School is starting up for me again, which means I'll probably be too busy to RP, especially in the first few weeks.

I'd like to come back and RP every now and then, so I want to keep my character. He can just be a temporary NPC in Ebou Dar or something.

Anyway, yep.

Actually, I think my regular RPing for the time being is coming to a halt.

I am going to be going back to school on Sunday, and I need to start getting my stuff together. When I'm up there, I'll be very busy, particularly for the first few weeks.

So, I don't want to get involved in another RP because I don't want to be holding you up.

It's been fun RPing with you, though! Hopefully we can do it again in the future.

There wasn't a sight Tom liked more than that of Ebou Dar from the sea: The glistening, ivory city resting picturesquely on the west side of the Eldar; gulls soaring through the clear, blue sky; hundreds of ships bobbing or plowing the harbor. And the Rahad, a dingy, cacophanous warren of buildings on the east bank of the Eldar; a place where you were ridiculed if you hadn't dueled by 11 or 12; a town that turns a collective blind eye if a City Guardsman gets dropped by a thug's crossbow bolt; the place Tom calls home. As the Chameleon entered Ebou Dar's harbor, Tom smiled and breathed in deeply the air of his city.

****************************************************

One and half months ago, they'd left Whitebridge for home. The river ride down was uneventful--a daily routine of playing cards, drinking, and helping around the ship repeated for the entirety of the trip to Illian. When the Swift Sail arrived in the Home of the Council one afternoon, Tom, Chalinda, and Tom's gang found an inn to stay in for a few days; Chalinda wanted to see the city--her first true metropolis--before they left for Ebou Dar. With Jaffe--who had grown awfully close to Chalinda on the boatride down--in tow, Chalinda went to see the sights of Illian while Tom, Mahta, Hastert and Rob boozed it up and gambled. After three days, Tom secured passage on a sleek ship, the Chameleon, for Ebou Dar.

A week later, and they were sailing into Ebou Dar's harbor.

****************************************************

Once their ship was docked, roped up, and had the gangplank lowered, Tom jumped down onto the pier and looked around to get his bearings. After a moment, Tom strode down the pier and towards the second closest entrance into the city. With a nod to the customs officer (who nodded and tipped his hat slightly in response), Tom walked through the gate and onto Pelican Avenue. From here he walked a block, made the first right, climbed the steps of the third building on the left, and entered Bottoms Up Oysters. Once inside the oyster bar cum pub--a typical seaside eatery with wood paneling, wood furniture, and wooden chandaliers holding tens of lit candles--walked to a back table where he found three men laughing over a joke one of them had just cracked. As Tom approached, one of the men, a gray-haired, bearded man, managed a greeting through his laugh, "Tom! Good to see you back from the blasted Northlands!"

Tom clapped the man, Branly, on the shoulder, grinned, and said. "It's good to be back. Stab my liver, but do I have a story to tell about that trip. Anyway, business." He looked at Branly and then at his two cohorts. "Grab your cart from Jarrel's Textiles and take it over to Gate 15. Find the Chameleon." After a look of confusion, Tom added, "That's spelled C-H-A-M-I-L-E-N. Or something like that. It's singled masted and has a green and red lizard painted on its hull. So go over to that ship and pick up the load from Rob and the rest of the men I brought."

"Sure thing, boss." Branly gestured at the other two guys and headed out the rear door of Bottoms Up; Bottoms Up was sandwiched in between Jarrel's Textiles and Candle of the City, and all three were businesses run by the Sons of the Eldar as fronts for the gang's criminal enterprise.

After the three gangsters left, Tom headed back to Gate 16--the one which he had passed through on the way to Bottoms Up, taken so Tom, a recognized gangster, would not be seen or associated in any way with the "legitimate" businessmen from Jarrel's Textiles--and walked to the Chameleon. He approached Chalinda, who was watching as Jaffe and the rest Tom's men unloaded the barrels of concealed weapons, and asked, "So, now that you are here, what are you going to do? Where are you going to do?"

OOC: Ok, I'm guessing that, after you say what you are going to do, this will be the end of this particular RP. Feel free to come stay with me (You can write my words for me...), or Jaffe, or whatever. As to what you are going to do...I am a gangster and will be writing gangster RPs, so if you want to somehow get involved in that criminal enterprise, that'd be cool.

After Chalinda introduced herself, Tom went right back to hastily stuffing his saddlebag. Given that he had only been in Baerlon for a night, he had little to pack. Soon enough, he was lifting his saddlebag over his shoulder and hobbling out of his room behind Chalinda.

He headed down the stairs and approached Master Adams. Tom’s eyes locked the innkeeper’s with an intense look. “You,†Tom said authoritatively, “have never seen her.†Tom gestured at Chalinda and dropped a purse full of silver into Master Adams’s hand. “There will be more where that came from the next time I’m around these parts.â€

The innkeeper looked at the bright-haired, bright-eyed girl, and then smiled wryly at Tom. “I don’t think I’ve run into a red head woman ever. Never in my whole life.†Tom kept his gaze on Master Adams for a few moments more, then turned and walked out of the side door of the Wandering Goose.

He and Chalinda stepped into the stable yard of the inn where Tom’s crew had the cart waiting and horses saddled for their departure. Tom greeted his men curtly and led Chalinda toward the barrel-laden cart. Taking her hand in his, Tom aided her up the vehicle onto the driver’s bench. Opting to ride the cart instead of suffering through another horse ride, Tom followed suit. With Rob and Hastert on their horses ahead of the cart and Mahta flanking (the last of the Sons accompanying Tom, Jaffe, was at the East Gate bribing the guards to let them through—and to keep silent about the passing) the cart, the group left the Wandering Goose and turned onto the paved street abutting the inn.

As surreptitiously as possible, the cart trundled down the road in an easterly direction. Tom, Chalinda, and Tom’s men were the only ones out at this time of night, and the noises their departure made echoed noisily on the streets they treaded. All the while expecting City Guard to halt their progress, Tom anxiously scanned the road ahead of them and fingered the cocked and loaded crossbow in his lap. When the East Gate appeared within the confines of Baerlon’s wooden palisade, Chalinda openly sighed; Tom mimicked her sign of relief inwardly.

Passing without any hassle—and, in fact, without any sight of guards all together—through the gate, the faux caravan of a dancer and a pack of criminals, including Jaffe, who joined them from a stand of trees a few hundred yards from the gate, started their journey along the dirt road towards Whitebridge. Trepidation concerning the possibility of a pursuit plagued all their minds, and it found a voice when Chalinda whispered to him, “Do you think we will be chased by the Guard?â€

Tom had already given some thought to this likelihood, so he was ready with an answer, “First of all, it’s unlikely that they have found the knifed guard—that will take a few hours, is my guess. After they do, and when they start making inquiries to their fellow guardsmen about suspicious occurrences in the night, it will probably be late tomorrow morning when they find out about people leaving through the East Gate. And that’s only if the guardsmen at the East Gate admit they let people leave—that admission would lose them their jobs. As to whether or not they’ll link us leaving to the murder, that’s a whole different story. I feel that the mess we left back on that muddy street will leave the Guard confused. If they do send some City Guard after us, we’ll know within the next few days; with us having to ride this cart, they’ll catch up with us easily. We just have to sit and wait.â€

With that said, Tom ordered his men to pick up the pace and put as much distance between Baerlon and themselves as possible. Blinking tiredly, Tom stifled a yawn and noted to himself with regret that it would probably be a full day before he’d be able to get some rest. Blood and bloody ashes, but won’t this be fun…

******************************************************************************

Two and a half weeks later, Tom, Chalinda, Jaffe, Mahta, Hastert, and Rob found themselves in Whitebridge rolling their barrels of “cotton†onto a large trading ship headed for Illian. They had arrived late that morning, and Tom thanked the Light that they had finally reached some sort of civilization again. While Tom had been to Whitebridge multiple times during his career with the Sons, the legendary bridge spanning the Arinelle never ceased to amaze him; Tom was able to sympathize with Chalinda as she gawked, mouth agape, after her first glimpse of the monument. Once they had crossed from the west bank to the town proper on the east, Tom led them to an inn he had patronized in the past, The Laughing Donkey, dropped some coins into the innkeepers hands, and minutes later was sitting in a secluded back room with his band of travelers eating a delectable meal of a summer fruit salad, capon with cranberry glaze, and a flaky pasty of fresh fish. After roughing it for the last couple weeks, Tom had a hard time remembering when a meal tasted better.

In fact, Tom and his fellow travelers ate very little meat that wasn’t preserved in salt since leaving Baerlon. After the first few, hectic days of anxious plodding around—no guards ended up chasing after them, a result of the lack of evidence linking the murders and the cart-in-the-night Tom believed—the group had taken it at a regular pace, and one that allowed them to hunt and forage in the surrounding area. However, Hastert was the only non-city boy (or girl) —having come from central Altara to Ebou Dar in his late teens—so he was the only one who knew how to trap rabbits or sling stones at birds. But his lack of practice had made him rusty at finding the group a warm, fresh meal; so, excluding two rabbits and a lucky catch with a deer one day, they had all subsisted on salty meat, stale bread, and wild grown fruits for most of the trip.

They arrived in Whitebridge with nearly all their food depleted; the remainder they sold for a measly silver and two coppers. After their trip to The Laughing Donkey, Tom led his cargo and gang to the busy docks, where, three quarters of a bell of negotiating and thirteen gold pieces later, Tom and his four men were loading their contraband weapons onto the deck of the Swift Sail, a long, wide trader with an Illianer crew and captain. By the time all of their barrels had been rolled onto the ship and stashed in the cargo hold, it was nearly dusk and the Swift Sail was ready to depart. After the captain, Bernell Weinlit, declined Tom’s offer of helping him cast off, Tom joined Chalinda underneath their lean-to tent (really a spare sail) at the stern of the ship, and lay down on his sleeping roll, bedding down for the night.

Six drinks deep and Tom was still downing more. Through his somewhat hazy vision, Tom continued watching the dancer twist her skirts back and forth, and chuckled appreciatively when she flashed an ankle here and there. Although Tom had seen far better singers—-and far, far more risqué dancers-—back in Ebou Dar, for a young woman in Baerlon, she truly was not bad. Tom was very glad for the distraction the tavern was providing, taking his mind off the day’s labor and the fact that tomorrow he’d have to get back on a horse. Bloody horses. There should be canals criss-crossing this whole continent. Somebody needs to get on that. I hate the way horses jerk you this way, then that way, and there’s just no proper way to sit them. If only….

Tom was yanked out his thoughts when a drunken man near the stage lurched towards the dancer. She slapped his hands away, but he came back for more. Finally, the drunk scrambled onto the stage and grabbed hold of the girl’s arms. To get rid of her attacker, the dancer kneed the man in the crotch, who then crumpled to the ground before being manhandled off the stage and thrown out by the bouncers. Tom grinned in admiration at the ferocity of the dancer, noting mentally that she handled herself like any formidable Ebou Dari woman would. But, then again, in Ebou Dar the sort of disrespect towards women that the drunken man had shown was unheard of; he’d have been liable to get a knife in his guts and the woman who did so would have been perfectly justified. Shrugging off the whole incident, Tom went back to drinking.

For another hour/hour-and-a-half, Tom continued watching the dancer, tapping his hand in time to the music. By the time he was ready to leave, he had probably drunk close to ten sizable mugs of ale—-needless to say, Tom was thoroughly drunk. He rose from his seat with a stagger and then stumbled out of the door, waving drunkenly at the bartender on the way.

Once outside, Tom plopped himself onto a barrel close to the Lioness’s Den. He drunkenly watched people as they passed by, each with their own purpose and goal: Drunken men (and women) like himself, barely making it along Pipeleaf Street; scantily-clad prostitutes and their clients walking from bars into bordellos or back to private apartments; gamblers either strutting after a win or fuming, stalking away from taverns after a loss; City Watchmen patrolling with torch in one hand and spear in the other. Tom amused himself by taking in the sights and sounds of the Red Light District, occasionally leaning against the wall behind him and falling into drunken soliloquies about this and that. I drank a bit too much…Oh well, definitely is not the first time!. He had no idea of how long he’d been sitting outside, but when the dancer from the Lioness’s Den came out, smiling at Tom as she left, Tom figured—-for some un-sober reason or another—- that it was about time to head back to his inn.

Tom shadowed the dancer for awhile as they made their way off the now mostly deserted (for the taverns were all closed or closing) Pipeleaf Street. When she made a left at the T-junction where Pipeleaf hit Mountain Row, though, Tom made a right. He had made only a little progress along the road when he was stopped in his tracks by a feminine voice yelling-—a yell which was sharply cut off. Despite his state of drunkenness, Tom turned quickly around and half-ran, half-walked towards the source of the yell; even at this only mildly fast gait, Tom’s right leg burned from pain, legacy of a deep knife wound in his calf. Yet when he saw in the faint light from the moon a burly man on top of the dancer from the Lioness’s Den—-clearly recognizable from the red sheen of her hair—-his pain was forgotten, and he full on ran towards the scene of the assault

Tom unsheathed his dueling dagger as he rapidly approached. When he was within striking distance, Tom lunged at the man—-who in his mental state of rage and drunkenness failed to notice Tom-—and planted his blade deep in the assaulter’s back. Tom then used his brute strength to rip the man off of the dancer, and bodily flung him on his back. Enraged to see that the man was the same who had tried groping the dancer back at the bar, Tom brought his boot down brutally on the man’s stomach. He kicked the drunkard a few more times in his ribs, and then brought his knife down in a sweeping arch that stopped abruptly in the man’s heart. Panting roughly from exertion, Tom got to his knees and rifled through the man’s pocket and turned up a handful of coppers and a silver piece. After placing the coins in his own pocket, Tom retrieved his dagger and stood up to face the dancer.

Before he could even speak, a commanding voice from behind them yelled, “Put down the weapon and turn around!†Tom did not drop his dagger, but he did turn around. He saw through his now pronounced haze that it was a City Guardsman, spear forward and ready to assault. “You two,†he yelled, “are under arrest for the murder of this man.†He pointed with his torch at the corpse in the mud.

“Sir,†the dancer piped up, “I was just attacked, and this man…â€

Her words were cut off as one of Tom’s throwing knives whipped through the air to take the City Guard in the throat. “Me going to jail in this bloody backcountry town? Not bloody likely.†Tom went over to the down City Guard and collected his knife with practiced indifference. When he turned to speak to the dancer, her face was a terrified rictus.

“Listen,†Tom began in a somewhat sober manner (the past few minutes had woken him out of his stupor-—to a degree), “I’m getting out of here tonight, and I suggest you do the same. I don’t care how bumpkin this town is: They won’t stand for a murdered Guard. And they’ll probably link one corpse with the other, start asking questions…â€

The dancer just continued looking at him. “I know, it’s horrible for young girl like you to witness and experience such a thing, but it is what it is,†Tom told her. “I’m heading back to my inn. Although I didn’t plan on having a woman along, I suppose you can come along with me, at least until Whitebridge.†Tom didn’t know if this girl who had just witnessed him killing a City Guard would want to come along with him, but Tom figured it was the least he could.

You bloody softie, Tom grumbled to himself as he waited for the girl to respond.

OOC: I'm going to be gone for the next six days, so you can respond to this post anytime with that timeframe. If you want to RP more, though, feel free. Perhaps make another character in another org in the meantime--that is, if you can't wait for me to get back.

Anyway, you take it from here. Join up with me. We'll take the road to Whitebride, then boat down to Illian. From there to Ebou Dar. Feel free to take any liberties you want with my gang of thugs (in terms of description, personality, names). If any of them step out of line with you, feel free to beat them up or have me or another thug do it (for Ebou Dari don't condone that kind of behavior towards women...).

The cool wind swept down from the Mountains of Mist and pushed back Tom Camorra’s traveling cloak to reveal his Ebou Dari vest and large, bejeweled dueling dagger. Men gave him wary looks as he walked along the dirt roads of Baerlon—an excuse of a town in the backcountry of Andor—and Tom stared menacingly back. Although his temper was considered mild in comparison to most of his countrymen, Tom nonetheless was on edge.

Tom arrived in Baerlon yesterday after an arduous journey from Whitebridge by horseback; while completely at home on a boat, Tom, at best, reluctantly rode horses—the road to Baerlon had sorely tested his composure. To compound upon his rear-ache and frayed nerves, Tom had spent most of today negotiating an arms deal with a wiry, sneaky merchant who dealt directly with the mines near Baerlon. Due to its proximity to the Mountains of Mist with their rich deposits of ore, buying weapons in bulk in Baerlon was relatively inexpensive and inconspicuous given Baerlon’s tucked-away location. The Sons of the Eldar criminal syndicate was in need of more weapons, and doing it in Ebou Dar or Altara was clearly out of the question—thus, Tom found himself in Baerlon, following orders from his gang’s boss to acquire a large quantity of quality weapons.

After purchasing the weapons, Tom and the crew of thugs accompanying him had stashed the weapons—swords, knives, maces, spear and arrow heads, axes—in barrels and covered them in Andorian cotton—a necessary measure taken to hide the fact that a huge shipment of weapons was traveling across the continent and into Ebou Dar in the hands of illegitimate businessmen. Filling twenty one good-sized barrels and then loading them onto a cart they had purchased took Tom and his men the whole afternoon, leaving Tom thoroughly exhausted.

To alleviate his stress and tiredness, Tom wished for nothing more than to be in the clutches of his wife’s loving arms. However, that option denied him here in Baerlon, Tom had ordered his underlings to guard the weapon-laden cart at their inn, and then proceeded to head to a tavern to get sloshed.

The twilight breeze brought some pleasure to Tom as he walked towards the red light district, for he was used to the humid, blistering summer days of Ebou Dar. But the bad outweighs the good, Light blast this wretched town, Tom mentally growled. When he finally reached Pipeleaf Street (as a lantern lit sign revealed), Tom walked into the very first bar he saw: The Lioness’s Den.

Upon entering Tom immediately noticed the dancer on the stage at the front of the room: A striking young woman with red hair and light eyes. Tom nodded appreciatively to himself as he took a seat and nabbed a stein of ale from a passing waitress; the woman looked at him with suspicion until he flipped her a copper for the drink. Quickly quaffing the beverage, Tom called the bartender for some more as he settled down to watch the pretty girl dance.

Hey, I wrote up a post, but I'm somehow not able to post on the RP forums.

I just asked on a general RP forum why I can't post, so I'll probably figure out what the problem is soon.

In any case, expect an RP thread on the "West" board soon!

Sounds good. Expect a post from me sometime within the next 24-36 hours.

I'll write about entering Baerlon, some background of why I have business there, and then entering some bar...And then you'll take it from there.

Sound cool?

Sure, I'd be up for RPing with you.

I could come up there on some form of business, or you could come down here, whatever.

What our RP be about?

I was in the Eyes and Ears of the Scout div. Probably in like 2002/2003.

This was back when we were RPing the construction of the Citadel.

Remember that one girl, a Scout, with a name that started with an "X"? I'm trying to think of her name...

My gangster in Ebou Dar is up for anykind of RP, preferably one that involves robbing, extortion, or one that involves roughing somebody up.

But I can do whatever.

Cabroci: I was a Scout with you a few years back. I'm Shaza. There were two subsets, one that did spy-like stuff/sabotage, the other regular old scouts/skirmishers. I think you led one of those, right? Anyway, just wanted to say yo.

Where is the guide to what each WS number means?

I just made my bio for an Ebou Dari gangster and submitted it, so hopefully I'll be RPing soon.

If anybody is in Ebou Dar and wants to interact with a criminal, come by!

Thanks for the welcome backs!

I figured you were the same James, James, but didn't want to presume anything.

Anyway, I used to have the name shaza or shazahaha when posting here.

I had a Band character and two Rogue characters (one a pirate and one a gangster from Ebou Dar).

Although I just registered this account a few minutes ago, I'm not completely new. I made my first DM account in 2000, but quit in like 2003 (I think).

I bring this up because there used to be Rogue Guild in the Freelanders. Now I know there are no more guilds, but are any Rogues left? Are there any thieves, assassins or smugglers in the Freelanders?

I'd like to make a rogue type character but first wanted to see if a) there already were some criminals out there or b)if there aren't any, if somebody would be up for PCing a criminal character with me (because doing it by myself would be boring).

Hope to hear from people soon!