"Spiders?" Sherman inquires and looks up from his whittling, two of his hands flip open his saddle bag and put away the knife and wood.
Despite the feeling, no arachnids reveal themselves. By the end of the day the group emerges from the deep forest.
The land becomes a little less fresh past the forest, with more obvious scars. The road is slowly disappearing, the duralloy picked at over time. The party sees a walled village ahead.
"Another village," Germain notes, typing away on her gauntlet, "do we want to stop here or do we continue on?"
"Another village," Germain notes, typing away on her gauntlet, "do we want to stop here or do we continue on?"
"Might as well just continue on, I'd say. Civilized life gives me an uncomfortableness if I stay with it too long."
"You like to be out pillaging and drinking blood?" Germain asks subconsciously.
"While I see your point, I like sleeping under a roof. I'd vote for stopping here for the night. Of course, this is contingent on the guys running the village."
"I say we stay at the village for the night." Macoy smiles. "It feels good to be doing this again. You know, traveling the countryside, righting wrongs, occasionally causing them. Yes, I haven't done this for far too long."
The village looks like a sad little effort to build something new. The walls are obviously scavenged stone and rusty metal, with strands of glittering duralloy razorwire festooned across the top. A gate stands shut for the evening, but a small fire nearby indicates someone is on guard. The party can't see much from the road, but there does seem to be one ancient building within the confines. It rears up about 20 stories, a featureless, black oblong in the reddening light.
The sounds of croaking swamp life indicates a lot of standing water nearby. A few of the frog craoks sound relatively massive. Perhaps relatives of tha batrachian they met along the Neticut River back near the Sundered Land?
Sherman is happy to have another day in civilisation, so he readily agrees with the suggestion to head to the village, they might even be able to round up some more troops for the front line.
He spurs his un-named horse towards the gates noticing the place does not look hospitable.
"Ya mon, da I and I be looking for a crib for da night?" he asks the unseen gate guard.
A guardsman with a sword and tunic answers the gate door, opening a small opening.
"What ho, dost thou desire entrance to the North Fastness?"
The guard talks in a real stilted accented Anglish. It sounds similar to the few snatches of conversation the group heard from the travelers last night from Holy Oak.
"We're just traveling through, and we would like to sleep with a roof over our heads for one more night. Yes, we would like to come in, if you're willing."
A smile creeps onto Germain's face as she hears the man's strange accent.
"This could be amusing," she says, to herself before joining Maccoy and Sherman up front. "hail and well met, we brave knights are on a quest and seek rest for the night. Might we find shelter in your kingdom?"
Aid other on the diplomacy:
"Indeed, our quest has brought great hardships upon our warband. If we could find succor here, in this beleaguered land, we would be most grateful."
"Yay mon, wot da I an I say," Sherman readily agrees.
<Whistles like a cuckoo.>
"Indeed, our quest has brought great hardships upon our warband. If we could find succor here, in this beleaguered land, we would be most grateful."
The guardsman opens the door.
"Then be welcome. There is an inn called the Heroes' Quest inside that can offer you lodging for the night."
Spot DC15:
Maccoy glances at the guard as he passes by.
<As he passes the guard: "I... ummm... greeteth thee..."
<Coca walks in chuckling.>
Maccoy glances at the guard as he passes by.
1d20+11
The guard has a chainmail shirt on under his tunic. It looks very old-fashioned, but is of some duralloy make.
<Whistles like a cuckoo.>
"That about sums it up."
The walled village is odd in that most things seem to be old-school, without the usual patched tech equipment that many villages use to better their plight. Small wattle-and-daub houses cluster together, and the night is filled with candlelight from their windows. The only thing that looks like Golden Age tech is a massive skyscraper smack in the middle of the village.
A lot like the Sundered Land's buildings, this is a featureless cube rising a good four hundred meters into the twilight sky. There seem to be no embelishments to the building, but there seems to be a secondary wall surrounding the building with guard towers.
The Inn is easy enough to find: A big sprawling building that looks more like it grew haphazardly than was contructed. A sign reading The Heroes' Quest swings above the open door.
"Okay we're going to play word bingo," Germain says turning towards the other, "the game is simple: get four words and you win. The words I'm looking for are forsooth, zounds, goodly, and morrow. If I win you have to buy me a drink."
Germain half turns towards the inn when a thought hits her: "and supposing, on the off chance, that these bumpkins are part of some sort of death cult looking for a virgin sacrifice to bring about a good harvest or something, I'm not a virgin and am far older then I look."
Germain again half turns towards the inn when another thought hits her: "And no calling me a witch . . . or I'll shoot you in the neck. Got it?"
Germain walks towards the inn.
"Uh, OK... I'll take 'prophecy', 'blackguard' and..., ah, 'squire'. And 'golly gee', just in case they are confused about their historical slang." Roach ties up Bullwinkle outside the inn and follows Germain.
"Darling, if this place's a death cult, we've got bigger things to be worrying about than who they decide to sacrifice. Any case, I'll take you up on that bet. I'll take adventurer, verily, claymore and maiden." With that, Maccoy ties up his horse and walks to the inn, a wide grin on his face.
Germain half turns towards the inn when a thought hits her: "and supposing, on the off chance, that these bumpkins are part of some sort of death cult looking for a virgin sacrifice to bring about a good harvest or something, I'm not a virgin and am far older then I look."
"I wonder why it is that you feel the need to change your age and identity, each town we go to. You runnin' from someone?"
"... I'm not a virgin and am far older then I look."
*cough*
"Wif a geeza?"
"Damn."
<... long pause. shakes his head.>
"Knock me down wif a featha."
The large inn is filled with characters dressed in weird clothing, many sporting swords. There is a sprinkling of Nu Orkers, and a few folks clothed in plain shirts and pants. The group finds a seat and takes a look around.
The interior is all hand-done wood and stone, very odd to the sight when most places are built with salvaged metals and plastic scraps from the Golden Age. Waitresses bustle among the customers in low-cut bodices, dishing out pitchers of beer and mead to the crowd. One comes over and greets the party:
"Welcome to The Heroes' Quest fair strangers! What can I get you brave warriors to drink?"
"Whiskey. Coca gotta forget dat mental image a Germaine getting down, y'know?""
"I wonder why it is that you feel the need to change your age and identity, each town we go to. You runnin' from someone?"
"Lonnie, Lonnie, Lonnie," Germain says with a sigh, "I haven't changed one iota, it's your perception of me that's been changing. I can't change how people see me can I? If you thought I was younger how is that my fault? And I have never claimed to be anyone other then myself. I wonder if you have a mild case of gynephobia. Believe me, we women aren't all yucky and evil."
"Welcome to The Heroes' Quest fair strangers! What can I get you brave warriors to drink?"
"Greetings fair maiden," Germain says, shifting her voice again, this time to one of authority, "My companions seek libations, mead for the menfolk and milk for myself . . . and pray-tell my good lady, is anything special happening on the day that follows this?"
"Greetings fair maiden," Germain says, shifting her voice again, this time to one of authority, "My companions seek libations, mead for the menfolk and milk for myself . . . and pray-tell my good lady, is anything special happening on the day that follows this?"
The barmaid smiles at Germain
"Why, fair lass, tomorrow is the full moon, and the Tower of Evil opens its doors. Have you come to test your mettle against the djinn?"
"If you don't mind my asking, what exactly is this Tower of Evil, and anything an enterprising group of explorers ought to know about this djinn?"
"Tower of Evil opens?" Germain asks, sounding surprised, but in reality slightly more frustrated that her ploy didn't work, "All this on the . . ."
'Say morrow!' she thinks to herself, 'how hard is it to follow simple prompts!'
"I assume the tower is the black building behind the palisade? Does the djinn come out, or do the adventuresome fellows come to it?"
Sherman has completely failed to follow any of the conversation since they got here and is loudly complaining to Marley that "da breden na speek proper."
He decides that alcohol is probably a good solution as the weed is not cutting it and order a large round for himself.
Sherman has completely failed to follow any of the conversation since they got here and is loudly complaining to Marley that "da breden na speek proper."
He decides that alcohol is probably a good solution as the weed is not cutting it and order a large round for himself.
Lonnie, tired of Germain's doublespeak and unnerved by the Renaissance Faire atmosphere, agrees and heads for the bar.
"House ale. Gallon."
"I don't think he likes me," Germain whispers to the others as Lonnie leaves.
"I assume the tower is the black building behind the palisade? Does the djinn come out, or do the adventuresome fellows come to it?"
The barmaid nods
"Aye. It's that ancient lair. The djinn is an evil spirit from the Dark Times, and lives imprisoned in the tower. Every full moon it opens the doors and allows heroes entrance to challenge it. None have yet returned. Our village was founded by the Barony of Holy Oak to guard against its escape from its black prison. They say whoever conquers its evil will gain an ancient treasure."
"Forsooth?" Germain asks the barmaid, "what sort of ancient treasure? technologies from the days of yore?"
"Forsooth?" Germain asks the barmaid, "what sort of ancient treasure? technologies from the days of yore?"
The barmaid looks at Germain
"Some say there is an ancient diamond inside that Djinns of the Dark Times use as their power. The Evil One guards it, as it is its heart."
'Well that's not nearly as useful or interesting,' Germain thinks to herself.
"So these gates only open on the . . ." Germain says, seeming to search for the correct word for the next day.
Supposing the barmaid answers, Germain finishes her question:
"I wonder why that is?"
"Does it open every full moon?"
"Does it open every full moon?"
"Aye. The djinn seems to relish challenges. Not every moon sees challengers, but this Strawberry Moon looks as if we will have several!"
'Well that's not nearly as useful or interesting,' Germain thinks to herself.
"So these gates only open on the . . ." Germain says, seeming to search for the correct word for the next day.
Supposing the barmaid answers, Germain finishes her question:
"I wonder why that is?"
"Aye the morrow. No one knows. Only a few have returned, and they tell of fearsome metal beasts, traps and darksome magiks from the Dark Times. The djinn speaks not."
"Aye the morrow. No one knows. Only a few have returned, and they tell of fearsome metal beasts, traps and darksome magiks from the Dark Times. The djinn speaks not."
Germain gives her companions a smug smile, but then grows thoughtful:
"I think we should enter this genie layer," Germain suddenly says, "I think a certain wizard we know will want that prize. Once we get OMNU what she wants the sooner we can get back to my quest."
"That's a very good idea, actually. It has my vote. Final question - has anyone ever seen the, uh, djinn? Is it... fleshy, or does it seem more mechanical in nature?" Roach leans over to Maccoy. "Sounds like a repair cycle to me - the doors open as the power is turned off for automated maintenance, and adventureres then run into the repair robots," he mutters.