him, who constantly got themselves into trouble.
Traveling alone wasn't an option, yet, recruiting a group of adventurers wasn't either. Fortunately there was a solution for this dilemma. Bararod had heard many tales about a tribe of warrior women, who were bound by an ancient code of honor, requiring them to be loyal to their leaders, or if ending up in slavery, their master. The idea had intrigued him,and fortunately, Narabez, being a hub of all kind of business, was also a hub of the slave trade. Once he had finished his drink, the sorcerer made his way towards the slave traders' part of the market, where many a hapless woman or man was sold for a handful of gold.
Traders, mercenaries, prostitutes, exiles, brigands, graverobbers and explorers, all gathered within the walls of the the central market, selling and buying, eating, drinking, haggling, cursing, brawling. Only when things got too violent, the hired guards of the traders' guild would intervene, keeping the peace in the market town.
Among the many travelers stepping aside for the guards as they hurried towards a group of orc barbarians that had drawn their blades on some dwarven mercenaries after insults were traded back and forth, was a tall rather lean man with long black hair and thin mustache. There was a smile of amusement on this man's face as he watched the guards hurry by. “This little town never fails to entertain,” he remarked towards a nearby shopkeeper, before ordering a mug of Tarvellian fire ale.
Even though he was wandering the market in a seemingly aimless pattern, Bararod hadn't come to Narabez for the entertainment or drinks. The tall half-elf was on a mission, given to him by agents of the crown prince of faraway Irias to recover the four-headed Scepter of the Ages, from the ruins of long lost Mundak-Lar. What the prince wanted to do with the scepter was none of Bararod's concerns. What mattered was the reward he had been promised, a reward that didn't include just monetary gains but also the restitution of Bararod's old family name and estate. The sorcerer was more than eager to finally reclaim his rightful place among the nobility of Irias.
Before that though, he had to find that scepter. And while Bararod was not at all eager to share his rewards with any one, he was on the other hand not so foolish to brave the Mundak Wastelands alone. He wasn't build for melee after all. Seeking for a party of adventurers to join him on his quest would have seemed like a logical step. But last time Bararod had done that it had lead to disaster, with the sorcerer being the only survivor of a group of six. He would not repeat that mistake again, he didn't need a quarreling flock of hot-headed fools around him, who constantly got themselves into trouble.
Traveling alone wasn't an option, yet, recruiting a group of adventurers wasn't either. Fortunately there was a solution for this dilemma. Bararod had heard many tales about a tribe of warrior women, who were bound by an ancient code of honor, requiring them to be loyal to their leaders, or if ending up in slavery, their master. The idea had intrigued him,and fortunately, Narabez, being a hub of all kind of business, was also a hub of the slave trade. Once he had finished his drink, the sorcerer made his way towards the slave traders' part of the market, where many a hapless woman or man was sold for a handful of gold.
