Curse of the Crimson Throne Location: 3 Lancet Street

[Faraday]

Lucien

Lucien grabs a chair to sit, pondering this whole situation. With a snap of his fingers, and a few words muttered under his breath you see a shimmering hand appear, and reach out to grab the blue cloth and remove it

Before you, you see a man in

very

colourful clothes. A light, bright blue shirt covered with a deep red cloak with splashes of yellow on it. Not the tallest, but his olive skin and shocking blonde hair would definitely mark him as Varisian, to anyone that had any knowledge of the different humans that make up this city. You notice tattoos on his left and right arms, one of some sort of swirling electrical bolt and the other in the pattern of a snowflake

"I assume you all got a letter too? What do you make of it? I suppose we weren't brought here to be killed, that seems much too elaborate. Might as well grab some food while we wait for

real

answers. The name is Lucien, by the way. You might have seen me in one of the taverns around this city, if you're the tavern going sort." He puffs out his chest, as if prideful of that, before anyone can respond.

"Anyone else hungry?", he says tearing off a chunk of bread that his spectral floating hand delivers to him. "You don't have to all look so tense, this'll sort itself out, just relax".

[Faraday]

"Oh, this is as new to me as it is to you. But how are we to know if our host means to kill us, if we don't try the food?", Lucien laughs, biting down a chunk of the bread.

"Be reasonable, if this was to be some sort of attempt on our lives, don't you think bringing us together like this...would be a little stupid?". Lucien continues to chew the bread and his spectral hand grabs one of the bottles pouring it into a goblet, effortlessly.

"The decor is certainly...interesting", Lucien says, through a mouth full of bread. "Yum, yes, a little bit depressing for my tastes but it certainly sparks the imagination doesn't it? Very end of days".

Does lucien recognise any of the tapestries/do I need to make a check to see if they're a scene from a book he might have read or some such?

[Faraday]

Rolling that history check, since chamber okayed it

Original Roll String: 1d20+3

1 20-Sided Dice: (15)+3 = 18

[Faraday]

Lucien stands up, and gives a quick bow, towards Zellara. "So, you are our mysterious host. The bread was lovely". He continues on, in a much more solemn tone - "I am sorry to hear of your loss, but, I am glad that we share something in common - a thirst for revenge. Gaedran has destroyed my whole career, and dreams, and convinced people I was murdering scum. I was planning on finding him some day, but I am glad that fate has brought us together."

Lucien's eyes light up, as he eyes the deck. "Draw a card you say? Why gladly, I love a good game of chance. Hopefully this turns out better than that one two nights ago, I could hardly afford to lose that 2 gold." He reaches out and draws a card from Zellara's deck with a flourish, before returning to his seat.

"I hope this is a good omen".

card 29 please

[Faraday]

Lucien frowns. "Well, the intelligence bit was right, I suppose. Still, a Rakshasha is not a good omen."

Hey turns to Zellara, eyeing her up and down.
"So you bring us here, with promise of revenge and now your cards say we are not ready? I can't pretend to like it, however given your refusal to disclose your information, until we meet your standards I do not suppose there is much choice."

Lucien wrings his hands, as if not wanting to continue, but eventually speaks again, a little slower. "And, admittedly there is some sense to what you say. We must work as a unit to take down Gaedren. He is dangerous, as all of us here are aware.", he says pointing at each member of this group, in turn.

"My thanks for the bread and drinkl, and I hope to see you again shortly Zellara. Next time, perhaps, you'll grace us with the information we so desperately need.", Lucien says, taking no care to hide the annoyance from his voice.

"To the Adventurer's Guild then?", Lucien asks, grabbing his cloak and striding for the door.