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  1. - Top - End - #1
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
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    Default The Years Have Not Been Well to Thee

    Wir, 19th of Zarantyr, 998 YK
    Breland, Well Run Dry Trading Post

    The patrons and employees of the Well Run Dry awaken not to the frigid but pristine winter that greeted them outside the window during the night, but to several feet of solid snow. For most of the places inhabitants, this would be a disheartening sight indeed, but for the party of five that had checked in to the inn last night, there was scarcely any justification for complaint. After struggling through the cold Blackcaps in the aftermath of an ill-fated airship crash, relying on each other to find warmth, shelter, and sustenance in that order, they had now discovered the somewhat isolated Well Run Dry, an oasis of civilization at the foot of the mountains. If they had not arrived tonight, the sudden heavy snowfall would have surely meant annihilation.

    Owned independently but sanctioned by House Ghallanda nonetheless, the Well Run Dry took advantage of the traffic on the road between Cragwar and Xandrar to provide hospitality and wares for travelers, and a place where merchants might lighten their loads as well as meet with colleagues and rivals to discuss business on neutral ground. The five survivors had met only with Grauff the proprietor before turning in for the night. A grim dwarf of few words, Grauff had only expressed sympathy at their tale after being assured that they possessed the fee for room and board.

    You are the amongst the first ones up. Grauff is nowhere to be seen, but a human waitress tends to you, offering you hot porridge and somewhat bland tea free of charge. A figure in an ornate fur coat, ebony with turquoise trimming, is the only other patron who has left their bed in the blue-black cold of the morning.
    Last edited by EvilRoeSlade; 2007-12-07 at 11:24 AM.
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    Barbarian in the Playground
     
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    Ibrigil Mesto

    "I'm enjoying the fire, sure enough; but I begin to doubt if I'll ever get rid of the chill in my bones." He sipped the tea and grimaced as it scalded his tongue. He immediately went for another sip.

    "Shame that I lost my gameroll up in those mountains, or we could have a game of stones while we breakfasted. Feels a little bit strange to have a roof over heads, eh? No worries about staving off exposure and starvation, eh? Thank the Host."
    "So it works in practice. Who cares? Does it work in theory?"
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    Raven

    Raven is exceedingly glad to be warm and safe (as far as that term goes anyway) and seems recuperated from all their hardships already; or at very least one would say so from his emerald eyes darting around. "We could have ended up much worse than in a quality inn with warm air, good food and moderate prices. Wait, scratch that last word..." The half-elf makes a "face" with obviously feigned mockery and takes a spoonful of porridge for himself. He takes some effort to be polite and waits until his mouth's clear before speaking. "Do you think we might be trapped here for a long time? We can resort to telling tales of old and improvising poetry if the snow lasts." Raven spares a quick gaze for the oher stranger, wondering what brought that one here and wraps his brown linen cloak around himself protectively. Even in the well warmed room, it never hurts to be warmer still.
    Last edited by KIDS; 2007-12-07 at 02:35 PM.
    There is no good and evil. There is only more and less.
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    Ibrigil Mesto

    Ibrigil scratched his face as he considered the snow outside. He had shaved the bushy yellow growth that had accumulated during their ordeal in the mountains, revealing again the craggy fault-line that ran down his right cheek. He adjusted his woven cap as he slowly replied, "I wouldn't know. I never paid much attention to the weather. As long as things stayed dry inside the library, my father didn't mind so much. Ardev's mostly a plain, anyway; and I figure that up here in the mountains weather patterns are different."

    He looked at the cuff of his tunic, now stained with travel and beginning to fray in places, and called to the serving woman. "Excuse me, is there any place to wash our clothes? I thank you for lending me a brush for my leathers last night, but I still need to launder my other things." He looked at the others. "Anyone else not have a clean change of clothes?"
    "So it works in practice. Who cares? Does it work in theory?"
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    Raven

    Raven chuckled good-heartedly. "Among other things, no," he shrugged. It didn't concern him much at a time; now sheltered from the snow outside, he could suffer going less clothed for a short time while he had to wash himself or other things. "Just another thing on the list that I will have to reform from scattered shards when we reach civilization. You know... well, the actual civilization." Raven had the youhtful, upbeat, charming appearance of someone used to pulling out the best of the world's hardships and whining at those that were too grim. Being of elven heritage he hadn't grown any beard in their travels, though his wavy dark hair was trussled as a legacy of their journey. But apart from that, he was an elegant fellow who wore optimism like a cloak, something usually desired in your friends.
    There is no good and evil. There is only more and less.
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    Miira

    Miira glances down at her tunic, shaking her head. "No," she admits. The tan tunic and breeches are sturdy travel garments, and weathered their time in the mountains well, but they could use a good washing. "I'd have given all of them for one set of warmer clothing, though. It is lucky we arrived when we did." The young woman looks about the room, her short brown hair no longer covered by her kerchief for the first time in days, and then turns to her breakfast. She takes the cup of weak tea in her hand and sips it, enjoying the warmth and the taste; apparently, she is perfectly content with both it and the bland porridge. Then again, she has not yet complained at any food they have had, even the trail rations they were forced to fall back upon the last several days of their journey.
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    Hesiq stood a half dozen feet away, nearer the fire, wringing the hearth's warmth into hands that had nearly suffered frostbite on the trek through the Blackcaps. His pants, somewhat puffed in the southern styles, with narrow slits to reveal the pale yellow lining beneath the midnight blue fabric that led to black at the knees and below, were still embarrassingly limp. It seemed no matter how long he spent attempting to dry them completely, enough moisture remained to ruin the intended effect, not to mention the vague irritation of the cloth tending to cling to the bare skin beneath.

    With a scratch to his brow, he turned and strode back to the table. His shoes, resembling perhaps too much the slippers that went with a nightshirt and cap, were utterly silent along the floor.

    "Perhaps we can find another set if we ever get to Fairhaven," he said to Ibrigil, picking at the rather sticky porridge with the small wooden spoon provided.

    His shoulders suddenly slumped as he remembered yet again that there was almost no point in worrying about his meeting in Fairhaven. Like Ibrigil's game set, Hesiq's package of scrolls intended for his somewhat mysterious contractor, had been lost, though in the crash, rather than along the way. All that work, just wasted like that, he thought to himself and sighed dejectedly.

    His chin found an upturned palm and rested there, his pointy goatee crushed and bent to the side in the process. Staring at his porridge as if it were a lump of raw clay, he said to it, "That is, if we're still headed there. I've lost my purpose, and in fact, might be better off not going at all." He spoke idly as if to himself, and was still reluctant to mention anything related to the person--if it was a single person, at all--that expected to receive the scrolls. He'd harbored a faint sense of unease during the entire process, but the prospect of such good return on his time, even though he wasn't paid a single thin coin up front, was impossible to deny. Though he had a direct hand in preparing and scribing the scrolls, it was an agent of his employer that provided the character by character instruction he needed to create the inscrutable words. More than once he'd considered what sort of penalty might be exacted if he were to have refused, botched the job or otherwise failed to perform as expected. Now it was something real, and the closer he got to Fairhaven, the more real it may become.

    With a shrug and a few ounces of will, he dismissed the concerns, and began to eat, taking a sip of hot tea here and there.

    "As for my clothes, this is all I have at the moment. I lost one of my packs, as well as other items. It contained my other clothes, of course," he added with a smirk, finally addressing the other question.

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    Ogre in the Playground
     
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    Puck

    Peter "Puck" Wigby, a short and weasly-like fellow, entered the hall with a roar of a yawn. His blonde hair was unkempt, and reached a bit over his brow, concealing a set of deep blue eyes - which were not even half-open, as was apparent as he stumbled through the mostly-vacant tavern. In the plain, poor-man's clothes he always wore, he slowly made steps towards the others, dragging his feet a little, scratching himself every few seconds. "Huh?" Puck glances to and fro, a bit confused about the situation, but then is distracted by the porridge and tea. "So, uh, how's everyone doing?" he asks half-heartedly, his eyes finally more than quarter-drawn, as they gaze upon the free breakfast.
    Last edited by Deepblue706; 2007-12-08 at 02:06 PM.

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    Ibrigil Mesto

    Ibrigil pulled off the woven cap he was wearing--one of several he owned, although this one was woolen--and looked at it critically. "If it's all the same to you," he added as he picked at a stain, "I'd just as soon re-enter civilization feeling civilized. There'll probably come a day when I'm more used to the soil and dust of travel like this; but right now I still have a librarian's sensitivity to grime. My father would disown me if I tried to handle his scrolls in this condition."

    He dropped the hat into his lap with a sigh, and looked at the others with his black eyes. "I guess it doesn't matter now, anyway. I guess this is what Nack meant by 'campaign conditions;' so I might as well get used to it. I'll just brush them out, too."

    "I could make a new board, if I have to. I made a couple like that when I was a kid. 1, 2, 3, 5, 8," he made invisible lines with his hands; "The Great, the Lesser, and the Corner. It's easy enough; but the one I lost was much more portable than anything I'd scratch on a plank. I'd rather not use my parchment for it, though."
    Last edited by PolkaBear; 2007-12-08 at 02:19 PM.
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    Hesiq Tarook

    His slumping posture was dismissed and Hesiq straightened up, looking more like his usual self. The crumpled goatee, likewise, was convinced to straighten out between a thumb and forefinger as he gazed thoughtfully for a moment into the space between himself and everyone else.

    "You know, I was thinking something while we were playing earlier this week, but neglected to mention it then," he began, now looking to Ibrigil, "I don't think this game is played much up north, if at all. I tend to think we might be able to market it there, and wherever else it hasn't taken root yet. I could design special pieces to reflect certain historical events or ones for particular hobbyists, and perhaps you could rework a few of the rules to better imagine things related to them. Simple changes, but ones that make it seem as though the game were specially suited to it. We could make expensive boards with gold inlays for the lines, pieces studded with colored gems to differentiate them--for the rich folk, of course."

    He seemed to have forgotten about the other annoyances of their situation as he slipped into the mode of a tinker and merchant.

    "What I was imagining, though, as something even the royalty would find absolutely irresistible--and, of course, much too opulent for the general masses--is a board with pieces that moved on their own, just by being told to do so. Yes, tricky, I know, but I've been studying much about small constructs and think this could be the seed of something truly profitable. Not to mention incredibly fascinating to work on. Certainly moreso than the things I've drudged over for the last couple of years."

    The final blob of porridge was consumed, as were the last dregs from his tea cup, now entirely cold. He dusted his hands together to no apparent end save to satisfy some innate, unconsciously observed ritual, then brought things back to a more pragmatic viewpoint.

    "That'd be grand, but like everything else, we'll need to get ourselves out of here first," he said, his enthusiasm having died down already. A glance was thrown toward one window, the lower corners of each pane rimmed in snow like talc-dusted cobwebs, and he shrugged in obvious disappointment. "And that doesn't look entirely likely to happen right away. I'm not at all interested in dragging myself through more snow." A momentary pause, still peering through the frosted glass. "I wonder how long these flurries last around here? Perhaps that Gruff...Growf, whatever his name was, knows--he should, I'd think."

    Hesiq sat back and pulled lightly at the sleeves of his dark blue tunic, the cuffs of which ended higher than current fashion would deem valid, but which might approve of the four triangular notches, each traced in silver threads. They looked nice, but appeared to serve no proper function.

    "So, anyone have any stunning ideas on how we can accomplish our escape from this place? We also need to get proper word out about the crash, I suppose, though Lyrandar probably already knows. Automatic sending devices, I think I once read about, in all the new ships. The Sunbeam looked quite new to me, so I figure...." He allowed his thought to drift off, perhaps tiring of his own flood of words that seemed to have warmed him to his natural demeanor enough for the moment.

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    Bugbear in the Playground
     
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    Eventually, the barmaid, who had been giggling at something that the other patron had said, arrives. She's a shifter, with a human form that has been twisted with bestial traits: Yellow and paranoid eyes, an upturned, dog-like snout, and wild hair that leads down to long sideburns. She have appears to have only barely reached puberty.

    M'sorry Lord, she says, cringing as though expecting to be struck. Master Grauff says we can't spare no water for washin' until the snows cleared away. Shouldn' be more'n a few days 'till a crew arrives. Till then ehh... w'could see if Masters got anythin' to sell ya. She looks around guiltily and then lowers her voice. Else if ya value ya coin-purses, y'might just ask one a th'other guests if y'could borrow some clothes. Her gaze falls squarely on Ibrigil and narrows. Magewright Kelthis s'bout your size. Ain't no sin to wake him up neither, he was s'posed to be down here t'speak with Master 'bout an hour ago, and there ain't no one in this world Master hates more'n someone whose tardy when business is due. She stands silently before the table, waiting to see if anything else is required of her.
    Last edited by EvilRoeSlade; 2007-12-09 at 12:24 PM.
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    Puck, consuming his porridge quickly, pokes his head up. He was finally a bit more awake than earlier - his eyes were fully open and alert, though the wild look they always had suggested a poor sense of surrounding and a slight touch of general bewilderment. Being the clumsy and uncivilized man he is, the bard seems to have gotten some of his food on his shirt. "This is delicious! Can I have some more?" He seems genuinely excited as he lifts up his bowl to the barmaid. With his other hand, he sips on his tea - his eyes gazing over the cup, anticipating more of what he deemed to be one of the best meals he's ever had.

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    Raven cackles quietly to himself upon hearing the time estimate. Few days, eh? He could predict a lot of chewing nails in nervous anticipation...
    Despite the immediate thought, something catches his eye on the small Shifter's gestures. Her bearing does convey shyness and a twinge of fear more than most adults who conceal that well. Perhaps this master grauff has a heavy hand. After a moment, Raven draws his eyes away. "What is your name?" he asks with honest curiousity and not just to break (un)comfortable silence when she falls silent. The half-elf seems to contemplate giving some secretive sign to his companions but does nothing except await an answer and nod thanks when the servant departs; his thoughts appear to have entered some melancholic circle...
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    Hesiq Tarook

    Hesiq's wooden spoon is tossed lightly into the empty porridge bowl, spins around once and slumps into the center as the serving girl arrives. He was about to test the others again for ideas on how to expedite their departure from this less than desirable place, but abandoned it for now.

    He snorted derisively at the refusal to provide water, and said to Ibrigil, "By the horns of a devil! Just walk outside with a bucket and a spade and you'll find enough water to drown us all. A few minutes over the fire and...." He allows a finger snap to serve the rest. "Speaking of which," he asks the brutish-looking wench, "where does this crew hail from, and where do they go when they leave?"

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    The barmaid grins broadly at Puck, displaying large canines. Thank ya lord! Made it m'self ya know. Tricks t'add just a pinch a salt. Humans don't seem t'care so much for it, but it's th'only thing m'allowed t'put in except oats'n water. Names Dolly. She picks up each empty bowl, licks her fingers as she balances them on one hand, and then turns to leave. Mmm... don't know nothin' about no crew though, they never showed up before while I was here.

    She doesn't return with extra porridge for a while, as the room is now getting crowded. A rich couple arrives from above, demanding a more satisfying breakfast which Dolly scurries to prepare, while a group of dour Breland soldiers start their morning with tankards of ale. Seasoned travelers and merchant walk past the dining area on the way to the lounge and selling floor. Patrons however, are few this time of year.

    Eventually Grauff stumps into the room, accompanied by a short, black-bearded man and a hobgoblin bodyguard. Where the hell is the magewright, we were supposed to begin hours ago! The dead don't sleep this long...

    Grauff doesn't respond at first, he tilts his head as if distracted by something else. Eventually he replies. It ain't like ye've got somethin' better to do. He'll rouse himself whenever he bloody does and I'll give him hell for it in due time. In the meantime, find something else to do, I need to check on the horses. Grauff heads to the kitchen entrance while his companion disappears through the back room with a grumble, leaving his bodyguard at the bar.
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    Miira

    Miira eats a trifle more slowly than either Hesiq or Puck, listening to Hesiq's musings with some bemusement. As a result, despite hastily scooping up the last few spoonfuls as Dolly takes the empty plates, Miira is not quite finished by the time the maid leaves. She looks at the table with some chagrin. Today, of course, it did not matter how fast she ate, because they had nowhere to go, but had she really gotten into the habit of lingering over her meals? A few months ago, she would never have done that. A month of vice can undo years of virtue, she reminds herself.

    As the common room begins to grow more crowded, she looks out the windows again. No, it would not be good to venture out in that snowfall, even if they could get warmer clothing. Occasionally, there had been snowfalls that heavy where she grew up, and she knew enough that venturing out before the snow on the roads was solidly packed down or cleared away would be futile. The delay would normally worry at her like a persistent fly, but she also knows she doesn't really have anywhere to be... which is equally awkward. She realizes she's idly pushing the few remaining scraps of porridge—now cold—around the bowl with her spoon, and stops, schooling herself to stillness. "Who is it that clears the snow here?" she asks her companions, simply to break the silence; the rest of the room was noisier now, but everyone else at the table was quiet at the moment.
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    Raven observes the commotion within the tavern with some interest, noting faces and pondering intentions with frantic mental effort though they have all the time in the world. In the group of three, however, it is the hobgoblin bodyguard that catches his eye for the longest moment. How is life like if you are paid for watching over someone? Does he put effort into his training and does he mourn if his employer is killed? Granted, seeing how it is a hobgoblin, the answer is quite easy but still....

    "Perhaps you could help them instead of this sleepy magewright?" the half-elf suggests to Hesiq when Dolly is not around to overhear their conversation. "Or any of us, depending on what these are looking for. It might earn us a better deal around these place - and we will be trapped here for quite some time it seems." Contrary to Miira, he is someone who doesn't mind the silence - at least he doesn't feel it is uncomfortable - so her words are at first skipped over. "Not us, I hope. But I would imagine people just hunk down in their houses and weather it rather than clean the area."
    Last edited by KIDS; 2007-12-12 at 08:34 AM.
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    Hesiq Tarook

    With a shrug to Miira, Hesiq remarks a bit sarcastically, "Apparantly it's a secret. If it matters, I suppose you'll have to ask Grauff. I only wondered where they came from and where they would leave to in case it might provide an opportunity to tag along to a place that would bring us closer to where we wanted to go. Not to mention I'd expect them to have a snow-capable vehicle of some sort, which, I'm sad to note, we don't have. Hmmmm...."

    He'd just thought of something to ask Grauff, seeing as how the serving girl seemed unaware of some of the mundane workings of this place, but the proprietor seemed bothered and had already, once again, moved out of sight.

    Hesiq smirked, then commented on Raven's remark. "It seems this magewright is a rather heavy sleeper. I can't help but be curious as to what they want with him, or what Grauff expected of him. Perhaps the man's afraid to come down. Those two don't look the type to be delivering daisies and chocolates, and Grauff is clearly no sweetheart, either." He finished with a snicker. More seriously, he adds, "Something tells me it might be best to avoid becoming entangled in any of it."

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    Ibrigil Mesto

    His lips twitched at the girl's response--though whether it was because of her seeming ignorance of the simple fact Hesiq pointed out, or because of the unflattering sketch that was emerging of their host, Ibrigil himself wasn't sure.

    "Since it looks like we're here for a while, I'm going to check the selling floor. Perhaps one of the merchants carries a simple set of board and stones. At least we'd be able to play to pass the time." He looks around at the others expectantly, then rises.
    "So it works in practice. Who cares? Does it work in theory?"
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    The selling floor, while quite expansive, isn't at its capacity. A burly and thick-browed Karranthian is setting up a supply of weapons, a pair of unwashed and rough-looking men are selling foodstuff, clothing, and other odds and ends, a dark-skinned woman is selling stone carvings and jewelry, and a gnome of House Sivis is present to aid in legal transactions. Grauff is here as well, overseeing everything. Spotting Ibrigil, he stumps over. For a moment he simply tilts his head and stares at the wall. Then abruptly his attention jerks toward the human. Buyin' or sellin'?

    Dolly returns with more tasteless porridge for those who request, giving Puck an especially generous helping. Her eyes narrow as she peers at Hesiq. Been workin' here all m'life and it never snowed before, she offers unbidden. But Master Grauff says a crews comin', and so I s'pose a crew'll b'comin.
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    Ibrigil Mesto

    "At the moment, I'm still looking. Any of these merchants likely to carry a stones board? I don't need a fancy one, just something serviceable. You wouldn't--that is, do you happen to have one that you make available to your patrons, Master Grauff?"
    "So it works in practice. Who cares? Does it work in theory?"
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    Default Re: The Years Have Not Been Well to Thee

    Grauff bows his head slightly, and then suddenly lifts his head up, looking past Ibrigil. Don't usually see much games selling in the winter time. Aye. I've got a stone board in the back. It should do you. How does five silver sound?
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    Hesiq Tarook

    "Good luck finding a replacement board, Gil. I'll stay here where it's still warm. And since I have so little to spare on necessities, the last thing I need is some zealous hawker convincing me out of my last bit of coin."

    He watched his friend trundle off toward the selling floor, then sat back. When Dolly arrived again, Hesiq's eyebrows shot up at her claim. It seemed preoposterous, here at the foot of a major mountain chain.

    "Are you serious?" he asked incredulously. "Then what do you make of it? This isn't just a light dusting to be passed off so trivially, if you ask me. Aren't you deadly curious to know what's behind it?" He didn't care at all if she asked him, but the point was made. All her life here, snowless, then this without even the expected eager comment to visitors about how odd it was. One would think it would be the biggest topic of conversation, not a deformed sibling in the attic. Didn't seem right.

    Then again, Hesiq was often given to see conspiracies behind unexpected, unpredictable events. Some call it superstition. He considers it an observational tool--something to prompt him to get to the bottom of things. To know how and why it happened. If a scroll he'd written to create a gallon of water produced wine, instead, he wouldn't just shrug and ignore it--it would be, at the very least, an event to discuss, if not immediately investigate.

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    Ibrigil Mesto

    Ibrigil chuckled. "I couldn't say yes or no until I had a chance to see it; but it sounds like we could work something out." He followed Grauff to see what he had.

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    Assuming that it's not a piece of crap, Ibrigil will offer four silver on principle, but pay five if Grauff insists.

    BTW, "Gil" is a fine nickname. It's what his mother called him. (His father always used his full name.)
    "So it works in practice. Who cares? Does it work in theory?"
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    "I..wait..." Raven echoes after Dolly incredulously, though he didn't ask for any more porridge nor expected one. The half-elf's emerald eyes stop darting around anf focus at the servant girl. "It never snowed here before?" In particular, while he never had any remarkable abilities concerning such events, to him weather changes were interesting to say the least. Afterall, a lot of his kin prided themselves on their skills of keeping the enviroment under control.

    "Ah well. We live in an age of changes, or something like that," he concedes the moment of surprise to himself, though eagerly listening for an answer to Hesiq's question. And while he has little more than a passing interest in the board game, it sure will help pass the time. At the moment, he is glad for the company and knows that it could have been much worse.
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    Dolly stares at Hesiq for a long moment, her cat-like eyes narrowed. Wasn't curious 'til ya mentioned it, she says at long last. Figured sometimes things just happen n' nobody knows why. Course, mebbe someone oughta find out why.

    Grauff nods and stumps away, moving through the kitchen and pausing, meeting Dolly's eye. Girl. Go up to Kelthis' room and dump snow on the sod. Dolly looks delighted at the prospect, and hurries back into the kitchen to retrieve a pot, a feral grin on her face all the while. A blast of cold air shoots through the room when she opens up the entrance and scoops up a heap of snow with a pan, scampering eagerly up the stairs toward the rooms. For his part, Grauff disappears into the storeroom, slamming the door behind him.

    Shortly after Dolly vanishes up the staircase, you hear an inhuman shriek permeating through the entire post.
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    Hesiq Tarook

    A look of exasperated amusement graced Hesiq's relatively ruddy face, accented by a mild head shake. "Well, there you go! It's odd. Someone should probably find out. Good enough for you?" he inquires of Raven, with lighthearted sarcasm.

    He was halfway through an arm stretch when the scream cut through the place. His pleasant, relaxed demeanor instantly dropped away and his olive-green eyes darted in the direction of the stairway leading up to the boarding floor. Rigidly, he flicked his gaze toward each of the others at the table as if to gauge their reactions.

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    Miira

    Miira's gaze follows Dolly up the stairs as if curious, but she returns her eyes to the table as the serving maid vanishes from sight. She starts violently at the shriek, her right hand moving reflexively across to her waist. Her sword, of course, is not there; it's lying in her room, and she settles back down, feeling slightly foolish. And wishing her sword wasn't so far from her hand. No, stop that. It is as safe here as anywhere in these lands, and it isn't proper to carry a sword about to meals.

    She looks directly at Hesiq as he speaks—not that that is odd; Miira usually meets the eyes of anyone she's listening to—taking his words quite seriously. "Do you think we should?" Now that she thinks about it, it does seem odd for a settlement so close to the mountains not to have known heavy snowfalls before. Or had Dolly meant any snow? That would make this deep snowfall beyond merely odd. Occasional snows should not be so heavy, she knows.
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    Ibrigil Mesto

    Ibrigil waited patiently for Grauff to return with the board; but the shriek startled and unnerved him. His neck swiveled as he looked for its source.
    "So it works in practice. Who cares? Does it work in theory?"
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    The shriek has obviously come from upstairs.
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