|The Voice of Wisdom|
|Wyran the Patient|
|The Voice of Wisdom|
|The Voice of Wisdom|
Basic intros for Morstralla and Wyren; you won't start out with the rest of the group, but you'll have reason to join them soon enough, I promise. The rest of you already know each other from the Rusty Dragon common room conversations.
|The Voice of Wisdom|
Morning comes and the big day of the festival finally arrives. The sun is bright and cheerful, and the breeze coming off the Inner Sea is just perfect, as though the gods themselves were smiling down on this celebration. Banners, flags, and ribbons of all kinds adorn most every building on the main square and throughout town. The market square is full of stalls as local and visiting vendors ply all sorts of wares, mundane and seemingly exotic. Minstrels, sideshows, and carnies find whatever open spots are left, and vie with each other for the attention of those passing by. There are carnival games for those willing to part with their coin, as well as dozens of food vendors selling their wares. It's hard to find a frown, and all of the locals are out in their best clothes. In all, it's all you would expect such a festival to be.
All of you have a decent amount of time to wander about the streets and partake in the festivities and shopping opportunities. This is where you get to tell me what kind of things your character would seek out.
One of the best things about living in a port town, and the best things about the festival, is the people watching. Spectacles, intrigue and oddities abound. Talon has managed to avoid the sunlight breaking through the closed shutters and has slept off about all of last night's bad decision making. Well into the morn its finally time to rise and he makes his way down to the street and weaves thorugh the vendors and onlookers alike. In search of something greasy to help vanquish his hangover he follows his nose as it leads him to a collection of food stalls. Since its festival time and the work has been steady he treats himself to a hearty turkey leg that has been basting in a pit since dawn. He sits on a ledge overlooking a coupld of cross streets and admires the goings on. The turkey leg hits the spot perfectly.
|Wyran the Patient|
Wyran has spent the last few days in quiet meditation, making sure to thank both his host, and his deity for providing him this space of peace amidst the chaos that his been the festival. The libraries had also been a great space to pass time well into the night, reading up on all manner of history, but specifically looking into ancient Thassilon. Having spent all his time indoors, he believes that it's likely past time to head out and see what the festival has to offer. He stops to listen to the minstrels, enjoying their tales and music. Not looking the part of a festival goer, Wyran stands out like a sore thumb. Well over 6 feet tall, with skin that shines like polished steel. No hair can be found on his body or head. All that Wyran wears is a simple dark blue monks robe.
Wyran is specifically seeking out scholars, as well as tomes and grimoires on ancient cultures. He rarely stops to speak to anybody, and dismissing them quickly if he is approached.
It was nice to spend the night in a real bed, as opposed to a cot inside a rocking ship. Rohan wakes up and realizes that he has the whole day to himself, sort of. He gets dressed before he summons Copperscale to join him for the day. The plucky little golden ball of energy wants to hit the town immediately.
The pair race down to the common room of the Rusty Dragon, Rohan quickly waving hello to Ameiko before he makes his way out the door.
They both grab a piece of roast boar, the sight quite comical as it's bigger than Copper's head.
After they finish their breakfast, the golden one suggests some games. At first, Rohan declines, not wanting to waste money. Then some teasing from Copper about winning a prize for Ameiko or Magnihlidr ensues which just elicits a glare as a response. But ultimately, he acquiesces and plays a few games. He even wins a few wooden toys that he gives to some local children.
Sorry for the above, thought this was the Discussion thread for some reason.
Magnhildr groans in protest as the first light of day lances through the window of her room and blast her in the face.
"Bare noen få minutter Momma. Stjernene var ganske i går kveld."
Skald: "Just a few more minutes momma. The stars were pretty last night."
Realizing the sun isn't going to go away and that the festival was starting, the ulfen woman pulls herself out of bed and sighs as a tangle of coppery-red strands falls in front of her face.
Right, drank too much again...
She washes her face and combs the tangles out of her hair while chiding herself on her lack of restraint. After about five minutes, a long shimmering braid runs down her back and she's fully awake. She gets ready, putting on armor and grabbing her shield, her sword, and the rest of her gear out of habit, not realizing she was staying another night until she was well on her way into town.
After dropping off her pack, and deciding to keep her the rest of her gear after peace-bonding the weapons, she finally makes into the festival and takes in the sights and sounds. She listens to a few stories and songs, samples some of the food, and gets lots of questions about what she is and where she's from. After a while she finds a less crowded place in the square and begins to tell stories, letting young boys look at, but not touch, her sword and shield ("These are tools, not toys."). Soon she has a fair sized crowd and a favorite tale seems to be the time she and her uncle fought a couple of Frost Trolls along side a group of Black Ravens. She's enjoying herself and the kids look like their enjoying the stories too, but by lunch her voice is going and her throat is parched, not to mention her stomach is growling.
"Thank you for listening to some of my tales. I'm afraid that I am not as used to talking as I am walking or swinging a sword, so I hope you'll forgive me of giving in to mortal needs as I get something to drink and eat."
Perform(Oratory): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17
I thought Sandpoint was on the Varisian Gulf, not the Inner Sea.
Krojun is up early in time to greet the sun in the typical Shoanti fashion. He looked out the window of his room at the Rusty Dragon and watched as Sandpoint itself woke and prepared for the festival that had brought peoples from all across Varisia in to celebrate. Down every street he could see, peoples of all shapes and sizes were stepping outside to setup shops, layout goods for stalls, and finish last-minute decorations.
His morning ritual complete, Krojun put on some clothes. He donned the best he had - a clean hide vest of hardened leathers, soft doeskin breeches, and rugged traveler's boots. Dressed, the big Shoanti exited his room and headed downstairs to break his fast. Along the way he wished a good morning to those he'd met during the previous night's festivities. People had been in such high spirits then and they'd be higher still today.
Exiting onto the street, Krojun is first surprised and then delighted by what greets him. As far as he can see the people of Sandpoint are celebrating, smiling, and laughing. The Thundercaller has to work hard to not let himself be lost in the general euphoria.
Something here in Sandpoint is related to the Spirits' displeasure - I must remain vigilant.
The big Shoanti makes his way down the street, participating in any games that will have him, and wondering if he'll run into any more of the travelers he'd met the previous night.
"And that should do it."
Stralla pinned the drapery to close off the clerical area of the cathedral to the visitors to Sandpoint.
That should keep those light-fingered Sczarni honest, she thought.
"Now to make the trip to Savories for some morning fresh bread and a warm cup of tea to beat last night's chill and then check out the revelry at the market," she says aloud to herself.
"I'll be back this afternoon, Abstalar."
His muffled reply showing that he was preoccupied with something pressing.
The mood of the town was upbeat even at this early hour, she noted as she walked towards Savories.
So much work goes into setup and takedown, but enough of that for now. It's time to enjoy the moment.
|The Voice of Wisdom|
The morning passes by quickly in the excitement of the moment.
Wyren is able to find his way to The Curious Goblin, the local bookstore, and finds a knot of the local scholars gathered around outside watching the festivities. Sabyl is there and introduces you to the others. Chask Haladan, a older human gentleman, is the owner of the store. Ilsoari Gandethus, another older human, serves as the local schoolmaster, and keeps a small private museum in the basement of the school. Brodert Quint is younger than the others, but still comfortably middle aged, and is a scholar of the Thassilonian Empire with some radical theories about the Old Light on the edge of town. Interestingly enough, few people really take notice of his strange appearance, apparently chalking it up to the monk robes he wears.
Morstralla makes her way to the Savories for fresh bread. She finds a good line, and is able to catch some good conversation while she waits as well as some fresh bread.
Magnhlidr manages to make 5 gold from her story telling, though most of it is in silver and copper pieces handed to her by the children listening to her story.
Copperscale gets noticed, but again, not as much as he normally would have, given the nature of the festival. Rohan easily finds some cheap games and wins some cheap trinkets, making several children pleased when they receive them.
The others see a lot of people dressed in great finery. Nothing amiss seems to happen as they wander around, taking in the sights and sounds.
Go ahead and post afternoon activities. The dedication will be in the early evening, and will be my next post.
Krojun makes his way through the heart of the celebrations and then later the less populated portions of the city to see how far the cheer has spread. Along the way he snacks on festival treat feasting until he's had his fill and then quite a bit more. Once the sun sets, the big Shoanti gets away to a more remote area and watches the sun meet the horizon. He thought again about his quest while he sung a traditional Shoanti chant and thanked the sun for her service.
Evening approaching, the big Shoanti makes his way back to the center of town.
Once Magnhildr finds Ameiko's stall she grabs a plate of salmon and a mug of mead ("When you've got some free time, I'd love to hear where the name 'The Rusty Dragon' came from."), she finds a cool place to sit and enjoy her meal. Though she could only have a single helping of the fish, she did get another cup of mead to sip as she walked about the town. As she does, she runs into Rohan and Copperscale.
"Well, hello! I see you're enjoying the festival. Have you tried Ameiko's fish yet, it's really good."
If not she drags the two over to get them in line before Ameiko runs out.
|Wyran the Patient|
Aimless wandering has taken Talon on a tour of Sandpoint, few of its streets have not met his gaze by late afternoon as he arrives at the town center. Its been a while since he had something to eat and the familiar smell of Ameiko's cooking is impossible to resist. As he weaves his way through the crowd he spots Rohan and Copper engaged in a conversation with an exotic looking Aasimar warrior. He pats Rohan on the back solidly, "Making friends as usual eh fellows?"and extednds a hand to Magnhlidr, "These boys aren't bothering you are they?" he says with a sheepish smile, "They're mostly harmless. Names Talon, its a true pleasure."
Krojun grins wide when he wanders into scene with Rohan, Copper, Magnhlidr, and Talon, all travelers he'd met the previous night.
"Greetings friends!", the big Shoanti shouts with a booming voice. "How has the festival treated each of you so far?"
Krojun pantomimes trampling when he makes eye contact with the tiny wyrmling.
"Hail Talon and hail Krojun. The festival has been just fine. The food is good." Rohan is able to respond without too much difficulty.
"You would have a humble Shoanti warrior among your ranks?", Krojun says in playful humility. "I would be honored. Lead the way."
"Maggie is it now?", the big warrior says while casting Rohan a knowing glance. "So I take it the two of you were busy last night after I retired?"
The big Shoanti laughs as well at the mistake.
"Forgive the confusion. You are two strong young warriors on the eve of a festival. What better way to honor your gods than to let them bare witness to two young bodies lost in the throes of..."
Krojun stops when he sees the subject is not going over well with Rohan or Magnhlidr. Perhaps he didn't understand these southerners as well as he thought he did.
Editing Mag's response
"Magnhildr, and I wouldn't be so sure of that," he voice drops into a stage whisper, "Dragons are very dangerous, and only dangerous men would keep one around."
A grin breaks out over her face as she hears Kojun call out.
"It's been great. The people here are very generous to storytellers." She doesn't elaborate, although she did drop a big hint as to what she's been up to this morning.
When Copperscale calls her "Maggie," she opens her mouth to protest, but Kojun cuts her off, and manages to get her to blush.
"If you mean getting dru-" she begins at the same time as Rohan before Copperscale burst into laughter and Krojun removes any doubt about what he meant.
Magnhildr turns bright red, obviously embarrassed.
Great my life is becoming a low-brow Chelian comedy.
Krojun shook his head in confusion. Some parts of the southern people's cultures would never make any sense to him. They could butcher each other in the streets and drink themselves into a stupor but when it came to mating, arguably the purest thing two people can do, they acted like startled children.
Back home, during a celebration like this young couples would make love under the moon and stars until the sun rose to greet them, but here...
The big Shoanti slipped a treetrunk-like limb around the shoulders of the embarrassed duo.
"Let's continue enjoying the festival."
Krojun greets Talon with the offer of a handshake.
It's quite comically actually, to see her get even redder than Rohan when Krojun wraps an arm about her shoulders. In a very unladylike manner, she proves her heritage by downing half a mugful of mead in a single gulp.
And now it is one.
Has Magnhlidr not had much contact with men? I'm confused if it's the contact with Krojun that's making her redder or just the general situation that's getting the better of her.
Krojun notes for a moment the soft glow cast by the Ulfen's skin as he makes contact.
Knowledge Local for Assimar: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (19) - 1 = 18
He keeps the revelation to himself for now and focuses his efforts on rejoining the festivities.
Little of A and a little of B. Most of the men she's been around have been family and friends, men unlikely to have an attraction beyond familial. She's only been away from home for a month or two, three at most. Other Ulfen men would have likely respected her as a warrior and the ones in Riddleport wouldn't have wanted to mess with her. Ladies who carry big swords are not likely to be easy marks. That and I haven't fully fleshed out her personality, and having her embarrassed so easily by things like this gives the GM plenty of grist for the RP mill.
That and I find the idea of a raging barbarian that's easily flustered by, ah, more intimate conversations funny.
Most of the time I get a general idea of the character and fill in the specifics as I go. It's probably not the best way to RP, but it does generate some interesting characters. I have a rogue that was described as innocent evil, and I have a meat-head fighter/barbarian that is a ladies' man and has developed an infatuation with another of the characters. He's a hoot to RP.
Feeling a little less foolish, she continues to enjoy the festivities and cheers the others on as they participate in some of the games around. When she passes by the cathedral, she takes half of what she had earned and places it in to the offering plate. She chats with the others telling her some about herself, and the symbol of Desna on a thin chain about her neck. Although she is excited to travel, she looks to the north wistfully when talking of home.
"I hope everyone back home is alright. Some of my cousins had nightmares about an ancient linnorm, Fafnheir, attacking the keep. Most of the older members of the clan didn't dismiss these dreams as idle fantasy either."
"You speak about your home and family often. You must miss them a great deal", Krojun observes. "Have you lacked for distractions?"
|Wyran the Patient|
Thanks for the RP hooks in the discussion thread..
Wyran thanks the men at The Curious Goblin for a wonderful conversation, and wanders out into the streets deep in thought. He stops dead in his tracks to stare at what can only be another of his kind. He spends a long moment looking over the red-headed figure, who looks so alike and so different from him in so many ways. His trance is broken by a fluttery draconian, and the roaring laughter of one of the Shoanti tribesman. He had heard of some Ulfen-Aasimar telling stories in the streets but had yet to see her.
The steely monk approaches Magnhildr somewhat tentatively, still somewhat enamoured by the fact she bears angelic features. "Pardon me, I am Wyran, devout worshipper of Irori, and scholar of many things. I had heard that you'd been telling stories in the streets and I was hoping to hear some of them myself."
|The Voice of Wisdom|
You all continue talking, and as evening approaches, the two squares are cleared of stalls and long tables are put up along the side of both. Benches are collected from their previous spots around town and set in front of the main stage set up just outside the cathedral. All of the PCs find themselves sitting by each other for the final speeches and the consecration. There is a brief ceremony as various notables get up and give their own brief speeches and such as would be expected at such at event. Most of them are about as inspired as one would expect as well, giving the audience plenty of time to talk amongst themselves and/or nap. Finally, after nearly an hour of droning politicians, Father Zantus takes the stage and his actions indicate that the consecration is about to begin. Despite the numerous prognastications that something would interrupt them, they go off without a hitch, and before long, torches are being lit, and the long tables are being buried under a heavy weight of food and drink for the taking. The next couple hours see the party atmosphere amped up even more than before as food an alcohol are freely imbibed, as though to proclaim that not even darkness could stop this town and it's residents.
Everyone is together now, and would have had at least some chance of conversation to introduce themselves and chat with the others. If you want to do anything specific in the next few hours, go ahead, otherwise, I need to know how much food and drink you partake of.
Krojun greets the newcomer warmly with a smile a fierce handshake.
"Greetings Wyran of Irori. I am Krojun. This is Rohan, Copperscale, and Talon."
"Magnhlidr was just about to tell us about her linnorms..."
Throughout the dedication, Krojun pays rapt attention. Tradition was important to his Quah and he would be lax in his duty if he did not learn all that he could about Sandpoint traditions. Even during the inane droning of the city-officials he strives to get a feel for the heart of the crowd.
When the food is brought out and the feasting begins, the big Shoanti does not hold back. If there was anything these soft southerners knew, it was how to eat and a warrior as large as he was had to eat a great deal to maintain his strength.