Huh.
that's a thinker.
If she is pregnant,
she's no more than three months pregnant.
heal d.c. 20 I reckon, since I can't personally think of any way to do a rabbit test without an ept, I guess it's some form of arcane gobbledygook that works in fantasyland.
"Too early to tell. Anyway, crime is for the local count to deal with. Bind her hands, someone, and we'll take her to Ravengro."
as the party traipses, cold, wet, and haggardly into Ravengro, with a giggling loony in tow.
Alinya trudges through the drizzle, regretting having used the endure elements prayer that she had prepared. Its energies had gone to heal Castiel's wounds, which was all fine and good, but now the rain is really cold.
Muttered, "Somebody owes me a hot bath and a spiced wine."
“It would be my pleasure lady,” says Castiel with a brief bow. “Thankyou again for coming to my rescue. All of you in fact.” Castiel turns to Wod. “You are quite the warrior sir,” he says. “I saw, before I fell, how you took down the leader of the bandits. Nicely done.”
Nigel, looking a bit bedraggled from the drizzle, dismissed Azzulzu with an airy wave
"Well done thou faithful servant! Be at your rest!"
He strides forth, the damp rain making him look more and more like an anthropomorphic chicken as time goes on.
"This country has yet to impress me." He mutters to no one else in particular
Darias shakes his head, now that the thrill of battle is passed, disgusted generally with the world.
Edwin seems to be in a mixed mood as they traipse back through the mist and rain. He seems irate with himself for not being able to deduce if the loony is faking her wold-be pregnancy or not, but also pleased with his clever use of a minor bit of magic that keeps enough of the rain off of him to keep him almost dry.
A day that never seems to end, a day of drizzle that never seems to end, and the party traipses the rest of the way to Ravengro. They see a few outlying farms first, then the town proper, a collection of clustered crouching sombre stone halls about a small river which churns in the outflow from the drizzle. The party approaches from the south; they hear a shout at first, and then four riders canter out to meet them, meeting the rain with surly faces. They ride down to the party.
One is a middle aged man, with a bow slung on his back, which is bound up in skins to keep the wood dry. He has three men with him in leathers, all have swords slung at their saddles.
The bowman looks out from under a tilted, wide brimmed hat, and hisses, "who are you....." it sounds like more of a statement than a question. The other three look nervous, but not the 'hat. He's got copeyes, and they're drawn to the captive-in-tow.....
“Castiel of Fangwood, out of Lastwall at your service ... sheriff?” states Castiel. “My companions and I are here in Ravengro to attend a funeral ... the coach from the road house did not arrive this morning and we were forced to walk. Upon the road we were waylaid by a group of bandits. This woman was one of them, you will find the bodies of the others in a shallow grave by the roadside. We’ll hand this one over in to your custody.”
He eyes Castiel hard, rain thwapping on his wide brim. Copeyes.....
then hisses,
"aye,...Sherriff Caeller,..."
he gestures to one of the men, who dismounts and takes custody of the female captive.
Everybody looks at Wod but the Sheriff, who seems unconcerned with the towering mesomorph.
then, he rides over to one of his men and has a private parley with him.
then,
"This is Deputy Riff. Riff will escort you to the Restlands in an hour. They'll gather up and get under way.,,,now that you're here.
Riff, also show them where the Laughing Demon is. They look fatigued...."
Alinya is suddenly glad she has her hood up. The sheriff makes her uncomfortable, though she can't put her finger on why. It's good that he didn't get a clear look at her, and she's glad when Deputy Riff leads them away to the inn.
Inaudibly under her breath, "The Laughing Demon... sounds promising..."
"Restlands? Whatever..." Myron shakes water off his hat and coat, "Just get me some warm soup and a chunk of bread, and I'll be good to go."
Riff shows you to a tavern, The Laughing Demon; it sits overlooking the small river on the eastern bank.
It's warm and cozy inside; the head waitress immediately fawns over the lot of you. "Oh, poor dears....come over by the fire! Oh! You're here for the funeral.......let me go get Zokar!"
She brings out something called 'corpse chowder' and mulled wine all around; "don't be put off by the name......uh, Zokar has a....certain sense of humor.....vampire steaks....haha..."
A few minutes later a strapping middleaged man comes in to the place.
"Welcome, friends......welcome to the Laughing Demon!" he seems to be trying to check a certain natural ebullience in honor of this sober occasion.
"I am Zokar, and this is my establishment. I understand you all had to...walk from the carriage house. So sorry. Make sure to eat as much as you like, on the house, for I too was a friend of the Professor's....and when you're ready, I'll have my son lead you to the Restlands. Riff,..." to the deputy; "I'm sure you have some more important business being a man of the law?" Riff nods; exuent Riff....
"Now unless you need anything, my friends," he says, "I should be getting to the Restlands for the funeral myself..."
"Is there a room where I can change? And somewhere to put this chest? Oh, and can you please send this donkey back to the carriage house?"
Looking round, "Such a darling place. So quaint!"
Nigel gives Zokar a courtly bow, to whatever degree one would give an innkeep. Water drips from his dark hair, and a small stream runnels off his impressive nose.
"Good innkeep Zokar, it is a pleasure to be met with such friendliness after the vicissitudes of the road! It is refreshing to see that there are some that still adhere to the principles of good service."
He looks about.
"A fine establishment. And you knew the professor as well? Such a giant among academia. If you would be so kind as to steer me to a room. I need to freshen up before paying my respects."
Castiel is initially put off by Zokar’s apparent sense of humour, but he warms to the man upon meeting him – it’s good to see a friendly face in this dreary place; at least not everyone is as standoffish and no-nonsense as Sheriff Caeller. He remains unconvinced that ‘The Laughing Demon’ is an appropriate name for an inn though.
“Iomedae’s blessings upon you and this house good Zokar,” he says after introducing himself. “I think all of us are hoping for rooms here – there should just be enough time to shave and wash the dirt of the road away before the funeral …”
Edwin stomps to loose the mud from his boots before he enters the inn. His minor spell protected him from the rain. Mostly. But did nothing against the mud of the road. He gives the place a casual glance as the others introduce themselves.
Edwin gives a small smirk at Zokar's sense of humor. You get the feeling that he approves of the enthusiastic innkeep. Although the fact that Zokar is the only one showing such cheeriness is not lost on him.
"Well-met master Zokar. Thank you kindly. Although I am loathe to accept your generosity without some form of repayment. Perhaps I could entertain later with a few stories in the common room tonight? Although Myron's tale of the giant trebuchet is a match for anything in my repertoire." Edwin says with a smile, shaking the inkeep's hand heartily while taking another, detailed look at the man.
"Is there a room where I can change? And somewhere to put this chest? Oh, and can you please send this donkey back to the carriage house?"
Looking round, "Such a darling place. So quaint!"
"Yes; my maitre'd, Eliira will show you;" she escorts any and all changers to a few rooms upstairs.
Looking round, "Such a darling place. So quaint!"
Eliira responds, "thankyou, m'lady," and curtsys, as is standard adress for a commoner to a noble personage; "Ravengro is.....well, cheerless. That's the true root of Zokar's genius: supplying what people truly need...."
Nigel gives Zokar a courtly bow, to whatever degree one would give an innkeep. Water drips from his dark hair, and a small stream runnels off his impressive nose.
"Good innkeep Zokar, it is a pleasure to be met with such friendliness after the vicissitudes of the road! It is refreshing to see that there are some that still adhere to the principles of good service."
He looks about.
"A fine establishment. And you knew the professor as well? Such a giant among academia. If you would be so kind as to steer me to a room. I need to freshen up before paying my respects."
"Thankyou, good sir! A complement of compliments is a necessary thing to a tavern....
Aye, he frequented the place.....put up with my....how he call it...'quaint though not too overbearingly purile notions'....."he smiles a bit to himself, then concerned; "his work was.....still is...of tantamount import,....when giants amongst men fall their load must be taken up..." and he sighs.
Looks at the half orc for a second.
"Have you ever.....worked security, my good fellow?" to Wod.
Castiel is initially put off by Zokar’s apparent sense of humour, but he warms to the man upon meeting him – it’s good to see a friendly face in this dreary place; at least not everyone is as standoffish and no-nonsense as Sheriff Caeller. He remains unconvinced that ‘The Laughing Demon’ is an appropriate name for an inn though.
“Iomedae’s blessings upon you and this house good Zokar,” he says after introducing himself. “I think all of us are hoping for rooms here – there should just be enough time to shave and wash the dirt of the road away before the funeral …”
"Thankyou, my good man of the cloth. My tavernhouse....named in jest, I assure you. No need for exorcisms yet anyway...." and winks.
The maitre'd shows Castiel to a changing room as well.
1d20+7
Edwin stomps to loose the mud from his boots before he enters the inn. His minor spell protected him from the rain. Mostly. But did nothing against the mud of the road. He gives the place a casual glance as the others introduce themselves.
Edwin gives a small smirk at Zokar's sense of humor. You get the feeling that he approves of the enthusiastic innkeep. Although the fact that Zokar is the only one showing such cheeriness is not lost on him.
"Well-met master Zokar. Thank you kindly. Although I am loathe to accept your generosity without some form of repayment. Perhaps I could entertain later with a few stories in the common room tonight? Although Myron's tale of the giant trebuchet is a match for anything in my repertoire." Edwin says with a smile, shaking the inkeep's hand heartily while taking another, detailed look at the man.
1d20+7
8--The Sheriff is a tuff, no nonsense dude. He forgot to shave today...probably slept in his clothes.
17--it's a quaint, homey, warm little establishment. There's maybe 4-5 customers at the moment. They seem to be trying to be nonchalant, but they've all been utterly fascinated by the party......
14--nothing seems amiss about Zokar. Middle aged, stout, strong man, innkeeper, kind and generous nature; a kid that never grew up entirely or at least remembered how to grow back down when it is warranted or allowed, and sometimes when not allowed.
"Aye, my good man.....I'll never turn down the offer of a good story, if you'll sing for a supper that was free anyway!"
The hour approaches.
You're led to the funeral site.
The rain stops as if on cue.
and...we're in to the written parts of the adventure.
You're led north, a little ways out of town, to the entrance of the Restlands Cemetary.
At the front of the Restlands is an elegant wooden box, black and finely lacquered. Within lies the body of your old friend Professor Petros Lorrimer, though it is closed.
Further into the cemetary you can see a very small cluster of personages at a newly dug gravesite.
By the side of the box stands Kendra, the Professor's only child. Your guide exuents.
She's a handsome woman, sturdily built, young and vivacious. Dressed in the typical funerary sombre shades; her pale, freckle dappled features betray the ruddiness of not to far past grieving.
"Welcome, all.....and thank you for coming so soon. I've heard a bit about your recent travels, good sirs, and milady....." (she curtsies to the noble cleric Alinya) "I.....I'm sorry you haven't found Ravengro the least bit hospitable as of yet.
I've opened my manse to one and all this night....will some of you act as pallbearers? Four is customary...." she looks at Wod.
"but less might do; up to you. There's also the matter of the Professor's will.....I'll see to that soon after the funeral."
She sniffs; wipes her nose a little on a finely stitched hanky.
Alinya wears a neat grey travelling outfit and carries no weapon. Her symbol of Pharasma is round her neck, and she has a cloak for warmth.
"Thank you, Kendra, for the invitation and for the welcome. We will be honored to pay our respects to the Professor. He had such an impact on so many lives, and we will remember him always."
“It would be my pleasure lady,” says Castiel with a brief bow. “Thankyou again for coming to my rescue. All of you in fact.” Castiel turns to Wod. “You are quite the warrior sir,” he says. “I saw, before I fell, how you took down the leader of the bandits. Nicely done.”
*snort*
Everybody looks at Wod but the Sheriff, who seems unconcerned with the towering mesomorph.
<Wod pulls his hood over his head, trying to retreat from the frightened stares... which by his experience will no doubt turn hostile.>
Castiel wears his armoured coat over a clean tunic – the coat being the closest he has to a dress-jacket. He wears his longsword – a symbol of his faith as much as a weapon – at his belt, but has left his cestus, sling and dagger with his pack at the Laughing Demon, with an instruction to Zokar that his gear not be touched until he returns. It’s hard to shake habit ... a wooden stake and a narrow flask of holy water still nestle within inside pockets of his coat.
“Good afternoon Miss Lorrimer,” the cleric greets the professor’s daughter with a bow, a girl he has never met but has heard of. “I’m sorry for your loss on this sombre day. May Pharasma judge your father’s noble spirit with the fairness that the good man deserved, and may Iomedae guard it along its journey. I am Castiel of Fangwood, I knew your father from one of his journeys to Lastwall. I would be honoured to help bear his coffin.”
I've opened my manse to one and all this night....will some of you act as pallbearers? Four is customary...." she looks at Wod.
"but less might do; up to you. There's also the matter of the Professor's will.....I'll see to that soon after the funeral."
She sniffs; wipes her nose a little on a finely stitched hanky.
<George talks quietly to Castiel.>
"I think George know professor. Him talk about professor a lot. George was coming here then bad injury happened."
<George talks quietly to Castiel.>
"I think George know professor. Him talk about professor a lot. George was coming here then bad injury happened."
"Please accept my condolences," mumbles Darias awkwardly. "I did not know the Professor. Um, my father...." He trails off.
"I think George know professor. Him talk about professor a lot. George was coming here then bad injury happened."
“Ah …”
Castiel turns to Kendra. “I believe your father and Wod here may have had a mutual friend … is there a ‘George’ on the guest-list by any chance?”
heh heh....reading and mulling stuff over for a bit.
<Wod pulls his hood over his head, trying to retreat from the frightened stares... which by his experience will no doubt turn hostile.>
Everybody looks at Wod but the Sheriff, who seems unconcerned with the towering mesomorph.
Wod:
Myron is unarmed. However, he is wearing his chainshirt underneath his nice shirt - uncomfortable, but so be it. After all, he has nowhere safe to stow it at the moment.
I've opened my manse to one and all this night....will some of you act as pallbearers? Four is customary...." she looks at Wod.
"but less might do; up to you. There's also the matter of the Professor's will.....I'll see to that soon after the funeral."
She sniffs; wipes her nose a little on a finely stitched hanky.<George talks quietly to Castiel.>
"I think George know professor. Him talk about professor a lot. George was coming here then bad injury happened."
The girl looks perplexedly at Wod;
"And, good sir, who is George? I've never heard mention.....of a George. Can you describe him?"
Myron is unarmed. However, he is wearing his chainshirt underneath his nice shirt - uncomfortable, but so be it. After all, he has nowhere safe to stow it at the moment.
Heh heh....the shirt has that "I'm wearing 12 t shirts" look.....kinda bulgy and rigid.
"Please accept my condolences," mumbles Darias awkwardly. "I did not know the Professor. Um, my father...." He trails off.
"Oh, you must be Bleakstone, the younger.
I....I never met your father, well,....I saw him once when I was very little. He was amazing...."stars dance in her eyes;
"You look much like him, sir. My father had.....quite the mancrush on Sir Bleakstone the Elder. His exploits were fodder for most of my bedtime stories.
There's a grand portrait of your father in our manse, good Sir. Would you like it?"
Castiel; Darias.....anybody else totin th coffin?
Off to hunt a wooly big mac and think about the question of George,....
The girl looks perplexedly at Wod;
"And, good sir, who is George? I've never heard mention.....of a George. Can you describe him?"
<George pulls out his dead Gnome and brandishes it before the Gentlelady.>
"This George. Him not dead."
She turns pale as a ghost.
and says, "...Oh..."
and turns, and starts walking up towards her father's burial site.
"Oh, you must be Bleakstone, the younger.
I....I never met your father, well,....I saw him once when I was very little. He was amazing...."
stars dance in her eyes;
"You look much like him, sir. My father had.....quite the mancrush on Sir Bleakstone the Elder. His exploits were fodder for most of my bedtime stories.
There's a grand portrait of your father in our manse, good Sir. Would you like it?"
Darias scowls. "Yes, many people have told me of my father's daring exploits. Er, perhaps you could send the portrait to my mother - she will appreciate the gesture."
Alinya will walk behind the pall-bearers. She becomes very quiet and withdrawn as the reality of this funeral hits her for perhaps the first time.
Darias scowls. "Yes, many people have told me of my father's daring exploits. Er, perhaps you could send the portrait to my mother - she will appreciate the gesture.""Oh, you must be Bleakstone, the younger.
I....I never met your father, well,....I saw him once when I was very little. He was amazing...."
stars dance in her eyes;
"You look much like him, sir. My father had.....quite the mancrush on Sir Bleakstone the Elder. His exploits were fodder for most of my bedtime stories.
There's a grand portrait of your father in our manse, good Sir. Would you like it?"
"Oh, I most certainly will!"
She's walking way up ahead now. Maybe 60 feet; the gnome did a number on her......
From a side trail, a gaggle of really skunky looking fellows, almost a dozen, move forth to get in her way on the path up to the burial site.
There's some conversatin going on.....and it ain't friendly.
What do you do?
Alinya hurries after Kendra. She doesn't like the look of these ruffians at all, and Kendra is now firmly in the category of 'person of good breeding'.
She will walk all the way up to stand directly behind Kendra, "Are you alright my dear?"
One of the group, the tallest, an elderly wiry scarecrow, speaks up.
"That's far enough, girl. We've been parleying it, rolling it around on the talkin' table, and we've figured that we don't want Lorrimer's corpse stinking up the Restlands. His kind has a way of making the other dear departed's dance and sing. We're taking him upriver, for gimping and burning."
"Yeah!"
"Yurrh!"
"they tik urr jurrbs!"
Kendra is full on riled up at this point;
"What. Are you. Talking about. I've arranged this with Father Grimburrow. He holds more sway than you, as a Man of Pharasma's Cloth!"
one of the hooter and hollerers tells Alinya...
"now go long, girly, sure as you do. This is none of your affair, and you don't want it to be."
Another one chuckles wickedly.
Group?....