Larimus Finch's page

"Everything okay in there!?"

"Look at the muscles on you! WOOHEE!" says the old man feeling Einarr's bicep. "Reminds me of myself when I was young. Why I could take a herring barrel in each arm and-"

"Watcha lookin' at there sonny?" asks the old man suddenly beside Doughlas. The young delinquent is there too. Somehow they seem to have replaced Perrine and Ramachandra in the marching order.

{Gawk}

To the old man, she replies, "I've come to collect my dancing clothes. Some fool locked them in that warehouse."

"WHAT?!" the old man exclaims, nearly loosing his pole and himself in the water.

"Aye?" the old man says cupping a hand to his ear. "Oh hey! Where did you come from missy? There ain't no hey-reem 'round here that I know of."

Out back of Renault's house

1d10 ⇒ 10

Round 3 - Final Round! Normal range - Make a ranged attack with a longbow. ;)

Renault: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11 "Yes. I never did take to that Grogan character. If shows his face around here again we'll tar and feather it. His friends too. Honestly you see that contraption the woman was carrying? And I hear the other one was wizard!" Renault says his annoyance throwing off his aim.

Henson: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4 "Really?" Henson says, his interest in the subject ruining his shot.

Rolf: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18 "You know Zeek Batty was studying up to ta be a wizard like that wandering wizard, Eldiocesan. You know the one with pipe and the stuff. Zeek even got himself a big expensive one at the last fair. Was trying to grow out a beard too. I ain't seen 'im since. Guess he's still wandering the Greenbelt somewhere. Hey!" Rolf smiles in victory at a clearly annoyed Henson.

"Batty Zeek, the farmhand? I never would have figured him for the vagabond pointy hat crowd. I you'd think his parents would have raised him better." Adds Renault in way that makes it plain he's trying to distract folks from his poor showing in the game.

Grayling: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15 "Well. Perhaps with more practice." Grayling says with some satisfaction.

Soot: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6 "S~+~!"

Valorin: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9 "Language Soot." Valorin fires. "S~$*!"

Finch: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24 "OH YEAH BABY! I MIGHT NEED ME BOW BACK, YOUNG FELLER! HEHE!" Finch does a little celebratory dance upon the pitch. If Scarlet's nearby he tries hoisting her up in the air. Heavy on the 'tries'.

"Last shot. No pressure." Valorin says.

Fusti Isben a short, wide, blonde Iobarian man with a fez and a slightly distracted look takes possession of the head to get to work on the head-cheese. There isn't time to make a loaf so it'll end up being more of a gelatin slurry ready for dipping and spreading tomorrow night.

Larimus Finch the tiny, wizened, retired hunter with four teeth left flashes his gums and presents the party with his old bow and arrows. It's a masterwork composite longbow (with +1 Strength pull) and a set of six +1 animal bane arrows.

"So which one of you brought that monster down?"

Somewhere in shade of the Narlmarches a dappled wolf sneezes loudly--TWICE! Tamris asks if he's okay.

The younger men (Hal, Henson and Rolf being the foremost) crowd about the party and ask a number of fannish questions. "How did you...?, Were you scared? Did you...?"

Mr. Renault presents the group with the reward for the wolf (250 gp) for getting to the bottom of things and seems noticeably less sour. This is not to say that he seems friendly--just less sour and happy about the way things turned out.