"I am the ancient. My beginnings are lost in the darkness of the past. I am not dead. Nor am I alive. I am undead, forever."
- Count Strahd von Zarovich
The final performance in Riddleport was spectacular, a flawless show for a packed house. With wealth and renewed dreams the troupe’s carriage rolled out of the southern gate with excited talk of finally building a theatre where adoring fans can travel to see you instead of weeks spent on the road every year. The trip home to Magnimar will take nearly a month, but the roads are still dry at the beginning of the fall season and the troupe will be back in their own beds before the harvest festivals.
After three days of pleasant travel, and a lucrative single night show in Roderic’s Cove, your carriage rattles across the ancient stone bridge over the Chavali River and the Churlwood looms before you. The western edge of the woods along the Fogscar Mountains is known for the goblin tribes that boil out of the hills, and the heart of the woods hides bandits or worse, while the eastern edge provides safe travel for those that know how to bribe the tribes that live along the Lampblack River.
As you approach the crossroads at the fringe of the woods, and a decision on the path ahead, you see a single colorful wagon to the side of the road and a gnome with a smoking pipe lounging beside it. ”About time!” he calls to you, ”She’s been waiting nearly a day. Hurry up, hurry up, Madam Eva has places to be!” He gestures to a set of rickety steps leading to a door at the rear of the wagon.
"Of course Madam Eva wishes to see Borracho, much like every flower waits for the sun's rise, such is Borracho's warmth!" Borracho exists the carriage, jumping off the final step so that the air catches breezily under his kilt. His fancy cloak billows equally as dramatically, emphasizing his bare chest.
Borracho holds the doors open for others to exit, for a man like Borracho has ample strength to be courteous and patient with others.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Flemming Bisgaard, Flem as he’s known to his friends, is a bit rough. He’s a little unshaven, his hair is somewhat unkempt, and there’s dirt under his fingernails - one of which is chipped far down into the finger. He wears comfortable soft clothing in layers, though it’s showing age and wear. He bears a crossbow and a dagger at his belt. A backpack contains his other worldly possessions, which are few but bulky.
His fingers seem to have a life of their own, and seem to be always doing something. Either he’s whittling some random scrimshawed object with his knife, exhibiting little skill, or he’s rolling, badly, a cigarette. Though he does it with some frequency, he seems to not have any ability at fashioning his smokes, often fumbling expensive tobacco to the floor or table, and ending up with lopsided results containing strange bulges. Still, he chomps on the end of the tobacco as much as he smokes it and he often has a misshapen cigarette sticking out of his mouth - lit or not.
He reigns in the coach as Borracho leaps out. A Varisian fortune teller no doubt, he thinks to himself. ”Greetings little one. I see you like to get right to the point. She’s been waiting huh? Well, we made the best time we could under the circumstances. It's been three days on rough roads, so you do not find us at our best.”
He ties off the horses, conscious of how little he knows about the beasts, and climbs down from his turn at the reigns. He stretches, trying to get the kinks out after sitting for so long on during a weary transit. While he waits for the others to disembark, he considers a smoke break, but decides their gnome friend wouldn’t want to wait that long.
Shrugging, he’ll glance around for any signs of bandits or other possible difficulties as he approaches the other wagon.
Tural enjoyed the 'road shows', but it would be nice to have a theater of their own to host their shows. The Tridea in Magnimar is a spectacular place. but not theirs. They can only perform there if/when Durstin was willing.... Or when Kassiel wasn't chasing some new piece of tail. Well, occasionally he did find some modicum of talent.
Seeing/hearing the impatient gnome mention Madam Eva?. "The troop can only move as fast as the roads allow. Of course! We don't want to keep the Madam waiting." While he sounds annoyed the smile on his very handsome face indicates otherwise.
With Borracho holding the door, Tural strides up the steps to the wagon. "Sorry to keep you waiting Lady. We've traveled as fast as our wagon could move. Is there another engagement that we should head to before our return to Magnimar? Happy to do so of course."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
As Borracho’s kilt lifts in the breeze Flemming looks studiously anywhere else, and his diverted gaze discovers a few strange things about the situation. The gnome has fresh mud on his boots and the wheels of the fortune teller’s wagon are covered with the same wet mud, but the roads are dry and there’s been no rain in the region for over a week. The goats that pull their wagon exhale steam like it’s a cold morning, but it’s mid afternoon and warm. Stranger still the sounds of birds and insects are absent and an uncomfortable silence sits upon the clearing. But most shocking to Flemming is the pipe of the gnome, the bowl glows with each draw, but no smoke curls from the pipe, yet the gnome exhales a cloud of smoke after each puff with a satisfied look. Also, Borracho’s hair waves in a gentle breeze, though no trees or grass stir in the same breeze, but that’s normal.
As Flemming observes the weirdness and tends to the horses, and Borracho helps Mimi from the wagon with courtesy and patience, Tural strides forward with confidence and opens the door to the fortune teller’s wagon. A cloud of incense smoke rolls out obscuring vision for a moment and when the air clears you can see an opulent area much larger than is possible for the small wagon. Purple drapes hang from the walls of the dark room and braziers glow with lit incense. In the center of the room four chairs are staged before a carved table set with flickering candles. Behind the table sits a pretty woman that seems far too young to be an accomplished fortune teller. ”You didn’t keep me waiting,” she smiles warmly at Tural, ”my gnome friend likes to exaggerate. We simply arrived early to be sure we didn’t miss you on the road. Please, come in and take a seat. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” She smiles again and gestures to the chairs.
Tural pauses in the doorway, looking around the interior of the wagon. He considers casting a spell to detect magic, but realizes that of course there was plenty of….
He smiles the most charming smile that he was capable of and enters. ”Ah, fair lady. Or should I call you Madam Eva as your gnome friend does? And how did you know to wait here for us? Not that I mind finding such a pretty lady waiting for me!”
Seeing four chairs he moves the one farthest from the door so he won’t be in the way of the others. ”What if I wanted a nibble?”
Flemming takes note of the strangeness, but doesn’t immediately comment, though he does try giving the party a ‘look’.
vs DC 15 to give a simple message
Whatever Flem was trying to say, gets lost in his squint. He growls at the blank looks and trundles up into the wagon.
He looks about the spacious wagon, ”Nice. I could get used to traveling in something like this!”
”Good day. I suspect you know who we are, but to be polite, I’m Flemming. Who are you? Other than Madam Eva of course.”
to get a sense of her reply
Borracho waits for the others to enter before making his entrance, a man like Borracho has no need to go first, as his reputation would have already arrived before him...and thus, Borracho was never late, and always eagerly expected.
"Now Madam Eva, what do you wish of Borracho? Do you wish to hear him orate one of the great plays? Or do you wish him to simple stand majestically so you might admire him? Borracho is no stranger to being admired," Borracho says sonorously, his voice rich in textured thespian timbre. He stands nobly, his left hand at a fist on his hip and his right hand in a dramatic gesture.
Tural notices that the drapes in the back of the room have an overlap where a thin sliver of light peeks through indicating another room behind this one. He turns his attention to Madam Eva and the banter seems to be going well, until he asks for a nibble, then her smile fades ”Any good fortune teller would know where to wait.” she replies plainly.
As the rest of the party enters her mood brightens again. ”Yes, yes, Flemming, I do know all of you, and I think your performances are wonderful! I loved how you got the crowd dancing in Riddleport, such a fun time! I am, of course, the young Madam Eva, though you’ll meet my older self soon enough”, she adds cryptically. You sense that she genuinely knows of the troupe and appreciates your performances as a fan of the arts.
Borracho helps Mimi up the steps into the extra-dimensional wagon, then makes his grand and eagerly expected entrance. ”Oh, Borracho, a play would be splendid! The story of the heroes that stopped the eternal winter is my favorite! Please do grace us with a retelling.”
Madam Eva gets up from her chair and helps Mimi to hers while the men realize their social gaffe too late. ”It’s an honor to have you grace my table Madam Crow. May I get you a glass of wine before we begin the telling?”
”Oh, Borracho, a play would be splendid! The story of the heroes that stopped the eternal winter is my favorite! Please do grace us with a retelling.”
Borracho bows theatrically, noble from his straight back to his uplifted heel.
"That is an excellent choice, and whom better to orate those exploits? None other than I, Borracho," Borracho resonates. "But tell me more of the foretelling. Is it to account for the one thing that Borracho cannot fix? The one torment that follows this troupe daily? Will this foretelling help us with our most vexing problem?"
Borracho pauses.
"Will the foretelling help us find yet another Borracho for this one Borracho is not enough to quell the lusts of the many womens that desire Borracho?" Borracho asks, quite seriously.
Tural sits back to wait as the others enter the wagon. He wonders about the quick attitude change and what social gaffe he had made.
Seeing Eva assisting Mimi to a chair he stands again, waiting for the ladies to be seated before taking his seat again. Perhaps that was it? But she had indicated a seat for him to take. ??
He shrugs and waits for Borracho's tale.
”Only the cards know, Borracho, only they can tell what your future may hold.” Madam Eva steps through the slit in the back curtain and briefly you can see another room behind this one, then she returns quickly with a crystal decanter of red wine and six crystal goblets on a silver tray. She notices Tural’s gesture and her previous smile returns with a nod of acknowledgement. ”Wine for all of us, it’s not often we get to hear the tale of winter.” She invites the gnome into the wagon, fills the glasses, then takes her seat again. From a hidden pocket she pulls a deck of cards and sets them upon the table. The magic that emanates from the cards vibrates through the room for a brief moment. ”First our tale of winter, then the cards.” Madam Eva raises her glass, takes a sip and settles back for Borracho’s performance. The gnome draws heavily from his pipe, then offers it to Flemming.
Tural smiles again when Eva nods. He still waits until she, and Mimi are seated and comfortable before sitting again.
Accepting the wine he smiles at Borracho and readies himself to hear the story, and the reading of the cards. He takes a sip of the wine.
| 3 people marked this as a favorite. |
Borracho nods deeply at the attention, knowing that people cannot help themselves.
"So you would hear the tale of Quinn? The prune faced butcher Tsin? Of course, of course, and there is no one better than Borracho to tell the tale, it was like I was right there..." Borracho begins to organize his thoughts, pausing until the lady Mimi is seated and has her wine. "This play has a mere 6 acts, and nearly 12000 stanzas, some with several lines of dialogue, and I, Borracho, will offer each as they were passed to me."
"It begin as a cold summer's day..."
The retelling takes some time, and more decanters of wine are passed around along with the gnome's pipe.
Madam Eva gets up from her chair and helps Mimi to hers while the men realize their social gaffe too late. ”It’s an honor to have you grace my table Madam Crow. May I get you a glass of wine before we begin the telling?”
Fleming knows too much of the aged Mimi to worry too much that he sat first. Sure, he should have waited. But he was tired.
The gnome draws heavily from his pipe, then offers it to Flemming.
He nods to the gnome smiling. Pipes aren’t normally his thing, but any port in a storm. He takes a deep drag and hands the pipe back with a grateful nod, blowing the smoke high in the air so as to to trouble his companions overmuch.
"It begin as a cold summer's day..."
Fleming tries to remember if he’s heard this telling before. He’s unsure. He sits back in the comfy-chair (compared to the coach bench) and enjoys the telling. Knowing what too much wine will feel like back on the coach, he refrains from drinking as much as he’d like - though he certainly takes advantage of their hosts hospitality with a glass or two.
Smiling even more broadly from wine and tobacco, he waits comfortably for the fortune teller.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Mimi is practicing her card manipulations when the carriage comes to an unexpected stop. Her hands require no practice, they are quite adept at what she conceals then reveals when needs be. The true skill she seeks to master is the 'masquerade'. Her facial gestures, her deliberate noises during the flourishes, increasing every so slightly the chances she makes eye contact with her 'mark'. These are things that cannot be taken for granted. They are her 'magic'. Her face shifts from feigned discomfort to genuine annoyance as she watches Borracho bound from their wheeled refuge. It means she must follow, herd her cats before they can get in any real trouble. She bunches up several of her skirts to avoid tangling her lower body should she need to run. She also tosses on a shawl, once a very nice thing.
She almost swats away Borracho's hand, capable and a half is she to bound herself, but she relents, she slips into her guise of elderly little thing, before showing herself to her adoring crowd.
When she sees only a gnome, and an impatient one at that, she rolls her annoyance into a brief performance of pain as she drops to the road, and steadies herself. "What is this? Why have we stopped? You so willing to believe the gnome isn't a lure here? I'd hate to be ambushed by a bunch of gnomes."
When she sees the wagon waiting alongside the road, she squints hard, trying to see inside the wagon before getting anywhere close. Unable to see through wood, Mimi slowly approaches the wagon door, and enters, admonishing Borracho. "Stop pushing, and stop hiding behind me. What if the wagon housed something dreadful?? I'm the first to get bit, if she were the biting kind." Mimi doesn't let her gaze slip from Madam Eva for one second.
"It’s an honor to have you grace my table Madam Crow. May I get you a glass of wine before we begin the telling?”
Game recognizes game.
When Madam Eva reveals herself in her introduction, Mimi uncoils her calves unobserved, while her head nods vigorously. "It is, isn't it? The honor, my grace, your table. Oooo, and your wine. Of course, I'll have some wine, as long as we share the same glass."
When Madam Eva seats her, Madam Crow dresses down her boys with a flick of her head, indicating to the three that there's something to be learned here, in both manner, and offer of libation.
"You are a dear. So young, and yet so wise." Mimi smiles upon Madam Eva.
When Borracho claims the center of attentions, Mimi allows herself to continue smiling, happy to hear his telling of a great story, which means Mimi will watch each and every facial expression that passes across Madam Eva's beautiful, too young face, and mark it for discussion later with the boys.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Borracho's performance of all 12,000 stanzas takes as long as expected, and the wine flows freely along with the occasional tears. When it's finished Madam Eva claps her small hands in delight. "Wonderful, Borracho, thank you!"
With the telling finished Madam Eva shuffles the cards and smiles gently at each member of the party. ”The cards tell a story, I can interpret what they indicate, but it is for you to recognize their connection to the events in your life.” She turns four cards for each person; a past, present, and future, then the fourth card, the Fate card, that she gives to you. ”This Fate card is a chance for you to change your own timeline, use it wisely for they are not a trivial item.” It seems an understatement, any magic that can alter the course of time is powerful indeed and rarely given away.
”For you Flemming, your past is marked by The Empress, the power of creation and a connection to the land itself; your present aligns with the Two of Hellfires, the juggler with balance you are flexible and adaptable to things around you; and in your future is The Ace of Skulls, a good sign for it indicates new beginnings, creative inspiration, and emotional fulfillment. And your Fate, The Devil,” a sad look crosses Madam Eva’s face, ”the ultimate power of temptation, guard against it wisely.”
”For you, Borracho, your past is marked by The Lovers, the ultimate union between two people; your present aligns with The Emperor, a symbol of reliability, but one that also needs protection from it’s own self destructive tendencies; and in your future is The Knight of Hellfires, the methodical and dedicated work toward your goals. And your Fate, The Tower,” the color drains from Madam Eva’s face and she looks distraught for a moment, ”the source of massive change, upheaval, destruction, and chaos.” You see genuine concern as she breaks character for a moment. ”Oh, Borracho, do be careful, I’m ever so worried for you!” After taking a flustered moment and draining her glass of wine before refilling it for another few sips she gathers herself and continues.
”For you, Tural, your past is marked by The Ace of Hellfires, a successful choice that improved your life and your wealth; your present aligns with The Page of Viking Horns, with clever plans and a competitive nature you achieve your goals; and in your future is The Nine of Hellfires, you will find prosperity and comfort.” A nervous look crosses her face as she turns the Fate card, then an unrestrained smile breaks out. ”And your Fate, The King of Hellfires, the generous provider that shares his wealth and success from all that’s been accomplished.” With a lighter spirit she turns the final cards for Mimi.
For you, Mimi, your past is marked by Strength, the sign of power, perseverance, and control; your present aligns with The Page of Skulls, an opportunity for growth and development; and in your future is The Star, you are the source of hope, inspiration, and renewal.” Madam Eva looks at Mimi directly.
”And of course your Fate, The Queen of Viking Horns, a discerning intelligence that provides clarity when others are in the dark.” A wry smile crosses her lips.
”And so the cards have told their story, now it is time for you to continue living your stories. Ask me any questions you will, then we shall take our leave and wish you the best on your journey ahead.”
Tural sips the wine during Borracho's performance. The last thing he wants is to lose control due to drink with the lengthy performance....
When Madam Eva deals out the cards, and then explains the revealed fortune he nods. A future of prosperity and comfort does sound nice! He is unsure how he is supposed to accept it and decides on a gracious thanks. But he waits for the lady to complete the presentation before speaking.
Accepting the Fate card he studies it for a bit, then tucks it away carefully. "An incredible boon Lady. I will take care of it until such time as it may be needed." He considers her offer to answer questions. But what question does he have?
Borracho stares at the hellfire on the card, after gratefully acknowledging any response from his oration. Men like Borracho can afford to be gracious and accepting of the praise of others.
"Of course, hellfire desires Borracho, desires to consume his flesh, much like many womens, they all hunger for Borracho," Borracho says hoarsely after the long and mighty tale and too few breaks for wine.
"Borracho has a thirst, and wine desires to be in Borracho," he says, taking a generous portion of wine. He looks around as others ponder their fortunes. He turns over the card in his hands, pondering.
"This is a fine fortune, thank you Madam Eva. Fortune often desires to be a part of Borracho's life, for not even the fates can resist him," he says, clenching his fist dramatically. "You do not need to worry about Borracho, for Borracho has luck, as Lady Luck is Borracho's friend. Save your worries for those that are not as mighty and kind as Borracho."
"The devil huh? Thank you for the card, lady. That's mighty nice of you. I'm not really clear on what it means, but I suppose it'll come to me in the moment."
He's unsure what more to say, and so lapses into a silence - listening to Borracho go on as he is want to do.
Mimi's smile, steady as she's went, falters a little, then renews as her head tilts, as if she's heard something very loud from very far away. She looks down on the card on the table, leaving it there for the time being.
"Ask me any questions you will, then we shall take our leave and wish you the best on your journey ahead."
The old woman sips from then sets down her goblet. Feels more like a chalice. This feels more like a religious ceremony, blessings and all. Mimi regards Madam Eva for signs that the young woman is hearing her, though she doesn't speak yet.
"Where to begin? Let's start with the gnome. I'd like to know your friend's name. What's it like to travel with a gnome? I hear it can be quite taxing." It is the first time Mimi looks away from Madam Eva to set eyes on the gnome, before continuing.
"Our meeting. You were told about it, knew where to wait, and granted us something magical, all without us asking. Some would say you're too kind. Would you ask for something in return for these four cards?" The Crow waves a talon above her Queen card, not touching it while appearing to want it, regardless of the strings attached to it she can't yet see.
"Oh, and don't think us dullards. Illuminate us. When is soon enough? When will we meet again, this time with wrinkles? Will the old Madam Eva be as beautiful as the young Madam Eva? Will she even recognize us. You haven't seen me with my makeup on. I'm told I look one week younger."
"I'm right here, you can just ask me", the gnome pipes up, "Horatio, at your service, not literally though."
Mimi detects a slight eye roll from Madam Eva, but she conceals it well. "Why Horatio is a delight to travel with, he's always looking out for me, and good company on the road as well."
”As for our meeting, the fortunes told me to meet you, but I knew your troupe already, everyone does, and it was easy to know you would be traveling this road home after Riddleport. The fortunes also told me to be generous with my gifts, for you’ll need them on the path ahead.”
”And soon enough is the best I can provide, for time moves differently where you’ll find yourselves, even I don’t know how it correlates exactly. But be assured, I’ll be just as fabulous and I will most certainly recognize you, with or without makeup.” She gives you a coy smile and rises from her chair. ”Now accept one last gift, just some simple travel supplies for the road. Horatio, do you have that bag?”
The gnome produces a simple sack and hands it to Flemming. ”Here lad, take this, you’ll be needing it.” Then with a final long pull from the pipe, he passes that to Flemming as well. ”And you might as well have my special pipe, I can always craft another, and there isn’t much tobacco where you’re headed.”
”Be safe, and be suspicious of those you meet on the road for not everyone is as they appear.” Madam Eva hugs each of you and kisses your cheeks, then shoos you from the wagon. ”Until we meet again, my friends!” With waves and smiles she and Horatio bid you goodbye.
Outside the wagon it’s midnight with the moon high in the sky and a low fog clinging to the ground. The horses stand close together for warmth and look expectantly for their evening oats that are long past due. A glance in the sack from Horatio reveals three bars of dirty looking soap and a strange red bead.
When Mimi speaks up, Flemming smiles. Good, she’ll get to the heart of things. He listens carefully to her questions, and the responses. When complete, he notices something missing, but the gnome inserts his nose first.
The gnome produces a simple sack and hands it to Flemming. ”Here lad, take this, you’ll be needing it.” Then with a final long pull from the pipe, he passes that to Flemming as well. ”And you might as well have my special pipe, I can always craft another, and there isn’t much tobacco where you’re headed.”
”Thanks mate, that’s mighty kind of you.”
”But where are we going? I thought Magnimar? That’s where the horses are going anyway, and I’d like to go with them.”
I can't make that perception
Mimi regards Madam Eva, deliberating long enough on her nature that she can only nod to her and Horatio as they depart. She works on her hunch, keeping lower to the ground than she really needs to be, but it must work to be observed senile until the pair of eyes no longer rests upon them.
Entering their carriage, the Crow returns to her perch, and waits for the boys to retake their positions prior to the gnome interruption.
"She is a strange bird. Spoke to me in my mind with her throatless voice. Very strange." She didn't drink enough wine to dull her senses in the presence of the strangeness, but she's home now, so pours herself a goodly amount of red, and continues to muse.
"She knew my thoughts before I even entered her wagon. I've only experienced that twice before, in my plenty of years. Madam Eva's mentalist marvel, well... it felt like she was a representative of something much greater than us mortals." Mimi drinks. "I don't know how I feel about that."
Returning to their carriage Tural listens. "She spoke to you in your mind? I've heard of telepathy. Never experienced it that I know of.Interesting."
"So. Continue to home? Back to Magnamar?"
Perception
Borracho, involved in some deep thought involving hellfire and spiced carrots, fails to notice anything of interest. With the meeting over, he nods to Madam Eva, knowing that there is yet another that desires Borracho with all their heart.
"Well met, Madam Eva. Your hospitality and graciousness rival's Borracho's own," he says before fluffing his cloak on the way out.
"Borracho has many fans in Magnimar who yearn to see him again, that's where we should go," Borracho agrees that Magnimar seems like the best idea.
Flemming shrugs, agreeing, "Onward to Magnimar then!" He looks at the moon, "Well, tomorrow anyway. Shall we camp here?"
He gets out the horse feed bags and straps them on, if the party agrees, and starts to undo the harnesses carefully.
I think you can't crit on a skill check, though as a GM I often provide a little something if my players do, just 'cause, you know, crit!
The party muses on their encounter before settling in for the night with plans to resume the return trip to Magnimar in the morning.
You’ll be better than all of us, dearie, but your thoughts can betray you to those with the ability to listen. This charm will protect you, wear it always - Madam Eva
This Ring of Mind Shielding could buy you a shop in a wealthy city and you’re astonished at the expensive gift.
As you rise in the morning a chillness hangs in the air. Stepping outside your carriage you’re greeted with a thick fog that’s unexpected for this time of year. An investigation finds that Madam Eva’s wagon is gone and no tracks tell the direction of departure. The road is slightly muddy with puddles in the low spots, although you don't recall it raining last night, and you’re reminded of the mud on the gnome’s boots and the wagon wheels. Slowly creaking onto the muddy track, you cautiously push through the foggy landscape for a few hours and you’re surprised to encounter no other travelers on the road. The thick fog doesn’t lift through the morning and the crossroads you expected before the Churlwood never appear. The quiet, cold day on the empty road drags on and creates a sense of uneasiness among the troupe, so it’s a relief when a roadside inn and carriage house materialize out of the fog in the late afternoon. A pale yellow light shines from the dirty windows of the weathered building, and heavy smoke from burning wet wood curls from the chimney. No one greets you from the carriage house, but fresh tracks, both human and horse, are visible in the mud near the entrance doors. A faint howl from a distant wolf breaks the silence.
Borracho steps out of the carriage, kilted and bear chested with his cloak billowing behind him.
”Ah fog! It comes to temper the fire that Borracho has for life,” he notes fiercely. He looks around. ”Where are Borracho’s many admirers?”
”Flemming? Are you sure this is the right place? Usually Borracho is greeted by the many womens who long for Borracho’s touch.”
He will hold the doors open for others to exit.
”At last. Civilization!” Flemming looks forward to a pint and a smoke and letting someone else deal with the horses for a while.
He drives up to where he should and dismounts, heading toward the front door and, he hoped, assistance. He turns to Borracho and nods, ”Nope. But inside, where it’s warm and, hopefully, full of hot food, we should get some answers.”
You see a face peering at you through one of the dirty windows, but it vanishes as soon as you notice it. No doors open for either the carriage house or the inn, but you hear a gruff voice call out, ”Only good folk are permitted here.”
Flemming peers at the unhelpful window, and steps back. He knows how he puts people off, and so he waits for someone better to step up!
Or at least more mouthy.
With the foggy morning Tural wonders. But he isn't a druid and weather has always been a mystery that he didn't care to think about. He completes his prayers and obedience for the morning, again wondering about the fog. Accepting that he doesn't understand the fog he finishes with a quiet prayer of thanks to Sarenrae and rejoins the group in the carriage.
It doesn't take very long to realize that something weird is going on. The fog stays thick but it shouldn't be enough to keep all travelers off the road. The silence seems.... supernatural? He mutters a quick prayer asking for sight to detect magic. ??
When they don't reach the crossroad for Churlwood he is convinced. They aren't on the right road. But what can be done? They need information. Magnimar will have to wait.
Finally they reach an inn and carriage house. Once they stop he gets down. "Hopefully they'll have information here. ??"
As they approach the inn he hears the strange statement from within. He thinks for a moment, then replies. "We are good folk, entertainers from Magnimar. He holds out his hand, showing the mark there that is his holy symbol. "I am a priest of The Everlight, Sarenrae. Have you any in need of her holy mercy? She directs me to offer assistance wherever any reside."
At Tural’s words the door cracks open and a thick armed, bearded man with an apron stands framed by light from the fireplace. ”Sarenrae, well met then travelers, we’ll open the carriage house doors.” He steps away from the door leaving it open and you hear him calling out orders to open the carriage house. He briefly appears back in the door frame, ”One strict rule, do Not invite anyone inside, no exceptions.” Then he disappears back inside, the door remains cracked open.
Flemming grins at Tural and nods toward the words, "Don't invite anyone in. Got it."
He pushes open the door and enters the room looking for fire, a hot meal, a bit of the local bitters, and camaraderie.
”Only good folk are permitted here.”
"And do you think that I, Borracho, am not a good person? Is that what you claim?" Borracho scoffs, knowing that this man must be jealous of Borracho, as some lesser men have envious souls. Not all men can have the gracious and magnanimous spirit of Borracho. "How can you make such a claim after you have but gazed once upon Borracho? Maybe you should look again, then you will see that Borracho is good folk."
"I am a priest of The Everlight, Sarenrae. Have you any in need of her holy mercy? She directs me to offer assistance wherever any reside."
Borracho nods at his friend, Tural, who clearly shows that he shares Borracho's gracious and magnanimous spirit. Tural's words would have echoed Borracho's own should he have spoken them.
He will then work to get the carriage and horses properly attended to.
Flemming strides into the inn and his elevated spirits seem to raises those of the few other patrons. The inn is warm and cozy with a low ceiling and a fire burning steadily in the hearth. Three customers with earthen mugs are seated at a wooden table and another two stand beside the fire, all of them staring with curiosity as you enter. Moments later Tural enters helping Mimi across the threshold and the patron’s expressions change to awe at the sight of the healer and the fortune teller. The innkeeper is already filling mugs and pushes the first two across the bar towards you. ”Been far too long that we’ve seen a priest of the light, and couldn’t be better timing. William there has a wound on his leg that’s gone infected, you can drink, eat, and stay for free tonight if you can heal it.” He gestures at one of the men sitting at the table and it’s hard to miss the look of optimism mixed with desperation in his eyes.
Outside the inn, the doors of the carriage house creak open and a thin man wearing an apron matching the innkeeper clears several crates creating space for the troupe’s carriage to enter. It’s a tight fit, but with Borracho’s efforts the two of them are able to get the horses stabled with fresh water and oats and the carriage house doors closed and barred behind the troupe’s carriage. The thin man is clearly impressed by the gracious and magnanimous spirit of Borracho and hopefully inquires, ”Are you a performance troupe? It’s been ages since we had any good entertainment.”
Flemming tries to get the mood of the room. He knows something is off, but he doesn’t know what.
(just fishing for clues)
He thanks the barkeep and brings drinks to their table, starting with Mimi of course. He watches the small crowd as Tural no doubt does what he can today.
As Flemming reads the room it's clear that hope shows in everyone's eyes. There is something about the ability to enter the building without an invitation that has put the locals at ease, and even more so the presence of a healer seems to have them collectively holding their breath. Judging by the initial reaction, they’re definitely afraid of something, but it’s not the troupe and they are already welcoming you amongst them.
Tural immediately moves to the indicated man. He pulls his pack open and kneels to inspect the man's leg. "Infections can be nasty. I haven't the powerful magic for healing diseases. But I've training in the proper care of such, and basic healing magic."
He carefully removes the current bindings and starts treatment to clear the infection before casting any healing magic. He does chant prayers to Sarenrae while he works.
Once he is done working on the disease he casts an appropriate Cure spell to heal the wound. "And may the blessing of The Dawnflower watch over you." He packs the healer's kit back and turns to the crowd. "Yes. We are also performers. I have some skill with music. I sing and play a harp. And Borracho."
He turns and smiles to Borracho. "Well, Borracho, You are much better at introducing yourself than I am. You are the headliner.... But since we don't even know where we are they almost certainly don't know you. Perhaps you could bless these people with your skills?"
”Are you a performance troupe? It’s been ages since we had any good entertainment.”
"Why yes, we are a troupe!" Borracho replies to the thin man, wishing he could toss a spiced hellfire carrot to each horse before departing the stable. "You seem to thirst to see Borracho's acting much like many womens do. There is nobility in speaking one's needs, much like many womens need to see Borracho."
Seeing the man's eagerness to hear and share in the delights of being entertained by Borracho, he follows the man into the common room once the carriage is attended to. Borracho eyes Flemming, Mimi, and Tural, and twirls a long lock of dark hair, preparing to help heal, if not, to help perform. Borracho knows that a performance will inspire his audience and continue to uplift the hopes of those in the room tonight...as every man is inspired by Borracho.
"Well, Borracho, You are much better at introducing yourself than I am. You are the headliner. Perhaps you could bless these people with your skills?"
Borracho smiles confidently to Tural, his noble friend.
"I see that you have tried to help the wounded, much like Borracho would have done. It is truly the strongest of men that have the grace to be kind to others. You, Tural, mirror Borracho's own spirit," Borracho replies, surveying the crowd.
He turns to address the audience.
"I have heard tell that you have not had much proper entertainment recently. Perhaps Borracho and his many, many friends could remind you of the joy in life, the joy in good food and drink amongst friends. Perhaps Borracho will offer you the memory of the joy of simple vegetables mixed with proper seasoning and rice in a sizzling stone bowl, much like that, Borracho will fill your stomach and your souls."
Borracho again gauges his audience.
"Would you hear tell of the Endless Winter? Or of the madness incarnate at the insanitorium? Or maybe the simple tale of the small town known as Sandpoint? Tell me, fair friends, how Borracho might remind you of the pleasures of life, much like Borracho pleasures many womens."
Tural removes the bandages from the man's leg and the smell of infection permeates the air. The wound is over a week old, and the infection seems to be a result of a regular wound rather than something magical or supernatural. Still, even the most remote peasant would seek out a church or healer's hut before sacrificing a leg. Perhaps seeing the concerned look in Tural's eyes, the man answers the unspoken question. "I hit it with my own axe, clumsy of me I know, but the wood here is slippery and sometimes the blade deflects like it has a mind of it's own. There hasn’t been a priest here since the church was destroyed, or I would have got it tended.” The delicate work of treating the infected wound requires the removal of the worse parts and the innkeeper pulls out a dusty bottle from behind the bar to make things easier. The bottle passes around to everyone after the injured man has a few long pulls from it and as you wait for the alcohol to take it’s effect, Borracho and the thin man enter the inn through a connecting passage with the carriage house.
”They’re a performance troupe!” The thin man announces excitedly. ”You should see their carriage, it’s bonafide!” The innkeeper passes the bottle to the thin man, ”Pipe down, Carl, this man’s a healer and he’s tending to William. I broke out the last of the brandy to make things easier on him.” Carl looks even more impressed by the healing arts than the performance arts. ”A true healer? We’ve been blessed surely.” Carl adds in a hushed voice.
"I have heard tell that you have not had much proper entertainment recently. Perhaps Borracho and his many, many friends could remind you of the joy in life, the joy in good food and drink amongst friends. Perhaps Borracho will offer you the memory of the joy of simple vegetables mixed with proper seasoning and rice in a sizzling stone bowl, much like that, Borracho will fill your stomach and your souls. Would you hear tell of the Endless Winter? Or of the madness incarnate at the insanitorium? Or maybe the simple tale of the small town known as Sandpoint? Tell me, fair friends, how Borracho might remind you of the pleasures of life, much like Borracho pleasures many womens.”
It’s nearly overwhelming for the small group and several of them all chime in at once. ”Do you have spices with you? A good stew would be splendid”, one man adds excitedly, while his friend barks out, ”All of them, we haven’t heard tell of any endless winters, insanitoriums, or sandpoints.” still another man seated next to William adds, ”Some music would be lovely, we’ve only had the same songs from an old lute for too long now.” The chatter continues with everyone asking questions and refilling the mugs of the troupe when they get near empty.
In the excitement, Tural finds opportunity to continue the treatment and after a few quick cuts to remove the dead flesh he applies his healing arts to the wound and is satisfied with his efforts. With the wound treated, he calls upon Sarenrae to provide divine healing to knit the flesh and his prayer is met with a strange resistance, like the rind of a gourd blocking access to the nourishment within. Focusing his energy, Tural prays with a renewed intensity and the extra effort breaks through the resistance and healing magic flows through his hands into the leg closing the wound until only a jagged white scar remains. The men cheer at the divine efforts and William himself rises to his feet and starts dancing a jig in celebration. Hands reach out to pat Tural on the shoulder like fans wanting to touch a celebrity, as Borracho is accustomed to encountering.
Flemming puts his confused and dark thoughts to the side for the moment, and enjoys the room. Seeing Tural heal the poor William is a pleasure to behold - he never tires of it.
He rises up and joins William in his jig. ”Tural, play us a tune!”
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Tural feels the resistance to his casting and wonders again. Where are we? But eventually the power of the Lady does flow and the man's leg is healed. The reaction from the crowd is incredible, and when William actually gets up and dances Tural smiles. He isn't used to getting accolades for healing magic though. Any city in the land should have several established churches capable of doing such. ??
"A tune? Let me get my harp. And I'll need a bit of time to check the tuning. Will anyone sing with me?" He gets his harp and tunes it, then starts to play a couple simple songs. Considering the audience he keeps the songs upbeat, the kind of songs a bard might play in a tavern to keep the customers happy.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Will anyone sing with me?"
Borracho defers to Tural and the musicians, and while Borracho has many gifts, music is not one of them. Instead he does what he usually does when the times call for japery and mirth: he reaches into the pouch at his belt and begins to remove 4, sometimes 5, well-balanced objects. His particular objects are those that have meaning to him: a blue garter belt, a red kerchief from a maiden fair, a golden key to a chastity belt, and finally a green, slightly-bejeweled brush with unidentified blonde hairs upon it.
With the items in hand, Borracho begins to juggle.
Perform (act)
And Borracho performs like only Borracho can: with complete mastery.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Flemming leaps to the dance while Tural retrieves his harp and starts with a simple song and tune. Borracho complements the entertainment with a juggling performance and Mimi produces a deck of cards that she shuffles and flips so quickly that the cards appear to mimic the juggling and dancing as they float between her hands. Not to be outdone by his troupe mates, Borracho moves through the room adding personal items from the locals to his juggling; a hat, a mug, a pipe, even William’s still removed shoe all join the blur of objects flipping through the air. The performance amazes and the inn is soon the source of a joviality that hasn't occurred in years for these people. In his heart Borracho knows that it was his best juggling performance ever, and word of the troupe is sure to spread through this strange, still unknown area.
As the performance finishes the innkeeper claps heartily and proclaims it worthy of a feast. He moves to the kitchen area and start clattering around, then his head pokes out. ”Did you mention something about having spices with you? It’s been years since a trader has visited these parts, even a pinch of pepper would do us all well.”
Flemming enjoys the dancing, clearly not as talented as his cohorts, but he still has fun. His stomach does rumble though when the innkeeper offers a feast.
Flemming checks his pockets, and finds only tobacco. His, and the gnomes. He decides it’s a fine time for a smoke, they’re all doing well, and the people - they are happy.
He takes out a little slip of paper and taps out a careful measure of the gnomish tobacco. He equally carefully rolls the dried leaf within said paper - and though he takes some time to do so, the end result is lumpy, with a strange bulge on one side. Flem doesn’t seem to notice, or care, as he licks the end of the paper to help seal it all together as he twists the ends comfortably between his fingers.
Pulling back his hair, he leans in to the candle on the table and draws deeply of the gnomish leaf - lighting his cigarette. He waits for the food, slowly sipping his pint - in no hurry to reach the bottom.
He smiles contentedly. Clearly these people had troubles. But not tonight.