A lonely figure beat at the doors of the inn, swathed in the mist of the late night. He waited patiently for the Innkeep, without grumbling or discontent, beating periodically but without urgency until the door opened to a crack.
What is it at this hour? a sonorous mature voice inquired.
Apologies Innkeep, I've traveled long and far on foot and need both room and food.
The shadow beyond the crack in the door stiffened somewhat, nervously regarding Dragomir, huge and armoured, then asked Your business?
Funeral of an employer... a... friend, Dragomir replied slowly and with some thought after calling the Professor his employer.
Are you able to enter? Are you friend to those who dwell here?. The question a common tradition, used for visitors calling at unusual hours in darkness. It was long held superstition that evil creatures could not enter without invitation.
In response, Dragomir pushed open the door gently and stepped across the threshold, looming against the moonlit street and lit faintly from the dying fire of the common room.
I enter of my own will and with goodwill, rumbled Dragomir in a basso voice, completing the ritual. Have you a room?, I am chilled to the bone. He then stripped his heavy cloak handing it to the middle aged woman who took it and hung it on a peg.
Not at this time... it is a full house. Many have come to see old Petros laid to rest. If you would stay out of the night I can let you rest here in the common room by the fire - see to adding a few logs if you wish.
Oh? How many and what sort?
The innkeep moved behind the bar and busied herself with some preparations. All sorts, she said with a shudder, but they seem harmless enough for all that, and sad to hear of a friends passing. See that poker? Leave it in the fire a spell and I'll give you a cup of mulled wine that should help you warm up.
Dragomir complied, adding both wood and poker in the fireplace, then laid weapons belt and pack against the wall near the fire before fiddling with the straps of his armour, grunting from time to time.
Are you hungry? I am Sarianna Vai, Innkeeper here, she asked from behind the bar, still busy with preparations. How are you called?
Dragomir smiled somewhat, still busy with his armour. Aye, I could eat... as for my name? Some call me 'Wolf' but you can call me 'Dragomir'. I came through here about a few weeks ago, though I stayed at the other inn in town then.
Why not rouse Zolkar then? Hmmmm ?
You were closer - a wise man doesn't travel any further than needful at night, Dragomir paused from loosening his armour to make the spirally sign of Pharasma in the air with a finger.
The woman huffed her displeasure but also nodded to indicate her agreement. She bussled to Dragomir with a tray holding a cup of wine, a small beaker that likely contained another cup of wine, a wedge of cheese and half a large loaf of bread.
5 coppers Sarianna said in a matter of fact voice.
Dragomir thought a moment and then rummaged in his pouch for a silver coin. Breakfast too... and done. . She took the coin, nodded and left Dragomir to his meal.
He stripped of his armour, ate slowly, then risking the Innkeeps ire, he took a charred piece of wood and wrote on the serving board "Friend of Lorrimor" in clumsy ashen script. With little else to do he propped it near his feet, dragged his weapon belt close to hand, put his head on his pack, and fell into a deep snoring sleep.
Hey Dragomir, good to have you along!
Just a quick note: I really like your introduction, but I'd prefer it--and this goes for everyone--if you didn't take over NPCs, or make assumptions about the town and events.
For instance, I can tell you that Sarianna has two rooms left even with all eight of you there, and that Zokar's place is a tavern with no lodgings at all (not that the PCs should know who Zokar is yet anyway). I can also tell you that the eight of you are the only people who showed up for the Professor's funeral--which is actually an important plot point.
Sorry if this sounds negative--that's not how I mean it--but while there's a certain amount of collaborative storytelling involved in any PbP, there's still a GM, and only the GM really knows what's going on in his/her campaign. I'd rather not have to go back and un-explain something or reconfigure my campaign world to fit in with a detail created by a player.
When Raj referred to the man with the scar-ward as being 'pock-marked' that was just adding a layer of flavour and was easy enough to work with. It's harder to go back and tell everyone that Sarianna is only in her early thirties, not middle-aged.
Hope that makes sense to everyone.
###
On another note, the remainder of this week is going to be fairly quiet for me. I am home looking after the kids tomorrow and then have two days of training interstate on Thursday/Friday. It might make sense to push the start of the gameplay back until Monday next week. Anyone have any thoughts? Or are you happy to proceed at glacial pace through the gameplay for the rest of this week, in a 'slow progress is better than none at all' sort of fashion?
Ta.
--Mike
Happy to move at whatever pace you need. If you want to move to next Monday it gives me and any other late comers a chance to interact. I posted my bit because I thought the others were wrapping up.
I think the casket only has four pallbearers at the moment: Flori, Karrik, Theron and Walter. Lem has demurred (being so much shorter than everyone else) and will walk in front of the casket, while it's been suggested that Rose walk behind with Miss Lorrimor, the late Professor's daughter.
That would leave Raj and Dragomir free to fill up the other spots, if you like (and if Rose is happy to do as Raj said and walk behind).
Also there's plenty of time for you to talk to one another and find out about each other's relationship with the Professor. As GM I'm perfectly happy for you to handwave all that and just read each other's profile pages if that's what you want to do, but I wanted to give you the opportunity to roleplay it out too.
It seems Karrik and Raj are constructing a shared history at Drumcliff, and that Walter is joining in as well.
Go for it, I look forward to seeing what you come up with. : )
A large heavily armoured man pushed his way into the common room and between the furniture, his bulk making the space seem crowded when ever he carefully passed between chairs and past tables.
He slapped a silver coin on the counter and called for ale before turning, again careful of his person, to look over the room with some mute surprise. He furrowed his brow somewhat in thought and then raised his mug to drink.
The large man is clearly a brawler - His massive arms and shoulders speak of great strength, his hair is black, and cropped short against his scalp, appearing as if it had cut crudely with a knife. His armour is worn and creased with dents but well tended and at his side is a massive two handed side.
His face is scared and battered with a nose that has no tangible shape, and has been clearly broken many times, his ears puffed and swollen from many blows. His complexion is sunbrowned and weather beaten, the results of hard living. While evidently young, he does seem older than his years and could be anywhere between early and late twenties.
Karrik can appreciate the young human's desire to be a part of the pall-bearing. "We'll make sure you are allotted a position as a pall-bearer, Walter. If it comes to it, I'll support a corner, and you can stand before or behind me."
He turns back to Rajuna, "Yes, Drumcliff. An undisputedly forgettable dive of a town, though I certainly remember the praise the Professor gave your particular skill-set. If you don't mind me asking…" his words are cut off as another wash of cold air admits a newcomer -- the powerfully-built human in his armor. Again Karrik is struck with a moment of recognition at the sight, but this time it's far easier to remember. "Um, I hope you'll pardon me, Master Rajuna." He steps away from the table -- his previous line of thought obviously on hold -- picking up his still-untouched wine as he moves towards the newcomer at the bar.
He stops next to the tall human, one surprisingly manicured grey hand extended for a handshake. "I'm Karrik," he says without preamble, "I don't recall your name, but I believe I recognize you from a caravan job the Professor had both of us work. You don't exactly look like a local, so Im assuming you're here for the funeral?" The half-orc in front of you is a jarring juxtaposition of elements. His face, skin, and body lean heavily into his obvious orc heritage, and you'd guess that -- despite your own impressive strength -- this particular half-orc could give you a close contest in an arm wrestling match. You look down into his solid black eyes, but you only have a few inches on him. The surprising thing, however, are his clothes. He's decked out in some of Caliphas's finest high-society threads, from the well-shined black boots to the crimson silk vest to the crisply pressed white shirt… even down to the black silk bowler hat he left on the table in the corner.
Karrik doesn't wait for the handshake to be returned before he continues (after all, many humans deign to respond to his social overtures all the time in response to his bestial appearance). "A few of us who knew the Professor in a more personal way are sharing a drink in his memory. You are more than welcome to join us." He gestures back to the table in the corner where the party chats quietly.
Dragomir's forehead creased in thought and he reached out, slowly... cautiously, as the half breed spoke to him... but then the hand was withdrawn and Dragomir changed his gesture to a re-adjustment of his belt.
"Nope - can't say I do remember you. Only job I worked for Lorrimor was on a guard job from one side of Ustalav to this here town a few weeks back... but I've done a lot of time on Caravan duty so maybe you remember me from some job or another".
Dragomir hid his discomfort with another drink before steeling himself to say, "Nice clothes you got there... you were saying you need another set of shoulders for his Last Journey?"
"Um, I hope you'll pardon me, Master Rajuna."
Raj silently mouths 'Master Rajuna' like it's an exotic confection he's never tasted before. He rolls the words around in his mouth awhile then chuckles, saying to no one in particular, "Seems Karrik is mistaking me for a gentleman or something."
The withdrawn hand isn't really unexpected. Karrik makes a point of watching the man's hand shy away from his own before lowering his back down.
In the best of moods Karrik isn't good at keeping his emotions off of his face. With the raw emotional wounds of the Professor's death barely under the surface, he doesn't even try to mask the chill that comes over his features. "Well, the table's open to anyone mourning the loss of the Professor. And yes, anyone who respected the Professor and is able of body is free to help with the casket."
Wordlessly, Karrik holds the man's gaze for another second before turning and heading back to the table, once again taking his corner seat as he rejoins the conversation.
He slapped a silver coin on the counter and called for ale before turning, again careful of his person, to look over the room with some mute surprise. He furrowed his brow somewhat in thought and then raised his mug to drink.
The room--or at least, the people in it, stare back at Dragomir with barely concealed suspicion. Only the motley group in the far left corner--which includes two half-orcs and a woman who looks somewhat like an elf that hasn't seen the sun for a lifetime-are looking at him with anything approaching civlity. Everywhere Dragomir looks, there are narrowed eyes, sideways glances, or mutters and whispers. It seems the folks of Ravengro aren't keen on strangers, even those whose appearance and countenance declare them to be good, solid fighting men rather than strange arcanists or the servants of powerful masters.
"An honor, Miss Rose. Call me Raj... as for the funeral, perhaps you could follow the casket and be ready to comfort Doc's daughter?"
Rose gives a slight nod and mutters, "Of course."
*******
Watching the exchange between Karrik and the newcomer, she can tell the unease of the situation. As Karrik returns, she attempts to direct the conversation to a friendlier tone. "Would anyone like to tell how they met the Professor?"
Karrik smiles as he thinks about it, but turns it back on Rose good-naturedly. "Sure. Your game, though; you start."
Rose blushes a moment at the attention before regaining her composure. "I met the Profressor during my last incarnation. I...had a problem and he was the only one I could find who was willing to help with it. He stayed with me until the end. Then during this life, being so far from home, he helped me get settled, found a family that would take me in. We've written each other numerous times since then, though I confess it's been awhile since our last exchange." It is obvious there is more to the story she has not spoken, amidst the strange concepts she speaks of.
arcana:
Karrik leans forward immediately, emotions forgotten at the prospect of learning something new.
Knowledge (local)
Sense Motive
Theron had spent a good part of the evening trying to recall if he had heard anything about a humanoid race with white skin, but to no avail. A somewhat frustrated look crosses his face as he listened to her tale. Incarnations? He had heard of reincarnation spells, but this seemed like something different. At least she seemed harmless enough, so he felt there was no point in pushing the subject just yet. The inquisitor barely holds back a sigh as he resolves to research this later.
Raj raises an eyebrow. A race that reincarnates sounds vaguely familiar but he can't put his finger on it... and the woman doesn't seem dishonest or deluded so...
Where does she hail from? It's a neat trick being re-born.
Karrik racks his brain for a few moments, "Incarnation... I have heard of such a thing, but only as some sort of religious belief. Is that what you mean?"
.
When the gaze falls to Walter, his brow is twisted in a puzzled expression-- incarnation, incarnation... No, he had no idea what she was talking about. Walter shrugs, sheepishly, and takes a drink of water, listening intently to the conversation at the table.
I will have a post up later today with an assessment of Skill gaps. Then you can decide if you want to alter your mechanics. That's what I originally said this delay was going to be all about anyway. : )
Of course, if you're not keen on making alterations for the sake of filling gaps and prefer to play the characters you originally built, that's cool too. : )
Now excuse me, I have a 2½ year old to put to bed. ; )
Theron: 2 + 1 = 3
Raj: 6 + 5 = 11
Karrik: 1 + 2 = 3
Lem: 6 + 5 = 11
Dragomir: forfeit
Walter: 3 + 2 = 5
Rose is welcome to put everyone out of their misery. ; )
Looking around, she sees the confused looks of those around her, "Perhaps I said too much. Oh well it's out in the open now." She takes a sip of her drink before continuing.
"Um, my race is native to Zi Ha. Many of my births took place in that sacred land. For my people, death is just another phase we go through. We are born, we die, then we are born again. In this life, I am Rose, but as a, um, soul, my name is Chunhua. In my last incarnation, I was called Violet, a name I took since my guide across the Crown had difficulty pronouncing my name. And while Violet has passed, she still lives as Chunhua, and in this life as Rose. Does that make sense?" As she speaks, she pauses often, trying to gauge the reactions of the others, consciously aware of the door in case the others do not take well to her story.
Since the mysterious girl seems unwilling to offer the answer to the question of her race, Karrik sits back, not wishing to force the issue. He laughs as he thinks back on his own introduction to Professor Lorrimor. "I actually attempted to steal a book from him. He was sitting at a table literally filled with different scrolls, scripts, and books. Literally filling it to overflowing. I couldn't imagine he needed them all, so when the thickest book fell to the floor, I grabbed it and ran." He shakes his head, "Ill-conceived, I know, but impetuousness is the realm of the young and foolish, no?" He shrugs as if to say 'what can I say' before continuing. "The old man had his men track me... well, really they just followed me, the stealthy arts have never been my forte. They found me, and -- surprisingly enough -- decided I was... unique enough to keep around." Karrik looks around with a half-smile on his thick gray lips, "He has been unable to rid himself of me since."
With alcohol beginning to take some of the edge off, Dragomir continues to listen but with each new 'revelation' he also takes to some to eye the locals cautiously as the friends of Lorrimor 'share'. Ase has since he started, he still maintains a close position of the bar, a comfort in the midst of unfamiliar things.
With alcohol beginning to take some of the edge off, Dragomir continues to listen but with each new 'revelation' he also takes to some to eye the locals cautiously as the friends of Lorrimor 'share'. As he had since he started drinking, he still maintains a close position of the bar, a comfort in the midst of unfamiliar things.