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This idea is kinda based on Shura's Tavern of Infinity. The idea is to describe the stronghold which suits your character, with the link of a mage using a scrying device to look at them all. It needn't be one from BG2, but then again it needn't be new. eg I have a workshop, but I wouldn't freak out if people go on about their Planar Spheres or whatnot. I ought to be working right now so I don't have time to post a description, but in the meantime, look at the Tavern of Infinity for a vague idea of my workshop (pages 3-4, I think), and feel free to post your own descriptions. Ok, here goes, I might flesh this out a bit later.

High in the mighty pinnacle of his tower the sorcerer draws back a cloth covering a crystal orb. Passing his hands over the surface and muttering a minor incantation he watches as the mists part to reveal a panoramic view of the city of Athkatla. The image focuses now on the bridge district, approaching as if the sorcerer were some great bird descending from a terrible height. the view leads rapidly down to ground level, through twisting streets and alleys, to a small, shappy door, above which hangs a sign "Ironbeard brothers, finest dwarven craftsmanship". The doorway is passed, and the scrying device now shows a room, filled with smoke and light from a great forge which blazes in one corner. The rooms rings wiht the sound of hammers on metal, as apprentice smiths scurry about, crafting unidentifiable metal objects, or working the furnace with bellows. Against a wall are workbenches, at which dwarves with screwdrivers sit, scrutinising partially completed devices, all gears and levers and clockwork. In the corner opposite the furnace is a small shrine dedicated to Moradin, and beyond a heavy door is a relatively quiet office, where the Ironbeard brothers themselves pore over a set of blueprints spread on a desk. The brothers are nigh on indistinguishable, save for the eyes. Ratchett's are narrow, suspicious slits, whereas Paul's are old and deep, speaking of knidness and wisdom. The wizard smiles and casts the gaze of his scrying orb to other lands and other homes.

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited May 21, 2001).]

 

*The haze in the crystal device slowly clears and the wizard can now see the small, cozy room. A weak fire burns in the fireplace revealing the assorted instruments hanging on the brick walls of the chamber. Mandolins, flutes, lyres, guitars, small tambourines in one corner; everything was there.

'This just HAS to be a bard', the sorcerer though laughing quietly to himself.

Moments later sounds started to become clear. Amongst the crackling of the fire and the blowing wind a sweet melody could be heard. It had a strange sweetness, unearthly, unexplored. And the song... It spoke of stories that had never been told before; stories of hobbits and dwarves, men and elves came to life through a deep, soft voice.

Suddenly the music stopped. The mage focused his eyes on a dark corner. A young man, with curly brown hair rose from his chair holding his trusted old guitar. With his face still hidden in shadows he whispered:

'You always like to peek, don't you magician? Stargazer, the humblest of bards, at your service...'

With that he bows and turning his head up again, his gentle hazel eyes look straight into those of the wizard. And the haze returned and the vision was lost... *

Sorry for the length. I like describing this particular bard, that's all .

 

oogling the crystal ball, the myst draws near then separates as the curtain opens..

you see a mix of people and odd looking creatures bussling about the markets examining ancient junk and the overly priced food.. in what seems to be a mere village hardly fit for being held behind such magnificant castle walls. the fear of being executed keeps few away from 'obtaining' such goods the market place seems to offer. scouring the village for anything interesting, you notice an ametuer blacksmith, human, towering over the firey furnace..forging his lastest creations, a claymore. on the rooftop, you see a grown man.. in his early twenties, much smaller than the man in the shop (maybe 5'8), simply juggling a dagger. he looks up at the sky.. then looks down at you and smirks. violently he throws a dagger into the ground below. the crowed reverts back into nothingness.. as the illusion fades.. you only see the theif/mage sitting upon the rooftop.. the blacksmith fades in from the darkness and .. the scry is lost.

 

Darkness! Suddenly a tiny, flickering light is zooming in rapidly.
Falling into it you realize that it's a small window of the uppermost chamber of a very high and slim stone tower.
The round walls of big ashlars are mostly covered with shelves full of books, rolls and other, definately magical, items. The spaces between the shelves are filled with strange pictures and maps.
In the middle of the room, standing in front of a wooden reading-desk, surrounded by heavy candle holders,
there is....he....the Grand Master with his robe of power and his long black beard and,
most signifikant his golden gleaming eys which are now growing bigger and bigger,
filling your whole sight...
with a scream of horror you have to turn your eyes away of the crystal ball.....

 

The wizard's curiosity had gotten him in trouble many times. His scrying orb had gone unused for nearly a week after a vision went awry and almost delivered his mind bound to the power of a Grand Master. But curiosity was the hallmark of a wizard; were he to deny his curiosity, he would have to deny himself. He doubled his mental wards -- tripled them. Hands cupped around the orb, he called forth its powers again...

The mists parted as before, revealing a troubled man in a plain room. A glance at the table revealed the icon of Lathander; the man was a cleric, although his mien appeared that of a warrior. His head was shaved bald, and a disfiguring scar ran down from above his cheekbone nearly to his lip. The wizard frowned; what cleric would be unable to deal with a mere scar?

Other than the scar, the man appeared to be in perfect health. His strength was much greater than even a typical fighter's. Right now that strength was not helping him, however; his problems were of a more spiritual nature. The man turned and looked up; the wizard felt an involuntary twitch of sympathy at the deep pain in those piercing gray eyes. Kneeling to his icon, the man began to pray a simple, heartfelt prayer. No recitation this, not a duty, but a need; and as he poured out his soul, the wizard let the mists return. Some moments were for a man and his God alone.


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Would anyone else be willing to resurrect the Tavern? I realize Shura's gone, but surely the Tavern remains... I will post as soon as the right inspiration strikes me.

[This message has been edited by Capstone (edited May 22, 2001).]

 

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As to the tavern, I was personally invoved in one thread, which collapsed because Duskai and Sapyril left. Probably just as well fer me as it was eatin' up too much o' me time.
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