Ok this is the set-up post. Just feel free to respond to it in any way your creative minds see fit, just end within the Inn or the encampment. I will respond to any character you aproach or wish to talk to or not, It's a free ball now just go with it and get a feel for eachother or/and your character. As I see the mood is fit I will introduce a plot maker.

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PART ONE

The Old Mad Eye Inn

It was a lively night at “the Old Mad Eye Inn”. Fast paced violin music filled the smoky, dimly lit common room. The mood was light hearted as beings from all corners of the world banded together in the small, old Inn that night. There was a group of Dwarves all dressed in the same shinny armor laughing aloud as they counted there coins to go order the next round. Passing them by was a travelling merchant, going from table to table selling all sorts of trinkets, each one more beautiful than the last. Meanwhile over at the bar an Orc carrying a great-sword was vividly telling stories of his distant homeland to a few interested listeners. And in the far left corner a company of Wood Elves where enjoying a finely cooked vegetarian meal, consisting out of all sorts of strange vegetables and fruits, most of which came from that great forest “Endwise” they called home. Further away, Circus artist where juggling and doing all sorts of acrobatics, they were a sight to behold all dressed in colors you didn’t even know existed. People clapped as they performed there tricks with great skill. The dusty old Inn surely was a sight to behold that night. Everyone was talking, laughing and drinking excessively, for the tap was continuously flowing. Streaming a fresh supply of the much desired and highly praised local ale.

The Barkeep was barely able to keep up. The poor old man rarely saw a night as busy as this one. Mostly but a few farmers and the occasional sell sword occupied the Inn, never more than three rooms at once. Tonight however all twelve rooms where sold out and a large tent encampment was erected in the neighboring forest to accommodate the other, close to a hundred customers. As he cursed and cussed at every order coming in, he knew that the profit he made tonight would help him survive the next two years if not longer. Deep down he was smiling at the prospect of a luxurious vacation. After the festival of course.

For you see in a few days the magical “festival of Masks” takes place in the great human city of Belsaris. And not a soul on this here world would want to miss a spectacle of such magnitude. This is why every ten years the Old Mad Eye experienced high-days. For its luck was being located not a hundred leagues from the city’s gates, right of the main road leading towards it.

Updated 29 July 2012 (07:18)

Cordrin downed his mead with a zeal most people reserved for only the most extravagant of beverages. And why not? For if Cordrin truly loved anything in life, it was his drink. He had always thought as much. A good, healthy love of the drink was important -- it allowed one to enjoy life more fully, and it made people think of you as harmless. That was just how it was supposed to be. Harmless. Unremarkable. Forgettable. Just as it was planned. This worked in his favor in many ways -- not only for the mission with which he had been tasked, but also for his own personal goals -- shallow though they were. Being forgettable was certainly a perk -- he'd once escaped an angry drunken mob from a tavern simply by walking out of the room. When they gave chase, they stopped to ask if he'd seen the man they were after -- a man none of them seemed to be able to describe. Of course, that was primarily due to their ale-induced haze, but it had certainly helped that he was wholly unremarkable. As he drained the flagon, and flagged down one of the bustier tavern wenches to refill his cup, Cordrin turned on his bar stool and began to watch the crowd. Not for women -- though he was keeping an eye out, of course -- but for anyone who looked to be an adventurer. He did have a mission, after all.

Berroc Battlehammer walked into the tavern. He sat down at the bar and asked the barkeep for 5 flagons of mead. (This above-ground ale isn't nearly as strong as dwarven ale so he needs to drink more of it) Berroc wonders to himself `I wonder what the fuss is? Why are there so many people here?` Just then he noticed he was sitting next to a foul smelling orc. Due to his natural hatred of orcs, he was getting sick to his stomach just being next to him. He did not want to cause a stir though so he downed the last 2 of his 5 flagons, ordered 5 more, and told the serving wench to deliver it to him at a different table that happened to be empty at the moment. He sat down at his new table and scoped out the crowd.

Seánarr walked nearly five hours. As night fell, he decided he will find a shelter. Normally, he would just sleep by some tree, but it is cold today. When Seánarr saw light on the road and hears music, he knows he will not walk much longer. He went after the light and entered the door. "Quite full here, but they look they can take one more," Seánarr thinks as he sees the content of the tavern. He comes to the bar, orders a room, mead and some cheese for his companion. Seánarr doeosn't feel like talking, so he joins the adventurutous Orc in hope of hearing someting interesting, or at least entertaining, slowly sipping from his tankard and feeding Tickletail.

Updated 20 July 2012 (17:54)

One would expect that in the entire camping area would be as lively as ever too, but no. At least not in a little place where around 25 or 30 people were all facing a rather nice site... "Play us another calm song young lady","Yes one more" "I told you, i'm not that young and it's called a lullaby. You are all ready to doze off and I don't like playing to a sleeping audience." She put her flute on her knees flipped her hair back "I could play one more if someone would buy me something to eat, I haven't eaten all day.." "You poor thing, I'll bring you something from the Inn" a man from her audience offered... non seem to recognize her thought. She has been drawing attention like that for quite some time, maybe that way someone would recognize her... "There are so many people for the festival here, I need to go on bigger scale" she thought... "Thank you, you are very kind. Could you also ask the Inn keeper if there will be any music competition in the festival? Thank's again." she smiled to him as he nodded and headed for the Inn.

Deurtis walked into the Inn. It was full of people, something that he disliked since people meant trouble. He wanted to be alone, not in this noisy place. He was only there because of Arawn. The crow had pointed him in direction to the Inn, clearly wanting him to enter it. He had learned not to dismiss when Arawn wanted something, since most of the time it was of great importance. It was almost as if the bird could read destiny itself. He sat in a chair at a corner of the Inn. Suddenly, he felt strongly tired. "Not now,” he thought " Later." It wasn’t the right moment nor the place. Arawn peck him. He needed to focus. He started to look at the people of the Inn. Who was there to see? They all looked the same to him, it didn’t matter the race, all of them where the same. "Why did you bring me here? There is none special" he said to Arawn. The crow kept silent, standing in his shoulder and watching the people, like waiting for something or someone. "Why?” he repeated. All he could do was to trust the crow’s judgement in coming there.

As the night grew older, so did the mood. Many of the guest had already gone to bed, no more than a handful of night owls were still awake, sitting at the bar. The tavern wenches started tidying up the place and the poor old barkeep had fallen asleep in his comfy chair by the fire. In comparison to a few hours ago, the place was quiet, very quiet. Not a single sound was there to be heard. Not owls, nor ravens or any bird for that matter. Not the wind, rushing gently trough the leaves of the trees. Nor crickets chirping away at the moon, that was hovering over the forest like an angry eye peering down upon the world with resent and utter contempt. It was the kind of silence that gives a man chills down his spine, the kind that goes through bone and marrow, a maddening kind of silence only experienced in ancient caverns long forgotten, deep within the earth. Or haunted temples, where blood craving gods were once worshipped amongst the dying trees of lost places. A silence only heard on the darkest of dark nights, when the witching hour passed and Demons took their reign upon a frail and unsuspecting world.

As if he had always been there, an old man, crooked and deformed stepped out of the shadows into the common room. He was cloaked and his face was horribly scarred. Behind his ghostly then grey hair peered a pair of seemingly dead eyes, yet they were firmly locked upon the adventurous group sitting at the bar. Suddenly the lights seemed to dim and even the great fireplaces shone a little less bright.

“ Hear me, I dare you to hear me.” And hideous laughter followed his initial statement as if he found the raving madness whit in his trembling voice somewhat amusing. As soon as he noticed he got the attention he so desired he continued his ranting. “ What am I, who me? I am what, is what what I am or is it who? No matter the who’s or what’s, a name tell far more than that. It sometimes, most certainly contains a word or even two.” Again the hideous laughter. “Three, not two nor one it contains, mine that is. Known I am to some as old man, with all matter of prefixes. Old, mad, ugly and even creepy. But those who call me by these words are just the ones who are so blinded by ambition and greed that they cannot see what lies behind. Peering through the soul or is it soulless.” The laughter shook and trembled the room, deep and eerie it was. “To you and to most I am known as The Emissary of Despair … or ED if you prefer.” Followed by no laughter, go figure.

“One, only one, a single, undividable I will grant. Question that is. Why you ask, you think you know why? It matters not. It is written. So think, converse, ask…. Take your time I am old, Hurry …”

Updated 29 July 2012 (08:58)

Cordrin watched for a moment in the silence that followed the old man's speech -- as he had for the past few hours. He'd opted to ignore the boastful orc -- an adventurer to be sure, but his tales had been growing taller by the minute which surely meant he was utterly useless. Still, the quiet, tired looking human in that vicinity had all the makings of... well, promise, at least. And then there was the man with the crow. Unusual to say the least. Finally, Cordrin spoke. "Listen, Ed. Can I call you Ed? Great," he smirked, rising from his bar stool and swaying a bit unsteadily to his feet. "Here's the thing, Eddie. We've all been drinking. So, take a load off. Have a seat. Have an ale. Relax. And maybe one of these fine gents will have an answer for you in the morning. And if not... well, you've had a good laugh, you've had a drink. That's not bad for a night's work." He winked at the old man, shrugging a bit. Then, after a brief pause, he added -- looking intently at the man with the crow -- "I mean, you've got nothing to tell him, do ya?"

Seánarr, lost in thought bored of listening to the orc's foolish lies, looking at the fly who died exploring his half-full cup of mead with Tickletail sleeping in his robes disturbed quickly turns when the man begins to speak and hears his words with an interested look. When the drunkard offered him drink, he watched and, when he finished, says: "I ask you then, o'wise one, why is the house of man divided? Why do these kingdoms raid the tribes when they have enough, guard their secrets that could save thousands and spit upon Mother Nature even if it gives them all? Why does man hate his neigbor, even if the neighbor loves him?"

Throughout the night, Berroc had kept to himself. He liked listening to people, hearing their stories. When the old man started talking, all the other conversations became background noise as he listened intently to the man. He realized that the old, crazy man spoke in riddles. He thought to himself, "Let's see what happens now. Maybe one of these people will ask him what he is talking about. Maybe a good adventure will come out of this."

Updated 31 July 2012 (15:51)

Fealthas walks into the room his dark robes swishing around his ankles as he moves to the farthest table in the darkest corner of the room sitting down ordering some ale. Starts watching the crowd making sure no one sits at his table while he listens to the people around the room chatting. Eventually time passes and the old man appears Fealthas is more interested with how he just appeared than who he is and keeps silent waiting.