aware of my shortage of coin I attempt to palm a few coins from those who appear pro-Atuscan and in support of the witch burning.
Between your natural agility and the distraction of the crowd, slipping a few coins from purses should pose little problem for you. Of more difficulty is picking the pro- from the anti-Atuscans: everything is a babble of foreign accents and languages high above your head.
One sure way would be to pick people of obvious Atuscan ethnicity, but you do not see any nearby – you would need to head further into the crowd, away from Laithe and Troy. Or you could just pick pockets indiscriminately on your way towards them.
"What is this I hear about a witch burning, Keira? I have been away from Barg the last few weeks, and return to find that some greater madness than usual has overtaken the town... Who is this witch they intend to burn, and why? She had better not be one of ours, or I swear..."
Keira turns, startled, then relaxes somewhat when she sees who has addressed her. Her son reaches out a pudgy hand towards Keildrithe and giggles.
“Oh hedilye, you have returned,” says the young woman. “If only you had been here – people listen to you. But perhaps it would not have mattered, as the trial – if there truly was one – happened up at the castle. Who? Missy Gosia who lives over by the wood. She delivered my Rolf, and you know it was a difficult birth. I know that she had nothing to do with the girl. Oh, you haven’t heard? Another two have gone missing, but they found the body of young Feile, torn and bloodied in the woods near Gosia’s cottage. And graves too, with more bodies they say.” She pauses to wipe her eyes. “And people talk of course. All the old rumours again, why she lives in the woods, the sidhe blood, the magic. But…” she trails off and shrugs, as if to ask “where is the crime?”
You have heard of, but never met Gosia Troskie. She is a midwife and herbalist who lives on the eaves of the Dimwood forest, not far from the village. If rumour is to be believed she is also a magic user of some type, and has fey or elven blood, and is of Karandic descent you understand, one of the far eastern clans.
Of the sixty or so people in the crowd, you believe a third or so are Karand’s who follow the old ways (at least in part) or are antipathic towards the Atuscans.
He also listens to the gossip going around, and makes an inquiry or two to see if anyone knows the 'witch'.
The witch that people are heatedly discussing would seem to be a local woman named Gosia Troskie, who lives in or near the Dimwood. You have never met her, but hear her referred to derisively by one man as a “breed”.
People do not seem particularly attentive to their surroundings this morning, there are several potential easy marks if you are so inclined.
I listen to what is being said by the crowd, trying to gain information about the general situation in the town.
Your efforts to listen for information are somewhat hampered by the fact that much of the discussion is in languages that you don’t understand.
However, you do pick up that there is a woman accused of witchcraft, and something to do with a dead girl and missing children.
There are four main avenues out of the square. Three appear to lead in pretty much a straight line to the various gates out of the village, whilst the fourth leads towards the tall hill and the castle far above.
You have been in town for several days now, after the events you described in your character background. You have tried to keep a low profile, although your appearance marks you as being from one of the wild nomadic clans. Still, even the nomads visit the villages from time to time, and you yourself are not totally unknown here.
Although you have seen soldiers from time to time since your arrival, they wear the brown tabards emblazoned with a stylized black two headed bird of the local baron. The soldiers who were previously looking for you in town wore red tabards with a gold star emblem – and the ones who ambushed you wore black cloaks with no markings.
There are a number of families in the village who still know the old ways, and even worship the old gods – in secret – but few of them are willing to risk helping you in your search for revenge. However, you spoke last night to a fellow traveler at the bar of the Crow’s Call, a sellsword named Troy. Although he appeared somewhat indifferent to your plight, you noticed something in him, some spark which made you think he may be able – and even willing – to help you.
I thought I posted this earlier, but it seems to have disappeared. My apologies if it shows up twice.
Wherever one might happen to be in the village on this brisk yet sunny morning, it would be hard to miss the commotion. However, the astute observer would notice the undercurrent of tension beneath the almost festive atmosphere – not everyone is happy about the anticipated event.
Here a young mother holds her bright eyed baby tightly to her, weeping quietly. There, two old farmers argue heatedly, looking about to come to blows. Here and there amongst the conversations and busyness are grim, set or sad faces.
It also appears that there is some confusion about when events are due to commence. Rumors ripple through the crowd. It will begin in ten minutes; it will begin in an hour. They are awaiting the arrival of the Baron; the Baron is not attending. There has been a problem with the condemned. They are waiting for the Artonite priest to finish his meditations.
Despite the contradictory rumors, the crowd is expectant – things are sure to begin soon.
Please describe where your characters are, what they are doing, and how they are reacting to events.
On this Highday the eighth day of Gerron, in the year 1197 of the Atuscan Calendar, the village square is alive with activity within an hour after sunrise – highly unusual for this hour on a Highday morning, when most folks with no goats to milk or such are inclined to lie in for an hour or so before making their way to the Artonite church, dressed in their oft patched, freshly scrubbed Highday best.
Today though, a crowd begins to gather in the square. The Crow’s Call does a brisk breakfast business, and folk spill out from the inn to the square, eating their meals at makeshift tables of crates and barrels. Women gather in small groups, chatting animatedly, their young children chasing around the through the circles. Men smoke their pipes, stroke their beards and nod sagely at each other.
Two soldiers wearing brown tabards emblazoned with an insignia of a black, two headed crow stand watchfully outside the front doors of the constabulary. An old man with a straw broom sweeps down the raised wooden platform at one end of the square. Three strapping young farm boys assemble a pile of logs and branches, with a tall wooden stake at its centre.
There is, of course, a reason for all this activity. A witch is being burnt this morning.
Your travels have taken you far and wide across the northern parts of the Atuscan empire In recent months. Wherever you have gone, trouble and prejudice have followed you – but unfortunately fame and fortune have not.
Now, down to your last few copper pennies, you have arrived in the backwoods village of Barg. You have heard that there is money to be made and adventures to be had in this part of the world, but as you approach the small and uninspired looking village, your hopes fade.
Or maybe there is something? You have arrived early in the morning, having spent the previous night sleeping in a farmer’s hay loft – and there appears to be some sort of commotion or excitement in the center of town…
You finally reached the village of Barg last night, but the gates were shut by the time you reached them, and the night watchman would take no chances with letting an armed stranger – even a lone traveler such as yourself – into town after dark.
You managed to find hospitality under the roof of a local yeoman and his family, paying for your lodgings and meal with a tale in the traditional manner.
Having been informed by the farmer that the village gates open at sunrise, you made sure to rise early, hastening your way to town, anxious to find the druid Laithe. The guard by the gate eyed you suspiciously as you – and your sword – suspiciously as you passed, but an armed traveler is not so unusual in these times, and he let you pass without a word.
Within a few moments you arrived at the village’s central square – where it seems that even at this early hour of the day, quite a commotion is taking place…
Making your way north from Trescent, you reached the village of Barg in far northern Mabvoria a couple of days ago. You had vague plans of continuing up to the North Sea, and signing on with a merchant vessel there, but reaching Barg you discover that the way north is not as easy as you were led to believe in Trescent. The north road through the Dimwood has fallen into general disuse over the last several years, with rumors of fey creatures and hungry ghosts waylaying travelers.
In fact, it seems that the north road has seen some use in recent months, but in the wrong direction. Word in Barg is that a small but steady stream of refugees have been making their way south, with vague and conflicting talk of raids and war amongst the northern villages – and confirmation of the dangers on the road.
As your supply of coins from your last big win dwindle, you plan your next move. Last night you met a man named Laithe in the bar at The Crow’s Call, a druid or shaman apparently from one of the wild nomad clans. He spent a good deal of the evening talking of adventure, vengeance, goddesses and rebellion, and although you feigned indifference, his words have begun to grow on you. Adventure…
Your training is over, and it is time to make your way into the world, to prove yourself and your family name.
Your old master has given you one last task as you leave you’re apprenticeship behind. You are to deliver a rare scroll to a woman named Gosia Troskie, a half elf like yourself, who lives somewhere near the village of Barg.
You reached Barg as sunset approached, getting into town just before the gates were closed, and found lodgings at the village inn, The Crow’s Call. Too tired from your long journey to make enquiries of where the woman may be found that evening, and fearing that the mostly human locals may be startled by your half elven appearance, you keep your cloak pulled tight about you and retire for bed early, planning to get an early start in the morning.
You have been in town for several days now, after the events you described in your character background. You have tried to keep a low profile, although your appearance marks you as being from one of the wild nomadic clans. Still, even the nomads visit the villages from time to time, and you yourself are not totally unknown here.
Although you have seen soldiers from time to time since your arrival, they wear the brown tabards emblazoned with a stylized black two headed bird of the local baron. The soldiers who were previously looking for you in town wore red tabards with a gold star emblem – and the ones who ambushed you wore black cloaks with no markings.
There are a number of families in the village who still know the old ways, and even worship the old gods – in secret – but few of them are willing to risk helping you in your search for revenge. However, you spoke last night to a fellow traveler at the bar of the Crow’s Call, a sellsword named Troy. Although he appeared somewhat indifferent to your plight, you noticed something in him, some spark which made you think he may be able – and even willing – to help you.
Approaching Barg along one of the region’s muddy, rutted dirt roads, the first thing a traveler is likely to notice is the tall, steep sided hill rising up behind the village. High atop the hill, a castle made of dark stone perches like a hunched predatory bird, looking down on the burg below. A long, switchback trail rises up the rocky face of the hill to the castle gates above.
The village itself is walled in a somewhat haphazard manner, here with a head high wall formed of mismatched stone blocks, there with a tall fence of sharpened wooden stakes, and in places simply by the sturdy, windowless rear side of buildings. Rickety gates are pulled shut across the three roads leading into town from the surrounding farmlands (one from the south, one from the east and one from the north-west) as night falls, but are left open and unguarded from just before dawn.
The tallest structure in the village proper – taller even than the three functional wooden watchtowers overlooking each gate – is the bell tower of the small stone clad Artonite church which faces the village square. Few other buildings in town, including the Crow’s Call, the village’s only inn, rise above two stories in height. Sharing the frontages of the square with the inn and the church are the town hall and constabulary, a small general store, and a few other small shops and businesses. Near the north end of the village are two other important businesses, a livery stable and the town smithy. Most of the rest of the village consists of houses and various small businesses and light industry supporting the surrounding farms. The best houses line the four wide, cobblestone streets that radiate out from the square, whilst the others are packed tight around the maze of smaller, unpaved streets behind them.
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