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It is said that when the world was born the gods wandered the Earth, pesonally overseeing every being that they made. When they were satisfied that all was in hand, the gods stepped back from creation to rule from the heavens. Except for one.
Maelzor was known for his compassion and creativity, and when the other powerful deities left Earth he remained. There in an immeasurable time, shrouded from the other gods with powerful forces, he created humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes orcs and halflings. He built from the ground and the other mammals kobolds and troglodites and bugbears and goblins...every being with true intelligence and capacity for creativity.
At last he threw off the shroud and revealed his beings. Then, it is said that he fled... though noone knows to where. Not even those gods that remain.
Today, thousands of years after Maelzor's Retreat, on a continent called Gah'nah Foree (or the continent of Foree Peoples), in the country known as Arland and the town of Midcrossing, a small group has congregated in the waiting room of Lord Ablesmith. They have journeyed far and wide to meet here, at the summons of the Lord, and from here they are destined to greatness.
A small mystery - that of a few vanishing smiths and carpenters - has lured the adventurers here but the full extent of these happenings, and the implications of these events, may result in the destruction of far more than just Midcrossing.
***
The waiting room of Lord Ablesmith is a bright and somewhat cheerful affair. Though it was obviously once a barn, and the Lord's house altogether is just a greatly expanded farmhouse, it is decorated with expensive rugs and finely carved chairs.
The walls have been painted a lavish red and laquered to an baffling shine that gives one a headache if they stare too hard, too long.
The five of you slowly make your way inside, individually answering the summons of this lesser noble. The room is empty apart from you, and a fire smoulders next to a pile of wood neatly stacked in one corner. Light streams in from a single window, illuminating the room and its dangerously bright walls.
The only other entrance to the room, apart from the one through which you come, is a dark, heavy door with a simple handle and steel reinforcing.
The clock above this door reads 5 to midday - and therefore five minutes before the requested time of meeting.
The Thief enters Lord Ablesmith's barn-like house with a sense of revelry. The lad had never been in a Lord's home before, even a poor lord's manor was grander and more finely furnished than anything he had yet seen. The Thief takes time to admire everything in the waiting room, from the thick doors, to the lacquered walls, to the rugs and chairs.
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The young acolyte enters the barn tired and dusty from the road. He takes off his heavy pack and drops it beside a chair before taking his hammer out of his belt and dropping himself onto the chair, his brown and orange robe barely muffling the clinking of his chainmail. Seeing he is not the first to arrive he smiles and nods when the other man looks his way. "Greetings neighbor," he says in a friendly manner. "I am Brother Stevon, layman of The Sun Father, Pelor."
Taking off his coif he runs a hand through his dark blonde and sweaty hair.
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It is with a wide smile that the lad with ebony black hair and dark brown eyes replies, "Greetings Brother Stevon, layman of Pelor. I am Thomas of Ramsford-upon-Heart. I do not carry any grand titles such as yourself for I am but a common man with common desires." Thomas sets the edges of his red cloak atop his shoulder, revealing well-worn black leather armor. Along his mud-brown belt lies a gnarled oaken club, a sheathed dagger with a fine looking hilt and three blue pouches. "Were you summoned by are you Lord Ablesmith as well?"
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"That would make three of us, then," comes a woman's voice. The one that owns it is pale, with dark hair and grey eyes. She could be mistaken for a slender human, but for the slight points to her ears, which betray her half-elven blood. She is dressed in a suit of boiled leather armor studded with iron rivets, and a long white cloak hangs from her shoulders. Hanging from a strap, one can see a spellbook; in a harness at her back sits a flail, and in four small holsters in each boot sit darts.
"Vanilla Felwyn, servant of Sehanine Moonbow, Lady of Dreams."
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An unremarkable young man in jingling chain armor clambers in. He has an exceptionally long sword on his back and a standard on his hip. He only carries a few pouches about his belt and tracks a fair amount of dirt on his boots. He sits down, exhausted it would seem. His cropped brown hair glistens with sweat and his blue eyes hang tired. "It's a long walk here. Why are the women always so fresh while we men look so haggard?"
Going to be spotty posting for a couple of days as I will not be near a computer til about Thursday the 17th. Sorry will resume normal posting after that.
Thomas allows his eyes to linger a bit too long on the elven maiden. His face grows red as he realizes his faux pas. "Pleased to meet you Vanilla Felwyn, servant of Sehanine Moonbow. I am Thomas of Ramsford-upon-Heart."
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The Thief eyes the dirty man clad in chain armor that flopped down upon a finely crafted chair, "The road is long and hard, especially with all that kit. Perhaps you would fair better when wearing something lighter, like Leather? Then you would not be worn out and weary when you arrive at a Lord's Manor."
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Going to be spotty posting for a couple of days as I will not be near a computer til about Thursday the 17th. Sorry will resume normal posting after that.
OOC: Sorry subscribed to OOC but not to IC - oops!
"Brother Stevon," the acolyte says with a nod of his head to the two newcomers. "Are we then to get into the old debate of fight or flee?" he says with a grin.
"I find that to those with a natural ability to avoid a blow shouldn't hamper themselves with heavy arms and armor. But alas, for those of us like myself, who couldn't avoid a blow were they stark naked and had a days warning to boot, need a little better protection."
His smile is warm and the twinkle in his ice blue eyes tells all he is pleased that others received the lord's summons as well.
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Vanilla's response to Thomas' introduction - and overlong stare - is a nod and a smile.
She then nods at the Pelorite. "Very true. Myself, until I can find a spell to lessen the weight of metal armors and make them less akin to furnaces in hotter climes, I prefer to put boiled leather and spells between myself and danger. I also find that this compromise helps when one needs to, er..." the half-elf pauses, searching for a more tactful way to say "flee". "Advance in another direction." She nods, proud of herself.
__________________ "I don't want problems solved for me. I want the fishing rod, not the fish." -Yanni
Last edited by SCARY WIZARD : 04-16-2013 at 11:43 PM.
Reason: also
Thomas' tanned face twists around as he begins to chuckle loudly, "Advance in the other direction? Where I come from, we call that I call that absconding!" The lad laughs some more, "Thankfully, that is one of my many specialties! Who needs armor when you can vanish into shadows? A quick eye, a touch of darkness, a fair bit of consciousness and a dash of luck are the best allies one can have. Never put much stock into magic; always seemed like wizards spent too much time studying and not enough time focusing on practical applications for their soothsaying, prestidigitation and thaumaturgy..." The dark haired boy blushes again as he realizes he's rambling in the company of worldly folk, "At least to my mind..." He coughs awkwardly and looks away from the group.
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The cleric casts a small grin at the young lad before looking around the room. "Well now the spells granted to me have a practical application, especially if armor and natural agility fail to protect you."
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[OOC] As nazgulnine seems not to be responding, we'll have to continue without him... [/OOC]
A muffled crash sounds behind the reinforced door announces the presence of Lord Ablesmith well before he actually appears. A few curses later, the door opens to let him through.
Lord Ablesmith is a chubby, almost baby-faced, man of average height and above-average weight. He wears a simple, faded yellow shirt and breeches, covered in a red coat worked with thread-of-gold embroidery.
The door closes behind him with a thud of wood and click as a bolt slid home.
With as much of a flourish as possible around his bulk, Ablesmith greets his guests; "Ah! My invitations were heard! Good. Very good. I must say, having you fix this, um, issue, will greatly help local morale: they're not liking our, predicament, very much and I'm sure it's removal will be gratefully received. Yes yes, well, shall we, er, begin?"
"Greetings mi'lord," Stevon says after standing. "I will assist in anyway I can. From the rumors circling I believe you are refering to the missing smiths, are you not?"
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The lad stands in awe of such majesty. The pomp, the circumstance, the theater of it all! Such fun! The Thief smiles and bows before Lord Ablesmith, "My Lord, I have come to your majestic manor to answer your call for aid. Though I may appear young, I am well traveled and ready for adventure. I shall forever be stalwart in seeing your quest to the end."
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Your host's nervous stutter seems to diminish with this declaration of loyalty. He shuffles his feet, straightens his back and hefts his massive bulk some few inches further into the air. With this newfound confidence, he speaks:
As you have pointed out, recently there have been disappearances in and around Low Forest. Local craftsmen - of all professions, not just smithing - have vanished into the undergrowth and never been heard from again.
After the third disappearance, I sent word to the Lord Derbin up north for assistance and investigated with my own men. We found nothing. A total of 12 men have wandered off now, with no explanation for why or how or where to. Lord Derbin hasn't responded to my requests, and my men won't go into Low Forest for fear of vanishing themselves.
I don't know your names, but I know your type. You lot are adventurers. I'm proposing that you ... umm, well ... adventure. Do your adventure-business and come back with the people...or, you know, some reasonable explanation for them to have vanished.
With that, Ablesmith's reservoir of confidence seems to drain itself and he slumps his shoulders into a less dignified posture. Who am I fooling anyway? I can't really fix this. I just need to look like I tried so that those poor families can feel a little better about this whole predicament.
The lad is off put by the Lord's candor. He had expected a leader of men to be less forthright and more inspirational. He expected a knight in shining armor... Instead, the thief is confronted by a fat man who would rather weep over spilt milk than find the root cause of the problem. If Thomas were Lord, he would spend all his energies plunging into the forest to root out what ever taint has taken hold.
"Such a disappointment."
Putting on his best game face, Thomas responds, "My lord, we shall investigate this matter fully and find the true cause of the disappearances, be they mundane or otherwise."
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"The lad speaks truly," Stevon says as he picks up his pack. "Have no fear that we will not do are best to solve this mystery and return as soon as we can."
Throwing his pack over one shoulder he adds, "Off to the Low Forest it is then."
spells
Spoiler
cure light
cure light
bless
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From behind the reinforced door, a servant materialises. The newcomer gingerly navigates around his master's bulk.
Seeing that the issue of the disappearances has been taken from his hands, Lord Ablesmith shuffles from the room, relieved, closing the heavy door behind himself with a muffled 'clunk'.
The servant bows smartly, showing you to the door. My lords...lady. Please excuse Master Ablesmith's abruptness; he has had a tough week. I might answer any queries that you have of your journey, otherwise...good luck.
Spoiler
Apologies for the slow response, guys. Been out of it for a few days. I can now post rapidly again.
Going to be spotty posting for a couple of days as I will not be near a computer til about Thursday the 17th. Sorry will resume normal posting after that.
"Queries aye?" Stevon says scratching his chin. "Best to go informed with as much information as we can get, I guess. Please tell us all you know of when these mysterious vanishings happened and maybe any names you know of those who are missing."
A hundred questions run through the priest mind but he's sure that they don't have time for them all.
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The servant calmly responds to the warrior's bluntness, speaking with a level tone without looking directly at the man. If that is how you would like to think of your job, then you may. Another might think that anything you discover would greatly relieve the sufferings of the many families involved.
Then turning to the religious man, he adds; The victims have mainly lived in Little-Bridging, a short while to our east. That's the closest village to Low Forest, by the way.
Mostly, the people have gone missing within the past week, but some were reported quite a while back, ummm, he counts quickly on his fingers, pauses, then continues, around a month now. As for names, well, I don't know them all myself but the most recent was the Little Bridging's thatcher, old Morry.
In almost a whisper, he adds ...and Jon Boffer, a friend of my family and better carpenter Little-Bridging never had.
Going to be spotty posting for a couple of days as I will not be near a computer til about Thursday the 17th. Sorry will resume normal posting after that.
You cross the courtyard, a more mixed group of wanderers and mercenaries the world has not seen for quite some time. Passing the boundary around Lord Ablesmith's land, little more than a tall fence surrounded by a thick hedge that blocks veiw to the outside world, you are presented with a familiar road.
Packed dirt leads for nigh on a mile before forking out toward Low Forest, a large mass of trees that stretches over both horizons to the east. Beyond that, somewhere, is Little-Bridging, though it is unseen as yet. The second fork leads west and directly up to the pallisade wall of Midcrossing, the distance rendering guards at the gate little larger than insects. A third prong juts forward, continuing northward and into the distance, eventually to form a highway to the capital of Arland, though that journey would likely take some weeks on foot as you are.
Going to be spotty posting for a couple of days as I will not be near a computer til about Thursday the 17th. Sorry will resume normal posting after that.
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[AD&D] The Gates to Maelzor's Sanctuary
