From the shadows of his hood, Harlon watches with shock and dismay as Dalzig and Shamus ignore him and sit at another table. What?! How many people of my size would they expect to find lurking about the Feral Dog at this hour of the day?! I'm sure that Dalzig saw me... They've forgotten me already... or they just don't want me... I knew they didn't want me... Why would some would-be warriors, a priest of death, and a scholar want to take a frail little halfling "boy" on their expedition, what good could I be to them... halflings are good only for cleaning the latrines of their human masters, for shining their shoes, for slavery and chattel, for crawling into small spaces to retrieve those diamonds and gold nuggests that would otherwise escape their greedy reach... to hell with them all!!! Uncontrollable anger flaring in his chest, the little man clenches his teeth, leaps from his chair and sweeps up his pack and spear in one motion, and then heads straight for the door, not giving the companions that might-have-been a second look...
Harlon is the first to reach the Feral Dog on the following morning. It seems as though it will be a chilly and overcast day. The halfling sits alone, hunched at the table where the party first assembled the day before, bundled tightly in his ragged green cloak and hood drawn so as to conceal his face. The odd hole in his cloak betrays the leather armour he wears underneath. A pack lays at his feet, and a spear rests between his knees. The skinny halfling holds his bony hands out to the warmth of the recently re-kindled hearth fire, but otherwise is still as a statue, lost in thought and doing his best to ignore the workers nursing their hangovers in the establishment. Ugh... the reek of stale beer, smoke, vomit and unwashed miner... what a way to start the day... I wonder if the others will show up? I'll give them a while more... if they don't turn up, guess I'll just have to go back to framing, and forget that yesterday's meeting and those evil dreams ever happened... and hope that Jeb and his gang won't be waiting for me... If the others do show up, do I bother telling Andras that I won't be working today? Hmmm... Ah, here they are... And to hell with Andras... he owes me...
When the first of his new companions approaches, Harlon pulls on his hood again, as if to make sure that he has drawn it as far as it will go. He nods a reserved greeting from its shadows. Please, don't notice, don't say anything...
His gear packed away for the morrow's journey, Harlon grabs a piece of chalk, and, taking a deep breath, begins to trace the sigil that the woman had shown him in his dreams on the wooden floor. Malphas, the Turnfeather...
Although he could rush the tracing, the halfling takes his time, ensuring that each line and curve is drawn perfectly. Then, kneeling before the sprawling sigil, he begins to whisper: "Malphas... I, Harlon Happytoes, call thy name... I call upon the power of the Turnfeather... give me thine eyes, and I shall bind myself to you... come, Malphas, I beg thee... come Turnfeather, I implore thee..."
The furious fluttering of white doves explodes out of thin air into the room, startling the halfling. The birds flap noisily around the cell-like chamber, then fly away from each other and fade from view. In their place stands a handsome elf, clad in a nobleman's black garb, with pale skin, black eyes, and black feathers for hair. He smiles a black-toothed grin as he looks down upon the trembling halfling. "Malphas hears your request, Harlon Happytoes... and grants it...," croaks the sinister elf. A black, snake-like tongue flicks through his lips as he laughs a raucous laugh, eyes boring to the core of the halfling's soul. The elf's form begins to dissolve and meld into the worried halfling. Harlon exhibits a few mild convulsions, and appears ready to retch, but after a few moments spent doubled over in pain, he regains his composure. He looks at his hands, at his body... Everything looks fine... I think I'm alright...
The halfling looks out his window at night-shrouded Diamond Lake. There is little to see. Total blackness... like in the cave of whispers. The night wind seems to be picking up. Harlon sighs profoundly, then sets to erase the sigil with a cloth before getting some rest for the night.
-------------
The grey light of dawn filters through Harlon's room. He awakes with a start. What's that, at the window? He cautiously rises from his bed, to find a raven pecking intently at the pane. It looks at him with a knowing expression, cawing its mocking laughter, and then flies off. Time to meet the others... Yet where the bird was perched but moments ago, the halfling now sees his own reflection in the glass. His heart leaps into his throat. Oh no... my teeth... my tongue... they're black! Something must have gone wrong...
Binding check: 7 (d20 roll) + 1 (effective binder level) + 4 (CHA mod.) = 12. Given that the DC for success was a 15, this means that Harlon has become bound to Malphas for the next 24 hours, but that he has made a "poor pact." This means that Harlon's personality succumbs to Malphas's influence:
"While influenced by Malphas, you fall in love too easily. A kind word or a friendly gesture can cause you to devote yourself entirely to another person. Should that person reject you affection, your broken heart mends the moment another attractive person shows you some kindness. In addition, if you have access to poison, Malphas requires that you employ it against your foes at every opportunity." (Tome of Magic, p. 39).
Malphas grants Harlon the following powers:
1) Bird's eye view: at will, you can summon a dove or raven (Harlon will choose a raven) to aid your powers of observation. (Use the stats for a raven regardless of the creature's form). The bird appears perched on your shoulder. You have complete control over its actions, and you can see what it sees and hear what it hears. Use the bird's skill check to determine the results of its actions and observations (for example, Bluff, Search, Spot, Listen), but use your skill bonuses to derive information from its observations (for example, Knowledge, Sense Motive, or Spellcraft to identify a spell)... The bird cannot talk. You can have only one bird summoned at a time. It remains until you summon another dove or raven, mentally dismiss it (a standard action), or stop binding with Malphas.
2) Poison use: you are not at risk of poisoning yourself when handling poison.
3) Sudden strike: with your melee attack, you deal an extra 1d6 points of damage anytime your target would be denied its Dexterity bonus to AC. This extra damage applies to ranged attacks only if the opponent is within 30 feet.
Leaving his new companions for the evening, Harlon makes his way back to the boarding house that he has called home off and on over the past year, in accordance with his fortunes. He quietly makes his way back to his room, careful to avoid his landlords and the other boarders. Once in his room, he draws up his favourite, badly worn blanket -- the one his mother gave him -- and curls up in a ball on his human-sized bed. His eyes stare out into emptiness, at a scene whispered in dreams. "Yesssss... soon, you will join us in the darknessss... all will join us in the cold emptiness beyond life, beyond death... the time is nigh..." The halfling shivers as the disembodied, sibilant voices echo in the corridors of his fragile mind. Down, down into a dark cave the voices lead him... their whispers all around, almost tangible... the whispering dark goes on forever... and brings him to a face carved out of the cursed rock, a face that screams soundlessly with the force of a hurricane wind... he is blown away, a helpless leaf on a demon's breath... the blackness seeps out of the cave, slowly engulfing the world beyond...
The halfling keeps on rocking, tears streaming from his eyes... I'm so afraid... Why me? Why are you showing me this? He feels for the whistle that hangs around his neck, and thinks about blowing on it. Will mother hear? No, Harlon, don't... if Kharid and the voices are right, then now is not the time... Instead, he reaches tentatively for his father's spear, propped up between his bed and night stand. Trembling, the lad strokes its point. Da', what should I do? Why did you leave me?
Harlon drifts in and out of dreams and nightmares... of his family... of the war in Tynear... of the refugee camps... of the doom that is at hand... He sees the woman whom he has dreamed of so many times since the voices started speaking to him... "Harlon, call on Malphas, the Turnfeather... he will guide you..." A sigil flashes in his mind...
It must be a few hours shy of midnight when the halfling wakes, and sits on the edge of the bed, feet dangling awkwardly. He lights his lamp, then carefully gathers his few possessions into his backpack. Harlon... be brave... you must go with Kharid and the others... It might be the only way to make the nightmares go away... To stop this darkness from devouring the world... to make sure you get to see mam and the bapkis again... And this party might be your opportunity to leave Diamond Lake once and for all... whether you survive the cairn or not...
"The Whispering Cairn? I suppose that that's the best alternative; I hardly think it wise to go off to a mysterious cairn in the dark of night with her group arriving in thw morning, for they would certainly fight us and that's not what we need right now, is a wise course of action. We should set out for this Whispering Cairn as soon as we are able tomarrow."
"The Whispering Cairn?!" Harlon strains his neck to look up at his towering companions, eyes are wide and voice quavering slightly. "I've lived in Diamond Lake for over a year now, and let me tell you, few people disturb the cairns, and with good reason. Even fewer go to the Whispering Cairn... there are stories of children who get dared to spend the night there sometimes... and don't come back. I don't think it would be safe, or wise, to go there. Best not to bother that which dwells in the darkness, especially if what Master Thunderrune says is true..." Harlon's expression becomes distant, ghost-like, as he utters that last sentence.
Rend eyes the halfling for a moment, then breaks into a wide grin. "I know what you need, and it's not mulled wine. What you need is to kill a few gobbos! Always cheers me up, at least."
"Kill? KILL?! Are you mad?! I don't want to kill anybody... how would killing do me any good?!" That confirms it... I most definitely am in the wrong company, and if I stay much longer, I'll be in a mess from which I'll never be able to pull myself... The halfling slinks back into his chair with a worried look in his eyes. Smart move, Harlon. Keep pushing the half-orc like that, and you'll wind up dead before you know it... He looks intently into his wine cup with a profound sigh, evidently disappointed that he downed its contents in one gulp.
"I'm Kharid Thunderrune, scholar of ancient works and a recent inducted novice member of The Most Respected Historical and Archeological Studies Society."
"I originally came here from Jhesail to explore the archaeological valuable cairns around the town and perhaps pick up a thing or two that might have been excavated from the mining operations."
"Soon after I arrived here, just a couple of weeks ago, I started to pick up ominous signs of things great and dark focusing its energies around this muddy town... and that's when I ran into all of ye in this fateful time."
"So, here's to this meeting being the start of something good!" With those words he gulps down the last of his wine.
"Good to know you, Kharid Thunderrune." Harlon, concern in his eyes, swishes the wine around in his cup. "What kind of signs have you seen? Wouldn't it be better to leave these dark things alone, to not pay them any attention?" The halfling's voice trails off, as if doubting his own line of questioning. Alot of good that did the folk of Greenfields... Ignore the troubles brewing in the east, the elders would say, lest the troubles come seeking you. Ignore them we did... and now we see what good came of that throughout Tynear... Then, backtracking after having meditated briefly on some unspoken words: "what can be done to stop these evil forces, Kharid? What makes you think that we" -- the halfling looks at the unlikely group assembled around the table -- "can do anything to stop them? And why should we? Let the world go to the Abyss... if you hadn't noticed, we're already there, and there's no way out... And places like Diamond Lake don't deserve to be saved..."
Harlon's pale skin starts to take on a crimson hue. "I'm just a carpenter's son... no, the son of a deceased carpen..." The last words come out mumbled, practically indecipherable. The gaunt halfling looks into the depths of his wine, downs the drink in one gulp, then slams the cup on the table with such force that even Rend can't avoid but raise an eyebrow. It is unclear whether the lad is about to break into tears or explode with violent fury, but the weak and fearful image initially projected by the halfling has temporarily been shed...
"I will let ye in on a secret, a secret that I think we all have a share in. Ye see, I've concluded from my divinations that something is afoot, something terrible, evil and vast. And it all has ties to this town as far as I can figure out. Now, I came here to explore the numerous cairns outside the town and was looking for ablebodied people to help me in my efforts, but I sense that there's more to my mission than just exploration, how ever grand that mission is in itself!"
"Even now, as we sit here, I feel the threads of fate tighten and knot around this very table. This could be the start of something grand... and mayhaps very dangerous!"
With that utterance a slight haze seems to come over the dwarf's eyes, just for a split second, then he takes a large gulp of his wine and seems to focus on the people around the table again... "Mmmm, great whine, no? Warms the body on a rainy day such as this."
A hint of colour seems to return to Harlon's face as the half-orc apparently fails to acknowledge, or be bothered by the halfling's sneeze. Perhaps this type of accident is common and not frowned upon in orcish culture? Now feigning that nothing happened, he returns his attention to the discussion at hand. "Yes, yes, great wine, master dwarf... But... what is this evil you are talking about? I mean, Diamond Lake is full of evil, that I should know... but I don't think that what I've seen is the kind of evil that you're talking about..." Harlon shudders, starting to imagine the unimaginable. "And I don't like all this talk of death, Dalzig..."
Just to be clear -- I've been pretty silent in this thread the last couple of days because y'all seemed to have hit the big "first time all the party members meet" role playing encounter. There's not a lot for me to do during this encounter. I leave it to you guys to actually, you know, role play with each other.
If you really want me to, I can try and start a bar brawl for you. You know... get our first combat encounter out the way instead. You guys just let me know.
I think we're doing just fine, and no bar brawls necessary... unless someone insists. I'm enjoying the RPing that's going on at the moment...
As the five of you gather around the table by the fire, the bartender brings you all mulled wine.
The elf finds some other sorry drunk to throw knives with. The sorry drunk can barely hit the board. The elf looks disappointed and bored.
Rend shrugs as the impatient elf finds another to challenge in a knife-throwing contest. He sits with the ragtag bunch of would-be adventurers and sniffs at his mulled wine. Not his typical fare. Pushing the drink to the side, he sizes up his newfound companions. A gnome, a dwarf, a halfling, and a sickly human. He chuckles to himself, imagining what the orcs of his former tribe would think of the situation. Growing up as a half-breed among savages has instilled in him a certain amount of racial tolerance, and Rend nods at those gathered at the table.
"I'm Rend, from the Gruk clan in the Freehold Nations of Luhr. But I have no desire to return there, or to live from raid to raid. I seek adventure and to prove myself worthy of Kord's favor. Are you all of similar mind?"
Harlon's watery eyes stare in unconcealed surprise at the motley crew that has assembled around his table. Drinking mulled wine with a foreign dwarf is one thing... but drinking with a savage-looking, adventure-seeking half-orc with a religious penchant, and with a preaching gnome... what am I about to get myself into?! "Ummm... I don't know much about Kord," squeeks the halfling shyly. "And... what kind of adventure are you looking for? I mean... I'm not sure that I..." The youngster smiles feedbly at his companions, clearly uncertain of what he should be telling them. "Oh, I forgot to tell you my name... I'm Harlon Happytoes... from Greenfields, in easter Tynear... but this hole has been my home for the past two years..." He tries to stiffle a sneeze, but another loud gazumph! escapes his nostrils. He cringes at the realization that some of the spray has hit the half-orc's hand... "Sorry," he begs softly as his already fair skin turns an even whiter shade of pale...
Dalzig stands there stunned for a couple seconds. Then, recalling what his deity has granted him so far, becomes a little proud and boisterous. He doggedly pursues Rend.
"All strength ever gets you is trouble. Sorcery will solve any problem. It is a tool and a weapon. I bet I could kill anyone in here with a touch of my finger!" This last part perhaps said a little too loud. "And where is your strength after being beaten by a demon? How will you survive meeting someone stronger than yourself? I don't think you can." Throughout this tirade, Dalzig is waving his arms about almost frantically defending his deity and himself. When finished he crosses his arms and puffs out his tiny chest in rage.
From his vantage point at a distant table, Harlon watches the scene at the bar unfold. He raises his eyebrows at the sight of the little gnome persistently trying to convert the half-orc. "What a fool," he mutters to himself. "The half-orc wins, hands down... but what if the gnome were to partner with the dwarf? That might even the odds somewhat..." Wonder if I'll end up getting that cup of mulled wine or not...
"That one looks pretty sturdy," Rend says as pushes his stool back from the bar and stands up. He heads over to where Kharid is approaching the bar.
As Kharid is about to get the bartender's attention, Rend interrupts "If you carry an axe, you can be the third in our party, Dwarf. What do ya say?"
Seated uncomortably at the too-tall table he has found by the warm fire, the halfling props his head on both his hands. Why did the dwarf ask if I was any good with my tools... what does he want from me? Ah, guess I may never find out... The lad sighs as he watches the half-orc approach the dwarf, but can't quite make out what they are saying to one another. "I knew this would happen, it was a sure bet... dwarf and half-orc stand toe to toe at the bar... inevitable outcome: brawl. So which one will strike first, and which will be the last one standing?" he mutters to himself, as the fire casts living shadows across his pale face.
"Now there, no need for that boy... erm, good sir. Ye look like ye could use a warm drink more than I," the dwarf says while stroking water out of his thick mustache.
"Why don't ye find a warm place by the fire and I'll bring some warm mulled wine for the both of us... and are ye any good with those tools?" A thoughtful look comes over the dwarf's face. "Ach, never mind about that now, go find a table and I'll be back shortly."
The dwarf turns and slowly starts towards the bar while still stroking his mustache.
Another cruel joke. As soon as I open my eyes, his fist will hit my nose like a sledge hammer... Still holding one arm up, the young halfling slowly opens one eye, and then, the other. He looks up and is shocked to read the kindly and sincere expression on the dwarf's face, as well as his invitation to share some mulled wine and a table by the fire. The man-child's expression goes from fear, to incredulity, to a nervous but appreciative smile, all in a matter of seconds. "No sir, I insis..." starts the halfling, but the dwarf is already on his way to the bar. Shrugging, the diminutive fella moves to a table by the fire, careful to avoid nudging any of the other rugged tavern patrons on his way over. "Oh well, a few coins saved, and no bruises or broken bones to nurse," sighs the halfling. One mug, so as to not offend him, and then I'll head back upstairs to my room, thinks the little man to himself. Else, before I know it, he'll try to con me into some shady deal...
He spies a towering half-orc over by the bar, and wonders whether the mongrel and the dwarf will come to blows. Then, some strange gnome gets up on a nearby table and starts preaching about the virtues of the Ruby Lady. The little man frowns as the gnome begins his sermon, then looks away in disgust. Another fool... May the gods burn in hell, every last one of them... His cloak is so wet that he does not notice that his arms are resting in a puddle of ale spilled across the knife-scarred table top. Just another day in paradise, reflects the halfling sourly, scanning the common room of the place that had become his "home" on and off for the past two years. He then turns his head towards the fire, holding his palms up to the dancing flames as he awaits the mulled wine promised by the dwarf.
Waiting for the train of wagons to pass, Kharid hitched his cloak further up around his head to ward of the water. It was one of those drizzles that didn't look like much, but would soak you in mere minutes if you didn't wear a good cloak or oilskin coat.
After the last wagon had passed Kharid jumped the tracks, which were quickly filling with water, and quickly reached the other side.
"Ahh, now for some warm mulled wine" he thought as he entered the rundown inn across the street.
An orphan of this scarred land entered the decrepit taverns on the dwarf's heels and would have gone completely unnoticed by the latter, had the child not unleashed an unexpected and loud gazumph! of a sneeze on the scholar's back. The child followed his explosive sneeze with a nervous "Oh, my apologies, sir," accompanied by frantic wiping of the dwarf's cloak with the sleeve of his wet cloak. The boy was clad in soggy green, but threadbear traveler's garments, hood concealing all but his broad nose within its shadows. Given his frail frame and that he stood only as high as the dwarf's chest, he could not have been much more than 6 or 7 years old... who permitted this child into the establishment, anyway? He was much too young to be here.
Yet was this indeed a child?
A small hammer, mallet, chisel and other carpenters' tools hung from his belt... the carpenter's son trying to emulate his dad? The boy pulled back his hood and revealed a thick mane of limp, shoulder-length brown hair, dripping, dripping, dripping... Bright blue liquid orbs set in a pale face slowly looked up from the back of the dwarf's cloak and tentatively met his eyes. However youthful the face may have seemed, it was clear that it did not belong to a human child, but to a young halfling with exhaustion written across his features, and too many ghosts dancing behind his eyes. He rose his left arm in a protective gesture, clearly expecting the rugged-looking dwarf to strike him for having sneezed on his cloak.
"Please sir, for your troubles, let me be buy you a drink..." His eyes darted back down to the floor, while his lilting voice trailed off. He kept his left arm raised and cringed in anticipation of the inevitable blow...
*Blows a long whistle* Nice profile there. Just 2 questions. Do you not have any essential game stats since none are listed (none I can see at least)? Also, what the hell does EP under wealth/money mean?
Thanks, Dalzig. Essential game stats should all appear if you click on the "show" button beneath the "Essential Game Stats" heading. That button will reveal hit points, AC, move, saving throws, BAB, combat/weapons, etc. I tested it and it works for me... please let me know if it isn't working for you.
Abilities should be visible in the left hand column.
Posts
