Emeryn arches an eyebrow at the brutish human, somehow giving him a noble stare-down despite being at least a head shorter. It lasts for a long moment, but she relents, accepting the charcoal and hide. She places them on the table, removes the chain gauntlet on her right hand, then draws a couple of interlocking ovals on either side. In the center, where one more oval would join the two together, two lines curve toward each other but do not meet, as if the link had been burst.*
She also adds her voice to the planning: "If the town cannot afford another shipment, barrels of sand or hay should suffice for this deception. If they do not take the bait, however, we must be prepared to ride into the hills."
Assuming kaburi didn't have some specific other "broken chain" symbol in mind, we didn't hash out the exact details.
I huff as I listen to these adventurers chat about the caravans. I am too busy grabbing a drink and eyeing the attractive blonde newcomer.
Clearing my head for a moment, I decide to speak up. The cleric was onto something.
"The ssssmarmy one has a point. If there is any unssssertainty with where and how these abductions are happening, the best way to ensure we find them is to have them come to usss."
"The Chain..." murmured the elf. "Could they have returned?" The elf's gait was akin to gliding as he approached the table, poetry in motion; he was obviously of an upper class family.
"Madame Mayor. As my complexion, speech, and garb may indicate, I am rather well-educated. I have read of a cult in the libraries at home that bears this symbol of a broken chain. If your reports are true, then there is more we need to know. Who is leading them? Are they part of the main cult or an independent splinter group? The connotations here are troubling, and if they have connections, this could be bigger than your missing caravans.
What exactly was your supply group transporting that would be of interest to such an organization, Madame Mayor?"
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A jangle of shifting armor, a resounding thump, then a dull tinny clatter sound out as Emeryn shifts her weight and slams her hands down against the table, knocking two pewter flagons to the floorboards. She holds the elf with a fiery glare, practically ready to vault across the long table - were it not for that obstruction between them, it is obvious that she would be gripping him more directly.
"What do you know of them?!" she demands, half snarling.
Awash in spilled cider, the charcoal drawing of the chain bleeds together into a single murky, twisting stroke.
The elf waved his hand nonchalantly, clearly not bothered by the display of intensity.
"Madame, I don't know who you think you are to demand answers of me, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from turning beverages into projectiles near my robes. They're quite expensive - the finest money can buy, in fact. I also don't respond well to threats, so I would advise you to reel yourself in. I assure you that you will not be favored in a close encounter with me.
As for what I know of the cult in question, merely anything that one can read from a book containing such information. I don't associate my inner circle with ruffians bent on world destruction, but it is certainly relevant to my interests if such a group were to return, as that could take great effect on my own line of work.
Regardless of your personal vendetta with this group, if you are going to compromise our mission with explosive emotional outbursts, I would humbly request you simply...not join us." The elf spoke with a coldness that permeated the room and curtness so thick that the knife tossed in the town square earlier would have had no hopes of cutting through it.
The elf opened his arm in gesture towards the tavern door, as though to suggest that the vermillion-tempered warrior should exit the conversation and the building.
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Dieknuh quietly groans into her mug, content to leave the posturing vagabonds to themselves. They seemed to be making some degree of progress, and she was patient. Being caught in social lines of fire many times in the past, she has grown to learn that discretion is often the better part of valour. This has held true on martial and political battlefields alike.
Reed smirks at the display and removes his traveling cloak, setting himself back in his chair like he doesn't have a care in the world. The cloak is a dark blue with various shapes sewn into in a slightly darker hue. Reed reverses the cloak and folds it carefully before laying it over the back of his chair. The reverse is drab brown, so different from the rich blue that it's sometimes hard to believe they were the same cloak at all.
Underneath the cloak, he's wearing the simple clothing of a government functionary or minor scribe, except with more pockets that you'd expect from that kind of utilitarian garb. From one of these pockets, Reed produces a coin that he absently begins twirling between his fingers.
Suddenly, the veener of comfort breaks and his brows furrow. He looks offended.
Reed turns to the Dragonborn sitting nearby and simply says "The smarmy one? Well we're off to a great start. I need a drink. Diela, dear, do you have anything exotic rattling around in back room around here somewhere?"
I stare at the symbol that the paladin has drawn. It is as I feared. At least I know that I am on the right track.
"VERY BAD."
I fish around in my sack some more and start putting pieces of carved wood on the table. The blocks vary in size, with the smallest being a few inches across and the largest being almost a foot on each side, and each being half an inch to an inch tall. The smallest show signs of age, while the largest one looks to be freshly hewn from a tree. Intricately carved in the face of each is a detailed scene. Each scene shares common details, including a banner bearing the same mark that the paladin drew. When half a dozen or so are on the table, I point my finger at the banner on one of the larger scenes. In the center of each scene is a creature. Though the creature varies from depiction to depiction, each tableau features a similar malevolent entity, bound by seven chains to a rock, face contorted into mad laughter. Behind or around the creature, each carving depicts a disaster. Some are immediately recognizable, like a familiar city ablaze and a shattered mountain range. Others can't be placed as events recognized, but can still be identified, like a field of battle with one lone axe-wielding warrior as the sole survivor, or a great tree fallen and festering with rot. The newest scene is unfinished, as though it were in the process of being carved, but rough details can still be made out: the laughing beast, the banner with the unbroken chain, a stained and dripping broadsword, flames, people running, bodies. The people and bodies are the least detailed, but from the relative size, some are clearly children.
I stare up into questioning eyes and place the pointing finger upon my temple.
"VISIONS," I explain.
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"Understatment." I look up from the carvings and glance round the room taking in everyone, lingering over the pair of fops as if evaluating their use out in the wilds. Under his breathe you can just hear me mutter to myself "If left my swamp for this?"
Once I have taken in the room, I reluctantly lower the hood that has been everpresent revealing features only slightly less reptilian that Dragonborns though perhaps more shocking for being on a more normal frame, a bifurated tongue flickers out breifly as I taste the air.
"It appears that each of us has been drawn together, by circumstances or people currently unknown. And given a small part of the puzzle. Might I suggest that we would be better of helping each other by filling in the gaps in our knowledge than jumping at the slightest perceived insult. As I for one am very interested in learning their identity and why they have chosen to manipulate us
With that in mind the next order of business is introductions, that way we each of us knows who we are talking to."
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- H.L Mencken
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"Well that doesn't look pleasant." Reed mutters, looking at the carvings. He sighs, and turns to look at the rest of the group.
"You all heard me outside. My name is Reed Bristletongue, and I bring with me the Blessings of Finian and all the magic that entails. I also bring my own not insubstantial skill in deception... and if we're going to take on whatever that thing is, we're going need them."
Reed leans forward in his chair and looks at all those assembled, all traces of mockery gone and his smug expression wiped clean.
"Should I adopt a persona, give a false name or change my manner entirely, I ask that you do your best to follow my lead. For better or worse we're in this now, so I might as well tell you all true. I'm not known as Reed across the Five Holds, and I ask you think on what a favored Cleric of Finian could be capable of before you think about betraying any of my names. Reed Bristletongue will do for all of you, and it's far truer a name than most. I'm not here to save this town, nor am I here about any missing apples. I'm here because something nearby is powerful enough to block even the sight of the gods."
Reed leans back, taking in the reactions to his pronouncement. He turns to the Mayor and Diela, and the smile returns.
"But that doesn't mean I'm not allowed a little creative freedom in accomplishing my goals, and it sounds like finding out what is happening to your caravans will lead us to the rest."
I'm operating under the assumption that the mayor's wife actually was a part of the thieve's guild and can understand Theive's cant. If this is incorrect, please let me know
Pinkletuff begins/attempts to begin a conversation with the Mayor's wife discussing the road where the caravans have gone missing, going into rather painstaking detail about the various geographic features and seasonal attributes.
So, you're an ex-guild member? The guild sent me here to find out what was going on, and who was poaching on our territory. Is there anything...off the record...that you want to mention? As a side note, you mentioned you were the head of the merchants association. Any interesting or solid marks in there that I should know about? Standard finder's cut would apply, of course.
This is turning out more interesting than I thought. At least the guild will be glad to know that it's not run of the mill banditry. Still, best to stop it entirely.
"KORVAT," I say, placing my hand on my chest to indicate I am speaking of myself. I then extend the hand to shake, first to the tricksy cleric, and then to the devilish one who proposed introductions. The motions are awkward, as though they have not been performed in a long time.
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Assume the beginning of this comes about after Dieknuh's (Talore's) last post, and will catch up with the progression as it goes on.
The armored girl straightens, eyes cast down, and her anger fades. She removes her other gauntlet and shows her hands face up to the elf, a conciliatory gesture. "Forgive me, Master Elf. Those who raise this banner have committed a grievous affront to my -" the slightest pause "- House. I have sought knowledge of them for so long, to hear it offered so casually was a great shock. Need I continue on my own, I shall, but I beseech you to share whatever you may know."
As she offers this apology, the wild man begins to unload his ominous carvings. She steps closer, picks one up, and her eyes go wide again, but she holds her tongue in check as even more startling revelations are made.
"Then perhaps it is Finian's whim that has brought us here. Again, I am Emeryn, heir to the Marquis Paradesh of Brassbarren." She greets the others nearby. "Master Korvat, did you carve these? How can you see these visions?"
"Master Korvat, did you carve these? How can you see these visions?"
I nod and display a set of carving tools from my bag in acknowledgement to the first question.
"VISIONS? ALWAYS HAVE," I say, shrugging, to answer the second.
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The elf waved his hand at the Paladin as though to indicate all was forgiven.
"Fret not, madame.
Much like Sir Bristletongue, I prefer not to disclose my true identity in the company of those who do not need to know. As stated before, you may refer to me as 'Luan'. This may or may not be my name; but it is of little consequence.
My profession? Creatively speaking, I am an ambassador, negotiator, and 'problem-solver' of sorts. Again, this is all that you need to know of me. I have connections and resources, and I am one of the best in my profession."
The elf snapped his fingers and the fire in the hearth died. He snapped his fingers again and the flame re-ignited.
Prestidigitation.
"If you do not interfere with my work, I will be your greatest asset. If you cross me, you will die. I will maintain our alliance for as long as it is beneficial to myself but know that my loyalty is to my lord and in 100 situations, I will choose his side over yours 100 times."
The elf turned, swishing his robes, and sitting in a chair of his choice with a flourish.
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I take the proferred hand grasping the barbarian round the wrist, taking care not to cut the warrior with my sharpened nails. "Strathalmere, the cat calls itself Starfall." I then turn the warrior woman, "Glimpses of the future don't just come as gifts from the gods Lass. There are other sources some that are a lot less pleasant, and none of them seem to give you enough information."
Turing to Dieknuh, "Now we appear to have stopped the children from fighting, do you have anything you wish to add to the discussion?"
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Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag and start slitting throats.
- H.L Mencken
I Became insane with long Intervals of horrible Sanity
All Religion, my friend is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination and poetry.
- Edgar Allan Poe
Summoned from her mug, Dieknuh gives an incredulous glance to Strathalmere. Muttering an oath in the language of giants, she gets up and walks towards the bar, seeking a refill. Mid-stride, she suggests, "If there are any captives, they've no better chance of survival whilst action is not taken." In a much lower voice, she added, "Drimgund Osttrun sat on his heels for days, giving the villainous Grishnuk the time needed to devastate his clanhold."
The other inn in town (the Beggar’s Tankard), a cider house (Harruq’s Fine Ciders), a tailor’s shop, and a candlemaker’s shop. The general store (Thruian Merchantile) was closed for the day, but not boarded up. The blacksmith was still open, as was the apothecary (Herbals By Madame Vrrix).
Has the Mayor's wife given any indication to me that she understood the thieve's cant as I was discussing the contract and she was right there? I was under the impression she was Merchant's guild, not Thieves guild
No, she was more focused on her wife’s speech, so she didn’t overhear. And she holds dual membership, though the Merchants' Guild clearly doesn't realize this.
She waits a moment, then adds, "The lady who saw these men believes they are necromancers, but I have little reason to trust this claim. Perhaps this symbol is known in Ull-Seagle?" She turns to the Mayor.
”No, I’ve never seen anything like this, here or anywhere,” she says. Diela takes the page and turns it upside down. “I saw a similar motif long ago, on the walls of the Pyramid of Khalid, the Mummy Lord of the Tirim, but it wasn’t exactly the same.”
Anyone may make a History or Religion check to see if you know anything about the Pyramid of Khalid.
Madame Mayor, you mentioned that only the caravans have disappeared on their journey. All other travelers, that you know of at least, have passed through unmolested. That makes common banditry unlikely. What kind of guard did the previous caravan's have?"
I think for moment, and then a sly grin crosses my face.
"And might you have a cart and a few bushels of apples we could borrow?"
”Well,” she begins, “the first caravan had no guard, just Ennis and Maeve Dempsey, their daughters Ailis and Aoife, and two farmhands. The farmers of this village been selling fruits and grains in Silverwatch for centuries and have never had problem beyond the occasional bandit, and most of the people can defend themselves well enough. The second was also unguarded, just Hollis Scolaidhe and five of his employees. Hollis runs the Beggar’s Tankard, in addition to owning a large farm outside of town. His son Jerris oversees the farm, but he was sick with the flux and couldn’t make the trip this year.
“By this point we had received word the first caravan never arrived at Rockfall, the last stop before you enter the mountains, so we sent some of the sheriff’s men along with the third and fourth caravans. When it came time for the fifth caravan to depart, the sheriff himself accompanied them.”
“As far as a cart, I see where you’re going. We’ve got a cart and horses, though since our main business is a bar we just have barrels of cider, rye whiskey, ale, that sort of thing.”
Diela smiles. “We do brew our own cider downstairs in the cellar, and it’s a favorite of a few members of court in the Hold, so we do occasionally send a shipment up the mountains.”
”What exactly was your supply group transporting that would be of interest to such an organization, Madame Mayor?"
”Food, mostly. There’s not much for farming in the mountains, so Silverwatch has to import most of its food supplies for the winter before the mountains become unpassable. The first was apples and pears, the second was barley and rye, and the third was wheat and more apples. The fourth, I think, was cider, although Harruq has a tendency to brew the harder stuff as well. The last one was honey from Gwenynfa’s Apiary.”
I'm operating under the assumption that the mayor's wife actually was a part of the thieve's guild and can understand Theive's cant. If this is incorrect, please let me know
Pinkletuff begins/attempts to begin a conversation with the Mayor's wife discussing the road where the caravans have gone missing, going into rather painstaking detail about the various geographic features and seasonal attributes.
So, you're an ex-guild member? The guild sent me here to find out what was going on, and who was poaching on our territory. Is there anything...off the record...that you want to mention? As a side note, you mentioned you were the head of the merchants association. Any interesting or solid marks in there that I should know about? Standard finder's cut would apply, of course.
This is turning out more interesting than I thought. At least the guild will be glad to know that it's not run of the mill banditry. Still, best to stop it entirely.
Before Diela and Reed head to the back room, she responds with an equally longwinded discussion about the road, it’s history, the various farms along the path, the weather of the region, the coming winter, etc.
Back in my prime, I was second in line to the King of Thieves, but I retired almost a hundred years ago. Lost my leg to a werelion in the Pyramid of Khalid, but that adventure was a big enough score I could live out the rest of my days in comfort with my wife. I still keep in contact with the guild, and occasionally arrange to use the caravans from Ull-Seagle to move certain contraband goods in and out of Silverwatch. You might want to pay the Beggar’s Tankard a visit while you’re in town. Hollis Scolaidhe is several months behind on his protection money, which is why I first thought the caravans going missing was guild business. He went missing with his caravan, but his daughter’s working to get the inn reopened before the Solstice festival. Oh, and Harruq, the half-orc that runs the cider house on Main Street, is notorious for leaving his back door unlocked. He’s a mad genius, that one, but absent-minded as a schoolgirl in love.
Before Diela and Reed head to the back room, she responds with an equally longwinded discussion about the road, it’s history, the various farms along the path, the weather of the region, the coming winter, etc.
*Impatient glaring intensifies*
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"I am Paravraxssss of the blue Dragonborn. My parents were the rulers of my clan, but I...am not one of them any more. Suffice to say that my clan and I did not see eye to eye on matters of morality."
I take a large swig from my mug and belch a small jolt of electricity.
"Reed, is it? Forgive my rudeness. I'm simply not accustomed to people of your level of...overt charisma."
She also adds her voice to the planning: "If the town cannot afford another shipment, barrels of sand or hay should suffice for this deception. If they do not take the bait, however, we must be prepared to ride into the hills."
Clearing my head for a moment, I decide to speak up. The cleric was onto something.
"The ssssmarmy one has a point. If there is any unssssertainty with where and how these abductions are happening, the best way to ensure we find them is to have them come to usss."
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"Madame Mayor. As my complexion, speech, and garb may indicate, I am rather well-educated. I have read of a cult in the libraries at home that bears this symbol of a broken chain. If your reports are true, then there is more we need to know. Who is leading them? Are they part of the main cult or an independent splinter group? The connotations here are troubling, and if they have connections, this could be bigger than your missing caravans.
What exactly was your supply group transporting that would be of interest to such an organization, Madame Mayor?"
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"What do you know of them?!" she demands, half snarling.
Awash in spilled cider, the charcoal drawing of the chain bleeds together into a single murky, twisting stroke.
"Madame, I don't know who you think you are to demand answers of me, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from turning beverages into projectiles near my robes. They're quite expensive - the finest money can buy, in fact. I also don't respond well to threats, so I would advise you to reel yourself in. I assure you that you will not be favored in a close encounter with me.
As for what I know of the cult in question, merely anything that one can read from a book containing such information. I don't associate my inner circle with ruffians bent on world destruction, but it is certainly relevant to my interests if such a group were to return, as that could take great effect on my own line of work.
Regardless of your personal vendetta with this group, if you are going to compromise our mission with explosive emotional outbursts, I would humbly request you simply...not join us." The elf spoke with a coldness that permeated the room and curtness so thick that the knife tossed in the town square earlier would have had no hopes of cutting through it.
The elf opened his arm in gesture towards the tavern door, as though to suggest that the vermillion-tempered warrior should exit the conversation and the building.
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Underneath the cloak, he's wearing the simple clothing of a government functionary or minor scribe, except with more pockets that you'd expect from that kind of utilitarian garb. From one of these pockets, Reed produces a coin that he absently begins twirling between his fingers.
Suddenly, the veener of comfort breaks and his brows furrow. He looks offended.
Reed turns to the Dragonborn sitting nearby and simply says "The smarmy one? Well we're off to a great start. I need a drink. Diela, dear, do you have anything exotic rattling around in back room around here somewhere?"
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"VERY BAD."
I fish around in my sack some more and start putting pieces of carved wood on the table. The blocks vary in size, with the smallest being a few inches across and the largest being almost a foot on each side, and each being half an inch to an inch tall. The smallest show signs of age, while the largest one looks to be freshly hewn from a tree. Intricately carved in the face of each is a detailed scene. Each scene shares common details, including a banner bearing the same mark that the paladin drew. When half a dozen or so are on the table, I point my finger at the banner on one of the larger scenes. In the center of each scene is a creature. Though the creature varies from depiction to depiction, each tableau features a similar malevolent entity, bound by seven chains to a rock, face contorted into mad laughter. Behind or around the creature, each carving depicts a disaster. Some are immediately recognizable, like a familiar city ablaze and a shattered mountain range. Others can't be placed as events recognized, but can still be identified, like a field of battle with one lone axe-wielding warrior as the sole survivor, or a great tree fallen and festering with rot. The newest scene is unfinished, as though it were in the process of being carved, but rough details can still be made out: the laughing beast, the banner with the unbroken chain, a stained and dripping broadsword, flames, people running, bodies. The people and bodies are the least detailed, but from the relative size, some are clearly children.
I stare up into questioning eyes and place the pointing finger upon my temple.
"VISIONS," I explain.
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Once I have taken in the room, I reluctantly lower the hood that has been everpresent revealing features only slightly less reptilian that Dragonborns though perhaps more shocking for being on a more normal frame, a bifurated tongue flickers out breifly as I taste the air.
"It appears that each of us has been drawn together, by circumstances or people currently unknown. And given a small part of the puzzle. Might I suggest that we would be better of helping each other by filling in the gaps in our knowledge than jumping at the slightest perceived insult. As I for one am very interested in learning their identity and why they have chosen to manipulate us
With that in mind the next order of business is introductions, that way we each of us knows who we are talking to."
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All Religion, my friend is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination and poetry.
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"You all heard me outside. My name is Reed Bristletongue, and I bring with me the Blessings of Finian and all the magic that entails. I also bring my own not insubstantial skill in deception... and if we're going to take on whatever that thing is, we're going need them."
Reed leans forward in his chair and looks at all those assembled, all traces of mockery gone and his smug expression wiped clean.
"Should I adopt a persona, give a false name or change my manner entirely, I ask that you do your best to follow my lead. For better or worse we're in this now, so I might as well tell you all true. I'm not known as Reed across the Five Holds, and I ask you think on what a favored Cleric of Finian could be capable of before you think about betraying any of my names. Reed Bristletongue will do for all of you, and it's far truer a name than most. I'm not here to save this town, nor am I here about any missing apples. I'm here because something nearby is powerful enough to block even the sight of the gods."
Reed leans back, taking in the reactions to his pronouncement. He turns to the Mayor and Diela, and the smile returns.
"But that doesn't mean I'm not allowed a little creative freedom in accomplishing my goals, and it sounds like finding out what is happening to your caravans will lead us to the rest."
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Pinkletuff begins/attempts to begin a conversation with the Mayor's wife discussing the road where the caravans have gone missing, going into rather painstaking detail about the various geographic features and seasonal attributes.
This is turning out more interesting than I thought. At least the guild will be glad to know that it's not run of the mill banditry. Still, best to stop it entirely.
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As she offers this apology, the wild man begins to unload his ominous carvings. She steps closer, picks one up, and her eyes go wide again, but she holds her tongue in check as even more startling revelations are made.
"Then perhaps it is Finian's whim that has brought us here. Again, I am Emeryn, heir to the Marquis Paradesh of Brassbarren." She greets the others nearby. "Master Korvat, did you carve these? How can you see these visions?"
I nod and display a set of carving tools from my bag in acknowledgement to the first question.
"VISIONS? ALWAYS HAVE," I say, shrugging, to answer the second.
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The elf waved his hand at the Paladin as though to indicate all was forgiven.
"Fret not, madame.
Much like Sir Bristletongue, I prefer not to disclose my true identity in the company of those who do not need to know. As stated before, you may refer to me as 'Luan'. This may or may not be my name; but it is of little consequence.
My profession? Creatively speaking, I am an ambassador, negotiator, and 'problem-solver' of sorts. Again, this is all that you need to know of me. I have connections and resources, and I am one of the best in my profession."
The elf snapped his fingers and the fire in the hearth died. He snapped his fingers again and the flame re-ignited.
"If you do not interfere with my work, I will be your greatest asset. If you cross me, you will die. I will maintain our alliance for as long as it is beneficial to myself but know that my loyalty is to my lord and in 100 situations, I will choose his side over yours 100 times."
The elf turned, swishing his robes, and sitting in a chair of his choice with a flourish.
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
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Turing to Dieknuh, "Now we appear to have stopped the children from fighting, do you have anything you wish to add to the discussion?"
- H.L Mencken
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All Religion, my friend is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination and poetry.
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"AGREED. ACT SOON." Korvat shoots an impatient glare at Pinkletuff and Diela, who are still embroiled in a discussion of scenery and foliage.
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Anyone may make a History or Religion check to see if you know anything about the Pyramid of Khalid. ”Well,” she begins, “the first caravan had no guard, just Ennis and Maeve Dempsey, their daughters Ailis and Aoife, and two farmhands. The farmers of this village been selling fruits and grains in Silverwatch for centuries and have never had problem beyond the occasional bandit, and most of the people can defend themselves well enough. The second was also unguarded, just Hollis Scolaidhe and five of his employees. Hollis runs the Beggar’s Tankard, in addition to owning a large farm outside of town. His son Jerris oversees the farm, but he was sick with the flux and couldn’t make the trip this year.
“By this point we had received word the first caravan never arrived at Rockfall, the last stop before you enter the mountains, so we sent some of the sheriff’s men along with the third and fourth caravans. When it came time for the fifth caravan to depart, the sheriff himself accompanied them.”
“As far as a cart, I see where you’re going. We’ve got a cart and horses, though since our main business is a bar we just have barrels of cider, rye whiskey, ale, that sort of thing.”
Diela smiles. “We do brew our own cider downstairs in the cellar, and it’s a favorite of a few members of court in the Hold, so we do occasionally send a shipment up the mountains.” I was intentionally vague so that the specifics of the image wouldn’t matter. ”Food, mostly. There’s not much for farming in the mountains, so Silverwatch has to import most of its food supplies for the winter before the mountains become unpassable. The first was apples and pears, the second was barley and rye, and the third was wheat and more apples. The fourth, I think, was cider, although Harruq has a tendency to brew the harder stuff as well. The last one was honey from Gwenynfa’s Apiary.”
Diela winks. “Aye, I may have just thing in my private stock. Come on back to my office and we’ll see what we can find.” Before Diela and Reed head to the back room, she responds with an equally longwinded discussion about the road, it’s history, the various farms along the path, the weather of the region, the coming winter, etc.
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*Impatient glaring intensifies*
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I take a large swig from my mug and belch a small jolt of electricity.
"Reed, is it? Forgive my rudeness. I'm simply not accustomed to people of your level of...overt charisma."
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TerribleBad at Magic since 1998.A Vorthos Guide to Magic Story | Twitter | Tumblr
[Primer] Krenko | Azor | Kess | Zacama | Kumena | Sram | The Ur-Dragon | Edgar Markov | Daretti | Marath
HAHAHA nope. Makes flavorful sense though given my exile from civilization.
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