Fableweaver, the Winged One's page

Each cobblestone upon which Orm walks tells a story, from grim murder long since forgotten to the twenty-year shade of an old cabbage stall.

There are tales of the founding years, of sixteen men and their families banding together to create an island of safety on a road long marred by banditry and death. From there, the town grew and grew, its favourable position in the countryside inclining more and more travelers and merchants to visit its streets. The walls were erected as the town grew more wealthy, and as thievery began to run rampant in the town. Along with the walls, so was established the Watch; a group of men lead by Garret Hargreaves, veteran of the Emerald War. Before him, his father's father had been Beltor Hargreaves, hero of the Battle of the Third Sun. The watch, although proud and brave when first established, has become complacent in recent years for lack of threats. However, should their fire once more be awoken, they may again relive their days of old.

The stones also tell of the world below the streets, of the thick tapestry of sewers and drains that weave beneath the happy markets above. Some say a creature dwells within there, and the stones affirm this, though what the creature is they cannot say.

Arothcar, you hear most of this by gathering information as well, but only those facts that are more recent.

Arothcar blends into the crowd and walks a while amongst the market stalls. It seems that there are all manner of items to be found in Ravenwood, and none in short supply.

You stand in the bustle of Ravenwood, a large trading town with walls of stone and lively locals. The sun beats down warmly as you pace the town's cobbled streets; each of you are here for different reasons, yet perhaps not so different after all.

Two dwarves, weary from travelling, search for a tavern to rest their weary legs. One carries a plethora of axes and armaments, and each guard he passes he sets on edge. His companion, taller by and inch, walks alongside his fellow. Although less armed, he bears an air of experience about him that only years can tell.

From the shade of a stall's eave a man watches the scene before him. Unnoticed just outside the throng, he searches, but for what is his to know. This man is used to being invisible; so used to it, in fact, that he can blend into the shadows without a second thought.

Percection checks, everyone. Only open the spoiler if you pass, and post your dice roll using the "dice" format (below).

"I am Garret Hargreaves, Commander of the City Watch here. My men, although loyal, are sometimes not as thorough as I would like in their duties, so you understand that I sometimes like to check up on them."

The Commander steps aside, leaning against the wall of the gate and allowing you to pass. As you motion to enter the city, he continues, chuckling to himself and looking directly at Arothcar.

"It would be strange indeed, I suppose, had you have been from Legner; as well you know, not an elf has set foot there in nearly fifty years after the trade embargo made against them. So to consider a half-elf having been raised there... well, that would be strange indeed. Please! Come in, weary travelers. Keep your peace, and I shall keep mine. Break it, however... well that is another story."

It might be prudent for Arothcar to invest in a mirror to check his disguises the next time he tries to pass as a human (or take ten, I mean that works too). You learn nothing of the man's armour, though perhaps some around town know the story, if it is import to you.

The man in the bronze breastplate stands with an air of authority and quiet calm. Even so, his left had rests on the hilt of his sword. He seems suspicious of you. You also notice that Deldrich has stiffened and is standing at attention at the arrival of the bronze-clad man, and the other guard is watching him with silent reverence.

Arothcar attempts to appraise the worth of the man, but quickly realizes the folly of his intention. Instead, he looks to the breastplate itself; bronze armour is rarely used in current times, so you suppose that its worth is more sentimental than monetary, especially since it seems that the armour had been visibly repaired from damage.

Heal Check or Profession(Solider) to know more about the damage sustained on the breastplate; Vodalus must make a Perception check before the Profession(Solider) check may be made.

"Ortelius; a fine name. Uncommon, to be sure. I know every trader that regularly comes through these walls, and when I heard the name I thought you might be a relation of Parser Ortelius the fletcher, and his family; I know they have an extensive family down in Legner. Are also from there? If so, you have traveled far indeed."

Know(Geography) or Know(History) to know more about Legner.

"The Meadow's Dawn is a popular inn by all accounts," the guard mentions, before being interrupted by Deldrich.
"You'd best watch yourselves of debauchery, though; I shan't have any drunkards in my streets!" he says. The other guard sighs.
"As for cartographers, you might try the Archives. Small though it is, it may be of some use to you. You can find it off the main square. Well, welcome to Ravenwood, Mister, Mister and Mister Ortelius. May you--"
"Your uncle is your father's brother, then?" says a man, appearing from behind the gate. He is old, by human reckoning, and his face is deep with both scars and furrowed brow. He wears a dim bronze chestplate with no adornment.

Roll Perception checks to know more.

Taken aback with Arothcar's confidence and friendly smile, Deldrich simply stands there, unable to continue his line of questioning. After a moment, the other guard speaks.

"And how long do you suppose you'll be in our fine city, Mister..." he pauses, waiting for the space to be filled with your family name.

You reach the southern gate of Ravenwood, the dark stone of the walls imposing and rugged. Before stands two guards wearing breastplates and armed with pikes.

The one to the left of the gate is leaning against the inside wall. He has a dark mutton chops that reach all the way to his chin, and has a rather disinterested look on his face. The one to the right eyes you suspiciously as you approach; his demeanor is like that of a snake poised to strike at any instant.

As you reach the gate, the guard to the left looks over and straightens up, while the one to the right steps forward and gestures you to stop. His words are sharp and to the point.

"What business have you here?" he says curtly.

"Oh for goodness sakes Deldrich, add a little honey to your words," the other says exasperatedly. "Not every weary traveler wishes you harm; people generally get to know you first before it gets to that point. Travellers! What brings you to Ravenwood?"

The three of you walk towards the main road before embarking on the long trek towards Ravenwood's gates. The merchants and their guard, now well ahead of you, plod along, their steeds kicking up dust as they head towards your common goal.

The sun beats down warmly upon your brows, the coolness of autumn having not yet set into the air.

The four horsemen look decidedly un-apocolyptic. They ride in series along the road; the first is clad in iron chainmail and a thick traveling cloak, his horse large and well-bred. The second and third wear colorful livery, and their horses seem weighed down by sacks and small locked chests. The third wears leather hide armour, and has a bow slung across his back.

Scanning the surroundings ever more paranoically, Orm spots naught but a hawk flying far overhead. Also, he could swear that one of the farther-off sheep is eyeing him with deadly intent.

You leave the shelter of the old farmhouse and exit into a happy autumn morning. The farmhouse sits upon a hillside, and from your location you can make out Ravenwood in the distance, perhaps an hour's travel away by foot. The town is surrounded by a quarried stone wall, and the path you follow towards the main road will eventually lead to the southern gate.

Arothcar gazes out over the fields, taking in his surrounds. The fields nearest the farmhouse haven't been tilled in years, and weeds have sprung up where once golden wheat had grown. Along the main road, a quick ten minute jaunt away, you see four horsemen moving at a trot towards the town. From this distance, however, you can make out no more details than that.

Further still, on the other side of the road, you see spots of white upon green hills; what you can only assume are sheep grazing peacefully.

The map, drawn by Arothcar in a previous visit to the town, shows what knowledge the half-elf had gleaned at the rumored location of the stone idol which you seek. It is somewhere in the town's bank, where surplus supplies as well as valuables are kept under lock and key. The building itself seems to be a refurbished keep from ages long past.

Vodalus glances about at the room, but sees nothing out of the ordinary. He and his companions' packs are against one of the walls, and their sleeping rolls lie across the ground. The farmstead, long since abandoned, is vastly uninhabitable on the ground floor due to large holes in the ceiling, and the furniture long since rotten.

Arothcar, having only visited the Ravenwood once, can offer little insight into the customs of the people there, or the temperament of the town itself. It is a large town, however, and busy; many caravans pass through during the day in the Merchant's District.

Map: Ravenwood Bank

A cool night breeze wafts through the only window of the basement level in the abandoned farmhouse outside of Ravenwood, slowly coating the flagstones of the walls in a thin condensation. Three figures sit at a sturdy oaken table lit by the many candles placed haphazardly around the room; the breeze makes the resulting shadows flicker and dance in the dimness.

The first figure is slender, wrapped in cloak and hood and naught but his wry smile and the hint of pointed ears visible through his coverings. But more than that; there is an unnatural chill about his form, as if malice itself shields him more than mere cloth and steel. The second, a tower of a man, leans against the table studying a hastily-drawn map that lies outspread thereupon, his eyes cold and calculating against the flickering candlelight. His features stern, he reaches for his quill and carefully marks another point on the map. The third figure watches from the head of the table. His figure is hard to discern; it seems that if one were to try to look at him directly they would immediately forget what he looked like, as if they hadn't looked at him at all. Smaller than an average man he sits, his beady eyes overlooking the proceedings and his head covered by a deep woven cowl. In his hands is what seems to be a large, thin splinter of wood, which he holds with decided reverence. Every now and then the splinter sparks, to which the figure speaks a word unknown to men, returning the spark from whence it came.

The figures have met to acquire an item being kept in a vault in Ravenwood; an item that they have striven long to acquire: A key to the Forgotten Halls. A key to power and riches beyond their imagining.