It was a dark and stormy night in the docks of Medhera. Travellers huddled moodily in the inn of the wynsome wench (in reality little more than a glorified tavern, but it had a room for sailors and travellers to pass out drunk in at the back so they could barely justify calling it an inn). Rain beat at the window panes and in a corner a few unsavoury sorts hunched over a game of cards, puffing their foul smelling pipes and sipping at watered down ale to pass the time as they glowered at each other and waited for the next move.
A few strangers to the town had also been driven into this rather dingey drinking hole, a somewhat unusual looking gnome and his taller human companion, visiting the docks to retrieve rare ingredients from a warehouse trader, a couple of heavily armoured dwarfs sitting in the corner nursing pints of something stong (but drinking them slowly to avoid having to pay the exobitant prices again anytime soon), and a number of other unusual individuals all of whom had generaly sought shelter from the storm (although one seemed to almost revell in the drumming of the rain on the rooftops and the occassional rumble of thunder overhead).
Seated halfway along one of the side walls was an old man dressed in rather shabby robes that might once have been blue and seems to be decorated with faded stars, moons and suns. His tall pointed hat rested upon it's wide brim on the table ebside him and he was in deep (and somewhat agitated) conversation with a middle aged Theydori priest. The priest was, in turn, accompanied by a pair of rather young looking acolytes who's desparate eyes cast nervous glances around the room at the various shabby looking seafolk who crowded the bar on this gloomy night.
Alarian sits, seemingly alone with his thoughts... although he realises now that he is never truly alone. He turns to the man revelling in the storm to see who or what he might be Knowledge: religion check? I'm assuming this is Kiaphas. If I'm right and get that he's a priest, then I say: "It seems that Gurthor isn't too happy tonight, sir priest." with a friendly smile.
Sitting in a corner booth, Ivor is busy. There's a problem with his latest project- a clockwork mouse he's been working on for the last few days, but for the life of him, he can't figure out where he went wrong. He's already forgotten about the rudeness of the merchant they'd just been to visit; after all, the important thing was that he had finally gotten his hands on the stuff. OOC: we can figure out what it was later on- some sort of unusual alchemical stuff, maybe, unless Raoul is looking for something himself
Flipping his magnifiers down, he spots the problem- metal fatigue in a spring- and roots around in his bag for a replacement. Snapping the cover shut, he begins winding the device to test it out.
Aurum sits with his waraxe in hand accross his lap and the mug in his other hand. He is looking around to see what is going on.
"So, tell me again, Ivor. What is the point of this magical mouse?" Raul asks, showing interest but complete bewilderment at Ivor's latest project.
"Why don't you just get a real mouse and train it?"
Raul would love to understand what Ivor is trying to do, but really just doesn't get it at all.
''Well, you see, it's not that complicated at all, really. Remember that time in Scorta when the nasty pussy cat got her paws on poor Verrochio?(my rat familiar) I realised that I needed to protect him from that sort of thing, so from now on, if I see a kitty, I can let this loose for it to chase so Verrochio won't be bothered again. I call it my emergency-veloci-winding-semi-automated-feline-distr...oops, I probably shouldn't have done that," he says, as the mouse slips from his hands and goes scooting off across the floor, in the direction of the serving wench.
Ivor sinks lower in the chair and hopes no-one notices.
The strange man pays Alarian no heed, he's clearly wrapped up in his own thoughts for now. From his garb Alarian would suspect he may be a devotee of Gurthor (good knowedge check) and he's a bit absent right now, absoirebd in the atmospherics and enjoying the evening. In fact, he might prefer to be outdoors, standing in the lashing rain, but currently he stands within the tavern (as most sensible servants of the searlord would).
Raul keeps his eye on the serving wench, to see what will happen.
Can you tell us what the serving wench looks like, please, GM?
Alarian doesn't press home his question, knowing full well of the reverie that can grip those in touch with the gods. He can almost smell the forest and the scent of a hunting beast as a now-familiar woman's voice glides into his thoughts: He is strange in his mind, young wolf... like the old man... Yes. He is like him in some ways. Ha! And am I not stranger? A flirtatious laugh sounds in his head No... you are stronger... my wolf. Alarian turns back to the bitter ale he holds. It is a strength I would gladly not have, he thinks. What was that? Something scurrying across the floor... too shiny and quick to be a mouse...
Quote from: keeper40k on May 29, 2007, 11:04:11 AM
Can you tell us what the serving wench looks like, please, GM?
The weary barmaid crosses the floor bearing a tray of foaming tankards. She looks to be in her mid to late twenties, although the docks have a way of aging people before their time, with a good figure poorly dressed in ill fitting garments (almost falling off her slender frame). Her light brown hair is chopped short, hanging somewhat just below the jawline, and worn loose. Her face is long and slender with a bit of a pointy beak of a nose poking out of it. A black eye peers out from beneath a pathetic layer of makeup (attempting to hide the bruise) and she drags the sleeve of her boddice back up one arm. One of the gambling sailors calls out and she turns their way, treading carefuly between the various unattended bottles and sprawling limbs that litter her path.
The barman takes a break from cleaning a mug with a rag to rub at his eyepatch with the knuckles of one hand, before bawling out some barely decipherable order to her. She seems to understand and her head dips slightly in some sort of half nod as she takes the sailors their drinks.
Raul figures he'd better try and make this good before Ivor gets them booted out of this tavern as well. He gets up (hopefully nonchalantly) and heads off after Ivor's strange mouse.
His intention is to try to capture the weird little device before it scares the bejesus (beEsmia?) out of the ladies in the bar. If necessary he hopes to try and distract (bluff?) the barmaid, should she happen to start looking towards the frightening little contraption and explain it as not being harmful before people see it and freak out. He intends to tell people it is just a toy. Unless, of course, he can catch up with the nifty little thing, first!
Where is the mouse at this point? Alarian, intrigued, tries to discern where the thing has gone. Spot check?
Aurum is amused and starts to laugh as someone starts chasing the mouse
Quote from: keeper40k on May 29, 2007, 11:45:43 AM
His intention is to try to capture the weird little device before it scares the bejesus (beEsmia?) out of the ladies in the bar.
It's a seedy docklands pub. There aren't many ladies in here (there's a few loose women but they seem to spend an awful lot of time in the alley outside when compared to the hard drinking sailors).The mouse skitters across the floor before colliding with an abandoned bottle sticking out from undera table. It rolls onto it's side and lies there all helpless, it's little wheels spinning away. Already you can see greedy eyes evaluating it from various corners. Alarian places his leg in front of it, blocking off Raoul's advance briefly (mostly to rpevent the other patrons from grabbing it). Leaning to pick it up, he offers it to the stranger saying something polite, inquiring as to the object's ownership (like "pardon me sir but is this yours?").
Great way to meet each other guys :).
OOC: Sorry, that should have been 'Ladies', I missed the inverted commas (or whatever they're called).
"Thankyou kind sir. Acutally, it belongs to my short friend, over there." replies Raul, indicating the top of Ivor's head as he tries to hide behind the table.
"My name is Raul. Can I offer to buy you another drink, for helping us not be thrown out of this tavern on such a fell night as this? You are welcome to join us at our table, if you wish." Raul smiles his best grateful smile, releaved that Ivor has not caused another gadget-based 'scene'.
I was actually going to attempt that, and indeed say "I believe this is yours"! How funny
"I would be glad of the company, thank you. I am known as Alarian; and I will indeed have another drink, as this is almost at its end." He grins. "I shall return this to your friend, and join your table then." He offers his hand to Raul to shake.
Sorry :)
Raul shakes Alarian's hand, and as we return to our table and I buy the drinks, we begin to get acquainted. Raul offers only the "better" parts of his history, about his time as a Sardian soldier and how he is acquianted with Ivor.
OOC: No more detail from me tonight - offline now :(
At around this point the conversation between the priest and the doddery old spellflinger becomes decidedly more animated. The acolytes shift nervously as heads turn their way. The priest of Theydori seems to be becoming upset, or frustrated, it's hard to tell, whilst the aging magician is adamantly refusing to budge from his position. After a while they settle down again but both are noticably uncomfortable.
Alarian nods, "Yes, I had guessed you might be a fighting-man, you remind me somewhat of the men of the fyrd back home." Aside from this, Alarian only says that he is a swordsman from inland Drechanon, "As, I think, my accent heralds!" He smiles at the story of how Ivor and Raul became acquainted, he says"Truly a man finds companions in the direst of times, in the stangest of places."
He looks round at the dwarf who was laughing earlier. What is that crest he bears? wonders Alarian to himself. Knowledge: Nobility check?
He notices the conversation between the priest and the wizard. Some discussion regarding arcane lore? Unusual to see such men in a place such as this.
'Um... well met, and, uh, thanks!' Ivor looks sheepishly at the stranger who rescued his mouse, glad of its safe return. It was almost like that time in that Sardian place all over again, and he was quite pleased at avoiding getting kicked out of the tavern on such a driech evening as this.
"Ooh- raisins!" he exclaims, finding a small bag in the pocket his mouse was deposited in. "Anyone want some?" Ivor offers the raisins to his companions, then settles back in his seat, content to let the humans talk amongst themselves. He'll not actively contribute to the conversation unless something really unusual comes up, or he's directly spoken to.
After a few minutes, an idea suddenly comes into his head, and he starts rummaging through his bag for his book.
OOC: how do I go about copying scrolls into my spellbook? If it's worth doing now, Ivor's had a flash of inspiration for a design and is copying Magic Missile. If it's not feasible, he's had a flash of inspiration and is designing a better mousetrap.
Rogan looks over at the commotion caused by the released machine and shakes his head with a half-smile. Terrible what had happene to those dwarves...
He leans over to Aurum. "Amazing what strange contraptions these gnomes come up with. Nothing like a good solid bit of Dwarven engineering, but still."
Draining the last drops from his tankard he looks at it for a moment as if trying to decide whether to get another. Shrugging, he makes a sign to the bartender for another mug, before trying to over hear what's got the priest so agitated.
"What do you think has got those guys all stirred up, Alarian? Any idea who they are?"
Raul hasn't any specific Knowledge skills to know who they might be, but I'd like to make a general Knowldge check (i.e., just an Intelligence check) to see if he knows who they are, anyway.
Erm, yeah, they look like some priests, and a wizard......
I'm sort of waiting a bit to give Teuful a chance to post before moving things on a bit but I'm enjoying watchin you guys roleplay anyway :).
"Ivor, do you recognise them there wizards having an argument?"
After his laugh at the commotion Aurum replies to his Rogan in dwarven "Yes brother everything Dwarven is better" as he looks at his half empty cup of spirits.
Alarian turns back to Raul. Did I glean any info on that Dwarf's crest? "I can't make out the details, but as they are priests of Theydori, I assume that they are after some information that the old man has, and which he is unwilling to divulge in terms they can accept. At a guess." Listen check on their convo?
Ivor looks up from his frantic scribbling at the sound of his name, and blinks, seeming slightly confused as to why he's been mentioned.
"Um... pardon me? Oh, the bigfolk arguing. Well, from the cut of that robe and the astrological symbols thereon, I'd surmise that the blue one is a wizard, whilst the other one appears to be a priest, given the prominent display of Theydorian iconography," he says, without even a hint of insincerity.
Alarian looks at Ivor for a second with incredulity, and then bursts out laughing "Ah thank you for reducing the swelling of my head, and for making me laugh harder than I have done for a quite a while. I see that great minds do indeed think alike. Or perhaps we are the proverbial fools?" He smiles and takes a drink of ale.
Sorry, I could've sworn Raul asked Alarian who they were, but I checked and it was Ivor! Oops!
Hehe, no worries- he asked them both- look further back!
As ever, Ivor feels he's missed out on the important part of the conversation, especially when the newcomer starts laughing. Falling back on the tried and tested advice Raul gave him not long after they first met, he smilles and nods, hoping that's the expected response.
Staring across the room at the men in question, he ponders for a moment, then scratches his head, forgetting about the oil on his hands and making a dark smudge near his hairline: "Hmmm.... I'm sure I read something once about a blue robe..."
If it's worth doing, I'll make a knowledge arcana test to see if there's any significance to the robe. Failing that, maybe a spot check to see if there's anything else of significance that catches my eye?
"Ah, 'educated' men. I came across a lot of 'educated' men when I was a scribe. Some of them are interesting, like my friend, Ivor, here. Some of them are fools who couldn't find their own bum in order to wipe it, unless it had an index and a bookmark." The frown of Raul's face shows that he has come across too many of the lost-bum variety in the past.
"When I do come across an educated idiot, I try and stay well clear. Unless, of course, they're offering me gold to tell them which end of a sword to hold." Raul smiles at the thought of gold.
"The we shall remain clear of all academies, colleges, and all such institutions if we are to meet no-one educated beyond his intelligence!" Alarian jokes. "You were a scribe, and now a sellsword? One should not judge a book by its cover then; how did you come to swap the pen for the sword?"
Listen check, to see if I can hear what they're arguing about?
"My parents wanted me to have a quiet life of a scribe and found me a position with a well-to-do merchant in my home town. I was quite good at the job, as it goes, but I felt constrained and not a little bored. Pfondue, the merchant I worked for could see this and helped me get an apprentice's position in a weapons foundry he owned, provided I kept helping him with some his more important paperwork and correspondence."
"I developed a great interest in weapons, and became quite proficient with many of those that I had learned for forge and build. Then, Pfundue went, well, bankrupt and I enlisted in the Sardian army and I've already told you the rest."
"So, have you got any hidden talents you haven't told us about yet? Pushy parents? Or skills in basketweaving or fishmongery that you can fall back on in hard times?" :) Raul smiles warmly to show that he doesn't usually meet people with quite such an unusal background as his.
Alarian smiles sadly but with some humour, "I am sad to say that I am bereft of basket weaving skills, nor am I a fisherman. I grew up in a nobleman's household and was able to pick up odds and ends of learnng from the lady of the house, who was a very kind soul. I was in the lord's fyrd and saw some combat against outlaws and that sort of thing, hence this" he pats the longsword he wears, which seems to be of good quality. "There was a great dispute, an argument, for which I was at fault. So I left my lord's land and like you, am now a traveller."
Ivor's nose wrinkles at the thought of fish. He's never quite trusted the stuff since that night in Gablehead when the foreign hobbit convinced him that raw fish was a real delicacy. Even now, the smell of the stuff makes him queasy.
Oblivious to the jests of his companions at the expense of the intelligensia, Ivor stares across the room, trying to remember whether he remembered blue robes from 'Ancient and Mystical Orders of the Arcane: a Concise History of their Beliefs and Traditions,' or if it was that chap in 'Old Nanny Gnomekin's Big Book of Bedtime Stories for little Gnomes aged 3 and over, volume 3.'
Ivor recognises the robes as those of the order of the all seeing eye. It is a rather prominent group of magicians, in fact, possibly moreso than any other in the kingdom. However, this old spellweaver's robes are patched and tattered, clearly he has been a wizard for a long time and hasn't had the chance to repair his robes much recently.
As Alarian focusses in on the small group by the far wall, he does indeed make out a few words.
"But my dear fellow" calmly states the wizard, teeth on edge, the noise of the crowd drowns out most of what he says next but the few words that are audible sound like "remuneration," " services", and "time of year".
After a few more moments conversation the priest leans back in his chair, beckoning one of the acolytes to him, who nervously approaches. A few words are had, and then the young acolyte makes his way nervously to the bar.
Are they in fact asking him to carry out a task for them? Intriguing. "Shall I get the next round?" asks Alarian. He goes up to the bar and stands next to the acolyte, "They seem quite on edge there, don't they?" he says to the acolyte.
As Alarian approaches the bar he manages to overhear the stammering acolyte pointing at his table and asking the barman for "whatever they're having, again please" and he sees coins change hands.
The barman balls out another short yet incomprehensible order to the barmaid and she starts weaving her way back to the bar (probably to pick up the drinks the young acolyte just ordered, wealthy customers like these guys get special treatment).
Not long after Alarian heads for the bar, Ivor has a flash of inspiration.
"The All-Seeing Eye!" he exclaims, rising out of his chair then realises he's being a bit too loud and clamps his hands over his mouth. Settling back down in his chair, he turns to Raul and explains in a whisper:
"The old guy, he's wearing the robes of the All-Seeing Eye. Y'know, that big group of arcanists based right here in Medhera. I knew I recognised them! Some people get them mixed up with the Mystic Circle of Willis, but it's definitely not. Look, you can tell by the way the stars on the robe are arranged int-"
An often-seen look from Raul reminds Ivor that he's in danger of going off on a tangent.
"But I thought they were pretty well-off; I didn't think he'd be so shabbily dressed... Maybe his good robe's in the wash?"
Edited ever so slightly to help.
The acolyte ignored me! How rude. Any idea on that dwarf's crest?
Quote from: Fabian on May 30, 2007, 02:03:16 PM
The acolyte ignored me! How rude. Any idea on that dwarf's crest?
I haven't got round to writing for him yet and CH hasn't told me what his insignia stands for yet either :(. So I may just have to make something up :)."Uh, sir?" The young brother turns to face Alarian, "sir," he repeats, "that is, well, you know, sir.... Business, sir. Erm...." at this the corner of his bottom lip curls as if he's about to bite it but he manages to suppress the nervous impulse. "Sir, if you'd just sit down sir," he swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing noticably in his skinny throat, "brother Berden will be with you soon, sir. The drinks are on him."
Behind him the tired barmaid, slouched against the bar whilst the barman pours pints, gives the young novice a very demeaning look. She clearly doesn't think much of the sheltered life he's lead.
Alarian looks straight at the young man, and says kindly and seriously "Thank you to Brother Berden for a kindness to strangers, we shall repay it." He walks back to the table, "Well, it seems that I did not have to buy a round after all; it would appear that Brother Berden of the Theydoric order is our patron for the night!" he says smiling, "Although I'm sure that it shall have to be repaid with some service. The wizard spoke something about 'services' and 'remuneration'; perhaps we are the second choice?"
Thanks for the edit, Balgin- didn't want to say anything that'd be contradicted when more info is revealed.
A burly dockhand moves in front of the arguing pair, blocking Ivor's line of sight. He stares at the man's sea serpent tattoo, which covers a bicep larger than Ivor's head, and he gulps nervously and sinks back down in his seat.
When Alarian comes back from the bar with his news, Ivor's absentmindedly sketching a copy of the tattoo whilst staring into mid-air. He's pleased at the thought of free drinks, and somewhat curious as to what exactly is going on- it's not everyday a clergyman buys a round, after all. When the wench delivers the drinks, he settles back with his fresh cider and tries to look relaxed. After all, Raul is often telling him that first impressions count for a lot when it comes to finding work, and that order they picked up this evening wasn't cheap...
Despite himself, Alarian is excited at the prospect of being involved in something that smacks of intrigue. Priests... know nothing fools... Quiet, spirit, if it is to your distaste then it is all the more to my liking.
Aurum is looking at the bottom of his mug and watches as the barmaid brings a fresh mug to Rogon. He decides to get another so he raises his empty mug and says "another" with a harsh accent. You can tell he speaks another language that you have not heard before.
"Courtesy of the priest," mumbles the maid as she sets teh drinks down on the table. After the group have had a few minutes to sip away (and wonder what's going on), the priest signs for the magician to remain seated (sort of a "wait here" gesture) and combes ambling across the room towards the small company's table. (I'm assuming Kiaphas and the dwarven brothers are not there but the other three characters are).
Brother Berden is in his late thirties and robed as befits a priest of the order. A dark skull cap rests upon his pate and a close cropepd goatee frames his mouth. He currently seems quite perplexed and is clearly relieved to see some civilised faces amongst the crowd.
"Greetings," he says, and his voice speaks of eloquence and learning, "I am brother Salian Berden of the church of Theydori and I currently require your help." With that he pulls up a chair and stands behind it, resting his hands on the top of the backrest. "If you are willing, that is. You see, the church requires the services of the eminent scholar, Naedath Kelden over there, to assist us in a matter of great importance. Unfortunately, he is unwilling to do so without some, assistance and protection. You see, it's the weather, you see...." Here he casts his eyes back across the room to the "eminent" Naedath before continuing. "He claims that his joints sieze up at this time of the year, but I suspect he's just trying for more money, and then it is nearly time for the raiding season again and he just wouldn't feel safe upon the ship without some bodyguards."
Pulling the seat back slightly, as if to sit, he asks "shall we retire to a more suitable room to discuss the matter away from the prying ears of the mob?"
Alarian looks at Ivor and Raul, "It seems like a sensible idea to me, what say you?"
Ivor draws himself up in his chair, trying hard to look suitably like bodyguard material. The effect is vaguely comical, as his brow furrows and his singed eyebrows knit together.
He doesn't want to blow the contract for the others, so he keeps quiet- he's used to letting Raul do all the talking in this sort of situation. Scanning the room for inspiration, he sees an intimidating pair of dwarves glancing in this direction, and subtly tries to emulate their body language, taking a big glug of cider.
Alarian suppresses a grin at Ivor's posturing, and turns back to the priest "I think that we might need the services of a particular kind of man if we're to venture out onto the whale's path; perhaps you could sound out the man of Gurthor there to see if he is of a mind to accompany us?"
Raul has visibly relaxed from the earlier escapade with the "mouse" and with the prospect of finding some useful work. The extra pint of ale has helped too, even if it is only the weak rotten slop they serve in this dive: but ale is ale after all. Ivor's upkeep is something that Raul needs to consider; but Raul is sure it will pay off for them both one day.
"Perhaps, then, if he is agreeable we might all retire to a different location together to discuss this proposal of yours. I'm certainly interested enough to find out more, brother."
Sorry keeper, I meant Teufel's character (the druid), not the dwarves (whoever they are) :icon_razz:
Fixed my earlier post. Thanks Fabian :)
OOC: Whoops, missed this til now.
Kiaphas Stormvoice is oblivious to all around him, staring out the window into the storm. He whistles tunelessly thru his teeth, tho someone listening carefully might hear it parallelling the ebb and flow of the rain across the roof. He grins hugely each time thunder rumbles.
He wears dark seagreen robes, weathered and sun bleached, and as wild as his black mane.
Brother Salian Berden leads the group back past the bar towards the empty room at the back where drunkards can crash out for the night. As he passes the two dwarfs he suggests that "perhaps you might care to join us" and keeps on moving.
The venerable Naedath clutches at his staff and uses it to lever himself to his feet. He begrudgingly follows the assembled company into the back room whilst the two acolytes nervously pinch disused barstools and hope none of the patrons notice. If they do, they don't seem to care.
As they pass where Kiaphas is standing, he turns. In a rumbling voice he asks, "Did you mention a need for Gurthor's aid?"
"Why yes indeed," replies the sage Naedath, "a safe hand to guide the ship to it's destination." Brother Berden scowls and the wizard sneers at him, clearly intent on putting him in his place.
"Well done." Raul says quietly to Ivor, leaning down a little to put a friendly hand on his shoulder. "You're doing really well. Keep it up just a while longer, my friend."
Kiaphas grins. "I have need to commune with the sea again from an open deck. It seems Gurthor intends for our wakes to cross." He pats the sage on the shoulder heartily, and sweeps along with the group as if he always belonged.
Alarian smiles and says to Raul "It would seem that we have joined a veritable warband now! I'm glad that the sea-priest was amenable."
Pleased that Raul has praised him, Ivor buckles on his backpack and follows the group, taking care to stick close to his larger friend so as not to get separated- he didn't want a repeat of the incident in Scorta, after all. (OOC: Thanks Fabian. Going to have to get a list of random throwaway placenames I can use for things like that; I'm sure I've already referred to something in Scorta...)
Lyrie is now Scorta, isn't it?
Scorta. I think that's right.
And so the group bundles into the small room, making themselves as comfortable as they can with only three stools and very beer spills (and half cleaned up vomit) on the floor.
Once everyone's relatively settled down, brother Berden once more speaks.
"Now then everybody," he begins, "I am brother Salian Berden of the church of Theydori, master of unanswerable riddles, lord of the known truth. Allow me to introduce, to you, a piece of recent history. Some of you will recall that, one hundred and fifty years ago civil war wracked the kingdom of Drechanon. Now then, this state of instability was hardly condusive to our great wealth of knowledge held within our halls. As such, it was decided that the church remove many of it's most sacred relics, by ship, south to Elkia, there to be reclaimed once the kingdom was stable once more.
"As fate would have it, a mighty storm arose and a great many of our ships were wrecked. One of these wrecks took place just off the coast of a small island, not that far from our shores. Now what is unusual about this, is that despite the isle's proximity to the mainland, it was on none of our maps and none of our ships had ever sighted it before. It was a year or two before rescue came, and when it did, it became evident that the island contained lost secrets of it's own. Consequently, we have established a monastery on this isle, there to unearth the secrets contained within the ruins, and as a base for skilled divers who seek our lost treasures.
"Now then, some of our more recent finds have baffled even the greatest minds and to this end we have engaged the rewnowned sage, Naedath Kelden, to study these artifacts. I have with me a letter from the abbot of the Guardian Isle abbey, hopefuly it should explain all."
And with that, he places a letter on the table which bears the Theydori seal.
Quote from: Fabian on June 01, 2007, 11:10:19 AM
Lyrie is now Scorta, isn't it?
Nope. We worked out that Port Lyrie is not actualy in Drechanon but in the eastern elven kingdom. Scorta is now a small town in northern Drechanon near the border with the northlands :p.
A copy of Abbot Olmaren's letter to the church of Theydori in Medhera is now in the player handouts thread.In addition to the letter, brother Berden also spreads a map on the table announcing that "this is a map of the Isle of Guardian to which we wish the eminent sage Naedath to travel. Unfortunately, the most knwoeldgeable fellow does not feel safe enough to undertake this voyage alone," at this he glares at the greedy old bugger before continuing, "and so we are forced to seek those willing to travel with him and ensure his safety."
"A new island? Gurthor is generous indeed, to give you an island in return for the fleet he took!" Kiaphas beams. "You and your god are truly in his favour, and I would feel privileged to join you in an expedition to this marvelous land!"
Alarian nods during the story, familiar with recent Drechanon history, and addresses Brother Berden "Brother, I would be eager to visit the isle for its own sake, as well as accompany so worthy a gentleman. These artifacts sound intriguing."
"Oh my... that does sound like fun!" Ivor says, eagerly, then remembers himself and with a small cough settles back down and waits for Raul to speak.
The thought of a lost island filled with arcane secrets is very exciting, and, try as he might, Ivor's attempt at looking business-like doesn't do a particularly good job of masking his interest.
Alarian grins at Ivor's unrestrained enthusiasm.
Aurum smiles and looks at his brother, he says in dwarven "good thing we came to see what he wanted. We get a chance to travel together now." He adjusts his shield and puts a dagger in the sheath.
"Good, good," says brother Berden, "I'm glad to see you so eager to set off," at this the acolytes shift nervously, "you see, the thing is that, well, there are certain high ranking priests within the church who do not think this mission of great importance and so I am operating with limited funding. On top of that, what with the recessions and so on, well, there's been certain cutbacks we've had to make."
"What he's saying," breaks in the eminent Naedath, "is that he can't afford to pay you."
Shocked, the acolytes look for the door, as if to flee, but fortunately brother Salian Berden is prepared for such an eventuality. "Of course, we would not ask you to embark on this endeavour for nothing. However, we cannot afford to pay you. As such, the wise sage Kelben here shall pay you out of the monies I am to pay him for this task."
Naedath Kelben scowls at this but speaks not a word.
"I shall be paying him two hundred, two score and ten gold coins of the realm and from that he shall have to pay you whatever ammount you all agree is reasonable, based on the understanding that, as he shall be undertaking most of the work, he shall claim the greater share of the reward."
At this mr Kelben grins wickedly.
"Now then," adds brother Berden, "your ship, the Grey Gull, departs at the docks in the morn, I trust you shall all be aboard. Now I have some important matters to attend to back at the church but if any of you have any questions, or something, I am more than willing to delay those of my more onorous duties that can certainly wait."
And with a grin he rubs his goatee and waits for an exuse to stay a little longer.
Alarian pipes up, "Brother, have there been any sightings of spirits or unusual creatures haunting the island? Perhaps disturbed by the the investigation, or angered by the removal of the artifact?" He looks shrewdly at the priest to see if he'll level with the newly assembled band.
"I know that this maybe a question our Gurthorian friend can answer more readily, but can you tell us of the shipping situation at all? As you say the raiding season is not yet upon us, but has anyone told the raiders that?" he asks half-jokingly .
" The northern raiders are unpredictable indeed friend. And as for ghosts and the whatnot, I can assure you that there are none whatsoever my good sir. The abbey has been established firmly on the island for a good five and tewnty years now. It should have been built earlier but, unfortunately, these ancient elven ruins were abandoned by certain arrogant members of our order who thought other matters more pressing. In fact, the isle was forgotten for a good three score and ten years before brother Jarden Gamete discovered records of it, written by the survivors of the original shiwpreck. Eventualy he was able to persuade the church to establish a settlement upon the island to recover our lost relics and search the ruins for what knowledge we may find as to their former purpose." Folding his hands he smiles fondly at the thought of discovering new information about these elven ruins.
Bet you wish there was an elf in the party now :p.
"Gold comes from the dead earth. I'll rely on the providence of Gurthor, for it is His tide that guides us."
Do I know anything about the conditions we'll face? Profession: Sailor; Kn: Nature; Survival ?
Gimme a while to work it out. At this time of year that part of the sea's relatively warm (being close to land) but it can get a bit rough as spring can occassionaly be ungentle breaking. They haven't actualy todl you where it is yet but merely that it's a few days offshore. That's why the informatiob I gave you is pretty vague, but Kiaphas has seen storm clouds brewing in the east and the recent weather's been a bit rough and wet too. You know, April showers kind of thing.
Rogan nods back at Aurum. "Yes, it's been too long. We should have ample time to catch up on this trip. Did you ever kill that bear you always talked about?"
At the priest's explanation smiles back easily. "What little payment you can offer will be enough for my part. I'm always happy to help those in service to the gods."
Naedath Kelden, the sage, indicates that he would be "willing to pay each of you fifteen gold pieces each" and people fall to talking. After a few minutes Raoul gets up to stretch his legs (and maybe fetch another pint from the bar). As he leaves the backroom he feels a tug at his sleeve and recognises the unmistakable reek of an exess of brandy. Turning he sees a shortish burly looking sea salt who walks with a sailor's swagger (either that, or it's the drink) clutching at a nearly empty bottle of brandy.
"Aye aye shipmate," grins the sailor, "now I jus' couldn't help overhearing as 'ow you be a sailin' ter the isle o' Guardian". The best way to describe his voice would be a deep gravelly irish growl with a hint of the stereotypical Bristol/pirate accent of making all the sounds rounder and bolder so as to carry across the sounds of a storm.
"Now then, Iy'ff got a proposishun for yew tha' yew jus' might want ter hear of." And with that Raoul sense that there's proffit involved. The sailor raises his brandy bottle and taking a large swig, eyes his audience cautiously before preparing to continue.
Alarian folds hia arms and looks round the room, before addressing the priest, "For myself, I also am eager to be a part of this venture. I cannot speak for any other."
Back in the bar the sailor addresses Raoul, "now yew lissen, an' yew lissen gud. Iye wuz wanderin' iff yew'd liyke to meakk a littul pauffit. Ye'see, now, I hear'd as how you're ter be sailin' aboard th' Grey Gull ter that island wot the munks are so fond of. Noiy then, 'f truth be told, th' Merry Maid of Elkia use' ta do tha' run."
"That's my cappan's ship, tha' is," he adds with a grin, " or at least it wuz. Yasee, oiy had a littul buysiness on Guardian as wuz left unfinished as it wurr. Can't talk here, too many ears," casting his eyes about nervously he continues, "meet me outsidein theeyalley an' Oi'll tell yew all habout it. Alone mind," raising a warning finger he staggers towards the door.
Looking after him part of Raoul knows the drunk's too innebriated to cause him any serious harm but what little his conscience and common sense he has is patheticaly attempting to warn his greed and impulsive nature to leave well alone. He waits for a minute or two after the drunk leaves and then decides wether to follow him or not.
Kaiaphas, bored with the talk of gold, sees Raul leave. He's not sure, but he thinks he remembers Raul from his street gang days before he was Chosen by Gurthor. So he follows him to the bar.
"Buy you a drink there, friend?"
"You can buy me a drink in a few minutes, if that is OK with you. Kiaphas, isn't it?" Raul looks him deep in the eyes. "We've met before, haven't we? I don't think either of us wants to mention where or why that might be, but it looks like we've both changed direction, now."
"Listen, I know you'll understand if I ask you to keep this between us for a little while. I've just had a drunk sailor tell me he's got some information about these priests. I think they've stiffed his captain in the past and he asked to speak to me outside, alone, but he might just want to try and turn me over. If you could happen to come out into the alley outside in five minutes, or if you hear shouting, and you have my word that I'll tell you everything I know afterwards. I'll even buy that drink. Watch my purse, just in case." he presses his belt pouch into Kiaphas' hand.
Raul's belt pouch contains half of his current cash.
Raul looks back up unto Kiaphas' eyes, looking for a response based on this history of a life he left behind, but one he is sure he spent with men like Kiaphas. He looks only for a second, his face one of trust, not even giving Kiaphas a chance to respond before letting go of his hand and turning and leaving the bar, unconciously checking his sword and daggar are readily to hand if needed, determined to find out what the drunk wants, even if it is just a fight.
"May Gurthor's rain protect you," Kiaphas rumbles quietly to Raul's departing back. He then orders a drink, and stands nursing it by the door, apparently lost in the storm again, actually, listening for signs of trouble.
Raoul passes out of the door and around the corner into the alley where he spies the brandy addled sailor hunched up under the eaves trying to escape the rain. Upon seeing him the old sea dog beckons him over and speaks in a loud whisper.
"So ye came, so yer came. Well moy name is Fynlass, Thran Fynlass. Hnoy then, my cappan use' ta do the Guardian run, so 'e did. Las' tiyme 'e come back, they says to 'im, as 'ow they won't be needin' his services no more. Found 'nother cappan as'll do it cheaper, so they says. 'course there wuz talk o' cutbacks an' finances an' th' church roof repair fund an' stuff, but I reckons as 'ow they jus' didden luyke 'im.
"Anyroad, this happens er inconvenience me graetlee. Y'see, Iy have a friend on Guardian, goes by the name of Barrick, now he and I have unfinished business like. Naturaly I tried to enroll on the crew of the good ship Grey Gull but their cappan Ableford sez 'e won't ha' me. Sez I'm a good fer nuffink knave wi' a bad reputation." At this he chuckles before continuing," so, me an' Barrick, well jus' me really, poor Barrick won't know 'till the Grey Gull pulls into dock 'stead o' the Merry Maid of Elkia. So me, I wuz wanderin' if you could help us out here."
Now he becomes serious and seems to sober up a bit, "you won't believe what's stashed away on that thurr island. There's gold to be had I tell 'ee. Gold. Why, there'streasures there as'd make a man rich, so they would. An' those there munks 'a been diggin' it all up in quiet like. So me an' my friend Barrick, we decided to relieve them of some of this great mound o' wealth as it were. They been a diggin' up gemstones on Guardian an' I don't mean raw stones right outta th' ground neither. I mean stones wot the elvesis has cut and crafted into things o' real beauty, big as a fist shipmate, oh yes.
"So my man, Ballick, he's going to arrange for some o' th' stones ter go missin' like, jus' afore the good ship the Merry Maid of Elkia is due to pull in wi' supplies, only it won't be the Merry Maid see, it'll be that blasted Grey Gull, an' me not a foot on deck with it. Now mark you this, an' mark yew well: there be an old hollow tree 'pon the cliffs above the beach on the east o' the island where the ship's a due to dock fer me to collect like. Now you'll know it 'cause there's an' old shrine o' sorts by th' tree as well.
"Now those bloody munks is gunna be watchin' him once the stones go disappearin' like, probably search him when he boards the ship too, so we need someone else ter go an' pick 'em up, ain't that so eh? Well, now that won't be me, that damned cappan Ableford's put pay to that. But yew, yew'll tekk a littul stroll up the cliffs like an' find some pretty bird's eggs in an ole hollow tree by a shrine, if yer catch moiy drift like." At this he chuckles heartily.
"Now yew jus' bring 'em back ter port here in Medhera luyke an' we knows a good jeweler who'll pay well for 'em an' we can all be rich. What d'yer say shipmate? Are yew in, or are yer not?"
And with that he extends a hand to shake on the deal.
Ivor starts to scribble down a copy of the map in his book, while day-dreaming about elven ruins. He hasn't had much first-hand experience of elven architecture, but there were a few tomes in the University library he read one winter holiday. All very exciting indeed!
Raul keeps his back to the wall, next to Thran, but at arms length distance, trusting his hat and gear to keep the worst of the rain off him.
"You make an interesting offer there Thran, but I think it is only fair that I share some information about myself with you, too. My name is Carlos, and I am not as green as my clothes."
It really is Carlos, check my character sheet :)
Raul pauses for a few seconds to try and make Thran Fynlass a little uncomforable.
"You tell a good tale, and one with things that could tempt a man. I didn't get dragged up with the last catch to be hauled aboard. I don't do little jobs. Well, not any more."
"But a man in this world has a number of complex loyalties and issues that need to be balanced. Sometimes that balancing is done with gold. Neither of us would want to find ourselves crossing the wrong people, now, would we?"
"All you said was 'rich' and I need to know first if you're working this alone with your island man, or do you represent other interests? I also need to have an idea of how much 'rich' is likely to be, and what I'm supposed to do on my return here, once we have made this agreement."
"Once we agree, I might even have some information about your man. Ballick, wasn't it?"
Raul keeps his hands at his side, and his eyes on Thran Fynlass, waiting for an answer. But his ears are aware that this might still be a trap.
"Aye, it jus' be us two, meself an' Ballick in on this. None others. We jus' need a hand in gettin' the stones off the island like." Thran grins at the prospect of the money he'll be making. "I don't know how much they's worth yet but from what my man Ballick's told ter me, I know it's a fortune, an' I know 'im well enough ter know when he's fibbin' too."
"Good. Then it sounds like we're pretty close to an agreement, then But there is something that you should know first." Raul puts on his 'serious' face, and modifies his accent just a little to try and be a bit more intimate with Thran.
"I just saw a letter from Abbot Olemaren, only saw it for a bit, but I'm pretty good at readin'. I were a scribe once. Amongst some other borin' bits, it seems he's done with Ballick and is sending him home on the next ship, although it weren't clear from the letter exactly why."
"So, for us, these means one of two things. Either, you still want me to get you some jew-jaws off of the island. Or, for a lesser cost to you, I can just tell him to bring them out himself. Since this ain't my job, I don't want you to think I'd rip you off by doin' stuff he can do for himself. That'd be dishonourable, and we ain't dishonourable men, are we?" :)
"Aye, so he may be," chuckles the sailor, "but the Grey Gull is that very same next ship. Supply ships only come to the isle every three or four months. As I sed, the munks'll be watchin' him so you need ter be doin' the collectshun".
"Then I think we've got a deal. I'll need to share with my colleague, the wild looking guy with the black hair that looks like he lives in a hedge, so as I've got someone watching me back. He ain't quite what he seems. But I'll pay him from what you pay me when we're all back and done. If that's good with you, then we can shake on the deal."
Raul holds out his hand to shake.
And so the deal is made, Raoul returns to the bar and Thran Fynlass slinks off into the night.
When Raul returns to the bar, he immediately seeks out Kiaphas. "He didn't want to turn me over. He wanted to cut me a deal. If I can have my purse back, I'll buy you a drink and tell you all about it. I could use some advice as to where the most profit lies in this one."
"As to profit, I cannot help you," proclaims Kiaphas. "You should not seek profit in things of the earth. Gold is of the earth. It is but another stone, which will sink you beneath the waves with it's dead weight! Seek ye instead for the profit that Gurthor provides those who are guided by Him."
He grins suddenly, handing Raul his purse. "However, not everyone is suited to His ways, or drawn in easily by His tide. And I'll have that drink, thanks, while you tell me about this skullduggery you're surely up to." He pats Raul's shoulder heartily.
"Fear not my indiscretion, lad. I'll not tell others what ways you wish to use to gather shiny metal. And somehow, it makes me nostalgic..."
"This time, the profit may not all be in metals." started Raul as he finds somewhere to sit with Kiaphas where they can talk quietly without being overheard.
"Yon sailor, one Thran Fynlass, has himself a problem. He has a mate on the island who is diverting gems from the monks' dig and he was to collect them, until the monks chose another ship to supply them. His pal is the guy in the letter from the Abbot who is about to be removed from the island for suspected larceny. So he needs a clean man to collect for him and walk off the island. Someone unlikely to be searched."
"So, clearly, I've agreed, but I've still got two options, since I'm no longer interested in just collecting money for its own sake, nice as that is, either I assist Seaman Fynlass; which has the benefits and risks of the old game; or I assist the monks to retain what is theirs, or at least what they think is theirs, which at the moment only gains me good boy points and two potential enemies. I'm inclinded to not make a decision yet, perhaps not until i see the goods, as a third option may present itself and I don't think I have to decide anything right now."
"I'm not even sure what these gems are. They might be just that, but it sounds like there is a lot of old magic on this island we're going to."
"What would your take have been, if you were not now a reformed character, Kiaphas?"
"Thirty percent, lad, and not a copper less! Hah!" Kiaphas chuckles at his own joke. "It's a shame you didn't follow that drunk to see where he went off to. Might have helped see if he was on the level, or is just part of someone else's larger plan."
He takes a swig of the ale, grimmaces at it's poor quality, and leans close. "Now, if you're planning to take up this offer, I'm thinking you shouldn't play by the rules that drunk gave you. Walking onto the ship with the loot is a sure way to get caught in a trap, methinks. I'd make other arrangements to get the booty on board." His black brows furrow. "Perhaps I could summon a sea otter to take it from a secluded beach to the far side of the ship, where you could string a fishing line...?" And he grins again. "Hah! I've still got it!"
"You know, I was thinking of something very similar to that." Raul grins broadly and claps Kiaphas on the shoulder. "Let us leave the issue for now and see what happens, when it happens. Now, I really need to go and make sure that Ivor is not getting into any trouble. Shall we rejoin the others?"
Alarian addresses the room "Well, it would seem we are all agreed. I for one am eager to be off as soon as we may."
Let's get to that island.
Ivor looks up, an almost surprised look on his face as Alarian speaks.
"What was that? Oh, yes, erm.. when are we leaving?"
And so, after a few more minutes the most reverend brother Salian Berden (and both his acolytes) depart. The sage Naedath Kelden also takes his leave, hobbling away into the night, supporting himself heavily with his staff, but not before arranging to meet the group at the docks in the morn.
As the carrousers in the tavern begin to drift away, so too our brave adventurers find their way to their own sleeping ararngements. In the morning they generaly gather themselves and make their way, individualy or in small group, towards the docks.
This thread has now been locked. The action continues here, aboard the Grey Gull. (http://www.customhobby.com/forum/index.php?topic=636.0)