Loy Rezbin's page

Loy thinks "Normal height - 5'9, perhaps. Young - maybe late 20s. Black hair. Pale skin. recall: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15 Not sure what he was cursing, sounded like..." he proceeds to vocalise sounds that could be badly remembered Draconic.
you're at his house, so you have his address
"Catch the bastard." he says, with some venom.

"No. Well - maybe a bit fancy. Not foreign though."

"Huh? Oh, he was talking to me. When I said we could swap sacks. He said... Uh..." recall: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25 "Very gracious sir, but the sack is not mine."
"The eyeglasses did have a weird thing on the side." recall: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20 Loy grabs a knife and carves the design into a nearby apple. untrained craft: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (7) + 0 = 7

Loy - with obvious reluctance - agrees.
The guards take him home, sit him at a table and hand him Ophelia's noxious, fuming brew. He knocks it back - with a vodka chaser - and shudders as it takes effect. He closes his eyes and relives the now traumatic event.
"Alright. I can see him. Normal clothes - lot like mine. Good condition. Don't seem to fit too well, he keeps hitching up his sleeves, and his belt's halfway up his chest. Eyeglasses - fancy silver ones. Wearing fancy shoes too. Smells like... barbecue, and smoke, and... cologne. Yes, must be wearing a lot of it. Smells like a florists. Sweating, a lot. Mopped his face while he was talking with a fancy handkerchief."

"I... I don't know. I didn't remember. I don't want to remember. Can't you ask someone else? Someone else must have seen him!"

Loy rubs his right eyebrow, as if there is a pain in his head. "Oh, I soldiered on after a while. Not sure where the man went... I guess..." he looks confused "I'm not sure where he went with the sack. It didn't seem very important." he looks troubled now "Why didn't it seem important? I can still see it now, and remember it wasn't... but why?"

"Sorry?"

"No. Nothing strange. Two nights ago, you think? No... I remember it well. I had bought eighteen pounds - I got a great deal - of spuds after work, and was carrying them through the street when I came home. There was a hole - in the bag - and I was trying to stop the potatoes falling out. I stopped just over there to lean against the wall and recover. I remember" he chuckles slightly "There was another man with a big sack, and he was having trouble too. Swearing up a storm. I offered to buy the bag off him when he dumped the body, but I was joking - I'd have gotten blood all over the potatoes!"

He shrugs "Like I said, nothing strange."

Loy shrugs
"That's what it said on the old map I copied it from, er, Runelord. I suppose there's an old temple."

"Well, I can have my people here at Threshold in a week. We were planning to transport our gear by wagon."

"Oh there's a village worth of us. We've hired some mercenaries to escort the caravan, but if you'd escort us and help us get set up, we'd appreciate it."

who's up for an adventure!

"Aye... I suppose I can sell that to the other colonists, once I see the law."

"So is that the law, then?"

"Aye..." Loy seems barely convinced "But a man's bones are his own, right? If he wants to leave them behind to do good, it's his decision. Take 'em against his will and its robbery or taxation."

"Aye..." Loy answers, suspecting a trap.

Anglon's speech is highly informative, scary and not hugely reassuring. Likely poor Loy has no idea how to incorporate the knowledge into his world view.

"Goddess of all wizardry? Aye... I suppose so. And I'm not a man scared of hard work and discipline. But a man's body is his own, yes? No being turned into some Geb-puppet after his death?"

"Who is Lissala?" Loy asks, open-mouthed.

"Just stories, supposedly from survivors. Lizardfolk are supposed to be around here. Trolls are further... south I think. I heard one some other kingdom has a bounty on trolls - maybe people are getting confused?"

Looking askance at Simon he straightens and speaks with resolve.
"I won't bend knee to Urgathoa, sir. Nor to those that do."

Loy is obviously reluctant to pass such rumors on, but under the combined stare of the Runelords finally breaks down.

"Well, there are rumors - quiet ones - not ones I put much stock in. Some say you worship the necromancy goddess Urgathoa. There's stories of demons put down, and monsters rampant; lizardfolk and trolls mostly."

"I'm sure they're just tales though." he assures the audience - or himself - "And I've heard your taxes are light and your laws fair. People all over Restov and Brevoy have been coming here for the last few years."

"Good evening, ah, Runelords. My name is Loy Rezbin, out of Restov. I've come before you with an offer."

Loy has his hat in his hand, obviously intimidated by the Runelords.

"There's a number of us sick of the deal we're getting in Brevoy. My da's da used to farm in these regions, and I've a number of people interested in helping me set it up again."

"My da had to leave after bandits killed his da and burned down the farmhouse, but he always said the land was good."

"There's not much talk about this new kingdom of yours, but I heard some rumours. Heard you took down the Bandit King."

"You interested in helping set up a small village a bit off to the east? We'd be prepared to swear Fealty if so."