OOC: If you aren't already admitted, see the OOC Forum for more details on getting involved.
In the backwoods of Baron, near the desert that stretches for miles and miles between the western coast and the Shuman Mountains, there is a forest. It is dense, full of thick, strong trees, and inhabited by the outdoor animals you would expect in such a locale. However, travel deep enough into this forest, and follow the beaten path that grows ever fainter, and you will find something out of place: a mansion, perched upon a hill, in a small clearing.
This is the home of Sir Harris Malstrom the Third, former knight of Baron's royal army, now wealthy duke retreating to his mansion in the forest to wait out a sweltering summer. He left two weeks ago, and with him came three hand-servants, a pair of maids, six butlers, three cooks, and a coachman. Also, his daughter Mona, a dainty girl of seventeen.
As the sun breaks the wall of pine that surrounds this quaint little mansion, a group of travelers from across Igala gather to acheive a common goal, summoned by Malstrom himself.
OOC: And from now on, I'm writing in past-tense.
Sir Harris Malstrom the Third stood in the center of a large common room, a hand-servant on either side of him, his daughter locked safely in her room on the second floor. He was less than five feet tall, with thick, curly brown hair and a long, brown mustache. His eyes rested on the single figure in front of him, a skinny, youthful-looking elf girl named Meryle. She gazed back at him, smiling nervously.
"You know why you're here! I've called for the best mercenaries in all of Igala and they have answered the call!"
Meryle looked to either side. There were four chairs set up, besides her own. They were empty.
"RSVP, the poster said! Best mercenaries required, it said! I got... ONE LETTER! I expected a hundred!"
Meryle coughed. "Well... maybe the other mercenaries can't write. I myself," the elf noted touching her right index finger to her chest, "am a bounty hunter. And I'm sure there are other people coming."
"HOW?! HOW CAN YOU BE SURE?!" the stumpy man shouted, his face so hot that it could melt iron.
"Mercenaries aren't the type to carry about pen and paper. Besides, your monetary offer was a bit low. Can't hook the big fish that way. Maybe if you raised it--"
"RAISE IT?! NEVER! YOU MERCENARIES ARE LEECHES, YOU HEAR ME?! LEEEEEEEEEECHES!"
Meryle sighed. "Well... maybe if we're patient, some other people will show up.
Edited by: Nick Shogun at: 4/1/04 7:32 pm