Vellimir's page

Rasmus glances up in surprise at the "old bones" comment, a good humored smile on his face and dancing in his eyes.

"Old bones?"

He jestingly feigns offense,

"That's a bit of a stretch there, lad. Just because I knew yer father, that don't give you young rascals any right to disrespect your so-called 'elders.' I admit I ain't what you'd call a 'spring chicken,' but I've got a strong sword-arm and a good head on me shoulders all the same."

He lightly swats Deshe on the back of the head and addresses Erik.

"No, I don't reckon ye'll be gettin' into any trouble with yer father. Shep thought rightly, it ain't healthful to be out in this sorta weather fer anyone. Yer father may have a word 'bout ye settin' foot in a tavern to escape the torrent, but sure as the blazes, I ain't gonna be the one to tell him. Yer secret's safe with me, youngun."

Once the conversation turns to darker matters, of fire and steel and adventure, Rasmus' eyes harden and narrow. He heaves a heavy sigh upon listening to the young people speaking of fortune and glory in adventure.

"I've had me fair share of adventures in me life, and there ain't one of them that lives up to the glamour of what yer discussin'. Adventures are damp, sweaty, messy businesses, filled with all manner of creatures, some of which should crawl back under the stone from which they came and rot. Too many times, I've been huntin' some foul unliving creature, just to find it too late, already feedin' on some poor soul out too late at night."

He tries to introduce some levity back into the conversation, but clearly it has worried him a fair deal.

"I suppose if I die on an adventure, ain't nobody would attend me grave. Me family sure ain't coming, they don't want nothin' to deal with me anymore, but I don't mind. I learned aplenty that they would've never taught me, had I stuck 'round."

He turns serious once more.

"However, if ye are contemplatin' goin' on an adventure, I figure it's my duty to yer parents to watch over ye, make sure ye don't get yerself into too much trouble."

He pokes Erik and Deshe in the back,

"I know I promised yer father's and mother's that I'd watch out fer ye whenever I can, and let it not be said that Mr. Rasmus ain't a man of his word!"

Knowledge (History): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

Reuben scratches his beard for a second.

Xak Tsaroth is an abyssal place. Surrounded by cursed lands if my knowledge serves me well. I've also heard tell of great treasures hidden in the ruins, as well as great dangers.

He solemnly addresses Goldmoon and Riverwind,

If it is your quest to journey there and deliver this staff, I might be willing to lend my magic to your task, if you provide me with evidence of your noble intentions.
Forgive me, but I must ask, please take no offense. I have heard rumor of these cursed lands, and I have intended to investigate their malign reputation. If there is a way I can unravel the curse thus affecting the land, I will pledge my power to such a task.

He suddenly grins and chuckles,

I will not say that the thought of treasure does not interest me as well, however. There are many items that carry a curse or foul enchantment upon them, and I will attempt to destroy these items. But it is rumored that there are many items of good and pure enchantment within its walls, and I would certainly cherish the opportunity to catalogue and return these items to the Orders.

Reuben gestures toward the other companions at the table,

I cannot speak for the others here, but if you can provide me with evidence of your noble intentions, then you will have my allegiance.

Reuben turns his sharp eyes to Orlin san Trayne and responds with a flourish of his hand, in a quieter voice,

"Trouble? My friend, I am but a humble servant of the arcane, seeking to mend the fabric of our reality torn by those vile black-robes. Trust, like the rarest of elixirs, must be concocted with care—and I intend to brew it with my actions."

He leans back, the light catching the silver threads of his robe,

"You see, my life's quest is not for power or arcane secrets, but to rid the world of the scourge that is the black-robed wizards. Their very existence is an affront to all that is good and just in this world."

A serious shadow passes over Reuben's face,

"They are the night to my day, the shadow to my light. And as long as they draw breath, I cannot rest. For every one of them that falls, the world takes a step back from the brink of darkness."

His expression softens, and a smile plays on his lips,

"But fear not, for I am also a man of joy and laughter—keen to share a jest as I am to share a spell. And while my sarcasm may bite, my loyalty to those I call friends is unwavering."

He grins sadly,

"I know trust is hard to win, especially among weary travelers such as yourselves. But I will do my utmost to show my righteous intentions, and give aid to any innocent and peaceful people that I can."

Reuben raises his mug, now frosted with a fresh chill, and continues in his soft and mellowed tones,

"So, let us toast to new friendships and to the trust that will grow with each passing adventure. And remember, while the black-robes may bring fear, it is the white-robes who bring hope—and a decently chilled ale!"

Sitting at a nearby table, Reuben laughs mirthlessly and says,

"Seekers in search of enlightenment? Forgive me, but they'd have better luck deciphering the scribbles of a drunken hobgoblin than understanding what the gods and goddesses intended when they left."

Suddenly sober, he taps his mug on the table for emphasis,

"But I'll tell you, Solinari's silver light never leads astray—it's the true beacon amidst the fog of so-called divine guidance. Lunitari and Nuitari, they're the sort of relatives you tolerate once a year-best kept at arm's length."

He pauses for a moment, a half-grimace on his face, almost as if he is waiting for divine retribution. When none comes, his face breaks back into a smile, and he loudly proclaims,

"And the rest? If they're expecting apologies, they'll find them at the bottom of my ale mug—right after every ogre I've zapped with a fireball. Now, that's a pantheon worth toasting to!"

He wavily gestures for a moment, and sips at his mug, frowning slightly,

"And look, I've been so distracted by this religious philosophy that my drink's gone warm. No matter, what's being a wizard for, if not for the rewards?"

He chuckles and whispers,

"Arkanis minitulae, prestidigitae!"

A puff of chill air radiates in the warm atmosphere of the inn for a moment, and Reuben grins and drains the dregs of his mug. He then addresses Hederick and the old man, with every air of seriousness and solemnity.

"My friends, you may squabble over the seekers and the gods, but there is one truth that is unmistakable. This truth was imparted to me by the elders of the conclaves, and is one of the foundations of life in Ansalon!"

He leans forward conspiratorially, and says in a mock whisper that can be heard tables away,

"This truth, is that Otik's potatoes are a godsend, and all wizards adore them equally! The white-robes are enamored with their divine taste, the red-robes see them as the great equalizer, for all demand their spiced bliss, and the black-robes,"

Upon saying "black-robes," Reuben spits upon the floor and scowls,

"The black-robes praise them, for even the dead are willing to wake for just a taste!"

Reuben roars out another laugh, and calls for a refill on his drink.

I never heard of Lovecraft until 1985 when I first began playing D&D. My DM had a copy of the original printing of "Deities and Demigods" and the Lovecraft mythos was included in. I was utterly fascinated by the meager information in the book and set out to find Lovecraft's works. Today he's one of the rare writers whose work I still enjoy reading over and over.

I hear you.