Sarek's page

As they stroll through the streets of Falcon's Hollow, Sarek spots his cousin and peels off from the group, eager to be with his kin...

It's been fun. Enjoy the game everyone.

Fair play.

As they wait for Brahm and Simon to finish their business, Sarek muses with the two friendly locals:
"'Tis a strange place, this Falcon's Hollow, it all seems so tense. Plague will do strange things to any community, I suppose. I thought the place would be, hmm, laden-with-motif, no, that's not the word... swankier? Darkwood is a rare and valuable timber."

Ah, a greeting I recognize!

Nimeon extends his hand in the same manner.

"I am Nimeon, servant of Erastil and would be woodsman. As Simon said, Miss Laurel is a good woman, if your brother is being treated then her's is the place we should start. I fear if the lines were so long though she may not have time for us."

"Aye, well, when folk are busy, an offer of aid is the one thing they'll pause for. Perhaps she'll give me a moment if I offer some help with her work? Even if she knows nothing of my cousin, it sounds like she needs the help and it is worthy work."

GM Verdigris, I hope we're not barrelling too fast towards adventure? Plague is the big hook in your introduction, should we side-track ourselves until you've chosen the party? Or are you happy for us to keep talking/investigating/whatever about the plague?

"Morning, Simon." Sarek gives the man a beaming smile and a nod but continues ploughing through the tasty breakfast, puncturing his eating with occasional appreciative noises.

However, he cannot help but overhear Simon's concerned words as he talks with the half-elf: "Plague! Falcon's Hollow lies under an affliction?" Sarek shakes his head in slow-sadness: Simon, I am hear in search of my cousin, similar height to me but dark of thatch, called Angbar. I must know if he is afflicted, may I join you to visit this herbalist? Perhaps he is a patient of hers. In any case, I have some herb-lore ranks in knowledge (nature) and may prove useful."

Sarek pauses in his speech and stands up, giving his mouth and beard a quick wipe before turning to the green-eyed elf : "Forgive me, I interrupted, I am known as Sarek." I offer my arm to grasp in typical warrior greeting.

Sarek awakes with a huge, body-stretch; forcing the marching-cramp out of every joint and knotted muscle. He is grateful for the rest but stirs himself quickly.
Unsure of Falcon's Hollow, he dresses for any eventuality, wearing his formal war-coat and holding onto his urgosh; Sarek is comforted by the routine and formality of the items.
Heading down to the taproom he rubs away at his eyes when the morning sun shines through the windows Havta get used ta that low-light.
The smell of warm oats comforts Sarek and he lets a smile play across his lips as he reaches the bottom of the stairs: "Brahm, what is that fine smell?"

After an evening at the bar with Kast and Simon, Sarek bids them goodnight: "Aye, Simon, I'll be right. I've taken a room here, if y' have need or wish o' my company." He shakes them both by the hand and retires to his room, tapping the bar as he passes Brahm: "A fine walnut ale y'do, a fine one."

In the bedroom, Sarek seals off any source of light and sits on his bed for a good half hour. soaking up the quiet-dark before going to sleep.

Sarek returns to the bar, out of his travelling gear he is a stocky dwarf with long, straw-coloured hair and a thick beard of the same. He adjusts his dark leather belt so that his clothes, well-made but travel-worn, sit a little more comfortably and leans up against the bar.
Taking another mouthful of ale, the dwarf listens in to the warm-dense conversation of the room: "Aye, barkeep, I'll be looking to eat now. What have you got?"

As the barkeep finishes with another patron, I turn to the smiling man at the bar, the barman called him Simon: Sorry, if I'm butting in, do you know Falcon's Hollow well?"

Following the girl with a smile and a broad, open-armed shrug, I declare: "Whatever you say."

As we head up to the room, I shake my head and beat the road-dust out of my coat and hat: "Is this normal? I don't know how long I will be here. It's not fitting that I leave you in the sky-dark with your weak eyes." Sometimes there are only bad choices.

Concerned that my talk might make the girl uncomfortable, I move on: "If I can help you at all, speak of it and I will listen."

Then I head back down to the taproom, scratching thougtfully at my beard.

I give the landlord a long look: "I've changed my mind. Keep the coin, I'll take the stables."
Then I heft my pack onto a broad shoulder: "C'mon then girl, show me the warm spot with the horses."

Taking a swig of ale, I follow after Fleur, shaking my head.

I peer around the room, taking in the sequestered locals, the knivesies, and the jumpy circle of travellers.
At least they look like an interesting bunch

I notice one of them peeling away, toward the knivesies: I hope he doesn't play, he looks like the kind that would have to go for the knife.

I trundle toward the settlement, calling a Y'hear me? to the dark-blind folk with their pools of lantern light.

It is not difficult to find the traveller's inn, I am weary but take second to straighten my back before pushing open the door and stepping into the bright-smoke of the taproom.

Taking in the folk, I enter and approach the bar; my voice is low but not gruff: Have y' lodgings? If so, I've coin for both room and board while I'm here.