The Poet, The Scholar and The Guide
midst the shadows of harbor-front bar sit a poet, a scholar, and a guide, calmly sipping from their drinks; a island of tranquility amidst the otherwise chaotic din of the place, punctuated by raucous orders shouted to the waitress, and the tinny music of the exceptionally average house bard.
A few tables away, sits a hooded man in black robes, a staff propped against the table beside his chair, softly speaking with an equally shady looking character. A thick cloud of pipe-smoke surrounds them both as they converse in a hushed whisper, the tongue alien to most within the sleepy port Inn. A flash of gold as he passes coins to his fellow, and receives a pouch in return.
Drawing his hood back up over his face, he reaches for his staff, and strides with an arrogant pride through the dingy bar, his fierce scowl clearing a path before him, and out the door.
As his shady companion carefully counts his coin, smiling to himself and muttering in the same crude language, fully consumed by the glinting bounty he has just received, the trio at the first table casually finishes their drinks, pays the barkeep, and makes a subtle exit.
Outside, the robed figure passes by the customs Watchman without so much as an inspection after another brief flash of coin, and begins heading into the main city, striding forcefully down an alley. His pace quickens as he throws his torn robe from his shoulder.
His footsteps heavy, splashing in the puddles which are quickly gathering in the worn cobbles of Phlan's dark and meandering streets. A quick glance behind him yields nothing, to which he gives a slight toothy smile and further quickens his pace.
Meanwhile, a poet readies a wand, as a scholar plucks some small herbs and diamond dust from his pockets, and a guide draws his hunting blade, a short sword, while they stand in a nook just off an alleyway. Talking quietly and sharing a joke or two, they too shield themselves from the driving rain now swirling around the dimly lit streets, drawing up hoods and tightening cloaks.
The arrogant hooded fellow steps along now unhurried, until a brief scuff of something in the shadows draws his attention. He slows to a stop, the rain beating down on his traveler's hood as he gazes into the dank alleyway. Standing for a moment in total silence, he rolls his shoulders and fumbles with something hidden away in his deep set pockets
He begins to intone powerful arcane words, the tip of his staff shimmers with a dull magical light, only to see a wand flash as it discharges, and find himself in a bubble of silence. A short chant echoes in the back alley, as stone forms around another figure emerging from the shadows, his short sword leading his hurried stride.
The black mage’s staff flashes, as the magic activates once more, and a ghostly apparition appears from the air in between him and the blade. It strikes with a thick, blood-curdling hiss, thwarted by the stone skin of the sword-bearer, who rolls under it, to quickly delve his blade into the mage’s gut, even as an arrow launched from a bow, the snap of the bowstring sounding almost in tune, pierces his throat.
Steam rises from both wounds as the black robed man buckles over, reaching up and clutching at his throat with two hands. Dark red blood cascades through his interlocked fingers and splashes onto the stone street where he now kneels in silent agony.
He is observed by the three men, silently gurgling his last breath as he crumbles without dignity into a heap.
His belongings are quickly searched, the blackened dried heart in his newest pouch crushed to dust in the alley, and his staff wrapped and secured snugly on one of the figure's backs. The shadows flutter back into the night.
Sometime later, in another part of the city, a poet, a scholar bearing a covered staff, and a guide sit in another inn, three dripping wet cloaks drying steadily by a welcoming fire, sipping wine, and enjoying the fine merriment of a local Harpist.
They are joined soon after by a slender red haired woman and a sour faced man, who is handed the tightly wrapped staff along with a few other trinkets. After a few quiet words all five, clad in purple and gold ankle length jackets stand up and move towards the door, placing a generous looking gold pouch on the bar as they leave.
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