Vamros Harg's page

After listening to Baradim's additional comments about justice, and not keeping someone whose own accuser has admitted he may have been wrong, Vamros wiggles his ears a bit, and his cheeks get flushed for just a moment. He twirls his quill around in his fingers deftly, and then begins to write something on his large scroll of parchment. Fine. I don't see why letting her out is any problem. She's hardly a flight risk. I'll release Laurel Usessa into your care Baradim. If any illegal activity is proved about her, you'll suffer the consequences as well. Immediately Magistrate Harg picks up and slams down his gavel, looks at his fashionably dressed dwarf bailiff and says, Release Laurel, and bring in the next case.

Within minutes Chillel, Goruck, and Baradim are standing back outside in the gorgeous summer sun on the outskirts of the low-market. Laurel looks a bit the worse for wear, but it's clear she was treated kindly, for a prisoner.

The halfling magistrate looks at his dwarf bailiff with a rather interested look on his face, he then turns directly to Baradim, the half-orc hunter, and says, "You're awfully quiet on the subject, Baradim? What say you about all this?"

Metagame knowledge: Harg's initial attitude is indifferent so counting Goruck's roll as the main roll, and Chillel's as an Aid roll, you've already convinced him, but I wanted to give Baradim an opportunity to help if he wants. :)

Yes? He asks, and quirks his brow as if your presence is an intrusion upon on otherwise wonderful day.

After listening to the envoy and their new Valer companions, Vamros scratches at the tip of his right ear, and spins his wooden gavel around a few times. Okay, you have my permission to open One! grave, the widow Sennetta. She's been in the ground five days now, should provide quite the nice stink. Heh heh heh. He laughs, imagining the group digging up the aged widow. If you find anything amiss, come back immediately and report it to myself or my bailiff Tabrik. He gestures to the comely dwarf. Then he says, again with that air of condescension. You're dismissed. I have other cases to hear today.

Kairon, Scipio paid for the rooms but as of yet has not gotten the keys. Also you might not want to get those robes on just yet...

After just under an hour of waiting, and watching other townsfolk enter and exit the tribunal's main chamber, the dwarf deputy who is acting as bailiff today, a rather fashionably dressed and groomed man, for anyone's standards, let alone a dwarfs', comes out and says to Cirthana, Your turn, m'lady. His voice is rather melodic and soothing, and his ice-blue eyes are piercing yet approachable. She smiles and thanks him. Thank you Tabrik. With that the well groomed dwarf, opens the large double doors to the tribunal's main chamber and announces The Lady Cirthana and coterie.

The room is wood, all wood, wooden floors, walls, benches, and a massive wooden desk, five feet off the ground and stained a honey brown. Behind the desk sits a jovial looking halfling, with multiple ear-piercings, welcoming eyes, and a ready smile. Good Morrow Lady Cirthana! He says with much overenthusiastic joy. What brings you to my tribunal today?

We have a request to make. Lady Cirthana hesitates and looks to Kairon, Lunarinus and even Goruck before she speaks again. We'd like the right to exhume the bodies of those that have died from this Blackscour taint, so that we can burn them. She says it matter of factly, but her voice takes on a nervous timbre, which gives away her emotional content.

Harg taps a quill pen against his cheek, and gives his dwarven bailiff a quizzical look. The dwarf just smiles and shrugs his shoulders.

Begging your pardon lady, but, why now?

Lady Cirthan sighs but presses forward. We've recently learned some new information about the disease, and it appears it may not be a natural disease at all. It may be borne of necromantic magic.

Vamros' brow furrows and he sets his quill pen to parchment and begins writing something. When he looks up he says, May be?! Might I know what the source of your information was?

Laurel's mother's tome. Iomedae's resident cleric says, as if that should explain everything.

Vamros looks much chagrined and places his quill pen back into a glass vial of black ink on the desk. He reaches for a wooden gavel, and spins it around in his fingers for a few moments. Laurel's dead mother's book? He says, and in that word you sense a conversation taking place between Vamros and Cirthana. A conversation no one else is privy to, a conversation of shared previous knowledge.

Lady Cirthana can only nod her head, seeming somewhat dejected. Yes. She says.

Suddenly the jovial halfling's demeanor takes on a very superior air, and a condescension that makes him appear very much as a judge. You want me to grant you permission to desecrate the hallowed ground of the Falcon's Hollow cemetery, to burn bodies that have already been buried for days now, because you read something in Laurel's dead mother's book of scraps? Strangely, when Vamros says it, like that, out loud, it really does seem like a rather far fetched request.

Immediately Cirthana seems out of her element and looks to any of the envoy to help her.