Alright, let's get this moving then shall we?
Speech goes in "quotation marks".
Thoughts go in italics.
Writing should be in the present tense. Due to the nature of PbP gaming XP will be awarded not just for combat or problem solving but for good roleplaying and writing, so effort will be rewarded. Lame 'My character follows them' posts will be penalised.
OOC comments should be in ((double brackets)).
There are no spoiler tags on this forum as far as I'm aware (though if someone can tell me otherwise that's great) - therefore information it is vital for only one or two characters to know will be sent via PM. To a certain extent, though, I have to just trust you not to metagame.
I trust you to roll your own dice. Please be honest, it makes the game more fun for everyone. Dice rolls should look like ((Action 1d20+x [y] =z)), where x=your modifier, y=your dice roll and z=your total. For instance a character with a spot modifier of +9 who rolled a 12 should write ((Spot 1d20+9 [12] =21)).
And that's the annoying crunchy bits done, I think. Note that due to the way the backgrounds have been written everybody except Olorin is together at the start. I encourage everybody to write a fairly lengthy opening post giving their character's immediate thoughts on the position they find themselves in and so on. A brief description of their day up to that point, for instance, would not go amiss. I'm giving the main group a little bit of time to talk amongst yourselves before I introduce any other factors.
***
Ask a few sages about the nature of reality, you're likely to get a lot of different answers. Most of them will be contradictory, most of them will be meaningless. The fact is, there's probably no one right answer. It all depends how you look at it. So after a while you get sick of being lectured by dogmatic old men who don't know any more about it than any fool on the street, and maybe you go ask a few of them instead. Eventually, you'll come across one of a poetic bent, and they might just tell you that the best metaphor is a great tapestry. Threads are being woven everywhere you look. Every fiend scheming and plotting is weaving threads to the pattern. Every drunkard stumbling down a street in the hive and getting robbed is weaving threads to the pattern. Every noble and righteous knight questing for truth and purity is weaving threads to the pattern.
If you take that point of view and run with it for a bit, you come to the conclusion eventually that there's nothing anyone can do to avoid weaving threads. By living you affect your reality, and you make your impression on that great tapestry. But, of course, most of the time people don't get all that much choice in just what threads they're going to affect. The tapestry is more subtle than mortal thought can comprehend - probably immortal thought too, for that matter - and just how we are woven into it is something we don't often get a very real say in.
It's hard to say when any of these threads might begin or end. Trying to trace the cause and effect that leads to pretty much anything back as far as it goes is something that's going to make anybody's head hurt after a while. But, of course, that probably doesn't matter. Because for any practical purposes, like most such hifalutin ideas, that's pretty much all screed. For our purposes, we can say with certainty that something is about to begin as a group of four mismatched bloods sit around a table in the Sword and Buckler, one of the more respectable establishments of the Lower Ward (as if that's really saying a whole lot). The place is packed with customers of all descriptions, from a water genasi wizardess whos its quietly in a corner nursing a glass of something amber-coloured through to the group of two Wemics who stand towards the centre, looking uneasily around and looking bewildered as they are assailed on all sides by opportunists offering to show them around or cut them a deal.
Lykos, Jim, Alhesander and Adian are left in peace, however. The Sword and Buckler is well known as a good place to hire yourself a mercenary, its previous clientele of those looking for muscle in the kriegstanz now replaced mainly by representatives of groups such as the Planar Trade Consortium who often have need of hired help. The four blend in well, looking for all the world like a band of mercenaries seeking employment, and so people steer clear.
Not so far away, on one of the larger streets of the Ward, Olorin wanders seeking some guidance from his Goddess. His attention is caught by an unassuming human who is standing on a wooden box by the side of the street, making some kind of speech. Most people who stop to listen hurriedly move on again, but a few have stopped to listen. As you draw close you catch the words "and that is the dark of the matter, friends! That is the final proof of Mal-Na-Mo-Wo's right to divinity, and his purity! He does not want to ascend. He wishes to live as one of us. But he cannot, for godhood is his destiny! And so he shall prove worthy of it; for it is said that those who wish to rule are not fit to do so..."
The Cage is unbearable. Lykos wonders for the fourth day in a row why he bothered coming to this place. It is so full of poisonous fumes that he'd taken to wearing a handkerchief over his mouth for at least some filtering. Siul is feeling the effects too, they both miss the clean air of the Beastlands. Still, if one was looking for work, Sigil is the best networking place around.
Lykos eyes the wemics standing in the bar warily between sips of water. He had met many wemics in teh Beastland and the Outlands and they were always itching for fights. These two were obviously newcomers to Sigil and could easily be pushed into a fight. At this point, Lykos would have welcomed one, he's sodding tired of sitting around in this fiend-ridden burg without a hint of adventure.
Absently he reaches down to run a comforting hand through Siul's golden fur. She presses back against it as if to comfort him back, and then sinks back to the floor to stare at the door. Across the table, Adian seems to be far more comfortable, though perhaps just as bored.
Lykos doesn't know what he considers the tiefling, certainly more than an aquaintance, but he feels uncomfortable calling a half-fiend friend. Still they got along and Adian seemed to try to work against his tainted half, an endeavor which Lykos always tried to help with.
Whatever his feelings with his dark companion were, the ranger has no idea what to make of the others sitting at the large table. The common room of the inn was crowded, so it was no surprise that they he and Adian had had to split the table. Still, Lykos senses something odd about the strangers across the way. Certainly the tall one is an aasimar and Lykos afforded him respect for that, but if it weren't for the colorful hue to his hair or the regal glow of the Upper Planes about the warrior, Lykos might have second-guessed the man's heritage. His features had a definite... serpentine look to them.
The aasimar's companion is obviously a human, but his manner is peculiar. His clothing is unassuming, but he seemed to be laboring under some heavy burden.
Lykos eventually stops staring, and lifted his handkerchief for a quick drink of water. "Hurry up with breakfast, Adian, we've got an employer to find today," he says while looking at the surrounding building as if it were an enemy. "I hope to be out of this sodding smoke pit by the evening." He fills his cupped hand with water and holds it down for Siul to lap while he gives the other patrons another apprehensive glance.