Ongoing Games (In-Character)Play-by-post games are going on in this forum as we speak (well, read). All threads on this board are actual games, so please, only post on a thread if you are a player of that game.
The orders came about two weeks ago. Your class had just finished their 'passing out ceremony' in front of Flerac's minor dignitaries. Your unit paraded in dress uniform. The day was hot and the drill yard dusty, but your spirits were high.
A number of the recruits families had turned out to watch from the low stone parapet that marked one side Aden of the barracks block. Golden haired Tala, who'd broken all her male squadmates hearts at least once in basic training, marched to your right. The girl beamed with pride, as her mother and father waved from the stands, dressed in gaudy finery.
Aden, marching to your right, shared a look with you and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, only to suddenly stick out his chest as he caught sight of his old father peering out from the stands. The new red emblem of the 2nd Fleraci skirmishing company gleaned in the sunlight - a red rose grasped in a bleeding hand.
Over the last few weeks, the 36 recruits had come to know each other really well. There'd been frictions at first, with cliques, petty rivalries, and even open hostility between the high and lowborn. Over the weeks the exertion of the training - bruising arms drills, soaking camping trips into the country, early morning hikes, and classes late into the evening, had forced the recruits to pull together. None of that was anything compared to the harshness of the officers, and this, more than anything, united the disparate recruits into a unit. Now there was a great camaraderie, or at least a grudging respect for each other. Even Gawin - a fat round youth, who'd sobbed for his mother the first night - had managed to make it through. He was almost unrecognisable now as you watched him march in front. Some of the fat replaced by lean muscle, and only this morning he'd answered the customary taunts with cutting banter of his own.
The drumbeat changed tempo, the sound of the fife rose in the dry air, and the squad shifted as one. With perfect timing the unit split, marched, counter-marched, and set up for the grand finale - a simple sword dance, traditional to the Fleraci people.
Old Ironheart, the Drill-Sergeant gazed fiercely over his bristly moustache as the squad came to attention - as if daring them to make a mistake. Taking in the squad, he turned and saluted. A minor dignitary began giving the speech from dais up on the parapet - but his nasally voice didn't carry well. Something about how proud you should be, as some of the first soldiers to serve Flerac in it's own right, now that Flerac was a kingdom - not merely a city in the province of Flamia, and how fortunate you were to be able to serve Hariman, the First.
As the speech droned to a close, the squad exchanged covert grins. The drinks after the ceremony were legendary - and everyone had been looking forward to it since the end of the first week of basic training. The plan was to meet at the Copper Kettle, where the young recruits would get at least one free drink in honour of passing out...but rumours were that the ultimate destination was the Wizards Staff - which had a reputation for serving magically altered drinks - if you believed half the crazy rumours about the place.
You were brought to attention, and Ironheart dismissed the squad to barracks. There was a little confusion - what needed to be sorted before the leave? Some last warning about the depravities of the city nightlife? The mood didn't really become sombre until Major Erasta and Captain Quin entered the briefing room, their faces like thunder. It dawned on the squad that they really weren't going to get the customary passing out drinks.
The brief was simple as it was dismaying. The squad were to pack their gear immediately, and deploy down to the river docks. There they were to put aboard river barges and moved out on deployment. The orders were secret, and not to be shared. Major Erasta frowned as she warned at length the importance of secrecy - that the mission wasn't to be discussed - if found you were to deny it had ever existed, and you were not to speculate as to your ultimate destination. Captain Quin would lead the squad.
Late that evening, the squad had boarded the barge. The mood was foul - the rations basic. At each town, the Captain was careful to deny the soldiers shore leave. The ferrymen were resentful of the soldiers, and quarters were cramped.
The journey seemed to last for ever. A brief bit of drama in Burford over their transport upriver broke the monotony briefly, and the squad had to take to the third barge in their journey in the dead of night. As the lights of the city shone dimly behind them, they found their way single-file, in silence to a forgotten creek, where a bribed Captain lay in wait. This was far from Fleraci interests.
Late one night, the squad discussed it silently. 'There's nothing up here'. groaned Silav Basa, perching uncomfortably on a grain sack. 'I swear, I think they're sending us on an embassy to the elves'. The girl had been disconsolate - she'd left a sweetheart back in Flerac, and she hadn't seen him for months now.
'I'm telling you', said Gyid as he dealt the next hand of cards, 'It's got to be Forcehead. That's the only interest the Forak have this far north'.. Some of the squad muttered agreement, but it was days before it became clear that Gyid had been right. The weather turned cold, and the land became wild. Towns quickly gave way to villages, and then to fortified camps. The barge made the crossing up something called 'The Giant's Step' but so late at night that most of the squad missed it.
6 hours out from Forcehead, Captain Quin broke the news. 'We're to march to the north of Forcehead, and wait in cover. We're then to link up with a returning convoy of Fleraci troops, and escort them into Forcehead, and likely back to Flerac'. A sigh of relief that the journey had an end back on home soil. 'Any speculation as to the origin or nature of the convoy is forbidden. Discussion of the convoy outside the unit is prohibited. As far as you're concerned, it never happened. You will not ask anyone from the convoy any questions'.
Quin assembled the sergeant and corporals, and gave each 12 men, breaking the squad into 3. A pathfinder was assigned to each. Aden said a brief goodbye as he was assigned away to Corporal Gif's sub group. The squad disembarked an hour out from Forcehead, and skirted the town to the East, marching through the brush. That evening, spirits rose as the 2nd Skirmishers made camp. The exercise had been invigorating, and everyone was reminded of the camping trips in basic training. The weather was fine, and the evening pleasant. Pine smoke sweetened the night air.
Then the waiting began. Three days, being eaten alive by insects, strung out in three groups. The northern mountain forests rising like a sea whilst the squad waited for...something.
'Serana'., Jocan muttered. 'That's corporal Serana, Jocan'. the sub-leader muttered as she brushed pine needles from her hair.
'Sorry, Corporal, I heard something'. 'What'. the Corporal's nose wrinkled. 'Are you sure? Alright, Cass, Tala, Yasse, you're with me. Noch? Get out in front with Jocan, the rest, follow behind'.The soldiers edged through the trees, following Jocan and the pathfinder. Ten minutes later, Serana called a halt. 'I don't know Jocan...are you sure -
The corporal came to a stop, as a wet gurgle rose in her throat. Her eyes were wide with shock and surprise, as red blood ran from the feathered tuft of the crossbow bolt in her neck.
The next few moments were chaos. There was a distant shout '2nd Skirmishers to me!' Sarana's group surged into a clearing and the middle of a melee. Strange Fleraci soldiers appeared before them, falling where they stood, hard pressed by a group of strange warriors in grey furs. Searan's group broke into the flank, surprising the grey ones for a moment, and causing them to falter. The burgundy uniformed Fleracis barely had time to take solace, when crossbow bolts rang out from the wood, cutting 5 of the strange Fleracis down there and then. Captain Quinn, broke out from the woods 'Twelve curse you, take the bowmen! Protect the convoy'. Your eyes met Aden's just as a grey furred warrior came from nowhere to plunge a sword into his belly, punching through the chain armour.
You drew your crossbow, searching in vain for a target. Captain Quin was in the middle of a forest of grey, roaring defiance. Tala was hard pressed - parrying the swords of two grey cloaks. There was a splitting pain in your head....and all went dark.
You awake. You have the sense that time has passed. You feel cold, and your head aches. You can hear a distant sound of metal on metal. You open your eyes. Make a Spot Check.
You woke as the morning sunlight streamed through the trees. The smell of mule filled your nostrils reassuringly. Your hand reached out, only to find the familiar touch of your prized keg. You paused. You contemplated the birdsong for a moment.
Thoughtfully, you turned to one side, and vomited noisily into the straw. You rest for a while. You paused. Then you vomited again.
After a while, a couple of village dogs peeked in through the stable door...tentatively approached, then started eating.
You remember you got into the village last night. The people were friendly enough, and you were able to trade for some goods and food. The accents were rough, but you could just about understand their trader tongue. They had no beer though - none worthy of the name, anyway. They told you of a town, to the South, and a great nation of men, stretching out the horizons, and of a distant sea.
It's a sleepy hamlet. The people timid, and quiet, slipping through the woods like ghosts. The houses made of stone, and roofed with turf, blending into the forest. They kindly let you have the use of the village stable for tonight - frankly it's probably the most comfortable building in the village.
You get up, pack the mules, and prepare to leave. After a quick meal from a wisened old man - last nights warmed leftovers - you depart the village, climbing out of the hollow, leading the mules on.
The morning passed uneventfully, with a solid hike through broken, forested country. The air was clear and clean, and the afternoon warm for late autumn. Though, from a high peak, you could see a distant bank of cloud bearing down. It would be wise to get to a good shelter by nightfall.The insects rose, annoying the mules with their bites.
The last few weeks have been some of the best in your life. Nature, in all it's tranquility has surrounded and enfolded you. Only twice have you seen another person - a woodcutter, from a distance, some weeks back, and a small boy, keeping watch on the smoldering mounds of a charcoal burner's camp, whilst the men took a brief rest in their hut. He took a fright at the sight of you, staring from the woods, and ran inside.
Each night, you have heard the howl of the wolf, causing Slobber to growl in his sleep, or rub against you, hackles raised.
Once, you saw a mighty brown bear drink from a moonlit pool - not seventy paces from your camp. The deer are plentiful, and rabbits abound. You felt truly in harmony with nature, and happy in yourself, in a way you never thought you could be.
But you are worried. The seasonal changes are writ large for all to see. Autumn in the mountains is drawing to a close, and you know that the winter will come on suddenly, and with a vengeance. The deer are already growing their winter coats - the snakes and toads have already hidden themselves away. Soon the bears will den. You are not too sure that you can survive on your own out in the winter. You may soon have to again seek out the company of men.
In anticipation, you've begun to move your camps closer to Forcehead. Today, you packed much of what you owned, and set out to find a new camp spot. You're out in the woods with Slobber. Something seems wrong.
The journey to Forcehead was longer than you were expecting. The local amber trade has been difficult to break into, but with your charm, and a fair bit of coin spent at the frontier town's bars, you've been making some inroads.
Spoiler
You may make a Gather Information Check to pick up details on the town.
The locals have given you something to worry about - the talk of the ferocity of the mountain winters, how quickly they can come on, and how they close the river traffic for four months. You're aware that it is now quite late in the season, but you haven't managed to book passage on any of the remaining river boats yet.
The day dawned uncomfortably hot, and it's almost difficult to believe the stories of the citizens about the winter. You washed your face in the basin in your room at one of the town's better run guesthouses and went downstairs for breakfast...only to find a runner dressed in the uniform of the Forcehead garrison, with a message for you from the governor.
As you wolf down a hurried breakfast you hear wild rumours in the taproom - a terrified merchant, half dead, missing his horses and his caravan...monsters in the forest. Already, the tale is growing with the telling, but it's clear that something has happened.
You wonder if it has anything to do with the worst kept secret in Forcehead -the imminent arrival of a mysterious military convoy from the north. What Flamian soldiers would be doing north of here is a mystery, but you've investigated the rumours, and the convoy's existence at least seems credible - the cooks and quartermasters at the fort have been preparing for one for months, and the rumours seem to stem from the town garrison. As to what the soldiers are doing, you've heard a thousand stories, but ultimately no-one really seems to have a clue.
You grab a bread roll, and eat it hurriedly as the messenger whisks you out of the inn towards the Governor's mansion.
Mansion is a rather generous name for it, but the wooden building is one of the largest in the town, and serves as the prefecture for the nearby fort as well. You are led in through the front door, and wait for 10 minutes in a spacious, if plain room with a sturdy pine chair.
Then you are shown in to the governor's office. Ireas Stromgen himself sits before you. A tall and well built man, with broad shoulders, black hair, and a well trimmed but full beard. A scattering of grey hairs are showing, and the wrinkles around his eyes are deep. He's wearing the black tabard of the garrison commander, with the insignia of a white tree, over a black shirt, with black leather gloves. Behind him, a large map table spills it's contents onto the floor. A large window provides plenty of light. A man, with the insignia of Captain is just closing up one of the maps. The walls are lined with books, and curios - examples of local carving, a stuffed falcon peers out from a cornice, old and vicious looking polearms, and fine warrants, hung in frames behind glass. The room has a well-used feel to in.
Ireas gestures politely to an empty chair in front of his desk, upholstered in red leather.
You awake on a mossy bank, covered in dew. Everything hurts, your head feels like you'd lost a boxing match with an iron golem, and your tongue is coated. Stretching your limbs caused them to spasm.
You pat yourself down, feeling a little better. All limbs seem to be intact, at least. In your pocket, you find a necklace, a red enamel circle, hanging from a gold chain. You cannot for the life of you remember seeing it before.
You appear to be in the middle of a forest. Tall pine trees rise on every side, and around you, you can see distant mountain-sides rising into the sky.
The air is clear and cold. You can hear the sound of a babbling brook. The birdsong seems shrill, unfamiliar, and in hurts your head. You feel very thirsty - as though you've not had anything to drink in ages.
I assume this is directly after getting 'ported to the Material Plane.
Beigette groans, rubbing her forehead for a moment, wondering just how much she had drunk to have such a terrible headache. Normally she knew when to quit - it must have been really good stuff for her to get so full she'd feel this bad the next morning. Then her eyes snap open and she realizes something. This didn't look like Sigil at all. In fact, she hadn't been drinking...It all comes back to her. The final crash, after she was kicked out of school. Screwing up the ritual she found seemed like a perfect way to say goodbye to the place.
Finding the necklace, Beigette shrugs and puts it on. It isn't the first time she's forgotten stealing something and it probably won't be the last. Comes from having such well-honed reflexes and skills, she thinks to herself, smiling as her headache fades a bit. Making sure her spell component pouches are secure, she stands up slowly, looking around. Definitely not Sigil. Where was she, then? If she had been caught, they wouldn't throw her in an illusion or anything of that sort, and it didn't look like one...Perhaps she'd been shunted to some prison plane while they decided what to do with her?
"Hey, Magi Tarner, if you're listening, I really don't think this is in accordance with the school rules," Beigette says, grinning to herself as she imagines the man's reaction to hearing her say that. Normally it was the other way around - she was halfway through climbing out a window (whether she had gone there for the purposes of theft or something else), often with a keepsake clutched in one hand, and he came out of nowhere. "I don't think this is in accordance with the school rules" he'd say. The man was one of her favorite teachers - when she went from being his star student to being the class troublemaker to the school troublemaker, he stayed friendly rather than constantly tutting about "wasted potential".
That was probably why she'd only broken into his room once, and only to tell him to get a new lock.
Sighing, Beigette brushes the dew off of herself and takes a moment to stretch properly, actually working at the kinks in her muscles rather than just stretching back to show off as she occasionally did. Rolling her shoulders, she takes a better look around. Had she landed in some sort of park? It didn't look like any of the ones she knew, but then again perhaps it was an area she wasn't used to being in. Beigette was more aware of where people went to get privacy in such places - both for personal use and for nicking a few things from obnoxious people who decided to bother her peaceful walks by being loud.
Spoiler
(1d20+2)[14]
Last edited by PersonMan : 06-15-2013 at 04:54 AM.
Cassandra wakes up to the sound of metal on metal. She attempts to sit up, only to be stricken by a wave of pain from the back of her head. She lays back down, and raises a pale hand to her scalp. She feels her hair damp and matted by her blood, and a bump caused by swelling. Gingerly she feels the area, deciding that the injury isn't life threatening. Standing up wearily, she looks around. At first everything looks orange, but after a few moments everything settles down. No sign of anyone, friend or foe, Cass gathers her dropped belongings, and stumbles to the sound of fighting.
They were kinder in the North, or at least they were more used to people with elvish features. The coarser insults had dried up as you travelled towards the source of the Force. It had been a while now since anyone had aimed a kick at Tali, or spat at her, and many weeks since the village where the children had gathered to throw stones at her. A sign, you hoped, that you was finally getting close to the lands of her mother's people.
Back on the road, there had even been a kind elderly couple, travelling the road in a covered cart, who'd shared their food and fire. They'd tried to encourage you to join them, but you shied away - fearful even of the enclosed space of their wagon. You left them as they reached the foothills of the Aelfica, worrying that staying with them would draw you from your goal.
Still, despite the warming sentiments, you skirted the town of Forcehead - travelling through it at night. There had been one furtive trip to buy some goods. Your heart felt like it was beating fierce enough to burst from her chest, and your eyes roved the room, checking the doors and windows as the kindly little shopkeeper made the trade. Afterwards, Tali fled the shop, and breathed heavily, panicked. Since then, you limited yourself to scavenging in the middens for scraps.
Yesterday, you struck out heading north. You knew it was a long way from Forcehead before there would be another town.
Last night you dreamt your mother held you in her arms once more, and sang to you as she combed your hair. Mal stood by, and fussed as mother tended to his hair. You couldn't remember being so happy.
You awoke, cold and stiff, a tear running down the side of your face. You clasped Janie to you. A familiar warmth...was absent.
You can see a number of crows whirling overhead in a descending spiral. You know from the aftermath of battle that that can only mean one thing - death, and lots of it, straight ahead.
You hear rough voices in the distance.
'Tell us where it is dog!'.
'Commander please! Oh twelve preserve me. Help me! Oh, no, no, NO!'.
A bloodcurdling scream rings out ahead.
For Beigette
Spoiler
The necklace is slightly cool to the touch, but nothing unusual happens as you put it on.
If Magi Tarner could hear you, then there was no reply.
A bright yellow sun hangs in the sky. As you rise you almost stumble into the brook. High moss-covered pines rise all around, dappling the light. The mountain stream runs clear and cold. It's full of river worn stones, and green plants of a number of varieties that you don't recognise sprout from the bank. There's a slight discoloration washing down the flow... the water is coloured with blood.
Turning left, you see a figure lying face-up in the brook. A young man, with a hook nose, amber eyes staring wide into infinity. He's wearing a short sleeved chain shirt over a burgundy shirt, with black hose. There is a badge on his chest. A crossbow bolt, with green fletching sticks from his chest. Blood still flows from the wound.
For Cassandra
Spoiler
As you stumble through the woods, your gaze suddenly meets the dead, lifeless eyes of Tala. Her golden hair is matted with her own blood. As you watch a fly lands on her face, and crawls over her bloodless cheek.
All around you the forest clearing is scattered with the bodies of the slain, Grey Furs, Fleracis in their burgundy uniforms, and you can put a name to half the Fleraci faces here.
Just then, a scream rises from your left, and a loud guttural bellow.
The forests appear almost deserted...and quiet, far too quiet. That can only mean one thing - people and lots of them have disturbed the wildlife around here.
You can hear the distant alarm call of a jay through the woods... to the northeast - likely there's someone over there. You can see a number of crows and pies gathering overhead. There has been death here - more than nature can usually provide.
You can see something glint through the trees...in the distance you can see figures carpeting the forest floor, and three distant figures standing over another figure, prostrate. They're about 150 yards away. You don't think that they've seen you.
Out of nowhere, a hooded figure appears in front of you, clad entirely in mottled olive green. Slobber yelps in surprise. The person is about two feet taller than you. You make out the texture of leather on the figure's torso, and A cloth mask covers the figure's face, and the hood casts a shadow, but you just have time to see a pair of blue eyes widen in alarm, before the figure runs off in the direction of the distant standing figures, moving so silently and gracefully as would put a cat to shame. You think that you caught sight of a scabbard under the figure's cloak.
You home in on the source of the scream with ease. You peer carefully through the concealment of a thick bush.
About thirty foot away two of the Grey furred warriors are standing over a broken, upturned cart. A slight, tubby man is being held down by a third warrior, a rangy looking man. The man is wearing a burgundy tabard and a fur surcoat - Fleraci military colours but not military uniform. Tears run down the tubby man's face, and he screams, as the third warrior sticks him again with a knife and twists it.
A a well muscled Fleraci soldier, wearing an officer's breastplate, is crumpled next to the cart. There's a javelin through his belly, and blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. His hair hangs in grey braids, and he wears a full beard - you can't make out his unit emblem at this distance.
Of the standing grey-furred warriors, the tallest is wearing a fine breastplate, and a large greatsword hangs at his hip. His cobalt eyes are large, and wide, and a greasy black mane of hair covers his head, just as a bristly sable beard covers his face. He seems well built. The second looks younger, with brown hair, and large sideburns but no beard. He is propped up on the cart and wheezing slightly - he seems to have taken an arrow to the body - he doesn't look well.
'Commander, please! Just give it to them! Oh Gods, oh gods'. The tubby man wails.
Spoiler
To remain concealed, make a Hide check (+2 Circumstance bonus)
You may also make a Knowledge (Local) check on the tubby man.
Hide With circumstance modifier: (1d20+4)[16]
Knowledge Local:(1d20+8)[20]
Cassandra watches the scene from the bushes, deciding any interuption would mearly add another body to the battlefield.Cass loads a bolt into her crossbow and readys her magic to conjure up some mage-armor if the soldiers spot her. She examines the tubby mans appearance for any clues as to who he is.
Tali shivers as she wakes up. Slowly lifting a hand and wiping the remains of the tears from her cheeks, she then moves her hand down to her middle where Frexburr normally sleeps, but feels nothing.
Blinking as she slowly sits up, clutching Janie tighter to her chest she starts whispering in a whimpering voice, "F-f-fexy... F-f-fexy, where are you? F-fexy? D-d-don't leave me F-frexy"
Standing and starting to search through the surrounding underbrush the tears start forming again as Tali is getting more anxious. "W-w-where d-d-did he g-go J-j-janie? W-why would F-f-frexy l-l-leave us?" she sobs, her tears streaming, her voice thick as her crying grows in volume.
Lena nods politely, if not terribly humbly. "Thankin' yer kindness, and this honour Lord Ireas". As she takes the seat she racks her brains for what the correct form of address should be. A question especially complicated because of her not even being Flamian.
"An' to what do I owe this summons? I canno' think o' but one reason why a man o' yer importance would be lookin' for one such as I; an' I'm not in prison so's it canno' be that one" She keeps her eyes straight on the black-clad man, trying to get an idea of what maps are on display.
Thumble had enjoyed the past few weeks, finding a balance with nature that he hadn't achieved to date. During his time on the island, he had managed only a tenuous truce with the world around him, vice a cooperative relationship. However, since spring he had learned a greater appreciation for the environment ... and earned an equal amount of respect from the wilderness at large.
Of course when the weather was warm, and trees and flowers were in bloom, life in the wild was easy. With the falling leaves came falling temperatures, and the beginning tendrils of winter. Soon snow would cover the forest, and Thumble would be hard pressed to provide for himself and Slobber.
Stepping across a carpet of old leaves, the gnome glanced skyward, the heavy clouds pregnant with the promise of rain or sleet ... he could smell it in the air. Looking down at Slobber, he rubbed the dog's ears. "I guess we should make for town, eh buddy? Better than freezing ... or sharing a cave with a pregnant bear ..." Trailing off, Thumble stopped, frowning for a moment. Something felt off, not quite right. As he stoodmfrozen, staring down atnSlobber, he realized what it was - the forest was deathly quiet. Normally, that meant you were being stalked by something big. This, however, was different ... unnatural.
A single cry came from the woods - the raucous call of a jay ... or so someone was pretending to be. Thumble motioned for Slobber to stay while he investigated. Slipping closer, Thumble saw figures standing over what looked like a sleeping person ... or something a little grimmer. As he watched, he was startled by the sudden appearance of camouflaged individual.
Blinking, the gnome stared for a bit, uncertain what was going on. Then he started after the retreating figure, intent on finding out what was going on.
__________________ Going on vacation for two weeks. I'll post when I can, but NPC me as necessary!
DM: "Why do you have so many characters?"
Me: "Because I never embraced the strategic value of running away."
Beigette smiles as she finds the brook, kneeling and lowering herself to the water for a drink. Noticing a bit of an odd taste, she frowns and looks down at the flowing water, her gaze going upstream until she finds the body. Startled, Beigette nearly loses her balance, looking around briefly, then in the direction the bolt must have come from, before standing up.
Walking quietly, Beigette approaches the corpse, murmuring a half-remembered prayer to Pelor (who memorized death rites, anyways? Certainly not her) to protect the boy's soul after such a violent death. Of course, she isn't the only one who might need protection...this certainly wasn't a park in Sigil, nor was it a place the mages had put her.
"I guess you can't tell me what happened, can you? But maybe...what kind of place this is," Beigette whispers to the body, kneeling to examine it - looking at the badge and searching through his belongings, doing her best to ignore the corpse. It was important to find out as much as she could - if he had a map or something similar, she could use that to get to the nearest city. If he had been carrying something important, she might be able to use it as a bargaining chip if whoever killed him found her, too...
"I hope you don't mind this. You see, normally I wouldn't frisk a corpse, but I have no idea where in all of the nine hells and abyssal levels I am. I don't even know if the people here would understand me - damn, I could be anywhere," she says, realizing as she speaks what probably happened. That half-assed-looking portal had worked after all! Beigette swears under her breath - she could literally be anywhere on the Wheel if it had had the power to shunt her from Sigil. At least she hadn't landed on the elemental plane of fire...
Ursuul staggers a step as he hears the voices. A hand coming to cover his mouth as the crows spiraling makes him a little dizzy. Why do little things have to move so quickly when I am realing from a hangover that would give demons room to pause...
The scream draws his eyes wide, not in disbelief of the thought of murder. That he was too used to, but it made his head ring like a forge anvil. He lays a comforting hand on his mule's back as he guides it to a nearby tree. His hands deftly work the harness into a knot around one of its branches.
Speaking softly he reassures the animal, D'nt ya worry. I'll be right back for ya. Jus gonna go an see what exactlty is goin on. Be patient fer me ana don' let yerself get spooked and break my barrel.
With his piece said, he begins to make his way towards the sound of the screams. His Guisamere used as a walking stick as he navigates the woods. A free hand lightly drumming on his travel keg as he moves. His voice carrying out as if he wasn't aware of the men ahead of him.
Bring us in good ale, and bring us in good ale;
For our Blessed Lady's sake, bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no brown bread, for that is made of bran,
Nor bring us in no white bread, there therein is no game;
But bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no beef, for there is many bones,
But bring us in good ale, for that goes down at once;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no bacon, for that is passing fat,
But bring us in good ale, and give us enough of that;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no mutton, for that is often lean,
Nor bring us in no tripes, for they be seldom clean;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no eggs, for there are many shells,
But bring us in good ale, and give us nothing else;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no butter, for therein are many hairs;
Nor bring us in no pig's flesh, for that will make us boars;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no puddings, for therein is all God's good;
Nor bring us in no venison, for that is not for our blood;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no capon's flesh, for that is often dear;
Nor bring us in no duck's flesh, for they slobber in the mere;
And bring us in good ale.
The forest is barely reconisable from when you finally lay down last night in the twilight. You're in a depression in a dark dell. Judging from the position of the sun you've rested until mid-morning. You can smell thr scent of wild thyme.
After a while you find a faint trace through the underbrush where a rabbit might have passed - you also find spoor. As you follow the bent brush you find a leafy plaintain that's been gnawed. It seems Fexxy got hungry during the night.You think that you can follow the trail...
You've been in Forcehead a little while, but you don't need to be sharp to realise that the town is very tense at the moment. 5 months ago the young head of the Forak family united the houses of Flerac, and proclaimed himself King of Flerac. Forcehead was first settled about 20 years ago by colonists originally from Flerac. Though nominally self-governing, and sending its own delegates to the Great council, in practice the town is dominated by Fleraci and House Forak and House Moreat influences - they own much land and command the allegiance of many. Haranad Forak's marriage alliance with the Fleraci branch of House Moreat has effectively unified most of the town into a loyal fiefdom of the young King.
Yet Forcehead is a long way from Flerac. Many did not take Haranad's declaration of himself as King of Flerac well - particularly the ruling families of the other two city states. There are fears of Civil War. In which case, Forcehead could suffer gravely.
You know that what agents there are of the other first families in the town tare desperately playing catch-up in Forcehead - trying to acquire lands and loyalties. The Moreat alliance took everyone by surprise - they had been relying on the Moreats to counter balance Forak's influence in the town.
Ireas is known as a kind and fair man. He owes his allegiance to House Forak - without whose favour no-one could get the position of governor. However, Ireas is known to take the position seriously - trying to show impartially where the office requires it. He appears taken aback by your mention of prison. You know the garrison (a nominally apolitical force) has about seventy men - the town has about 2,500 citizens - the smallest autonomous town in Flerac. The correct form of address is indeed Lord Ireas - though Lord Governor is also acceptable - though you've heard the man doesn't stand on ceremony.
You catch the barest glimpse of the map before the Captain rolls in up - the bottom of the map seems to show the Aelfica mountains, with notes and lines drawn over it in red ink...possibly passes or routes.
'Get that put away Captain. Ireas barks.
Ireas looks perturbed 'Oh, and what thing would that be, that could give me cause to put you in prison? I had contacted you, Ms Chillmast, because I have heard good things about your skills as an agent and gatherer of information who could be trusted...and I was hoping to discuss a business proposition, but now...I'm wondering if my trust could better be placed elsewhere'. His tone is guarded, but polite - he makes a better attempt at you name than most Flamians.
Outside, you can hear the thump of many boots, thundering down the corridor.
The man's not much more than a boy - he's a little scrawny. His hair is dark, there's no beard on his chin, and his skin is a pale bronze. He's wearing a coat of mail, a baldrick and belt of brown leather, from which hangs a plain shortsword, a burgundy shirt, black hose and a decent pair of boots. In his belt pouch you find 1 silver and 5 copper coins - they show a port with an octagon around it on the obverse, and several standing figures on the reverse - it's hard to make them out. You also find a pair of dice, such as are used for playing games of chance.
The badge on the man's chest is a red rose with a thorny stem being grasped by the red outline of a hand from which two drops of blood fall. An octagon borders the emblem. There are two parallel strokes at the bottom of the badge.
Please make a listen check, DC 15. To continue checking the body please make a search check.
Trying to slip through the brush as quietly as possible, still clutching Janie tightly, Tali follows the faint trail as best she can while still checking over her shoulder every couple of steps and calling out in a quiet, quivering voice, "F-f-frexy? C-c-come b-back! D-d-don't l-l-leave m-me p-p-please F-frexy."
Disturbed by the man's youth, Beigette takes a few moments to collect herself before she continues with her search. First she takes his longsword and uses it to cut the badge out of his clothing, putting it in one of her own pouches. It's just like stealing, but...he can't use it, anyways. There's no problem, Beigette thinks, avoiding looking at the face of the corpse she is searching.
Beigette frowns at the coins, not recognizing anything about them. Odd...well, she was definitely not anywhere near Sigil. Perhaps she'd been shunted to that place...what was it called? The Plane of Materials? That would explain the fairly Sigil-like climate and plants as well as the presence of people.
Unable to focus properly, on her surroundings or her search, due to the corpse and her still-present headache, Beigette gives up after a short time and sits back, resting her head in her hands, wondering what kind of place she has been sent to.
Last edited by PersonMan : 06-17-2013 at 02:50 AM.
Lena is tempted to laugh, and thinks better. ""Chillmist". Now there's a name I ha' not heard fo' long. Well, if'n you know the name you know why I'm a tad spooky. Mother was no' one fo' makin' friends on the mainland. Nor anywhere else. An' I've lived the past few years knowin' someone might want t' fit me for a cell or a noose or a knife just 'cause o' that.
"Still, I been called many things, but "untrustworthy" is no' one of 'em. And I'm good at what I do or I'd be dead already. People think well o' you, Lord Ireas, so I'm honoured by your invitation as I say.
"Y' don't trust me? Sunshine. People in Flamia don' trust me as soon I open my mouth, but it turns out they trust each other less. An' I'm just the sort of trustworthy they need, sometimes. We lived hard, where I ame from, and we did what's necessary. As lon' as I'm here it's necessary for me to keep mysel' on good terms with any that aren't poison. So what business would you ha' me to do? A' me a pirate's whelp turned cat rat?" Seeing the man's flusterment over her looking at the maps, she keeps her eyes on his. And her hands on the arm of the chair, where he can see them.
You settle into the undergrowth, rustling the leaves slightly. The biggest grey furred warrior turns his head in your direction for a moment, but he doesn't seem to have noticed you, and he turns his attention back to the torture of the tubby man.
The man isn't wearing any insignia, but he is wearing burgundy - so your best guess would be that he's a hired civilian, attached to the army. There were some back at the barracks - cleaners, adjutants and language tutors who dressed similarly. This man is probably either an adjutant or an interpreter - and definitely a Fleraci citizen.
As you settle in you hear a distant voice raised in song. The grey warriors hear it too, and the torturer exchanges a glance with the big warrior. The largest says something that you cannot quite hear. The torturer gives a tight nod, sheaths his knife, draws a short sword, and slinks off into the forest in the direction of the singing. The glade is now silent but for the blubbing of the tubby man as he bleeds. The big warrior draws his greatsword and points it against the tubby mans chest. The song gradually becomes more distinct.
..........and give us enough of that;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no mutton, for that is often lean,
Nor bring us in no tripes, for they be seldom clean;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no eggs, for there are many shells,
But bring us in good ale, and give us nothing else;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no butter, for therein are many hairs;
Nor bring us in no pig's flesh, for that will make us boars;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no puddings, for therein is all God's good;
Nor bring us in no venison, for that is not for our blood;
And bring us in good ale.
Ursuul stops when he hears the voice. His head cranning towards the shadow, his free hand placed over his brow to shield from light.
I am jist wanderen about mostly. Pretty woods round here, not bad for a place ta get way from 'tall really.
Now, ain't too polite like ta grill a man from the shaders like tat. Whydontcha come on out inta the open huh? Got myself a party good ration of ale here. Might be a bit warm from the walk, but that ain't nothing to spoil a good drink. We can get ta know one another over a pint and a bite huh? Sounds like a might fine offer iffin I say so me'self.
So why don't you just come on out Mr. ... seems I missed your name. What was it again my friend?
At first the camouflaged figure heads in the direction of the other figures, but glancing around, it notices you in pursuit, and veers off at right angles. The figure is moving very quickly, and seems to be outpacing you. Slobber is running alongside you, and keeping up with you easily.
Just then a blood chilling scream reels out from up ahead where three figures...stand over a fourth...something big is behind them...looks like...a crate?
Make a Spot check DC 15
Make a Reflex save (Spot check affects DC)
You think you can make out a drawn sword...but the outline of the man isn't clear. The man steps forward, and seems to take a look at you.
'You're a fair way from home, aren't you? What's a tribesman doing so far South?'
As the man steps forward upon him a shaft of sunlight falls across him. The man is rangy, with a scar across his nose, and dark brown hair and beard. He's wearing a chain shirt, and grey furs.
You've seen several warriors dressed similarly, just once before. There were a small party of them on the battlefield, fighting alongside another tribe against yours. You remember that day very well - though you've tried to drown it in the bottom of a hundred tankards - because that was the day Garoth died.
RSS Feeds: 
Ashes of Aequaria IC
.
]
