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The Dwarf woman steps forward while patting the back of one of the apprentices. Though the noise is still plenty loud, she barks out in a gruff, but relatively friendly manner. "Oi!" She raises a hand in greeting. "New comers, eh? Name's Jorfa. Whatcha need?"
Dressed in dirty brown clothes with a weathered leather apron, the female dwarf stands with authority as she watches her apprentices work. She has short brown hair with the sides shaved, and the back sports a long, tight braid adorned with iron rings. Her brown eyes slowly shift towards the front door, and she gazes upon the group for a swift moment.
The pounding of metal on metal echoes throughout the town square. The smithy itself has no sign on it, likely because the hammering and furnace smoke is proof enough. Inside is a great big workshop where young human apprentices are hard at work on the forge and smelter. An older dwarf woman seems to be guiding them and barks out various orders. On two of the walls hang a large collection of tools, weapons, and armor, several of which look to be works of art. Dyansa simply states "Amazing."
Tomes:
1. A rich purple tome that contains a brass scarab set with a single eye in its center. Rimmed with polished steel, the tome is clasped with a small but intricate lock. The key designed for this lock looks like it would have a triangular shape to it. 2. On Verified Madness. This black leather book is a bestiary of various aberrations that supposedly live in the Dark Tapestry, which is the name given for the dark places between stars. 3. Serving Your Hunger. Confiscated by Bryn. 4. The Umbral Leaves. Also confiscated by Bryn. 5. Lorrimor's Journal. See below. Lorrimor's Journal: Circled entries in the Professor's journal Ten Years Ago:The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous. Two Months Ago:It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be? One Month Ago:Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools. Twenty Days Ago:It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list. Eighteen Days Ago:I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the foundation—hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the church of Pharasma used to store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items. Seventeen Days Ago: Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’t have time to update my will, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass.
RECAP:
Fireday, the 30th of Rova, 4708AR
You have just exited the temple of Pharasma. It is quite chilly, being below freezing temperatures. It is around mid day. Where would you like to go now?
Here are some of the bigger, wide sweeping changes that you may or may not be familiar with: - All melee and ranged attacks target evasion, not toughness.
I have added a document called 'Character Format'. This will allow you to post your character sheet on this site with proper formatting. If I am on the ball by the time you read this, all the heroic NPCs will have this in their profile as a reference.
Massive updates to Open Legend (again). I'll try to keep you posted about the stuff that affects your character.
Olaf comes back in a few minutes with a small cup of coffee for Varka, just to taste. It comes with a side of sugar and cream.
Olaf hands Kendra a heaping bowl of porridge, while Kendra mutters something. Perhaps it was meant for Olaf, or for you. Neither of you can really tell. "She's not a morning person, you see. Not until she has her coffee. Have you ever had coffee, Miss Varka? It is a bitter drink made in the south. When people drink it, they wake up almost immediately. Here, watch this." He takes a moment to prepare the drink. It is a black liquid, with cream and sugar served on the side. One wiff of it, and sleep Kendra's eyes already open up. Her nose starts sniffing the air, and she gingerly, but greedily reaches out to hold the cup of coffee. Upon just a few sips, her whole body just relaxes. Her eyes open up, and within them shows the semblance of sentience. "Good morning, Varka. It was a rough night, but I'm well. You seem rather chipper today. Do you have any plans for the day?"
Olaf does shake your hand, but quickly sneaks a bowl of porridge into it instead. Smiling from ear to ear, he says "The pleasure if mine, miss Varka. Now eat up! If you want seconds or something else, please let me know. I'll make whatever you like... provided I have the ingredients."
Standing before Varka is a short and rotund man with red hair. He has a large nose and a series of freckles just below his brown eyes. "Aha! I see we have not made introductions." With an overcompensating bow that nearly topples him, the large man says "Known throughout all of Ustalav as the greatest chef alive, I am Lord Professor Chef Olaf, but pretty ladies such as yourself may call me Olaf. At your service, of course." At the end of his introduction he offers you a handshake.
Unlike the hot and harsh weather of Numeria, Ustalav is cold. It is the end of the first month of fall, and already temperatures are slightly below freezing. A trace of cold water drips from the grey clouds above, following a slight breeze that nips at the end of your nose. Yet inside the Lorrimor manor, the waft of hot porridge sneaks upstairs and slides under your door to waken you. When you enter the dining room, the house chef calls out from the kitchen. "Good mornin! Got some porridge ready to go for ya here in the kitchen." No one else seems to be up at this time.
Here's the ooc stuff
This is where all the death happens
This is a private game
This game is closed
This is for questions and discussions regarding the game |
