The village of Dunshale has been living under a shadow. Five years ago, threats from outside the realm attacked. Then a fiend was discovered hiding in its midst. The Inquisition moved upon it; the thing and those allied to it were purged with the fire of Baal. Soon after, the Thane's own son was murdered in the village inn. This sparked an uprising, followed by bloody retribution from the warriors of the Jarl's fortress. Martial law reigned for the next two years. Now, things have slowly returned to some semblance of normalcy, but the shadow remains. Fear and suspicion rule the lives of Dunshale's inhabitants.
Your group has been set with a task. Find out what happened five years ago. What led to the murder of Grundar Ironfist? Who was responsible? Perhaps if this mystery is solved, the shadow will fall away.
For the time being, your group has decided to enjoy the High Harvest festival. An ancient tradition, it will allow you some entertainment and relaxation before delving into the unanswered questions of the past. Since festival-goers are masked for the celebration, it will also allow some of you to go about the village without arousing suspicion or panic. Perhaps if the celebration does not appeal to you, you can get a jump on the investigation and see what the townsfolk can tell you.
It is a day for celebration. The harvest is in and the storehouses are full in preparation for winter. It is time to give thanks for the year's bounty, and to celebrate with feasting, singing, and dancing. There will be games of chance, competitions of strength and skill, and general revelry. A calm before the storm, you might say.
Nonetheless, you rarely see the inside of Ingranar Tahl these days. You have a small room at the back of the chapel, and minister to the spiritual needs of the villagers, though they hardly interact with you at all when not attending services. Dunshale has seen its share of tragedies in recent years, as well as a military suppression of an uprising that took the life of Thane Ironfist’s only son followed by two years of martial law. Most likely think you’re just another watcher, looking for discontent and revolt to report back to the inquisitors.
One night you were awoken from sleep by a light. Your room was lit by a single candle, in the hand of a dwarven figure in the doorway. You realized with horror that the figure wore the red hood and mask of the Inquisition. In a desperate second you struggled between the options of defending yourself or attempting to flee. However, as your hand moved to the hammer at the side of your bed, the figure spoke.
“Stay your hand, Stilgar Fulgrum. I am not your enemy. I have a task for you. There is much that occurred here that remains unexplained. I want you to investigate. There are events unfolding that began here. There are portents of a dire future, and they lead here.”
“I don’t understand,” you replied. “What things? Why do you wish me to do this?”
“Tempered steel is often hard, but unyielding. Under unexpected pressure, it snaps. Your youth and idealism are assets. You remain flexible. You will seek allies that others of our kind would shun out of zeal or habit. There is a storm coming. If we wish to survive it, you must do this. It is a straightforward task, if not simple: Find out who was responsible for the death of Thane Ironfist’s son. That is when it started. I do not expect you to succeed easily or quickly, but I expect it to be done.”
Thinking on it for a moment, you could see no reason not to do this. Grundar Ironfist body was found in the inn in Dunshale, murdered, stabbed in the back. This is common knowledge. If nothing else, uncovering the catalyst for the action that had caused the village to suffer so might do some good. Also, there was something in this man’s voice and words that seemed to speak of it being a catalyst for something worse. So you agreed.
Before he left you, he gave you a scroll tube. It contained compiled notes from various sources—dwarven warriors, divine guidance of clerics, voluntary testimony of witnesses—that provide some insight into what happened during that time, and possible avenues to pursue to find out more.
So now you have a task before you, and you’ll likely need help. If you succeed, perhaps you can remove some of the insecurity, suspicion, and oppression in the region. Perhaps you can heal the rift between human and dwarf to some degree. And, just maybe, you can repair your damaged reputation among your own people.
Note: For the sake of expediency, you’ll be gathering your party together prior to starting. You’ll have recruited those characters you’re likely to know personally (Brogdar and Magnus) who in turn put you in contact with the rest (Jinjer, Terrana, and Gaius).
You decided to look for further assistance, going to the Seer you spoke in defense of. He has offered the services of his apprentice to you. Also, there is a woman, Tarrana, whom you have forged a friendship with, whose abilities could be useful. She’s wild and unpredictable, and her appearance could get the Inquisition brought down upon you, but you know in your heart that she is no evil thing, and could be a great help to you.
** spoiler omitted **
[spoiler=shadowborn] I have a great respect for a debt to be paid and so I go directly to the search.
diplomacy to gather information about the whereabouts of Brogdar.(if necessary)
diplomacy to attain be in the good light with Brogdar and to learn what he knows about interesting and unusual happenings at the festival this year.
Knowing she is about to embark on something that could wind up getting her killed, Jinjer plans on enjoying the festival. She dons the mask of a fox and makes her way around the festival grounds, looking for something to eat and drink and some games to watch. Also, if there is an archery contest, she just might join in.
Stilgar would busy himself by tending to the people in his chapel, who were likely attracted by the promise of plentiful food and drink. The dwarf would exchange only pleasantries with the guests, well aware of the disjunction between himself and the people of Dunshale. Nonetheless, he enjoys the celebration, allowing himself a few laughs, and on the side, perhaps just a drink or two.
However, he remains troubled by his memory of the mysterious visitor, and the task that dwarf had put before him.
The occasion was joyous, yet he hoped it would pass soon without incident, so he and his allies could carry out their investigation.
Magnus: You find Brogdar readily enough. In a small settlement like Dunshale, outcast dwarves are scarce and easily located.
Jinjer: Since your character is a wanderer, I presume she hasn't really set down roots since she left her family. Dunshale was the nearest settlement to come into. If you're here long enough, you'll probably winter here. There are worse places to wait out the snows.
Tarrana wandered through the festival in a half dazed stupor. Occasionally she would reach down and pick up some paper, or bauble, that would inevitably attempt to flee in some way. She'd look at ti inquisitively and then let it go where it would fly off in some random direction even against the wind.
She muttered to herself occasionally talkign to voices that weren't there. Despite this she moved with a flawless and purposeful grace that belied her strangeness. In the festival no one noticed the strange orange woman wandering through them, sometimes stopping suddenly to go down an alley only to comeback the way she came. Those who did notice often had more lsut in there eyes then suspicion hoping to get to the beautiful woman underneath the strange horns and expensive wig.
Eventually, she found herself in front of the temple of Baal. It was amusing to her and she laughed. A big temple for a humorless god. It was so typically dwarven. She stepped lightly into the temple wearing a sardonic smile.
Contests and fun to be had at the High Harvest festival:
Archery contest: 1sp to join, three shots to a contestant, highest score wins. Ties will result in a second round/sudden death, best shot wins.
Reward: A velvet quiver of 10 silver arrows.
Wrestling contest: Round robin tournament. Pinfall to win match. 1cp entry fee. Reward: Championship belt. (appears to be a finely tooled leather belt with an etched silver buckle.)
Horse race: A race around the outskirts of town through a pre-marked track. Must own a horse to compete. Bets accepted.
Songs, stories, drinking, feasting, and other various entertainments.
The main village is alight with lanterns and torches. All the buildings, and several of the people, are adorned with small gourds that have been carved with monstrous faces, then lit from within by small burn pots. These "spirit lanterns" are said to keep evil at bay.
** spoiler omitted **[spoiler=shadowborn] I have a great respect for a debt to be paid and so I go directly to the search.
1d20 +8
diplomacy to gather information about the whereabouts of Brogdar.(if necessary)1d20 +8
diplomacy to attain be in the good light with Brogdar and to learn what he knows about interesting and unusual happenings at the festival this year.
Contests and fun to be had at the High Harvest festival:
Archery contest: 1sp to join, three shots to a contestant, highest score wins. Ties will result in a second round/sudden death, best shot wins.
Reward: A velvet quiver of 10 silver arrows.
Jinjer puts down her silver piece and waits her turn, watching the other contestants. When it's her turn, she steps up to the mark, and one by one, fires three arrows.
After a short talk with Brogdar, I go to the horse races. Taking a long enough walk around the track to get an idea of any hidden obstacles or advantageous sections of track, I'll cast speak with animals and see which of them is feeling most well off today. Betting 3 sp on that horse and conveying a good strategy to the rider, I'll watch the race. If any of my friend's enter this contest, I will provide this information to them instead.
Brodgar spends the early part of the festival assisting Stilgar, having taken the news of some task dourly. At first his smiles and hospitality are forced, until he gets enough drink in him to really feel it.
It wasn't all that long until he'd completely abandoned any pretense of helping the guests to join them. Grabbing the largest, most ridiculous mask he could find, some cross between a cow and a stag (or perhaps an artist's interpretation of a stag; he didn't care which), he roams from game to game of cards or dice, sticking to the low stakes (or any game where alcohol seems to be a part of the wager).
As Tarrana enters, he turns and waves, the unfortunate man sitting next to him getting a good poke in the back of the head by one of the stylized antlers. "Ya come to th' right place," he cries across the temple, "Hard'a find better comp'ny than these fine, fine folk." He punctuates it with a clap on the back of the same victim of the previous antler attack.
Contests and fun to be had at the High Harvest festival:
Archery contest: 1sp to join, three shots to a contestant, highest score wins. Ties will result in a second round/sudden death, best shot wins.
Reward: A velvet quiver of 10 silver arrows.Jinjer puts down her silver piece and waits her turn, watching the other contestants. When it's her turn, she steps up to the mark, and one by one, fires three arrows.
I'm going to modify the contest a bit. First round the targets will be fifty feet away. Go ahead and roll three attacks for me. I'll add up your points determined by your rolls, then compare those to the rolls of your top three competitors. If you win, you'll go on to a second round at a distance of 100 feet. Win there, you'll go to round three at 150 feet. Grand prize will be the silver arrows and their quiver. The other rounds will have other prizes, to be determined.
After a short talk with Brogdar, I go to the horse races. Taking a long enough walk around the track to get an idea of any hidden obstacles or advantageous sections of track, I'll cast speak with animals and see which of them is feeling most well off today. Betting 3 sp on that horse and conveying a good strategy to the rider, I'll watch the race. If any of my friend's enter this contest, I will provide this information to them instead.
Go ahead and make a Diplomacy roll for me to gauge the reaction of the horses.
After a short talk with Brogdar, I go to the horse races. Taking a long enough walk around the track to get an idea of any hidden obstacles or advantageous sections of track, I'll cast speak with animals and see which of them is feeling most well off today. Betting 3 sp on that horse and conveying a good strategy to the rider, I'll watch the race. If any of my friend's enter this contest, I will provide this information to them instead.Go ahead and make a Diplomacy roll for me to gauge the reaction of the horses.
I'll roll a few for multiple contestants, throw out any extras of course.
diplomacy:
diplomacy:
diplomacy:
diplomacy:
How are you feeling today, buddy? Feeling up for this race? Think you are going to do well? Did you know there's a big mud puddle around that second turn? You'll wanna take the outside of the track there. Oh you've got the pudgy dwarf for your rider, that must hurt your back.
You speak with several of the horses, and manage to gain some information and good reactions. You've picked two that appear to be eager for the race and responsive to your advice.
You speak with several of the horses, and manage to gain some information and good reactions. You've picked two that appear to be eager for the race and responsive to your advice.
Sense Motive
Sense Motive
You speak with several of the horses, and manage to gain some information and good reactions. You've picked two that appear to be eager for the race and responsive to your advice.
Sense Motive 1d20 + 3
Sense Motive 1d20+3
You've narrowed your choices to two horses. The first, a black stallion named Venger, who seems high spirited and ready to go, pawing at the ground in anticipation of the run. The other is a roan mare named Sunset, who is much calmer and a couple years older than Venger. However, there is something in her earnest communication of her love of running that strikes a chord with you. Looking at the betting statistics, Venger is an odds-on favorite. Odds on Sunset are 3:2.
Brodgar spends the early part of the festival assisting Stilgar, having taken the news of some task dourly. At first his smiles and hospitality are forced, until he gets enough drink in him to really feel it.
It wasn't all that long until he'd completely abandoned any pretense of helping the guests to join them. Grabbing the largest, most ridiculous mask he could find, some cross between a cow and a stag (or perhaps an artist's interpretation of a stag; he didn't care which), he roams from game to game of cards or dice, sticking to the low stakes (or any game where alcohol seems to be a part of the wager).
As Tarrana enters, he turns and waves, the unfortunate man sitting next to him getting a good poke in the back of the head by one of the stylized antlers. "Ya come to th' right place," he cries across the temple, "Hard'a find better comp'ny than these fine, fine folk." He punctuates it with a clap on the back of the same victim of the previous antler attack.
Tarrana laughs as she watches the boisterous dwarf's display. "Your new face suits you will it be a permanent fixture? I suggest getting the antlers trimmed I do not believe your companion cares for the abuse."
She stopped suddenly and turned to stare off into space for a moment before continuing. "It is good to see you."
You've narrowed your choices to two horses. The first, a black stallion named Venger, who seems high spirited and ready to go, pawing at the ground in anticipation of the run. The other is a roan mare named Sunset, who is much calmer and a couple years older than Venger. However, there is something in her earnest communication of her love of running that strikes a chord with you. Looking at the betting statistics, Venger is an odds-on favorite. Odds on Sunset are 3:2.
As Sunset has shared something with me in the way of communicating herself, I place my three silver pieces for her to win. I feel a connection to her through the moment we shared. I use send senses twice during the race. Once at the start, to hear the breathing, and heartbeat of the great creature as the excitement builds in the air and the heavy plod of hooves like big rain drops as they commence. A second time once the horses have left my normal sight and gone past a corner that I would not otherwise be able to see around. I place myself strategically on a higher location to allow my abilities maximum efficiency.
I'm going to modify the contest a bit. First round the targets will be fifty feet away. Go ahead and roll three attacks for me. I'll add up your points determined by your rolls, then compare those to the rolls of your top three competitors. If you win, you'll go on to a second round at a distance of 100 feet. Win there, you'll go to round three at 150 feet. Grand prize will be the silver arrows and their quiver. The other rounds will have other prizes, to be determined.
Shot 1
Shot 2Shot 3
Jinjer fires three shots and offers a slight smile and nod to her competitors after that volley.
As they leave the 'Flask and Flail' Gaius is quickly seperated from his two dwarven campanions by the swirling masked revelers. Gaius quickly finds a dropped and trampled mask on the street and with a wave and a puff of breath restores it to beauty (presdigitation).
Gaius enjoyes the festival as he makes his way across town to the temple of Baal. Stepping in he seems to loose himself as he listens to the sounds echo through the great chamber.
Turning at a voice he seems almost suprised to see his companions from the common room, and a strange masked figure.
"It is good to see you as well. It is a lovely day to meet old friends."
Jinjer: Your first opponent doesn't show much promise, as his first and second shots miss the target entirely. He manages to plug the outer ring with his last arrow, then walks off dejectedly. You think perhaps he should have saved the ale for after the victory celebration. A total of 2 points for this fellow.
Your second opponent proves to be a bit more consistent. She hits the edge of the target twice, followed by a third arrow that nails the third ring in. Total of 7 points for her.
You step forward and take your shots: A strike in the second ring, followed by a bullseye, then another strike to the second ring, for a total of 14 points.
Your last opponent steps forward to take his shots. He's a tall, lanky human in grubby studded leather armor, with a club at his belt. The top half of his face is obscured by a hound mask, complete with flopping leather ears. His pointed chin is covered in about three days worth of beard. His first shot is a bullseye. This is followed by two shots into the second ring, giving him 14 points, tying your score. The judge declares sudden death. The two of you are given a single new arrow as your targets are cleared.
"This will break the tie. Best shot moves the contestant to the next round," declares the judge.
From beneath his hound mask, your opponent gives a crooked toothed grin.
"That'll be me, I reckon."
Jinjer takes the new arrow, nocks, draws, and fires it. And then turns to her opponent and smiles, "You reckon?"
Presiding over the event, Stilgar looks on with curiosity, as he attends to duties.
Perception:
Sense Motive:
Bullseye! The assembled audience cheers at your shot.
The hound-masked man frowns, spits, and then steps forward to his mark when you step back after your shot. He then nocks his arrow, spits again, then takes aim and fires.
As his arrow splits yours down the middle, there is a moment of stunned silence, then another raucous cheer from the crowd. He lazily turns back to regard you, grinning.
"Yup," he replies, "I reckon."
"Still, a bullseye's a bullseye. Looks like we're still tied."
The judge concurs. He moves forward and proffers up another arrow to each of you as the target is cleared.
Presiding over the event, Stilgar looks on with curiosity, as he attends to duties.
Perception: 1d20+2
Sense Motive: 1d20+2
You note that Jon Chandler, the village Speaker, is here. As Speaker, he is the direct representative to the dwarves for the settlement; all appeals to the Thane or Jarl go through him.
He wears a mountain lion mask--a well-crafted affair of tawny suede trimmed in fur--but you're certain it is him. The mask leaves his mouth uncovered, and his thin lips are curled up in a familiar smirk. Also, his clothes are of a much higher quality than the rest of the assemblage, brightly colored and tastefully embroidered.
Chandler stands near the wall looking in your direction, and you appear to be the cause of his amusement.
Recognizing the village's Speaker, even masked, Stilgar would hesitate briefly before approaching him, excusing himself as he brushed past a few groups of villagers.
"Greetings, Speaker. I trust that the festivities have been to your liking?" he said in a familiar yet respectful tone, standing beside him.
Stilgar knew nothing of why Chandler had been observing him from afar, but decided not to make anything of it.
More than a little aggravated, Jinjer takes the new arrow, fits it to her bow, glances at her opponent with a wry grin, aims and fires.
When the arrow strikes the bullseye she turns back to him and says, "You reckon you can do it twice?"
Laconically pushing himself away from the post he's leaning against, your canine-guise opponent positions himself to take his shot. He fires, putting his arrow into the innermost ring, about a half inch from your own arrow. He lets out a sound of disappointment, then turns to you and shrugs.
"I reckon not today. Fine shootin' there, missy."
The judge then moves up and officially declares you the winner of the round, and hands you a pouch, jingling with a fair amount of heft. Youths are sent running to move the targets back as the winning archers prepare for the second round.
Your beaten opponent gives you a nod, licking his lips as he looks off towards the tables of ale and beer.
Stilgar: The Speaker looks down at you, though he stands perhaps only a foot and a few inches taller than yourself, his green eyes visible through his mask.
"Good day, Brother Stilgar. It is good to see you in the festival spirit. I know your brethren prefer to celebrate it on the day following this one. Still," he draws this particular sentence out, tenatively, "I would not have thought you to be one to choose such an...overtly pagan mask as the one you wear. Is the stag not a sign of the Horned God?"
Speaker Chandler's comment seems to draw some attention from the other celebrants nearby. Chandler himself appears a bit smug.
As Sunset has shared something with me in the way of communicating herself, I place my three silver pieces for her to win. I feel a connection to her through the moment we shared. I use send senses twice during the race. Once at the start, to hear the breathing, and heartbeat of the great creature as the excitement builds in the air and the heavy plod of hooves like big rain drops as they commence. A second time once the horses have left my normal sight and gone past a corner that I would not otherwise be able to see around. I place myself strategically on a higher location to allow my abilities maximum efficiency.
You've narrowed your choices to two horses. The first, a black stallion named Venger, who seems high spirited and ready to go, pawing at the ground in anticipation of the run. The other is a roan mare named Sunset, who is much calmer and a couple years older than Venger. However, there is something in her earnest communication of her love of running that strikes a chord with you. Looking at the betting statistics, Venger is an odds-on favorite. Odds on Sunset are 3:2.
Magnus' bet earns him a nice windfall. Venger nearly takes the race, but proves too energetic for his rider. An unanticipated leap throws him off, allowing Sunset's rider to take the lead and win the race. Your payout is 9sp, giving you a 6sp profit for your efforts.
Magnus' bet earns him a nice windfall. Venger nearly takes the race, but proves too energetic for his rider. An unanticipated leap throws him off, allowing Sunset's rider to take the lead and win the race. Your payout is 9sp, giving you a 6sp profit for your efforts.
Using my winnings, I purchase an ale for myself and Sunset's rider, as well as some quality feed for Sunset. (roughly costing 4sp., final profit of 2sp and a new way of looking at things by the endof the day)
"That was some fine riding my friend. You're very observant of the track and very aware of your horse. I don't suppose you've observed any interesting happenings around the festival this year? Certainly not anything suspicious, but just something interesting I might want to look at. New people in town perhaps?
diplomacy
sense motive (if necessary)
Stilgar: The Speaker looks down at you, though he stands perhaps only a foot and a few inches taller than yourself, his green eyes visible through his mask.
"Good day, Brother Stilgar. It is good to see you in the festival spirit. I know your brethren prefer to celebrate it on the day following this one. Still," he draws this particular sentence out, tenatively, "I would not have thought you to be one to choose such an...overtly pagan mask as the one you wear. Is the stag not a sign of the Horned God?"
Speaker Chandler's comment seems to draw some attention from the other celebrants nearby. Chandler himself appears a bit smug.
Stilgar narrows his gaze slightly, well aware of the tone that Chandler's words carried. He had had a bad feeling about the Speaker; the man's perpetual smirk had always made him feel uneasy. Of course, given the man's position and Stilgar's history, he was in no position to be judgmental.
"Is that so?" he would begin with a chuckle, treating the human's words as though they had been in jest, "Forgive me, I do not usually bother myself with the details of such... savage religions. Such work is better left to the Inquisition, no?"
A bit too dry of a tone, but Stilgar would remove the mask as he spoke, all but certain that it would not be the end of things.
The judge then moves up and officially declares you the winner of the round, and hands you a pouch, jingling with a fair amount of heft. Youths are sent running to move the targets back as the winning archers prepare for the second round.
Your beaten opponent gives you a nod, licking his lips as he looks off towards the tables of ale and beer.
"And yourself," Jinjer replies. "When this is done, what say I buy you a drink?" she grins, tucking the pouch inside her padded coat. With a nod she prepares for the next round.
Magnus' bet earns him a nice windfall. Venger nearly takes the race, but proves too energetic for his rider. An unanticipated leap throws him off, allowing Sunset's rider to take the lead and win the race. Your payout is 9sp, giving you a 6sp profit for your efforts.Using my winnings, I purchase an ale for myself and Sunset's rider, as well as some quality feed for Sunset. (roughly costing 4sp., final profit of 2sp and a new way of looking at things by the endof the day)
"That was some fine riding my friend. You're very observant of the track and very aware of your horse. I don't suppose you've observed any interesting happenings around the festival this year? Certainly not anything suspicious, but just something interesting I might want to look at. New people in town perhaps?
1d20+8 diplomacy
1d20+3sense motive (if necessary)
The rider, a young man of perhaps fifteen years, who introduces himself as Willem, looks at you from under an unruly mop of red hair. He gives you a grin and his cheeks redden a bit under the freckles that pepper them as you praise him.
"Thanks, mister. My da raises horses, so I've been ridin' since I was a youngin'. Sunset's about the best horse we got."
At your questions, he runs a hand nervously through his hair, looking past you to the hill across the river on the other side of town.
"I haven't seen anyone new so far, but I've been busy gettin' ready for the race. Most new folk in town will be over at the inn, I guess. But...just before the race started, I looked up at the hill over there, where the fortress is. I'm pretty sure I saw some dwarves headin' down the path. Don't mean they're on their way here, I suppose, but..."
Here he trails off, his gaze going back to the peak where the Jarl's fortress lies.
Stilgar: The Speaker looks down at you, though he stands perhaps only a foot and a few inches taller than yourself, his green eyes visible through his mask.
"Good day, Brother Stilgar. It is good to see you in the festival spirit. I know your brethren prefer to celebrate it on the day following this one. Still," he draws this particular sentence out, tenatively, "I would not have thought you to be one to choose such an...overtly pagan mask as the one you wear. Is the stag not a sign of the Horned God?"
Speaker Chandler's comment seems to draw some attention from the other celebrants nearby. Chandler himself appears a bit smug.
Stilgar narrows his gaze slightly, well aware of the tone that Chandler's words carried. He had had a bad feeling about the Speaker; the man's perpetual smirk had always made him feel uneasy. Of course, given the man's position and Stilgar's history, he was in no position to be judgmental.
"Is that so?" he would begin with a chuckle, treating the human's words as though they had been in jest, "Forgive me, I do not usually bother myself with the details of such... savage religions. Such work is better left to the Inquisition, no?"
A bit too dry of a tone, but Stilgar would remove the mask as he spoke, all but certain that it would not be the end of things.
When you remove the mask, and mention the Inquisiton, Chandler's demeanor seems to take a bit of a turn. He gives a cough before replying.
"*ahem* Yes, of course. My apologies. I'm simply...unaccustomed to one of your folk participating in our traditions. If you'll excuse me, I should retire to the village square to oversee the festivities there. A happy harvest to you." With that, he makes his way from chapel.
The judge then moves up and officially declares you the winner of the round, and hands you a pouch, jingling with a fair amount of heft. Youths are sent running to move the targets back as the winning archers prepare for the second round.
Your beaten opponent gives you a nod, licking his lips as he looks off towards the tables of ale and beer.
"And yourself," Jinjer replies. "When this is done, what say I buy you a drink?" she grins, tucking the pouch inside her padded coat. With a nod she prepares for the next round.
Your opponent grins at the question. "Chances are your purse won't get too light, since all that drink there is free for the festival goers, but I won't turn down having a mug with you. Best of luck. I'll keep an eye on you." With a tip of his hound mask, he ambles over to grab a tankard. The targets are now 100 feet away and the judge calls for the archers to take their marks for the next round.
Stilgar: The Speaker looks down at you, though he stands perhaps only a foot and a few inches taller than yourself, his green eyes visible through his mask.
"Good day, Brother Stilgar. It is good to see you in the festival spirit. I know your brethren prefer to celebrate it on the day following this one. Still," he draws this particular sentence out, tenatively, "I would not have thought you to be one to choose such an...overtly pagan mask as the one you wear. Is the stag not a sign of the Horned God?"
Speaker Chandler's comment seems to draw some attention from the other celebrants nearby. Chandler himself appears a bit smug.
Stilgar narrows his gaze slightly, well aware of the tone that Chandler's words carried. He had had a bad feeling about the Speaker; the man's perpetual smirk had always made him feel uneasy. Of course, given the man's position and Stilgar's history, he was in no position to be judgmental.
"Is that so?" he would begin with a chuckle, treating the human's words as though they had been in jest, "Forgive me, I do not usually bother myself with the details of such... savage religions. Such work is better left to the Inquisition, no?"
A bit too dry of a tone, but Stilgar would remove the mask as he spoke, all but certain that it would not be the end of things.
When you remove the mask, and mention the Inquisiton, Chandler's demeanor seems to take a bit of a turn. He gives a cough before replying.
"*ahem* Yes, of course. My apologies. I'm simply...unaccustomed to one of your folk participating in our traditions. If you'll excuse me, I should retire to the village square to oversee the festivities there. A happy harvest to you." With that, he makes his way from chapel.
Stilgar watches as Chandler departs, wishing that he had exercised greater control over his tone of voice. Perhaps the man had just been trying to make friendly conversation after all. With a sigh, the dwarf would put the stag mask back on, whilst silently chastising himself.
Stilgar would wander about the chapel some more, keeping an eye out for any other familiar faces.
The rider, a young man of perhaps fifteen years, who introduces himself as Willem, looks at you from under an unruly mop of red hair. He gives you a grin and his cheeks redden a bit under the freckles that pepper them as you praise him."Thanks, mister. My da raises horses, so I've been ridin' since I was a youngin'. Sunset's about the best horse we got."
At your questions, he runs a hand nervously through his hair, looking past you to the hill across the river on the other side of town.
"I haven't seen anyone new so far, but I've been busy gettin' ready for the race. Most new folk in town will be over at the inn, I guess. But...just before the race started, I looked up at the hill over there, where the fortress is. I'm pretty sure I saw some dwarves headin' down the path. Don't mean they're on their way here, I suppose, but..."
Here he trails off, his gaze going back to the peak where the Jarl's fortress lies.
Looking up to the hill across the river for a moment and noting that I may wish to explore there at a later time, I realize I have foolishly been without a mask until this time. I make my way to the Inn and introduce myself to the bartender while fashioning a Fly's head mask with two large spherical eyes and tying it together in the back with a thick, dry white string to be the wings.
"I don't suppose you've any knowledge to impart on me this evening? Perhaps some lodging for the night as well? I understand that the ale flows freely tonight. I shall have to sit myself right next to my place of sleeping as I fear by the end of the night I will be unable to find my way home."
Diplomacy- general information. Whatever he deems interesting or unusual about the festival or recent happenings.
Sense motive (if necessary)
Tarrana laughs as she watches the boisterous dwarf's display. "Your new face suits you will it be a permanent fixture? I suggest getting the antlers trimmed I do not believe your companion cares for the abuse."
She stopped suddenly and turned to stare off into space for a moment before continuing. "It is good to see you."
"'Tis a sight prettier, ain't it?" he says with a guffaw. "Sorry if'n I'm a bit too broad to fit," he says to the folks around the table, excusing himself as the hand ends. "Happy harvest, lads."
He glances about the room, catching sight of Stilgar talking with one of the humans, noting the body language and being reminded of the shadow hanging over the festivities. He lifts the stag mask up, revealing his tattooed face and steely, blue-eyed gaze, his mien temporarily a serious one. "Aye, a night for revelry 'fore we see what ol' Brother Fulgrum's so worried about." He slaps the mask back down and, back to his boisterous tone, adds "An' a fine night it is! Could do with a few festivities like this 'un underground, though I wouldn't mind some proper liquor."