[[[[[[MONROE'S NOTE: This TP, alas, was stillborn, as the staffer running
it quit suddenly.  But it was a good interaction between Monroe and Bardon
and demonstrates their different approaches to things.]]]]]]


Storm's Front Tavern -- Bar Room(#1639RJM)

	As rustically as the barn is on the outside, the inside seems a
bit more creative yet still very rustic by decor. The floor itself is
hardwood marked and nicked already by the passage of boots. A smoothly
polished and sealed part of the floor before the slightly raised stage
makes the clear definition of the dance floor. Two other raised balcony
style platforms rise off the floor for more dance space. The walls are
decorated with a combination of stretched furs with primitive drawings
painted upon them in early American-Indian fashion, as well as several
crossed tomahawks and muskets have been set firmly upon the wall. The bar
itself dominates the back wall of the place and is huge, easily needing
four bartenders on a busy night to manage. Constructed of solid oak carved
by the hand of a master craftsman. 
	The motif of phases of the moon over a tranquil forest. On the
side wall by the bar hangs one of the largest steer skulls you've ever
seen bleached white and painted some strange runes. Behind the bar rises
up many shelves backed by a mirror filled with every form of liquor
imaginable. The bar has the classic brass rail and spitoons though the
spitoons seem to have been converted to ash trays. Air is moved about the
cavernous room by a series of ceiling fans dancing about the main lighting
of a large wagon wheel housed with electric lighting. The strong scent of
pine fills the air mixed with fresh cut lumber and smoke.

                           OOC: Places installed                           

Contents:
Bardon(#352PXIJKOc)
Clint
Obvious exits:
Private <PR>  Staircase <SR>  Out <O>

Monroe(#2087PXKc)

	This is a tall, slender man in his late twenties or early
thirties. His hair is a dark brownish-black, combed back loosely from his
forehead, extending down over his ears. He has a small, soft tuft of hair
at the base of his chin, like a half-goatee, though his cheeks and lips
are clean-shaven. His hands are large and his fingers long, though his
movements are graceful and precise. His eyes are a mild brown, gazing out
evenly at the world with apparently imperturbable ease. His voice is also
cadenced, even and deliberate, with a faint, unplaceable accent that
manifests itself mostly in gentle pauses between sentences and at the end
of phrases.
	His clothes are formal, but his dress is not - though his collar
is starched and pressed, it is unbuttoned slightly, and he wears no tie.
His collared vest also hangs open, grey pattered on grey, dark-buttoned.
His coat is long and cut wide at the shoulders, accomodating his
long-armed graceful movements. His large hands come near white cuffs,
neatly done up with black links. His pants are very dark grey, nearly
black, and are evenly cut down to his comfortable-looking black shoes.

Carrying:
Monroe's Descriptions(#3293)

Bardon

     The man before you stands just over six feet tall, and would tip the
scales at about 180 pounds. His lightly tanned skin compliments short,
dark brown hair. He is apparently in his mid-twenties, but a closer look
into his hazel eyes reveals a certain ... awareness. He is lean, neither
scrawny nor over-muscular. His clothing is simple and comfortable looking.
A worn leather jacket over a red and black checked flannel shirt covers
his torso, black jeans and well-worn boots completing his _ensemble_. On
the ring finger of his left hand, Bardon wears a ring made of braided
jet-black hair with a tiny pattern of beads interwoven within. He holds a
long wooden tube, evidently a hollowed out sapling approximately five feet
long. The wood is covered in patterns, mainly stylised animals in black,
ochre, white and yellow. 

	Please check +oocnotes and +views.


Bardon stands behind the bar, pouring out two cups of coffee. "Hey there
Monroe...I see you found the place all right."

Monroe looks around and sees Bardon. "Yes," he says easily, "I have
visited you here before, remember." He smiles and approaches.

Bardon chuckles dryly, his head nodding at the memory. "I blame the lack
of caffeine. Is this the sort of conversation that would best take place
in the office?"

Monroe rubs his chin reflectively. "It might be." he says easily. "It
might be. I must admit I have never experienced anything quite like it,
though its nature might be so ordinary to you that you would think me
quite ridiculous to be so affected by it. I suppose discretion is the
better part of valor."

Bardon inclines his head, picking up his coffee and taking a step towards
the stairs leading up. "Can I get you anything before we step inside?"

Monroe shakes his head. "No, thank you. I appreciate the offer." he
murmurs.


You climbs up the stairs to the loft above.
Storm's Front Tavern -- Office

	The hay loft of the barn has been converted into two sections.
That of storage which holds stacked all the supplies needed for the bar
below, and that of a sprawling office. Situated in the office section is a
large mahogany desk, a matching chair behind it. Before the desk rests two
comfortable looking straight backed armed chairs for that of business
discussions. As well a comfortable looking hide-a-bed couch wraps around
in an 'L' shape about two other chairs. In the center of the more
comfortable living room type furniture is a large square glass coffee
table. The walls are done in a dark oak paneling, decorated with various
paintings and wildlife pictures. The scent of fresh cut wood an incense
fill the air. The floor covered with several furs and throw carpets over
the wooden flooring. The large door used at one time for hauling hay is
still in place. Though not rough hewn as handles have been installed as
well they are given a more refined air able to be opened at the desire of
the occupants.

Contents:
Bardon(#352PXIJKOc)
Obvious exits:
Stairs <SR>
<

Monroe's nostrils flare with the new smells as they rise out of the
tavern, and he looks around with obvious approval at the furnishings.

Bardon makes himself comfortable on one of the chairs, gesturing for you
to take a seat on an adjacent one. "So, what's this all about, mate?"


Monroe sits nearby. "Well, the short version is that I had a troubling,
yet compellingly vivid dream. I was indulging in the luxury of an
afternoon siesta - an innovation of the Mexican society which I am pleased
to adopt as my own from time to time - when I dreamed I saw a tremendously
large Indian riding the back of a turtle up out of the sea. He called upon
me in the name of the 'Middle Brother' to undertake...something, I'm not
sure what. To right some wrong, I think."

You say "I saw an Indian village...on the coast, northeast of here - I'm
not sure if it really exists or not...and was led there somehow, to a
Shaman's hut, where an old man in a wheelchair was discussing something
with a young Asian boy."

You say "The interesting thing is that the Indians did not look like
Ohlme, nor the young boy like a Chinese...and those are the two groups of
those races which I have had the most contact with."

Bardon blinks. Several times. He appears to take your words very seriously
indeed, leaning forward to catch every nuance as you speak. "You have been
given a True Dream, Monroe...one with an important message."

You say "The old man described a terrible beast out under the water, which
ate men and fed upon their fear. He called it a nightmare and asked the
young man and myself to do something about it - though what, was never
exactly clear. After some exchanges...I awoke."

Monroe listens. "Really?" he says, fascinated. "What is the difference
between a True dream and...well, the other kind?"

Bardon nods his head slowly as you finish, his lips pursed in deep
thought. After a moment he emerges from his reverie, blinking once or
twice before speaking. "A True Dream comes from the Ina, the spirits of
the world, and always carries great meaning. The more normal dreams are
created by our own souls and memories, and have no real permanance in the
DreamRealms. This young man...can you describe him in a bit more detail?"


Monroe tilts his head slightly. "His eyes were...different, somehow. The
details are fuzzy. He had a muscular build, a very tight-looking young
man. I received the impression that his lineage was Japanese."

There's a faint glint in Bardon's eyes as you complete the description.
"Interesting....and the Indians? You said that they were different from
the Ohlme...in what ways?"

Monroe says, "Well...the Ohlme were shorter, more graceful, perhaps. They
had darker skin..." he murmurs. "Although perhaps some of these changes
were masked by the modern setting. The shack which the old shaman lived in
was very cluttered. An old television, catalogs..."

You say "This village, I approached it as if flying - it was definitely
facing east."

You say "The Ohlme lived by the bay at Yerba Buena, along the Pacific,
definitely west."

Bardon is probably unaware that he's chewing his lower lip gently.
Probably. "I see...so you'd recognise it if you came across that village
again? Forgive my asking as well....but have you progressed enough along
the Way of Gaia's Heart to travel or scry there again, given that it's
real?"

Monroe shakes his head. "I have not the first idea what you mean." he says
easily. "Do you mean...being able to extend perception-frame schema to
distant locales? Good god, that's just as bad as 'Gaia's Heart'. You mean
can I arrange to see it from a distance. No, I cannot."

Bardon can't help but chuckle quietly. "Yes, we mean the same
thing...though your description probably means as little to me as mine
evidently meant to you. Hmm." He pauses once more, his brow furrowing in
thought. "This is a serious matter, Monroe, and bears swift attention. Let
me bring it to the attention of my friends...they have far more experience
than I in such matters...but rest assured you will not be left out of the
investigation. You have been chosen for this task...and you must see it
through."

Monroe looks wary. "Surely not." he says evenly. "With my limited
abilities..." Then he stops, like he's thought of something.

Bardon spreads his hands, a wry chuckle escaping his lips. "The Ina choose
whom they will, my friend. Accept this...they have their reasons."

You say "It's not really about abilities, is it? That's not the right
question. It's a question of practical counterparts to the dream-message."

Bardon nods his head with a smile. "It's about -you-, Monroe. For some
reason, you hold at least part of the key to this situation...otherwise
you'd never have been chosen." His smile widens somewhat. "You've never
really dealt with the Spirit world, have you?"


Monroe says easily, "I had no reason to. My interests lay elsewhere." 
He shrugs slightly and admits, "They still do." with a wry grin.



Bardon snorts with barely suppressed laughter. "Well, at least you can be
fairly certain that once this task is completed that you can return to
your normal focus of interest...take heart in that."

Monroe laughs a little. "I'm not convinced that the answer lies there,
though the question was asked in the terms of the spiritual. A direction
rather than a destination."

Bardon grins merrily, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Now that sounds
nearly shamanic too, Monroe. Are you -sure- you picked the right
Tradition?"

Monroe chuckles. "Not at all." he says cheerfully. "But the one that is
appropriate is dead." Then, more seriously, he says "The reason I am
unsure that the answer may lie in the spirit world is the very one you
named - it was a dream given to *me*, and my spiritual life is not filled
with turtles in the ocean and giants riding them. Perhaps it is an
allegory..."

Monroe blinks. "I just thought of something. I'm a middle brother."


Bardon tilts his head to one side. "Really? A middle brother...how
interesting. Still, take my word for this, Monroe. Your dream, while
indeed at least partially allegorical, holds some definite reality as
well."


Monroe nods slightly. "All right. I did want to confirm that it wasn't
just, well, twentieth century food." he says with a grin. "Thank you."


Bardon chuckles dryly. "Far from it, my friend. Congratulations on your
first contact with the World Beyond."

Someone knocks from Storm's Front Tavern -- Bar Room.

Jade climbs up the stairs from the bar below.
Jade has arrived.

Monroe blushes a little, despite himself, rising, extending a thankful
hand for a shake. "Please contact me if you learn anything more, or if
there is any courtesy I can extend in return."

Jade

	Upon catching your attention your first glance gives the
impression of a pretty Native American woman in her mid to late twenties.
Further appraisal shows an exotic mix to her lineage. Her hair pulled back
from the sides in various braides and beadworking. Her facial features
chiseled and carved, glowing with a perpetual golden tan. Green eyes flash
with the inquisitive nature of a cat, framed in long black lashes. Soft
rose petal pink lips curl at the corners, giving the impression of a
mischievious friendly nature.
	Her figure is no less impressive and pleasing to the eye, cloaked
in the thick mane of wavy black hair that falls down her back and about
her hips. Sheathed in a black pair of stretch pants her legs appear well
toned and strong. Contrasting the black of her pants is a white 'v' necked
shirt, belted about her thin waist and accentuating the curve and swell of
her breasts. Over it all she wears a long indian styled tanned leather
indian style vest. Her feet are encased in a pair of tanned leather, soft
souled moccasin boots that are laced up tight about her calves.
	She wears no jewelry save that of two necklaces. One that of a
jade tear drop dangling at the hallow of her throat. The other mimicing
the design in what appears to be a silver tear drop locket, dangling
against the neckline of her shirt. There is an unquestionable strength and
grace to her stride. Her shoulder and head held in a way that speaks
confidence but not egotistical bravado. A light exotic floral scent drifts
about her, softening her impression all the more.

Carrying:
Leather Jacket
           
Jade breezes into the room as she knocks giving enough notice to her entry
before actually doing so. A bright smile on her face as her bright green
eyes dance with life. "Evening"

Bardon rises as Monroe does, giving Jade a smile as she arrives. "Of
course, Monroe. Oh, have you met my lovely wife? Jade, this is Monroe, the
owner of that watch-shop you noticed in town. Monroe, my wife Jade."

Monroe bows slightly to Jade, a little tilt of his shoulders, neck and
head. "Good evening." He extends a hand to her. "A pleasure, madam." he
says politely.

Jade smiles warmly, "A pleasure to meet you as well Monroe..I hope I
didn't interupt to abruptly?" she studies the man's actions with a bit of
curiousity reaching out to shake his hand.

Monroe's hand is graceful and his voice easy, "On the contrary - I was
just about to withdraw."

Bardon smiles as the two of you complete the introductions. "A most
interesting conversation Monroe...rest assured I'll get back to you as
quickly as possible."

Jade shakes Monroe's hand with a gentle but confident grip slipping her
hand from his after but a brief moment, "Oh good" she looks to Bardon
smiling brightly there is a definet graceful bounce of excitement to her
step as she moves over to Bardon and hugs him tightly, "I've got the best
of news for you."


Monroe nods slightly. "I am indebted to you, sir." he says cheerfully. He
nods slightly. "It was a pleasure to meet you." he says to Jade, with a
smile, then to both "I will leave you to your good news."
Bardon tilts his head to one side, accepting and sharing Jade's hug with a
smile. "Oh really?" he queries before half-turning his head to reply to
Monroe. "Walk in peace, Monroe."

Jade smiles warmly to Monroe, "A pleasure to meet you as well..and a good
evening to you" she looks back to Bardon and nods excitedly, "yes..an old
friend has returned looking for us."