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The city of Jestul was not too impressive. Surrounded by a wall of stacked logs about 10ft high and 5ft wide, it surrounds most of the village except the lumberyard, the wizard's tower, and a few homesteads. The sun sits high in the sky, the sound of wood being chopped can be heard from the forest. The wizard tower stands over 100ft tall, crooked and rising in an impossibly unstable manner. The wizard can sometimes be seen looking out a window but otherwise none ever see him unless they go up the tower to speak with him.
As adventurers with varying purposes you have all come here for one reason or another, but what you all have in common is needing supplies and a place to stay. There is one large Inn, the Bellowing Wyvern, located in the center of town. It acts like the centerpoint of the town's ocmmerce, with the streets around it twice as wide for merchants to set up stalls and wagosn to unload supplies. Most of the town's shops cluster around this market place. The barracks is located near the southern gate, constructed of solid lumber and cobblestone. There is no room in the barracks though for travelers so all would have to go to the Bellowing Wyvern to find a bed. The Inn is the best place to go if you are seeking information.
If you have already been staying at the Inn, it is 4 sp a night, plus 2 sp for good meals. The 4 sp a night gets you a room with a small bunk, a chamber pot, and a warm blanket. An extra 3 sp gets you a larger room with your own chest to store gear, a washbucket, and a steel mirror on the wall. There are only 4 upgraded rooms available.
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"But Iron - Cold Iron - Is Master Of Them All"
Conor, being reasonably well off, would have bought an upgraded room with meals while he stayed in the city.
After spending a few days asking around the city with no success, he determined that he would spend a day or two relaxing in the Bellowing Wyvern's common room before continuing his search. While sitting alone sipping at a mug of something strong he overhears the proclamations of a servant of Pelor. While neither a follower of the Sun God himself nor willing to convert, he could never refuse a good story, with which most religious dogma usually had in abundance. He takes a seat nearby the preacher and quietly listens for what he has to say.
Dannydd has heard much of the wizard of Jestul and his impossible tower. The real thing had been something of a disappointment when he'd arrived last week. He'd expected something grander somehow. Still his aim was to speak with the mage at length but first he had to find out more about him. The common room of the Bellowing Wyvern was a perfect place to listen to gossip and hear of the comings and goings of learned men and women. The bar keep had been promising a bard for the last three days too. Such well travelled entertainers where notorious for picking up useful titbits.
Unfortunately his quiet evening of reading and listening was being spoiled by some drunk raving about a deity of some kind. No doubt he thought that Pelor literally pulled the sun across the sky in a chariot or some such nonsense. For a moment he considered conjuring a simple illusion of a puppet doing just that but decided against drawing that much attention to himself. Instead he nursed his cup of mulled wine, only one of an evening so as to keep a clear head, and tried to concentrate on his book. If the drunk got too annoying he'd retire to the simple room he'd rented upstairs.
Having spent the day trying his best to gather information, Torrik retires to the Inn, giving the owner a pair of intricate gold pieces, paying for his more lavish room, his meal, and a gallon of ale, while also tipping him most pleasantly. Torrik retires to a dark corner from which he can eat, and drink, in peace.
He looks down at himself and sighs, his armor and axe show his heritage but shine like that of a diplomat, he wonders to himself How much longer before I start fighting.."
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Adopted Larger, but younger, little bro of Lady Moreta
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Watch me play SKYRIM, give me quests, laugh at my deaths, and give me MOAR MODS! :P
Last edited by KingOfLaughter : 09-06-2012 at 04:52 PM.
The preacher manages to catch the attention of a trio of drunks, who take a near by seat and all turn to watch teh preacher speak, shouting out incoherent giant they must have picked up in the trollmoors. They heckle the priest, egging him on, probably. "Grong Knak Plorg!
For those that speak giant:
Spoiler
"Preach to us holy man!"
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"But Iron - Cold Iron - Is Master Of Them All"
Adeyn sat tucked away in the back of the bar room, quietly sharpening a dagger while she waits for her meal. Her uniform clearly shows she is part of the Lancastrian army and she's had a few snide comments from out-of-towners about taking up rooms when surely she should be in the barracks. She is quietly watching the bar patrons, staying aware of one's surroundings is a hard habit to break. A small smile slides across her face as someone stands and begins preaching the blessings and benefits of worshipping Pelor.
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There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
Hearing the trio shout, Torrik grabs his ale, and his meal and moves to his room. Placing the food on the chest he does his daily prayer and removes the parade pieces of his armor.
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Adopted Larger, but younger, little bro of Lady Moreta
Awesome Avatar of Awesome Done by C-Lam
Watch me play SKYRIM, give me quests, laugh at my deaths, and give me MOAR MODS! :P
Weary from his journey, Walter stops in at the Bellowing Wyvern for some r&r. He purchases the cheapest available meal with some of the coin he's yet to give away. While he's managed to fall well off the radar of those hunting him, Walter is far from feeling at ease. Walter had never left Talathiel before and if being in a place so completely foreign to him wasn't uncomfortable enough, Walter's appearance had already started getting him some dirty looks from the locals.
Walter had been listening to a preacher of Pelor, whose words Walter could almost seem to recall from memory (having been raised in a monastery). The preaching soothed him. Suddenly, Walter becomes alert as several drunks begin to harass the preacher.
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Currently LF3.5G in Queens/Brooklyn/Manhattan, NYC.
Adeyn giggles at the sight of the drunk hecklers. She has no idea what they're saying, but they certainly seem to be enjoying the show. She slides one dagger into its sheath, pauses to take a drink from the mug in front of her, and then removes another dagger and proceeds to sharpen that one. I know it's not intentional, but this is more entertaining than a singer she thinks.
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There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
The man laughs, banging his mug as his friends join him in laughter and he speaks again in common. "Preach on priest! Let's hear what you have to say of your god." He takes a big gulp of his drink and cheers with his friends. They are at a level of drunkedness that it is hard to tell if they genuinely want to hear what the cleric has to say or if they are mocking him.
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"But Iron - Cold Iron - Is Master Of Them All"
Adeyn frowned as the drunks got a little more belligerant. It was hard to tell just how serious they were being. She'd already seen one man get up and head upstairs, apparently fed up with the noise, and she could see another man getting gradually more tense. She lightly wrapped one hand around the dagger and took another drink from the flagon. Do not start anything, she told herself firmly. You don't need the hassle.
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There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
Dannydd had had enough of the drunken louts. The preacher was drunk on faith and not on wine as he'd first thought. Those sort were best left alone where their fervour could burn itself out. Arguing with them just made them more belligerent. This taunting though was distasteful.
He put his book away and walked to the bar. "Evening," he nodded to the bar keep, "a pitcher of your strongest wine please, hot as you like, and four mugs." After paying he spend a moment summoning a cantrip to carry the mugs then wound his way through the crowd to the table with the noisy drunks.
"Gron klar plovain knak grorh grong. Terrikan fro fromti. " he intones in perfect giant, "Alk alk, tobin roth"
Spoiler
Translation: Here, enjoy this wine as my gift to you. Leave the holy man to preach his foolishness or kill him. It is a sign of weakness to torment the afflicted.
He has the mugs float down slowly next to the pitcher of wine and then steps back with a bow.
Spoiler
The spell I cast is Prestidigitation. I'm using it for the theatrics to impress these drunken louts so that they are wary of turning their attentions to me. I'm not intimidating but an obvious display of power might put them in the wrong foot.
Adeyn smiled at the sight of the mugs hovering in midair - clearly someone else was fed up with the noisy drunks, though she wasn't entirely sure giving them more alcohol would help the situation. Leaning sideways, she grabbed the sleeve of a passing server.
"Is this guy always preaching like that?" She asked, gesturing towards the preacher, now enthusiastically asking for story ideas. Too much more of this and I'm just going to go to bed, she thought. She had only arrived that afternoon, and she was meant to be up early to start the training after all.
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There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
Today had not been a great day. First, for a city known for it's lumber, every damned merchant in the place seemed aware of the reputation and marked up their prices accordingly. Second, there were so many of them that Thrash had gotten lost (and a little dizzy) heading from one to the next. Lastly, there were people shouting; if anyone was going to be shouting, Thrash wanted it to be him--not a dime-a-dozen preacher, and definitely not a group of drunkards. However, there was a woman, so perhaps things were starting to look up.
She had grabbed Thrash's sleeve, mistaking him for one of the barmen. Rather than taking offense, he smiled at her. Sometimes happy chance could lead to the most interesting meetings. "If not him," he says with a wink, "one of a thousand like him. You think they'd learn to read their audience a little more, eh?" The man extended his hand to Adeyn and bowed slightly. His muscles rippled as he moved, and his mop of red hair all but obscured his pale blue eyes from sight. "Thrash Crasher, miss, well met. And you are?"
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ON VACATION 5/23-5/31. Posting may be slow or nonexistent until the first week in June, but I'm still around.
Adeyn looked up, her expression startled. She stares dumbly at Thrash for a moment, her eyes flicking up and down his body, while her face slowly turns pink.
"Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't realise you weren't- I mean, of course you aren't, why would you be? I should have been paying attention, it's just that I-" she breaks off abruptly, the faint pink in her cheeks turning into a full-blown blush at her babbling. "I mean... uh, I'm Amaril Sergeant. Sergeant Amaril! ... I'm Adeyn Amaril, I'm with the army..." she trails off, her face now flaming, and mutters something you can just hear are some pretty inventive swear words.
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There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
Thrash straightens a bit at the mention of her rank. "Well met, Sergeant," he corrects himself with an infectious smile. "Pray tell, what are we drinking? Allow me to buy the next round as a show of appreciation for your service. If I may?" he asks with a gesture to the bench across the table.
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ON VACATION 5/23-5/31. Posting may be slow or nonexistent until the first week in June, but I'm still around.
Adeyn straightens in her seat, which is impressive, considering she was already sitting ramrod-straight.
"Uhh, it's just al- ale," she stammers, looking briefly into her flagon like she wasn't sure it was ale. She grimaces and drops her head briefly to stare at her hands, which have visibly clenched around dagger and whetstone. She takes a few deep breaths and when she lifts her head, she has regained control over her voice, if not her complexion.
"Please do," she nods towards the empty bench. "And I am sorry about mistaking you for a server." Pink flares briefly in her cheeks, she is clearly very embarrassed.
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There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
Having finished his ale, and cleaned his gear, Torrik sighs, "Guess I need more ale... Gah, I hope those drunkards have finally shut up."
And so, Torrik adventures back down to the bar, ordering more ale, and finds a corner booth to sit in.
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Adopted Larger, but younger, little bro of Lady Moreta
Awesome Avatar of Awesome Done by C-Lam
Watch me play SKYRIM, give me quests, laugh at my deaths, and give me MOAR MODS! :P
Out of the corner of his eye, Walter notices a woman blushing uncontrollably while talking to a man. The look on her face is so comical that, even without the context of the situation, Walter bursts into a loud hyena-laugh. Now Walter is a little embarrassed, too. He hangs his head as if focusing intently on his dinner plate.
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Currently LF3.5G in Queens/Brooklyn/Manhattan, NYC.
"Fascinating, some kind of gnoll hybrid," Dannydd turns from the drunks and the preacher, having forgotten them at the sound and sight of this new wonder. The cups trail after him too as he neglects to end his spell on them. "Excuse me, Sir. Might I join you for a moment?" Not waiting for confirmation he grabs a stool and begins to ask questions about gnoll history and linguistics even going so far as to start a new page on his notebook and write a title of "Observations into gnoll culture from the point of view of a human\gnoll hybrid".
Adeyn's head jerks up at the bizarre laugh, she gapes a little, open-mouthed, at the strange creature, who stares back at her for a moment before dropping his head and staring at the table below him. Apparently she's not the only person making a fool of herself tonight. The thought is strangely comforting.
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There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
"Oh, uhm, sure... Hi," says Walter, with a voice a bit higher than one might expect from someone so large and ferocious looking.
Walter doesn't know what to make of this Elf's sudden interest in him, but he dosen't seem unfriendly. Not unfriendly is almost the same as friendly, and Walter could really use a friend right now.
"Sorry, I don't know nothin' about Gnolls. I never even met one."
Walter isn't apt enough to realize that he should be a touch offended, but he is a bit annoyed, given how often he gets asked questions like this.
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Currently LF3.5G in Queens/Brooklyn/Manhattan, NYC.
"Tell us the one about the hungry fella, would you preacher?"
Conor calls out after a long period of silence. He looks up from his food and drink briefly and scans his eyes around the common room for the source of the peculiar laughter. Upon noticing the socially inept man-creature looking awkwardly at his table he shrugs and continues eating.
The preacher had stalled for a moment. Thinking to let the audience pick which tale to hear. When no suggestion was forthcoming. Alex thought.
They know nothing of Pelor, this is good. They will be easy to turn into the blazing hate.
Then at the suggestion, Alex brightened.
Very well good man. I shall tell you the tale of the Hungry man and how Pelor's blessings fed him. Taking a moment to clear his throat before starting his tale.
One there was a man. A man who hunted for his food. But one day, he couldn't find any animals, no matter how hard he looked. So the man went to sleep thinking he would try again tomorrow. But the strangest thing happened, the next day there were no animals either. Day after day passed without food. At deaths's door the man called to the heavens. "Oh why hath the gods forsaken me." And at that moment the sky burst with light. A glorious radiance that nothing could out-beauty. Then a bird of fire descended from the heavens to talk with the man. "Listen" The bird said. "The gods have not forsaken you, you have forsaken the gods. Follow Pelor's teachings and you will know bounty, follow Pelor's teachings and you will have food." "Oh please." The hungry man said. "Anything, I will follow Pelor's blessings." "Now go home." The bird said. "Go home and there will be food for you there." "But I can barely move." The man pleaded. "Then I shall carry you." The bird said. And when they were home. The man found all sorts of planted wheat. And with Pelor's blessing he lived happily ever after. The end.
"No matter, " though in truth Dannydd was more than a little disappointed, "you're rather unique, you know. At least I've never even heard of a half-gnoll before. Would you tell me about yourself?"
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