View Full Version : Adventurer: The Masquerade
02-12-2008, 02:03 AM
A quiet little village lay snugly in a cozy valley, hidden from all the troubles of the world it seemed. Children played, adults worked, teenagers loitered. Yes, it seemed like paradise to anyone whose idea of paradise was 3 copper a day and stale bread.
But dark days seemed ahead, as a pair of orcs peered over the ridge of a nearby valley.
"Da village look ripe for lootings." said a brutish orc.
"Oh come on, Bogwok!"The other orc incredulously replied, "We're speaking our native language! Why is it that anything below 10 intelligence is instantly reduced to having the mental falculties of a furby!?"
Taking another look at the village, the second orc grimaced.
"Oh forget it! They could barely muster up enough food to feed themselves, much less our massive horde of monsters."
"Bogwok concur. Large populations not feasible without agriculture."
And so the little village was saved from certain doom.
Yes, the tedium of commonor life would continue in the village, it seemed. But not everyone was content to 'cultivate their gardens', and live the life of dull monotomy. There were five, in particular, who had dreams extending beyond their lower class drudgery. This was a world filled with heroes and villians, they knew, and the common people were in awe of these great figures of legend.
This was a world where even the lowly farmboy could become a great warrior of justice and virtue, defeating mighty dragons and earning the amity of great kings. Perhaps these five could become such heroes?
Or... at the very least, pretend to be.
Intro posts! ...But make sure to end up in a tavern at the end. :smallwink:
02-12-2008, 11:30 AM
Emla has been steadily abusing the same poor unfortunate rock for a few miles now, kicking it ahead of her on the road with a slow-burning resentment that occasionally explodes out and sent it flying way ahead, at which point she's left frustrated and bored for lack of anything to vent on. A particularly vicious kick comes when she passed the sign welcoming her to her home town.
She's managed to get a hold of herself somewhat by the time she reached the inn. Straightening up and switching on a dazzling smile, she enters with a toss of her hair.
"Please, no need to stand!" she announces to no one in particular. "Just here for a quiet drink, don't worry, you'll have plenty of time before the next performance! You won't miss a thing! Spread the word! Let your friends know!" There's a deliberate spring in her step as she bounds gaily towards the bar, her right hand trailing in the air as if her plain white peasant blouse and pale brown traveling skirt are a glamorous performer's outfit, and she's modeling for the handful in the tavern, none of whom are paying her any attention. With a flourish and a satisfied sigh, she sits herself daintily at the bar and looks expectantly at the innskeeper.
He just stares at her, arms folded.
After a pause Emla gives a little laugh and a roll of her eyes, as if they're just observing a formality, and deposits a small coin on the bar.
The innskeeper doesn't move.
The smile disappears. "How much?" she asks in a low voice.
He tells her her current tab. Her face falls. With a scowl she counts out the amount from her money-purse, which isn't exactly overflowing.
Satisfied - for now - the innskeeper rummages about and deposits a (not entirely clean, she can't help but notice) mug of ale on the counter. It's certainly not wine, and she knows without tasting it that it'll be the cheapest he's got.
Nonetheless she drinks, shoulders hunched now, drawn into herself with the performance of a minute past switched off entirely. Soon enough she'll have to hunt around and see who's willing to offer her a patch of floor to sleep on. She can't even sing for her supper - this little hamlet of Phillistines has no appreciation for the sublime magic of song. They have no poetry in their souls, she tells herself. It has nothing to do with the eighteen or so times they've all heard even the least used among her repertoire.
There has to be a better way than this...
02-12-2008, 01:06 PM
"We've gotta get outta this place... if it's the last thing we eeever do..." Fredricks sweet voice gently filled the air of the infirmiry. He sung softly and no one seemed to notice... except him... Damn it, that clod had been watching him like a hawk ever since coming into the place. Well, as long as he was over there and Fred was safetly over here...
"Hey, Freddie! I need some ointments here." Fredrick groaned on the inside as Albert requested his help. That ugly slowwitted fool! Unhappily, Fredrick stirred himself up from the bench he'd been resting upon and fetched the desired item. He would have liked to deposit it and get away from his latest admirer but Albert always worked so slowly, forcing Fredrick to hang around and assist.
"So you're names Freddie, huh? I'm Matthias." Albert's patient, a traveling merchant's apprentice from out of town turned a warm smile upon the trapped acolyte. "Just came in from the city, in town for one day."
"That's really great." Fredrick replied shortly, hoping to indicated a lack of interest. It wouldn't work. Men never seemed to care.
"So, have you ever met her?" Matthais not so subtly asked.
"Who? Friggia Silvia?" Fredrick replied in a resigned tone.
"Yeah! You must have then! You look just like her, you know that?"
Fredrick sighed. "Yes..."
"What's wrong? I think you're pretty lucky... you know, it's a very nice look, if you don't mind me saying, I-"
Fredrick suddenly lashed out, unexpectedly grabbing Matthias's arm. Ignoring Albert's cries of protest, Fredrick dragged Matthias to his feet as he held the patients hand against his robe, where his chest would have been were he a woman.
Matthais just blinked in confusion, compounding Fredrick's frustration. "I-"
Fredrick gave another yank, pulling Matthais's hand to another location. "Get it now?"
Matthais's eyes opened wide in shock. Fredrick released him and turned away in disgust. "I'm out of here, Albert."
"What? You can't do that. You-"
"Watch me!" Fredrick yelled as he stormed out.
It was a stupid thing to do. He'd be punished for it no doubt, but Fredrick didn't care. Right now he needed out of there. That damn temple with it's damn prayers and the damn clods like Matthias hitting on him and those damn priests not caring! Fredrick resolved in that instant to get stinking drunk. So long as he was in trouble he might as well be deep in trouble. Fredrick grabbed a seat at the bar and dropped a few coppers on the counter.
"Hey, Gerard!" Fredrick barked in the barkeepers direction. "Give me some of that swill you call beer! Hey, Emla."
Fredrick gave an almost unbitter smile to the woman he'd sat beside. Fredrick kinda liked Emla. He told himself it was because she was an interesting person with diverse talents, but his inner cynic knew differently. Who doesn't like having someone around who makes you feel like less of a failure in comparrison? Plus, Emla wasn't too bad looking and Fredrick always liked a pretty face.
"Nice to have you back in town, let me know when you're next show is." he said by way of pleasantries, making sure to not add "So I can be sure to duck out." instead he asked "So, see anywhere nice on the latest tour?"
02-12-2008, 04:06 PM
Joss pumped the huge bellows and turned to face Sprockson. The sallow little man glared at him, one lip curled.
"You're falling behind, boy," he spat.
"I'm just one guy, Mister Sprockson!" Joss cried. "I was out shoeing those horses yesterday! I couldn't work on the swords!"
Sprockson paced up and down the little aisle. "Excuses, excuses. I suppose you'll be wanting a day off for Leaftide as well."
Joss rolled his eyes. "Yes, I was."
The old man let out a little hmmph and walked off. "I'm going to the Crow's Nest," he announced. "Get back to work, and don't forget that job for the knight."
Joss sighed and looked over at the old, nameless dog that skunked around the shop. It was in its customary corner, and gave him a mournful look. He sighed and walked over to the long, low worktable. He worked the catches on the long tube and pulled out the canvas. The apprentice gasped and stumbled back a bit, cursing as he hit his arm on an anvil.
The portrait they'd been given--Sir Baldrevedere wanted to see if they could make him a shield with his face upon it--looked just like Joss. The same shade of blonde hair flowed from both heads (although Joss had long since learned to tie his back behind his head after an unfortunate accident with the bellows that had left him smelling like burnt hair for days), the same blue eyes looked out from both faces. Joss blinked a few times and then sighed and dug in his pocket for a piece of charcoal.
What a life that would be, he thought as he took down notes on how much metal he would need. Riding a horse everywhere, meeting kings, the ladies...
Joss blushed at the very thought. A girl had winked at him in the market the other day and asked if it was true what they said about blacksmiths and swords. He'd stammered out that, yes, it was, but you had to order a week in advance because it took so long to get the blade sharp now. She'd muttered something about "charisma" and wandered off, much to Joss's relief.
He sighed, and realized he wasn't really concentrating on his work anymore. Somewhere in the distance, the village bell rang. A spot of lunch would probably help to keep me on task, he thought, standing from the worktable.
A leaf blew down from a tree somewhere and flew past his face. Harvest time soon, he thought glumly. If only I had some way to help Dad...
The big blacksmith's apprentice shrugged, and headed for the tavern.
02-13-2008, 12:54 AM
Tristim looked up from the tome lying in front of him, hearing a commotion from somewhere within the temple, raised voices in a house of worship, surely something that did not happen often, yet, here, there had been several disturbances of the peace in as many days. Tristim wished he could leave this town quickly, moving on to a bigger city, but it would be at least a few more days before a caravan would move out of town, and Tristim was not stupid enough to brave the road alone.
Standing up, Tristim walked towards the window, to see a woman... no, a man, moving past at speed. Fredrick...I wonder what's wrong.
Further thoughts were pushed out of his mind as his stomach let out a grumble. How long have I been down here?
He tried to recall, but could not, and so, closed the book he had been reading, and walked out of the small room. On his way out, he ran into one of the priests.
"Good day Tristim, has your stay here been productive so far?" The man asked him.
"Oh yes, very much so." Tristim lied.
And both moved on again in different directions.
"Productive..." Tristim smiled ruefully, the meager supply of books at this small temple had nearly no information, or rather, no interesting information, but Tristim had not expected it to be, really. This was just an in between stop, en route to one of the cities.
Stepping out into the sunlight, Tristim squinted his eyes, looking round, before making his way to the inn; Some food would be nice...
02-13-2008, 11:19 AM
Rowan blinked his eyes open to greet a new day. Then again, they sky was still so dark as to be late rather than early. He threw on his new clothes and put on the worn leather armor over them. He hadn't liked taking it from the house guards, but he had left enough money behind to buy a new one. He sidled out of his room, as the door creaked slightly. He froze slightly at the sound, then eased slightly. His grandparents had left for the capital to be present at the court for some occasion or another, and thus most of the guards and servants had gone with them. Besides, he couldn't be trespassing in his own house.
He saw his prize at the end of the hall: the ornate coat of arms atop the grand staircase. Festooned with weapons of various kinds, it was meant to capture the eye of visitors and show the glory of the Delalac house. what it did in reality was take up a great deal of wall space, and made walking through the great hall fairly dangerous. He eased over to the tacky display and slowly withdrew one of the weapons. It was old, and of little value. It didn't glow when unsheathed, or shoot fire out the tip. It wasn't even very well-made. But Rowan saw that scimitar every day, and thought it one of the finest weapons known to mankind. He drew it from its sheath to admire its majesty. It reflected the weak lantern light, as if on sufferance. He put the sword back in its sheath, and went back into his room.
He opened his window into the cold early morning, and sat out on the sill. The front door was locked, and he didn't have a key. Besides, he thought, everyone knows that escaping out a window is the only way to start a quest.There was a trellis in the garden not very far from his window. He reached out with his foot and found a good purchase. He pulled out of the window, and out onto the trellis. He swung down onto the side, in order to climb down. With a yelp and a thud, he fell the rest of the way down the trellis. Roses! Rubbing his tail bone and picking thorns out of his feet, he swore quietly. He stood up, and began the walk towards the town.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away...
Rowan walked down the main thoroughfare before sunrise, as people began to filter out of their homes. A pair of men in particular where watching him pass. "That one's a good mark," said one to the other, "he looks like he'd have some coin." "I don't know," said his partner, He looks kind of...pale. The first man turned to his partner and said, "We didn't escape from Sturmrest just so you could be afraid of pale men who are...out...at...night." The color drained from his face. Later in the day, a pair of pickpockets were accosted by the watch, who claimed that they were being followed by vampires.
Things were looking up by midday. His back had stopped hurting, and he had found a place to scrape the cow pie off his foot. He decided to stop in at the tavern. Everyone knows that's where adventures always start anyway. The tavern was occupied by people breaking one of the concrete taboos of alcoholism. Most of the patrons were Nondescript Plain Citizens. There were two women talking at the bar about music, a solidly built fellow who seemed occupied in thought, and a thin, lanky man with the air of a sorcerer about him. He stood in the door for a moment, drinking in the scene, and remembered to get out of the way before he got trampled by an over-eager consumer.
02-13-2008, 02:36 PM
"Nice to have you back in town, let me know when you're next show is." he said by way of pleasantries, making sure to not add "So I can be sure to duck out." instead he asked "So, see anywhere nice on the latest tour?"
Emla sums up her feelings about the question with a derisive sniff. "Unfortunately sea traffic out of the port in Sohrnuff was temporarily suspended -" at least for people who couldn't pay, she didn't add - "and I was obliged to take my art the peoples along the Kingsroad. Who, I must say, have no appreciation for fine culture. Bawdy ballads and drinking songs are all they want to hear. It was thoroughly frustrating."
She looks at Frederick curiously. "But shouldn't you be at the infirmary? What brings you here at this time of day?" A hopeful look brightens her face. "Did you hear that I was back? Are they putting the word out already? But I haven't even organized a show yet!"
02-13-2008, 09:23 PM
Fredrick gave a glum shake of his head at Emla's report on musical tastes. Yeah, he liked them bawdy ballads and drinking songs and it looked like they weren't in the works again.
"Hm, can't say how much buzz you've made, Emla, I'm sorta confined to temple grounds for another week. Something about... oh yeah, storming out halfway through my rotation on infirmary duty. Wasn't my fault really, freakin'... But on a happier subject." Fredrick took the mug that the barkeeper had finally produced and held it up for a toast. "To better days!"
Fredrick fell silent as he searched around for a new conversation topic.
02-14-2008, 12:53 AM
Walking into the inn, Tristim went straight for the barkeep, 'A loaf and something to wash it down, please.'
before turning, and looking around. No tables free, of course. Tristim continued looking, saw a familiar robe, at the other end of the bar, and moved over. 'Good Day, Fredrick, are you well?'
It was then that Tristim noticed the woman Fredrick had been talking to. 'and a good day to you madam, I don't believe we have met?'
[OOC:a bit short, I know, but I wanted to post despite the rush I'm in:smallbiggrin:]
02-14-2008, 05:04 AM
Emla extends a hand to the newcomer as if expecting it to be taken and kissed, oblivious to how overly formal this is for their surroundings. "Heavens! You must be new in town, my good man, if you haven't heard of me. You simply must come to my next show to make up for hurting my feelings so.
"I am Emla the Mellifluous, Lady of the Lyre, Keeper of the Lore of the Western World, Singer of the Song Sublime, the toast of every performing house between Sohrnuff and Belshaw, the..."
She shows no sign of stopping or even slowing down of her own account, and the breath she took before launching into this recitation was ominously deep.
02-14-2008, 09:46 AM
Joss enters the bar and tries to move past the tight knit group and get the barkeep's eye. He reaches into his pocket and jingles around the silvers and coppers in there.
"Something to eat and a drink, please," Joss says, once he has the barkeep's eye. "Something cheap, preferably," he says a little sadly.
He looks over at the group loudly talking and sighs. I bet they're all adventurers, he thinks. Got real levels and everything.
02-14-2008, 09:51 AM
Tristim, seeing the extended hand took it, bowed down, and brushed a kiss over the back. It had been an automatic reaction, Raegbund had been sure to get proper etiquette into Tristim's mind, this included good manners towards a lady.
'Emla... I've heard that name fall...' Tristim tried to recall where he had heard it, but came up empty until he heard 'singer.' Recalling, Tristim sighed mentally, but knew that he would have to go to at least one of her performances, it was the civil thing to do, after all.
02-14-2008, 11:31 AM
Fredrick shifts uncomfortably on his barstool. Awkward...
"So, um, how about that weather. Temperate, eh?"
02-14-2008, 04:13 PM
Rowan approaches the counter, not noticing the occasional glance of recognition from some patrons. He came into town occasionally, and was not an unusual sight, but he seemed out of place without the usual guard or retainer. He got the innkeeper's attention by placing a small handful of gold coins on the bar. He asks, "What could I get for this?"
02-16-2008, 11:23 PM
The bartender looks incredulously at Rowan, then pulls out a conversion chart, reading 'Platinum, Gold, Silver, Copper, Dirt' with a long list of numbers below. After perusing it for a few moments...
"20 gallons of Ale..." He begins, "40 'hunks of cheese', 200 loafes of bread..."
The innkeeper goes on for quite some time, then abruptly stops. "You must be some kind of adventurer, huh? You know, there are currencies other than gold about! Wh- Hrrumm... You know, I've heard of someone that looks kinda like you...Watshisface... Thunder King, Thunder Prince..or...Ah, the Storm Pri-" He halts, looking frightened.
"Anything you desire, milord." The innkeeper says, putting his forehead to the counter in a deep bow.
(OOC- Sorry for the delay, forgot I was que'd. :smalltongue: )
02-17-2008, 12:37 AM
Rowan smirks in what he hopes is a suitably evil fashion, taking advantage of his mistaken identity."Ah, that's a bit more like it. What's your best wine?"
02-17-2008, 02:36 AM
Tristim turned around, looking at the exchange between barkeep and noble.
'Storm Prince... does he not travel with Bein?'
turning back around again as Fredrick spoke, Tristim answered his query, 'I find it quite warm here, though, not so much that it is unbearable... I am used to the somewhat colder weathers of the north.'
02-17-2008, 11:51 AM
"By the gods!" Fredrick, like a lot of others in the bar stares with wide eyes at the man at the counter. He whispers excitedly to Emla and her new aquantence. "The storm lord! The storm lord is actually here, in our village!"
02-17-2008, 03:21 PM
Finding himself soundly ignored, Tristim turned to 'the Storm Prince' again. 'is it really him? why would he be here? where are his companions?'
These and other thoughts went through his head, as he looked at the figure standing not far away. 'If Veryamorcon is here too, I can see whether I truly look like him... what would I say to him though? I shouldn't say anything to him...'
Doubt, nervousness, a little bit of fear, it all coursed through him, as he forgot completely about everybody, save for Bein, his... idol.
02-17-2008, 04:15 PM
Joss watches the Storm Lord for a little bit and then realizes it's not him. The guy does a pretty good approximation, but for anyone who's not working their tail off in a room full of drunks and smoke all day, there are little differences.
Joss shoulders his way down the bar and goes to sit beside the faux Lord. Two wrongs don't make a right, something inside him shrilly cries. He shrugs it off and does his best imitation of Baldrevedere."Storm, you old souse, how ARE you?! Didn't know you were 'slummin' it today, too!" he yells.
Wow, Joss thinks for a second as he looks over at a stunned regular whose alcohol-lubricated gears are starting to turn. So this is what it's like to be an adventurer.
"Play along, huh?" he whispers to Rowan. "I figure we can milk this for some free grub."
02-17-2008, 05:04 PM
Rowan slides a short distance away from the man who pretends to know him. "Don't sit so close to me," he says with his best glower, only partially acting. "Who are you," he mutters under his breath to Joss, "and why do you look so familiar?"
02-17-2008, 05:52 PM
After the appropriately lengthy and impressive recitation of titles Emla's in the middle of a much-needed drink when the words "Storm Prince" are heard, with the net result of a most unladylike spray of ale and a sputtering, choking, coughing fit. As she strives to recover her breath her reaction is a strange and contradictory tangle of "immortal bloodsucking Evil Overlord, run away very fast now" and "celebrity, squeee!".
Fortunately the near-death experience lasts long enough for her suicidal glomping urge to pass and her critical eye to kick in. It's more than a little implausible that a famous, nation-ruling, adventuring vampire would happen in to a small-town inn in the middle of the day looking distinctly underdressed, or that a similarly famous companion would just happen to run in to him there... but the dramatic momentum of the scene is just too much for her to resist helping along - even if no one in this town is going to mistake her for anyone other than who she is.
Hurriedly drying herself off and sweeping to her feet she unbundles her lute, crosses the room and performs an elaborate curtsy before the pale man.
"O! great lord, with your presence you do us an honour greater than we can find words to express! Though our village has little to offer and less worth taking might I humbly submit to you what meager reminder of your great and storied home might be afforded by my unworthy recitation of the songs of Sturmrest?"
This all is delivered in the manner of a stage speech directed more at the audience than at its subject, and punctuated with grand and unsubtle winks.
02-17-2008, 06:10 PM
Rowan is visibly surprised for a moment by the sudden attention, but regains his composure just as quickly. "Right, right, yes, go on," he says to Emla, while thinking What have I gotten myself into now?
02-17-2008, 06:25 PM
"I'm Sir Baldrevedere. My friends call me Joss. You're a little short to be a Storm Prince," Joss says with a wink that hopefully looks like he's just dropping a joke.
Joss is a little intimidated by the girl's sudden approach but manages to compose himself, leaning back onto the bar with an easy smile. "Yes, yes! Of course! Sing on, fair one."
"Who is that?" he mutters at the "Storm Prince".
02-17-2008, 08:37 PM
"Call me Rowan. I didn't mean for this to happen yet, but I can't stop now." Answering Joss's question, he says, "I don't know who she is, though I've seen her when I was passing through. I like her songs." Rowan tries to remember the name. Ranna? Lenna? Emla? Irma? "Lanenne," he says out loud, hoping he matched the name to the face.
02-18-2008, 11:05 AM
"Emla! What are you doing!" Fredrick warns Emla, but seeing as his terror doesn't let his words carry more then a couple inches it isn't much good.
Fredrick hesitates for a few seconds but his sense of friendship wins out over his fear. Someone trying to kill Emla over her music was a definate possibility. And with the storm king... Swallowing his fear, Fredrick approaches the man to make ammends.
"Uh, sorry about Emla, she's..." Fredrick's appology is interupted by the only thing more terrifying in the world.
"Priest Diogenes! What brings you to my fine establishment?" Fredrick's head whipped around to see that the priest really was here. Gods! He looked pissed. Like, more pissed then normal. Fredrick backed away from the door nervously and fell into a sea next to the storm king.
"Hide me!" he squeeks in a terrified voice before ducking as low as he could. Not like it did any good. The old fart was on a beeline.. Frantically, Fredrick summoned a wild improvisation.
"Oh, I'm not so sure," came a soft voice with a sweet and lyrical accent. "Reminds me a good bit of that show we saw in the capitol..." Fredrick pats the storm king on the shoulder, wondering if he'll still have his hand after this...
The fraction of a second in which Diogenes stared at the back of Fredrick's head seemed to last forever. Then finally, he turned and stormed out.
"Sorry about that, Lord!" Fredrick frantically appologizes, wondering if the storm king will strike him down right there.
02-18-2008, 12:19 PM
'Have they all gone mad...? What in the hells are they doing'
Tristim looked at the scene unfolding before him, his hand moving towards the satchel on his side, from within, he pulled a leather band, and stroked it, subconsciously. Suddenly, as if hit by a clue-by-four, Tristim's hands rose up, and he tied the leather around his head, aligning the three sigils so that they were center on his forehead. 'So I've gone mad too...Now what?'
A clue-by-four can only hit for so many d6's of brainwaves...
02-18-2008, 02:42 PM
Rowan takes a deep breath. Keeping his cool as well as he can, he says, "Perhaps we should leave," to the people most intent on talking to him ((you all)). He gathers his cloak and puts up his hood as he wlaks out of the tavern.
02-18-2008, 05:27 PM
Emla is floating on air as she ad-libs a version of a Sturmrest patriotic ballad rhapsodizing the glory of their immortal leader and emphasizing that obedience and loyalty were great protection against being horribly murdered and drained of blood. Of course, in the original version, the long verses describing the grandeur of the Storm Prince's raiment were not hastily extemporized descriptions of Rowan's meager leather and unimpressive scimitar, but she's selling it for all she's worth in an attempt to reinforce the deception in the minds of the tavern crowd watching.
I can't believe it! Out of nowhere, with such aplomb, and they've even managed to get Fred to join in! The poise, the self-assurance, the sheer bravado with which they're playing their parts! This, this is true art! It's the most significant cultural event within a hundred miles since that time the wizard's apprentice's aide took sketches of the town as research for his new paralyzing ennui spell!
A feverish desire to join in the performance was growing within her, but unlike the rest of the improvised improv group she had gone out of her way to be recognized as herself when she entered the tavern. When the Storm non-Prince sweeps out of the building (much to the relief, no doubt, of the thoroughly convinced and therefore terrified clientele) she follows post haste - she knows full well who the Storm Prince travels with, and people have said before that she looks like her...
Paragon - are we alone outside? Do we have freedom to talk openly?
02-20-2008, 03:03 PM
Rowan, having left the tavern with his "entourage," walks into the space behind the tavern, too small to really be an alley. "Who are you," he says, turning, "and why did you that? I didn't want to be mistaken until I was well out of here."
02-20-2008, 03:04 PM
Rowan, having left the tavern with his "entourage," walks into the space behind the tavern, too small to really be an alley. "Who are you," he says, turning, "and why did you that? I didn't want to be mistaken for him until I was well out of here."
02-20-2008, 03:48 PM
"I, uh, I..." Joss says, stammering. "You were pretending to be the Storm Prince, right? Well, I figured I kind of looked like Sir Baldrevedere, so I'd play along. I'm sorry if I ruined...something."
He looks around and sighs. Great. Back to making Craft checks until the cows come home.
02-20-2008, 05:45 PM
Emla comes bounding out of the tavern hot on the pair's heels. "That was amazing!" she gushes at them. "So spontaneous! So enthralling! So adroitly handled! I didn't even know there were any decent actors within a dozen leagues! Tell me, which troupe are you from?"
02-20-2008, 08:15 PM
"Well, um, yes," he replies to Joss, "I suppose it's obvious now. I was trying to leave and find adventure. Fight the good fight, in the belly of the beast, that sort of thing. I felt useless sitting around the manor all day." Rowan narrows his eyes at Joss. "I take it you're not Sir Baldrevedere?"
Responding to Emla's sycophantic praise, he says, "Troupe? there's no troupe. I live on the estate just over that hill," as he gestures toward his home. "I guess I'm a local, Ms. ...?"
02-20-2008, 10:24 PM
"No, but I make his armor and things sometimes," Joss says morosely, kicking at a rock. "I work in the blacksmith's shop here."
02-21-2008, 01:32 AM
Quickly walking out as well, to avoid further trouble, he walked towards the others. 'Are you people crazy? if the real adventurers find out what you did...' He started, but, suddenly, his hand shot to the headband he was wearing, his face drained of colour, and he pulled it off quickly. 'What... we were doing.' He corrected himself softly.
02-21-2008, 05:45 AM
The singer's face fell. "You mean you're not actors?" she cried. "You're not professionals? You're just madmen?"
02-22-2008, 08:55 PM
"Madmen? I make a simple, civil statement and I get that. And besides, you're no judge of whether someone's 'professional' or not. Hmph." Rowan turns away and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well, now what? That display was awfully conspicuous. I don't think people will be too agreeable when they catch on."
02-22-2008, 09:19 PM
"Yeah," Joss says. "I've kind of been thinking about skipping town, but my family..." He looks around, and finally sighs. "We've got a long tradition of, you know, commonering. I'm the first person who's really done well for himself. I can't just leave them."
He looks around suddenly and his jaw drops a little. "Hey, wait a minute. Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?"
02-23-2008, 12:52 AM
"What, running away before the locals realize we're not really famous? I was going to leave soon anyway, no might be as good a time as any. I will need some supplies though. Not sure what I can get for 10 gold."
02-23-2008, 03:37 AM
'you are crazy! We can't do that!'
Tristim's eyes were wide, he was still holding on tightly to the leather band. 'We just have to get out discreetly, just have to.... wait a week...' Once again, colour drained from his face.
02-24-2008, 12:34 PM
"Why? Why should we wait? There's evil out there to be vanquished! And besides, every second we sit here could be a second in which the townspeople realize we're not famous."
02-24-2008, 02:14 PM
'There'll be a caravan through town in a week... would you brave the wilds on your own? we are not adventurers, we might look like them, but surely, the monsters and beasts won't hesitate to attack, just because of the shape of our nose, or the colour of our eyes.
02-24-2008, 04:10 PM
"The way I see it, we either stay here and live out the rest of our days in peaceful embarrassment and boredom, or we...do something else. Besides, I suppose all adventurers had to start somewhere." Joss looks around, feeling a little bit braver.
02-24-2008, 05:26 PM
Emla draws herself up to her full height, puts her hands (in fists, still clutching her lyre in her left) to her hips, and puffs herself up like an angry cat. Her eyes flash.
"I have trained under the finest artists and entertainers of the land!" ...who have happened to pass nearby, and been really hard on their luck... "How dare you impugn my professionalism! You, you are the one who thinks looking like a legendary, immortal, undead warrior will help you do great deeds, yet can't even stay in character long enough to avoid risking a lynch mob!
"Well let me tell you something! It's not about how you look! It's about style! It's about panache! It's about becoming the character, in your heart, in your soul! It doesn't matter how good or bad the costumes or makeup are - if the actor doesn't believe it, he can't make you believe it!
"And it's not killing monsters or doing great deeds that makes you a hero, either! Oh no! You know what makes a hero? Convincing everyone else that you're worth singing songs about after you're gone!"
She tosses her hair and gives a derisive sniff in Rowan's direction. "And if you're going to pull that off," she says archly, "you are clearly going to need strenuous instruction. Fortunately for you my fees are very reasonable.
"Now!" She brings up the lute in her left hand as though it were a sword coming down to signal a charge. "Exeunt! ...Thataways! We need somewhere out of the way to whip you sorry lot into shape before the show! And someone get Fred a dress. Nice falsetto, by the way."
((I am assuming mainiac has joined us outside the tavern by this point...))
02-24-2008, 08:39 PM
"Okay, fine, maybe I didn't plan this out well enough. I definitely need better armor. Something black, with spikes...," Rowan says with a bemused expression, "That's a good idea! We all look kind of like adventurers that have traveled together at some point in the past, why don't we travel together. If we pretend to be famous, we'd never have to pay for anything again! And think of the good I, er, we could do."
((@^ Nice. :smallamused: ))
02-26-2008, 01:06 PM
"Hey! It's not a dress, it's a vestment. There's a difference. Mines y'know, manly and stuff..." Fredricks sudden objection is not made any more plausible by the high pitch of his voice.
"Look, the sooner I can get out of here the better. If you guys want me I'm ready to leave right now."
02-26-2008, 02:07 PM
"I have some things I can use. A client ordered them a while back and never paid...as far as I know, they're still sitting in the closet at the shop. I can run and get those, and...well, that should be all."
02-29-2008, 02:55 PM
"That sounds like a good idea, maybe I could find some armor that's more 'in character.'"
03-02-2008, 06:01 PM
Joss shrugs. "I don't really know what's in the closet, but you never know. We take contracts from all sorts, as long as they don't try to burn the place down or anything."
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