Fight the Real Enemy!
	Meeting at the Meeting

The date is June 6, 1456. You are in that metropolitan of the civilized world, Florence, in the heart of the former Roman Empire, Italia. Florence is a bustling city, the center of trade and mercantile activity for the entire state of Italia, and the focus of most trade flowing to the south from Europe. It is also home to some of the most powerful men on the planet. Oligarchic in nature, the merchant families run the city and control almost every aspect of life therein. Lately, however, their dominion has been intruded upon by the power of the Church. While all the families are Catolik themselves, it is rumored that there is some resistance to the Cult's domination of the city inside the families, who are gradually seeing their power base decline. Any open resistance, though, quickly disappears whenever it rises, with in most cases the former rebels appearing and openly disavowing their former loyalties and becoming spokesmen for the church. This disturbing reversal has made anyone considering open resistance decide against it. Meanwhile, the population of devout Catoliks rises every day. Rhune's eyes are wide with amazement. She is used to the smaller villages around the Paipmont Forest, not this great bustling city. She looks around at the various buildings with a somewhat restrained awe. Several times she nearly bumps someone as she is not paying that much attention. After the third time of doing so, she begins to be more aware of her surroundings. She pats her pouch to make sure that it is still there as she continues on her way. You all have, through various means, gotten yourselves invited or weaseled your way into attending, a meeting of the leading anti-Cult members of society. The forum for the meeting has a beautiful marble dome covering it and fine Roman pillars outside, and there appears to be only two means of egress. The main entrance, solid oaken double doors the height of two strong men, appears to be the only accessible one. Another entrance can be seen on the eastern side of the forum. It connects to a walkway suspended some thirty feet in the air, which is adjoined on the other side to a beautiful residence. Several Genoese crossbowmen can be seen traversing this walkway, and peeking out the windows of the residence. This meeting is very secret, and is rumored to be held by some very powerful figures in Florentine society. Security at the forum is very tight, and the meeting is held under the pretense of a business gathering, judging by the attendees, many of whom seem rather uncomfortable in the flowing gowns and collars of the mercantile class. Some carry suspicious items under the robes that clank or sway while walking. Those of you native to Florence recognize one or two faces in the crowd as being some of the more famous (or in some cases, infamous) adventurers among Florentine society. Others seem to be comfortable in the merchant regalia, and judging by the jewelry they wear, they seem wealthy indeed. Rhune's deep purple eyes miss nothing about the forum, from the crossbowmen to the crowd itself. Her initial awe of the city itself and the number of people as faded slightly by now and she appears to be a little less nervous. Many of you find yourselves a bit uncomfortable around this crowd of people of note, merchants, soldiers, priests, wizards. As the overwhelming majority of the attendees seem to really be merchants, either the meeting is slanted that way or most have better disguises. Some of you have been invited as envoys to your people, though not VIPs in any sense, but the organizers seemed to be quite desperate to gain whatever assistance they could find. Each of you, however, has not managed to find yourselves in an important position. Among the crowd that gathers around the forum, you see that each, without exception, is being subjected to an interview with some sort of functionary in a disturbingly mauve robe. Each attendee is spoken to briefly, while a smallish scribe jots down notes on a scroll, then the functionary clutches something at his chest, nods briefly, and two massive Africans, naked except for loincloths and huge tulwars pull open the doors and allow the person entry. Standing behind the functionary are several tall Swiss pikemen, who appear very competent. Every once in a while, the functionary shakes his head and the pikemen shake their weapons at the attendee, who rapidly departs. As you have all been relegated to the back of the crowd, you see this happen on several occasions. Those of you who are observant notice a group of men in black cloaks conversing naturally near the exit to the outside access to the clearing you all await in. Each time one of the applicants for entry is dismissed, one of these fellows peels off his crowd and follows silently. Some applicants are obviously disturbed by this and depart without undergoing the interview. They are not followed. Rhune watches those that seem to fail the interview with obvious interest. As she sees the men dressed in black begin to follow them she sighs deeply. Though she is not a truly seasoned adventurer, she is aware that those that are being followed may be in for some trouble. Or at least she thinks they will be. This aspect alone has her just a little aprehensive about this interview. What kind of questions are they asking? And what exactly is going to happen to those who fail the interview? Although all of the applicants in the room seem to be highly ill at ease at being in the situation, a stocky man of medium height seems to be even more nervous than the others. His hair is black, receding a little at the sides and he has a neatly trimmed short beard that tapers down to a point. His slightly bulbous nose mars his otherwise fair looks. He is swathed in a long black cloak which covers all of the garments that he is watching underneath. At one point, he pats something behind his back, showing a pronounced bulge. It gives him a little relief to know that it is still there. Rhune watches him with interest. She wonders what he has underneath his cloak that would give him such obvious reassurance. She is not aware that every so often she pats the long sword in it black leather scabbard. She pushes back the hood of her shaded green linen cloat to reveal shoulder-lenght, curly silver hair held by a dark green linen ribbon, showing her delicately pointed ears. The knobby-nosed fellow watches those that are departing and then followed by mysterious characters with great trepidation. He is sweating profusely now and is obviously in two minds as to whether he should leave now while the going is good. At one point, his cloak slips and you are sure that, for a split-second, you can see the symbol of the Catolik Church on the cassock that he is wearing underneath. Looking around him in fright, he quickly pulls the cloak back over him and fastens it more securely. He tries to calm down a little, but his face is red with fear and embarrassment. He looks once again at the exit, obviously thinking of leaving again. However, he manages to fight off the urge and returns to his place in line waiting for his interview. Rhune is about to reach out to the nervous man to reassure him that things may not be as bad as they seem when she notices the small figure in black. She had noticed that she was the shortest person here so far until this little one showed up. Now why would a child be here? She looks closely at the little one and when her eyes travel down to his feet she smiles. She had heard of the halflings but she had never met one. Through the corner of your eye, you see a small figure cloaked in black scurry through the two pikemen. The hood is pulled loosely over the figure's head as it moves slowly towards the center of the growing crowd. The figure is almost certainly a halfling, you conclude, standing only about three to four feet tall. You catch a glimpse of long black hair every now and then as the figure gazes in awe at the skywalk with the x-bowmen. Just when the meeting seems to be quieting down, you hear the silence break, caused by a blood curdling sneeze. The small figure clutches his nose as the faces of the attendants look around with curiosity as to who was so rude. The little halfling just clutches his nose with both grubby hands, his eyes wide with shock as to how his body had created such an awful and yet fascinating noise. Many in the crowd look aggravated at the disturbance, and the racket draws the attention of the crossbowmen on the skywalk as well as the group of black robed men near the clearing exit. Some of the crowd curse openly, most notably a well-dressed Spaniard standing somewhat in front of the group, "Callete, Cavrone!" He seems somewhat disturbed by the whole affair, but turns his attention away from the little fellow quickly enough to look, as many in the crowd do, toward the doorway. Those in the rear of the group seem less confident as a whole than those who came through earlier. As two French elves are rejected by the functionary, some in the crowd begin to sweat with nervousness, and several more depart, brushing past the group. Rhune makes note that several french elves have been rejected. she is not happy about this given the fact that she believes that those rejected are roughed up at least and killed at most. But there is nothing that she can really do about it. She steps forward as the line progresses to the table After the crowd seems to stop looking in his direction, he quickly wipes the sticky substance on his cloak, cleaning off his left hand as he secretly wipes his right hand on the man standing in front of him. As the interviews proceed, it seems as though the little figure is not aware of the line that has formed, as he proceeds to move forward instead of to the left where the questionings commence. When he does at last realize where he is supposed to be moving, he lets out a tiny yelp and darts towards the selected area, only to trip on his feet and fall face first, almost knocking a rather large man over. "'Tis a pleasure to be bumping into you M'good sir! My name is Sam... and yee be?" Sam stairs at the tall dark haired man with a smile stretching from ear to ear. Not paying much attention to the antics of the hafling, the man in the black cloak is surprised as Sam bumps into him, almost sending him tumbling to the floor. He gets himself up and looks carefully towards the small character in a none too friendly manner. Upon seeing that it is a halfling and not a child, his hand immediately falling to his pouch. He seems to be relieved to find that it is still there: "God helps those who help themselves," he says a little dramatically, "but those that help themselves to the contents of my purse shall feel the wrath of God descend upon them to smite them with righteousness." The man then lightened up a little: "I just thought I had better warn you in case you had any ideas that would be inappropriate. My name's The Most Pious ..." He looks around himself, seeming to suddenly remember where he is: "Silus," he continues. "Silus Geldlieber, please to make your acquaintance, Sam." He extended a hand towards the hafling. "Nice to meet you Silus sir! I do apologize for bumping into you the way I did." Sam leans forward to seemingly speak to the man in private while shaking his hand. "You see, I am not used to all this commotion about. It is rather exciting to me. I think it is time for me to calm down a fair bit however. I believe some of the members of this gathering would rather I did not speak as much as I think." Sam motions towards the black robed figures as well as the pikemen. "I may be a tad on the energetic side, but I do recognize danger when I see it... if at some times I see it a smidgen too late." "Aye," Silus replies, "well no harm done to me, but I'd be careful as to whom you might run into in this place." His eyes dart around once again: "Bump into the wrong person in this place and 'the late halfling' is all that you're going to be known as from now on." Sam gives the man one last grin before turning his gaze back to the elven maiden's ears. Rhune, who is standing behind a second person just behind the tall, dark haird man, she barely stifles a laugh at the little man. She looks him over carely as if she is trying to memorize every detail about him. This one bears watching. As Sam is may be standing in a position to see behind him, he sees a young elf girl trying very hard not to laugh. She is about a foot taller than you are and willowy slender. She is wearing a pine green linen tunic with sleeves that reach to her wrists where they end in fitted cuffs; black linen pants with the legs tucked into knee high, brown, soft leather boots; a shaded green, hooded linen cloak; a tunic style, knee lenght leather armor. She has a long sword on her left hip in a black leather scabbard and several belt pouches. Her hair is shoulder-lenght, curly and silver. She is currently wearin it in a ponytail with a little-finger sized braid at her right temple. She has deep purple eyes that sparkle in the light. Sam moves his smiling gaze to fall upon the elven female giggling at him. His eyes move from her feet on upwards, logging the valued information of her looks in his mind. When he reaches her face, his mouth drops. Half gasping, half shouting, Sam shouts "Holy Jerusalem, are you an Elf?! I have never seen an Elf before!" Sam smiles so wide it is apparent that it is not comfortable for him, as he rubs his chin feverishly afterwards. "My name is Sam.. my friends call me Sam.. but... if you will be kind enough to shake my hand... I will let you call me by my first and foremost name... Sam. What do you say?" Sam grins again and reaches out with his grubby right hand. Rhune looks at him with sparkling eyes and remembering his sneeze of a few moments ago she looks from his eyes to his hand. Thinking oh what does it matter. She reaches out to shake his hand, "I am Rhune Morthaine. and yes I am an elf." she replies in a obvious french accented common. A big tall guy turns his head towards the shouting which has drawn his intention. The big guy is human, with dark brown, almost black hair and two bright blue eyes, which were watching the pikeman very closely before the shouting of Sam started. Doubtfully he shakes his head, seemingly disapproving the behaviour of the man in such a crowd. However, as he sees that nobody is saying anything about the shouting, he redirects his huge body through the crowd, carefully avoiding any stepping on toes of any other person present. Once or twice the end of a scabberd, strapped on the back of the man containing a vicous looking sword, bumps against the shoulder of a bystander and the big guy apologizes for each and every time it occurs. Finally he reaches the man who was shouting, but it took him some time and now he sees no reason to intervere at all. He just stands still again, watching what else happens, readjusting his brown hooded cloak, which hides his ringmail from sight. Sam glances at the tall man with the scabbard as he reaches out his hand to Rhune. Seeing the man's previous discomfort, he smiles and gives a finger-fluttering wave. "You will have to wait your turn sir, there are a lot of people who would enjoy shaking my hand." Sam says with a smile. "But don't distress, you will get your turn soon enough." With that, Sam hyper-extends his right arm out to the man while his left still points towards the elven girl. Rhune smiles again as she shakes Sam's hand. Then she withdraws it and as he is looking away slides it across her leather armor. She looks up at the new comer and smiles sweetly, "Hello I am Rhune Morthaine. The big guy, who is about 6 foot 3 high, returns a smile and then flexes his muscles, obviously trying to impress the person who is so popular. "No need to worry Sir, I'm used to standing in line" he replies without any emotion speaking from his face. He folds his arms before him and watches the things to come in patience. Rhune looks up at him and after shaking hands with Sam, "Hi, I am Rhune Morthaine. What is your name?" she asks him in am almost girlish tone of voice. Though she is speaking common it a french accented common The big guy tries to make a bow to the lady but finds himself with a backpack which slides 'up' his back, making him look rather silly. With a bit of a blush in his face he responds: "Ehm... Hello milady, my name is Ullar. Ullar Capachio. Nice to meet you" It's obviously that Ullar is not really feeling at ease, and after his words he starts to ponder at his feet, wondering perhaps if he needs to buy new riding boots. A tall, handsom, male uncomfortably wearing the robes of a merchantman turns at the small man's outburst. Aware that this is a time when it does not pay to have attention drawn to you, he begins to slide his way over ot the group that has begun to form. As he nears the short one, who he now sees to be a halfling, Matteo notices a large man also making for him. Not wanting to be caught up in the middle of a conflict in such circumstances, Matteo slows up and allows the large man to arrive first. He notices the sword strapped to the hulking figure and sees that it is no showpiece. Hands searching out two out of place bulges in his ill-fitting robes, Matteo steps in behind the figure. "Gentlemen,", and seeing the elven beauty for the first time, he revises his greeting, "and, milady, of course. Now is not a good time for boisterous theatrics. The executors of this meeting are not shy of removing any pockets of worry from this meeting. And being ejected is sure to mean more than a missed meeting.", Matteo said quietly, with a nod towards the black cloaked figures by the door. Rhune looks at him and smiles as she returns his bow. "Yes perhaps you are right in that, sir. I, too, have noticed the men with the black robes. I had not expected something like this. Oh well. Perhaps we will all pass the test and be allowed to enter this meeting." She replies with a nod toward the archway. "I am Squi.... Um.... Matteo de Fortuna.", Matteo said with a flourishing bow that gave hint to time spent in courtly pursuits. "Might I humbly ask that, for the safety of those around you, we keep converstaions to a low volume." "Indeed," Silus agreed. "Blessed are the quiet, for they make little noise and draw little attention to themselves, thus avoiding the need to fail their interviews and so be expelled from this place, from whence they shall be followed by men in black cloaks and slaughtered in a dark alley afterwards." "Perhaps." Rhune looks up at him. "I like the way that you speak, Silus. It is interesting. And you have voiced the thought that has occured to me as well." her silver eyebrows knit as she frowns a little. Silus smiles at Rhune's words: "Blessed are the elves, as they have purple eyes that twinkle like the stars in the heavens and delicate little pointed ears," he replies, a little strangely. Rhune smiles at the big man. "why thank you for the compliment. YOU can talk to me all the time if you want." she says with a huge smile, her littl nose crinkling in the process. Silus smiles back to her in reponnse: "It is written in the scriptures that you shall not praise any but the One True Lord Himself and that you should not worship false profits ......errm .. prophets," he stutters. "But what the Lord doesn't see, the Lord doesn't know," he adds with a sly wink. She winks back a very mischievous look to her face as she does so. "I really wouldn't know about that very much. We have different beliefs." she says with a smile. She likes this human with the strange speech. Silus is now smiling broadly at Rhune: "As long as you do not walk under the shadow of evil..." "...then I don't really give a toss," he says returning her wink. She laughs a tinkling sound at his comment. "I don't think that I walk under the shadow of evil." she replies in a mischievous tone of voice Silus smiled again: "In that case, I think that we're going to get on like my Lord and I. Just fine." Sam glances upwards at Silus, who towers over him like a giant oaken tree and then returns his glance to Rhune with a smile. "Rhune, does that mean angel? Are you an angel? I have heard many stories about angels. People say that they are the most beautiful creatures in the world; even out of this world." Sam blushes and fearfully covers his face with both hands as to hide his embarrassment. She reaches out the halfling, "No I am not an angel. Just an elf come for adventure. But I thank you for the compliment also." she says smiling at him. Sam glances at Silus, who has obviously won the elven maiden's attention, and sighs, glancing back towards Rhune. With a sly grin, Sam whips his robe from over his right shoulder and rolls up his sleeve, and giving a evil grin towards Silus, he curls up his tiny arm and flexes his baseball sized biceps for all to see. He then looks deep into Rhune's eyes, trying to impress her with all the might he can muster. Rhune looks back at Sam and smiles at him. She tring very hard not to laugh at the little man as he is tring very hard to impress her. She will be dutifully impressed by his muscles. Sam smiles with gratitude as he sees his attempts have been successful in impressing the maiden and he begins to speak but is interrupted by a hooded female figure... Rhune returns Matteo's bow again and "I am Rhune Morthaine. I am pleased to meet you." she smiles her deep purple eyes twinkling merrily. She turns toward the halfling, "This is Sam." she says indicating the halfling. Matteo smiled, widely, at the group, his eyes roaming first over them, then moving on to see what attention they might have drawn their way. A woman pushes the glasses back up on her nose, they keep slipping down as they really don't fit all that well to begin with. Her nose is buried in a book just off the presses. She didn't have the cash to pay for it, so she just, er, borrowed it for a while. Besides, she sighed, the words were so beautiful, the cadence just perfect. She looks little more than a child, no more than 13 or 14 certainly, average height, though a bit on the thin side. No muscles to speak of. Almost to the meeting place, she looks up, not sure why. She is about to run into some traveler by the looks of him. Time to focus. She puts the book and glasses away. Her face is plain, nothing stands out as her amber eyes take in the sight--the milling throngs of people. Her nose wrinkles slightly in disgust. She goes to push some of the ebon hair that has fallen into her face behind one ear, then remembers, and lets it hang, falling freely to just below her shoulders like a rain of black silk. Her dusky skin looks like most of the natives' of the region, but the way she moves is quick, no wasted motion and no hesitation in her step. When her eyes focus on someone, the intensity of her gaze can be alarming. Her black tunic has a smudge of dust on one sleeve, her matching black pants have a splash of mud on the left leg, how did that get there? she wonders, not remembered the carriage that splashed her from last night's rain, her nose buried in the recently acquired book. She sees the small group clumping together in the room and frowns. Best not to stand out. The interview makes her nervous, but she falls into the line she feels is moving the quickest. As she does so, she listens carefully to all around her, hoping to pick up snippets of gossip or rhyme as she goes. She pushes the hair back without thinking, a glimpse of a slightly pointed ear quickly hid as she remembers and lets it fall back down. Hope no one notices, she thinks to herself. For a moment she almost turns and runs. This could be a trap. She pats her side and smiles to herself. She is not completely defenseless, though she did leave her short sword at home. She heads toward the interview half scared, half excited. She eyes the small group that is forming with dread and some envy. Her eyes widen a bit as she stares. An elf and a halfling! She will keep an eye on them. She continues to move forward, almost dancing with impatience. Will the line never move?

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	Benjamin Lomax

This page was last updated on 20 January 2001