The farther south you travel, the more the air changes — less perfume from market stalls, more dust from the road; less chatter from clustered vendors, more the rising hum of wagons queuing to enter the city. The slope of the street dips gently before leveling out near the broad avenue that feeds into the gate itself.
Ahead, you can see the stone arch of the South Gate rising above rooftops, sunlight glinting off the helms of the Purple Dragons stationed there. The line of travelers has already begun to form: merchants with laden carts, drovers on muleback, a pair of pilgrims in pale cloaks, and a handful of riders waiting to show papers before passing through.
OOC: All three of you would know that the guards on duty wear the deep-purple mantles and silver gorgets of the Purple Dragons, Cormyr’s crown-sworn soldiery. Suzail rarely posts anyone else at its main gates — no city watch here, no civilian wardens — just the king’s disciplined soldiers, spearpoints gleaming and eyes trained on the morning flow of travelers.
Closer at hand, though, the city before the gate is just as lively. There's a stablehouse with wide doors thrown open, stablehands leading horses to water as a tired-looking courier dismounts and stretches his back; a cooper rolling barrels into a wagon, muttering at a helper who seems more interested in watching the street than working; a cluster of boys running messages for coin, shouting names and destinations as they dart between carts; and a food vendor stirring a pot of morning stew over a brass brazier, the smell wafting warmly through the dust.
This is the kind of place where a courier coming in from the road might pause — either to rest his horse, adjust his gear, or gather himself if he were already on edge.
Here, no one is watching you too closely. People are busy, distracted, preoccupied with the business of starting their day. But they are also observant in the mundane ways that matter. Somewhere along this stretch — between the stablehouse, the tool shops, the open street, and the gate itself — the courier you’re seeking may have left ripples.
Arriving at the south gate, Iromae isn't sure who she ought to be looking for. The one the young woman described was tall, wiry, dark hair pulled back, and wearing a leather throat-guard. But Merienne had described a person with close cropped hair and a red scarf. Or should she be looking for the distinctive courier bag? 'Hmm, guess I could just keep an eye out for any of those,' she thinks. (Perception: 7)
"Do we just hope we run into whoever we're looking for here?" she asks the others. "Or should we maybe ask somebody?" She starts to consider her own question, looking about at the activity here near the gate. "Maybe one of the stablehands? Or that food vendor over there?"
Vorenus is distracted by all of the comings and goings, but still walks closer, hoping to spot someone who fits the description of the courier. (Perception : 5) “I think you are right, Iromae. He may have stopped here for a nice bowl of stew before heading on. That’s the first place I’d ask. We can spread out if that is unrevealing. Perhaps one of these messenger boys may have spotted him. Now, what shall our story be… I do believe that you had a valuable packet of my writings and homespun handkerchief that was dear to me.. in a packet. And someone took the wrong packet, we are here to try to track them down. Not really valuable to anyone else, but very valuable to me, you see. It has been passed down, a family heirloom. It has wiped the noses of 6 generations of ancestors, mind you! So, we must track down this courier that took the wrong package, and pronto! Let’s begin there…”. Vorenus slows and waits to hear any other suggestions to their story or any other thoughts of where to look from Iromae or Shenua, then he proceeds to walk up to the food vendor and describe the courier they are looking for and the mislaid messenger bag with manuscripts and the homespun hanky that is so near and dear to him. “Have you seen him, this man carrying such a package?”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Shenua gives a short laugh at Vorenus' story. Somehow he always manages to invent an even crazier tale than the one before.
She also keeps her mind on the task at hand, scanning the crowd for anyone who matches the descriptions the young woman at the Pale Fountain gave Iromae, or the one Merienne shared at her store. She doesn't follow Vorenus too closely — he has that part covered — but instead decides to stretch her legs a little, walking casually as if she's simply taking in the morning air.
The artificer buys an apple from the food vendor, taking small bites as she moves and stretches. Her pointed ears stay open for anything that might sound interesting: snippets of conversation, shouted names, or announcements from the messenger boys darting between carts.
Especially when she approaches the boys, she listens carefully. Are any of the names or destinations familiar? Anything that might hint at a courier traveling from the South Gate toward the Temple District, or anything matching the unusual package they're trying to trace?
The farther south you travel, the more the air changes — less perfume from market stalls, more dust from the road; less chatter from clustered vendors, more the rising hum of wagons queuing to enter the city. The slope of the street dips gently before leveling out near the broad avenue that feeds into the gate itself.
Ahead, you can see the stone arch of the South Gate rising above rooftops, sunlight glinting off the helms of the Purple Dragons stationed there. The line of travelers has already begun to form: merchants with laden carts, drovers on muleback, a pair of pilgrims in pale cloaks, and a handful of riders waiting to show papers before passing through.
OOC: All three of you would know that the guards on duty wear the deep-purple mantles and silver gorgets of the Purple Dragons, Cormyr’s crown-sworn soldiery. Suzail rarely posts anyone else at its main gates — no city watch here, no civilian wardens — just the king’s disciplined soldiers, spearpoints gleaming and eyes trained on the morning flow of travelers.
Closer at hand, though, the city before the gate is just as lively. There's a stablehouse with wide doors thrown open, stablehands leading horses to water as a tired-looking courier dismounts and stretches his back; a cooper rolling barrels into a wagon, muttering at a helper who seems more interested in watching the street than working; a cluster of boys running messages for coin, shouting names and destinations as they dart between carts; and a food vendor stirring a pot of morning stew over a brass brazier, the smell wafting warmly through the dust.
This is the kind of place where a courier coming in from the road might pause — either to rest his horse, adjust his gear, or gather himself if he were already on edge.
Here, no one is watching you too closely. People are busy, distracted, preoccupied with the business of starting their day. But they are also observant in the mundane ways that matter. Somewhere along this stretch — between the stablehouse, the tool shops, the open street, and the gate itself — the courier you’re seeking may have left ripples.
Arriving at the south gate, Iromae isn't sure who she ought to be looking for. The one the young woman described was tall, wiry, dark hair pulled back, and wearing a leather throat-guard. But Merienne had described a person with close cropped hair and a red scarf. Or should she be looking for the distinctive courier bag? 'Hmm, guess I could just keep an eye out for any of those,' she thinks. (Perception: 7)
"Do we just hope we run into whoever we're looking for here?" she asks the others. "Or should we maybe ask somebody?" She starts to consider her own question, looking about at the activity here near the gate. "Maybe one of the stablehands? Or that food vendor over there?"
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Vorenus is distracted by all of the comings and goings, but still walks closer, hoping to spot someone who fits the description of the courier. (Perception : 5) “I think you are right, Iromae. He may have stopped here for a nice bowl of stew before heading on. That’s the first place I’d ask. We can spread out if that is unrevealing. Perhaps one of these messenger boys may have spotted him. Now, what shall our story be… I do believe that you had a valuable packet of my writings and homespun handkerchief that was dear to me.. in a packet. And someone took the wrong packet, we are here to try to track them down. Not really valuable to anyone else, but very valuable to me, you see. It has been passed down, a family heirloom. It has wiped the noses of 6 generations of ancestors, mind you! So, we must track down this courier that took the wrong package, and pronto! Let’s begin there…”. Vorenus slows and waits to hear any other suggestions to their story or any other thoughts of where to look from Iromae or Shenua, then he proceeds to walk up to the food vendor and describe the courier they are looking for and the mislaid messenger bag with manuscripts and the homespun hanky that is so near and dear to him. “Have you seen him, this man carrying such a package?”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Shenua gives a short laugh at Vorenus' story. Somehow he always manages to invent an even crazier tale than the one before.
She also keeps her mind on the task at hand, scanning the crowd for anyone who matches the descriptions the young woman at the Pale Fountain gave Iromae, or the one Merienne shared at her store. She doesn't follow Vorenus too closely — he has that part covered — but instead decides to stretch her legs a little, walking casually as if she's simply taking in the morning air.
The artificer buys an apple from the food vendor, taking small bites as she moves and stretches. Her pointed ears stay open for anything that might sound interesting: snippets of conversation, shouted names, or announcements from the messenger boys darting between carts.
Especially when she approaches the boys, she listens carefully. Are any of the names or destinations familiar? Anything that might hint at a courier traveling from the South Gate toward the Temple District, or anything matching the unusual package they're trying to trace?
(Perception: 19)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra