This is a short scene where you play two local characters not directly related to the PCs or Rosencliff.

Through their interaction, you can develop your PC's back story from a second person perspective. What the characters discuss in this scene doesn't have to be the truth, it could be embellished, or pure lies, but then explore why they say such things and that itself will be a story that develops your PC.

Have fun with it. Perhaps this scene is also told by a third party, so even it isn't 100% reliable? (Much like the Prologue scenes.)

When you're ready, also decide a name for this game topic, and I will change it.

This scene is for D and Jexric.

Suggestion: Perhaps two local villains drinking at the Inn of the Last Call in Shadow Port, share tales of the city's street life.

The minstral tuned his lute. "Really, I know it sounds just like an embellished tale. But it is the truth. The story goes," he looked to make sure he had an attentive audience. "There once was a black hearted Prince. The only reason he hadn't killed the king and taken hus place was because he could do more dastardly things as a prince.

"By day he acted like any princeling should. Even by night too. But it was all an act. He had so many schemes in play at any one time. That he could only be called a master villian." He paused to strum a chord and sip his brew.

Bleary eyed from too much drink, hair disheveled with sharp lines in her face from the wood grain of the table, she raises her head as the minstrel strummed the lute.

Staring at the dark-skinned elf, she snickers with contempt. "Wearing black, like the dead thing he was..." She motions to the serving wench for another drink.

[ooc: Nem...is this the type of post you're expecting? Just a little confused]

[OOC: I had imagined that we would both juxtaposition stories about our characters from another person's point of view. So I started with mine, as I know my character and what I can showcase. I figured you would offer a competing view about your character and we could intertwine the stories. Though that may be too ambitious, it was my thought. But to continue with your train of thought.]

The musician considered the comment. "So it has been said. Though I have heard that is just a metaphor for his blackened heart. That he might have been another race entirely. The stories diverge on that point and I waste good breath explaining when I should be telling.

"How about you? Do you have a tale to share? I am interested in learning them as much as telling my own."

[ooc: OK, I think I've got it]

She coughs up a blob into the blue fabric of her sleeve and nods her head at the other minstrel that had just arrived. "That one reminds of this rancid blob I just spat. I'll bet you a cup that he's better at entertaining monsters than men. He, he, he..."

"Too true. You would never know it to meet him in social circles. But a black heart he certainly was. Though it is said he got what was coming to him. He had the privilege of watching his family be tortured to death in front of him before being ripped limb from limb."

The minstrel winked "of course that is when the story gets interesting."

[Hehe. I think you've got the hang of it, guys, keep at it.]

And so the denizens of the Inn of the Last Call resumed the sports for which they were best known, the casting of dispersions, spreading of slurs and rumours, crude and oft spurious gossipry, and communal mud-raking.

No smoke without fire, they might have said. But that assumed they could tell the difference between smoke and some other poisonous cloud, which could be created in many ways, many unnatural.

In short, it was probably best not to put too much stock in the words heard in the taproom of the Last Call. There might be smoke, but there might be something far worse than fire behind it.