Ekat Kassen was a crusader and fortune seeker who came to serve Lastwall in the year 4515 AR While he fought with distinction, he soon realized that he wanted more from life and lef the Lastwall military to find his fortune elsewhere. His travels took him all over the region around
Lake Encarthan, and he decided to settle down in 4522 AR atfer a very profitable adventure. Using a sizable portion of his fortune, he set out to tame a small area of the Fangwood on the banks of the Tourondel River, making it a natural stopover for those traveling up and down the river to Skelt. For the next 10 years, the town, which was then known as Kassen’s Hold, grew and prospered.
All that changed when Asar Vergas came to Kassen’s Hold with a host of mercenaries under his command. Asar was an old companion of Ekat, and the two had traveled together for some time before splitting up just afer Ekat’s last adventure. Over the years, Asar became sure that Ekat
had cheated him afer that adventure. Promising great wealth to his mercenaries, Asar raided the town relentlessly for 2 months. Finally, the townsfolk managed to locate Asar’s camp in an ancient crypt deep in the forest, and Ekat himself went out to deal with his old companion.
The battle was terribly bloody, with only a few townsfolk coming back to tell the tale. In the end, Asar was slain and his mercenaries scattered, but Ekat suffered a mortal wound. He died 2 days later, on the 11th day of Neth, 4535.
In honor of their beloved founder, the townsfolk buried Kassen in the ancient crypt, interring his bones in a place of honor, above the simple sarcophagi used to inter Asar, his mercenaries, and the townsfolk that lost their lives in the bitter struggle. They placed an eternal fame above
Kassen’s final resting place, so that all who visited might find warmth in the wilderness.
300 years later, Kassen's Hold is now simply known as Kassen and is a small town ruled by Mayor Uptal, a fair, but mildly grim man. While most of the “townsfolk” actually live in small homes or camps in the woods and fields surrounding Kassen proper, the town is quite tight-knit. As with most of the folk in Nirmathas, they stand up for one another and refuse to be pushed around.
In the tradition of it's adventurer founder, Kassen has had a lion's share of fortune seekers born out this modest frontier trade town. The passage of goods from the rives coming down from the Mindspin Mountains and Southward to Skelt fill the coffers of far more residents of Kassen than dragon's hoards and treasures necromancer's tombs. Never the less, it is the adventurers of Kassen that bring it it's fame. A select few a retired treasure seekers fill there time teaching a hand picked selection of the village's youth their trade. In return for their training, these fortunate youths perform various tasks for their teachers, most of which involves drudgery of some sort. At the age of 10 you were picked by the village council to be trained to be a fortune seeker and brave protector of your community in honor of Ekat Kassen himself.
The eternal flame burns yet at Kassen's tomb and in it's honor the villagers light a lantern from its flame to signal the end of their harvest season each year. On most years, Mayor Uptal and the village council journey to the Crypt of the Everflame and return in a processional bearing a piece of Kassen's Everflame to burn in the city's hall throughout the winter. Once every 10 years, however, Kassen graduates a new crop of young adventurers and inducts another set of lucky souls into it's super elite program. As a final test of their training, these young graduates are given the honor of bearing the cermonial lantern the the Crypt of the Everflame and enter to reach Kassen's Tomb and light their lantern from the Everflame itself and return home victorious and be deemed ready to venture out into the world.
This year, you bear this honor. It has been 8 years of drudgery and hard, menial work with about 2 years of invaluable training sprinkled in amongst the pot, pans, and horse stalls. In less than a fort-nite, you and three other young adventurers will venture off to bring home the flame. Ahead of you lies a lifetime (be it long or short) of adventure and purported riches, with this one last task to prove your worth and your honor to your village.
The link below leads to a map showing the location of Kassen in relation to other prominent landmarks in the Nirmathas region.
Also, this is a map of the Village of Kassen as well as the major areas of interest:
1. Seven Silvers Inn
2. Greathall
3. Woodcutter's Guildhall
4. Temple of Erastil
5. Town Watch Headquarters
6. Renet's Steel (Metalworks)
7. Arnama's Home (Thorvin's Mentor)
8. Sir Dramott's Home
9. Braggar's Shop (Dwarven Smithy)
10. Hawthorne Estate (Carrion's Mentor)
11. Holgast's Tower
12. Mayor Uptal's Home
13. Ilimara's Home
14. Thorvin's Home
15. Lianth's Home
16. Carrion's Home
17. Virgil's Home
Lianth meets regularly with her mentor, Olimira Treesong "The Witch of Mist Lake", in a secret grove North of the village. Virgil often meets with his mentor, Guard Captain Trevor Wisslo, at the Town Watch Headquarters for regular drills and training.
Perception Check DC 1
The sun hangs high in the noon sky above the Village of Kassen as a cool autumnal wind blows stirring up fallen leaves. Three weeks past the weather was so hot that many of the townsfolk were wondering if the snows of Neth would even come this year. It seemed the fair days would go on forever. A Garundi Summer, the elders called it, and it would pass making the harvest even bigger than it has in other years.
It is Fireday, the 8th of Lamshan 4708 AR. Downriver in the City of Skelt, street vendors are undoubtedly hawking wares with great fervor vying precariously for the most favored price on their wares. In Kassen, however, Nirmathas' "Market Day" is like any other and the young Virgil Anvilhands is working busily repairing the thatch of his modest dwelling before the snows come down from the Mindspin Mountains this year.
Lost somewhat in the repetition of his work he is nearly unaware when one of his fellow guards, Golfond Kir, comes plodding up, his slightly too large boots flopping about his feet.
"Virgil, Virgil!" yells the guard through yellowed teeth in an off key, somewhat atonal voice.
To call Golfond a simple man, would be an understatement. Older than Virgil by half a decade, Golfond, was a very promising student of the blade. One of the best young recruits Kassen has ever seen, in fact. Many a time Virgil looked upon Golfond with envy. Early on, it even appeared that Virgil may have been in danger of loosing his spot in the guard all together by standing in Golfond's shadow. Alas, that all changed one fateful day during a mounted combat exercise.
Golfond was showing off his riding bravado, attempting a to slide out of his saddle and down on to the flank of the horse as to demonstrate how a rider can use his own horse to take cover from enemy arrow fire, when the straps holding his saddle unexpectedly broke. Golfond was cast under the horse, which instantly panicked. In the end, the horse had kicked the up and coming guard squarely in the back of the head and he lay unconscious in the dirt, blood leaking from his left ear. He remained asleep for nearly a week and even Father Rantal with his divine gifts of Erastil was unable to awaken him. When he did on his own, he was nary the man he was before. His voice was flat and did not carry the confidence or the tone that it did before. He would unknowingly drool from the corner of his mouth at times and at others laugh hysterically at something said that wasn't the least bit funny. His sword arm remained strong, but he became horribly poor at following orders or even remembering them. Cruelly, he became the victim of many of his fellow guard's jeers and pranks. Captain Wisslo has always stood in his corner though, chastising those that would poke fun.
"Captain Wiss'o wantsa see ya tonight. Says he's got a shiny thing, surprise, for you. Wantsta give it to you with ale tonight after grounds drill at the Seven Silvers. It's a surprise! It's the bestest suit of mail, I've ever seen! Shhh... Don't let Virgil know, OK? Captain will be mad if he finds out..."
With that, the guard salutes, hand to his dented helm, and marches off.
Thorvin is busily splitting wood behind his hovel preparing for many fires to warm the coming months. Sweat breaks upon his brow, but the effort is comforting to the dwarf and the repetition soothing. He stops mid-swing, however, as he spots one of his fellow woodcutters, Grimscar, coming through the back gate.
The burly half-orc, small tusks protruding from his lower lip, strides towards the dwarf the brass studs of this leather armor glinting in the afternoon sun.
"Ho dwarf! Boss Vetnar is holding some sort of shindig tonight at Three Rings Camp. Says your dwarven arse has to attend because he plans on opening that cask of Taldoran brandy that we've all been drooling over for 3 years. I'd prefer you keep your bearded pie hole at home. That way there's more brandy for me. Colbin says he'll give me a floggin' I won't forget if I didn't deliver the message to you personally. If ya ask me tho' a floggins worth your share of the brandy."
He punctuates his remark with laughter so rumbling and robust that it ends in a fit of coughing.
"There I be doin' what the boss man asks, like a good little worker, grumbles the rude half-orc as he punctuates his statement by spitting on the ground and hurriedly striding away hopping Thorvin's fence this time rather than using the gate.
Lianth sits on the banks of the Tourondel River, enjoying the afternoon and closely studying the behavior of a myriad of minnows schooling in the shallows of the river. It is a peaceful day and it has done much to heighten the young druid's mood. Her studies are interrupted as, quite unexpectedly, a red breasted robin alights upon the big toe of her left foot. If this is not strange enough, it holds a small piece of bone within it's beak, which it promptly drops on the druids lap. It cocks its head to the side, as all songbirds are want to do, and then takes flight as quickly as it came.
Examining the gift bestowed upon her by the songbird, Lianth notices that a wax plug fills one end of the bone. She pulls it out to find that it is connected to a small strip of paper covered in the flowing runes of druidic script.
Paper Note (Druidic)
|
Lianth watches the robin fly away, wistfully, daydreaming of what it must be like to take flight, before reading the note. Recognizing that she appears to have the rest of the day 'off,' she returns to her parent's home and offers to help them with the day's chores.
Her parents seem like strangers now, even as she's been sleeping in their home off and on during her long years of training, as if she's grown apart from them. Part of her resents them for the feelings of ostracism and alienation she feels, while she tries her best to rationalize this too as part of the natural order. Like the robin, this nest is no longer truly her home, and the time is drawing near that she must learn to fly...
Roarke remains at her side, even as her mother squints at the sight of this 'wild animal' in her home, and she could make things more comfortable by having him stay outside, but stubbornly refuses to do so, adding to the unspoken tension of the day. For all that she is 'helping,' she wonders if her presence has not become more of a distraction than her help is worth.
She finds herself glancing at the sun more and more frequently, eagerly awaiting a chance to escape the oppressive atmosphere that she begrudgingly admits she has helped to create.
Carrion, despite the sunny day outide his window, sits in his reading chair a tome open upon his lap. It is a decidedly thick and droll tome concerning the details of the Nirmathan War of Independance and how it came to be that a small force of guerrilla rangers staved off Cheliaxan oppression and threw down the tyrannic existance as a vassal state of the devil sworn empire and how it grew to the independant country it is today. Few have ever had the mental fortitude to plod through it's dense prose and archaic verbiage. Because of this, Carrion is enjoying it greatly.
His studies are interrupted as a quite knock comes from his door. A small puff of dust erupts from the tome as he snaps it shut and makes his way to the door. Opening it, he finds Arrissa Hawthorne standing on his stoop. Arrisa is a young lass of eight with crimson pigtails (all Hawthornes have hair of varying shades of red) and freckled rosy cheeks.
"Father would like to see you for dinner tonight at our estate. I think he asked mother to send Gareth to see father Willis about having a swine slaughtered this morning. I could smell it roasting all afternoon! Mmmm. Whatever he has planned, it must be truly special," She says as she blushes. "Mother asked that return to help her in the kitchen strait away after telling you, so I must be going. See you tonight?" she asks as she curtsies in a silk dress worth more than the savings of most residents of Kassen.
The Hawthorne family has always been a curiosity for the rest of Kassen. Their wealth has always been more than adequate to afford an estate in Skelt or even Tamran. Yet, for some unkown reason, they settled here. They keep to themselves almost exclusively. Their hired servant does all of their shopping and tutors are brought up river from Skelt to educate their children. Once every ten years or so they approach a young villager, almost at random, and invite them to come and live with them so that they may learn their "family secret". Never has a youth turned down this invitation and, just as unbelievably, none of these individuals have ever divulged this secret to anyone within the village. Polite with their neighbors and giving to their community, they nonetheless often end up the subject of wild speculation and tall tales.
Thorvin sets his axe on his right shoulder as he stops to listen to the caustic half-orc go on about the gathering this evening at the camp.
He raises his bushy right eyebrow at the words, “dwarven arse” but continues to follow the half-orcs words until he mentions a certain beverage which raises his left eyebrow to meet his right. An almost unnoticeable smile brings a lift to his beard. He waits until the brawny half-orc jumps over his fence and begins to walk away.
“Taldoran brandy you say? Aye, I’ve been wonderin’ when Vetnar would crack open that cask. I’ll be there, you orc-blooded twit. Keep yappin’ and I’ll give you a floggin’ fer free! Ha!” he says as his raises his left fist and shakes it.
Taldoran brandy? What in blazes is the occasion, Vetnar? Eh, it doesn’t much matter. Hmm… I better get this done before nightfall. A nice reward it will be to sip some of that fine drink. Back to work!
Thorvin lifts the axe off his shoulder and swings more heavily for the first three swings to vent out some of the frustration at having to interact with Grimscar outside of work.
Her parents seem like strangers now, even as she's been sleeping in their home off and on during her long years of training, as if she's grown apart from them. Part of her resents them for the feelings of ostracism and alienation she feels, while she tries her best to rationalize this too as part of the natural order. Like the robin, this nest is no longer truly her home, and the time is drawing near that she must learn to fly...Roarke remains at her side, even as her mother squints at the sight of this 'wild animal' in her home, and she could make things more comfortable by having him stay outside, but stubbornly refuses to do so, adding to the unspoken tension of the day. For all that she is 'helping,' she wonders if her presence has not become more of a distraction than her help is worth.
She finds herself glancing at the sun more and more frequently, eagerly awaiting a chance to escape the oppressive atmosphere that she begrudgingly admits she has helped to create.
"Lianth, I've told you a thousand times! I'll not have that flea bitten, lamb-eater in my home. Is it not enough that I tolerate you parading him about our yard," hisses Lianth's mother through clenched teeth. "Now, there is washing to be done and I'll not be doing it all by my self. Take these back to the river with you," she quips as she hands her daughter a wicker basket full of soiled garments and a tarnished well worn wash board. "Furthermore, if you tear the seam of my Sunday dress again, child, I'll have your father paddle your bottom like you are in pigtails again!"
Virgil watches Golfond trundle back toward the middle of the village. He shakes his head and turns back to his thatching, murmuring to himself, "It will be hard on the villagers when he becomes a burden. I wonder if anyone will have the decency to put him down."
As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, Virgil washes off the grime from thatching, dresses in his practice leathers, and reports the guard house for drills.
|
Carrion, despite the sunny day outide his window, sits in his reading chair a tome open upon his lap. It is a decidedly thick and droll tome concerning the details of the Nirmathan War of Independance and how it came to be that a small force of guerrilla rangers staved off Cheliaxan oppression and threw down the tyrannic existance as a vassal state of the devil sworn empire and how it grew to the independant country it is today. Few have ever had the mental fortitude to plod through it's dense prose and archaic verbiage. Because of this, Carrion is enjoying it greatly.
His studies are interrupted as a quite knock comes from his door. A small puff of dust erupts from the tome as he snaps it shut and makes his way to the door. Opening it, he finds Arrissa Hawthorne standing on his stoop. Arrisa is a young lass of eight with crimson pigtails (all Hawthornes have hair of varying shades of red) and freckled rosy cheeks.
"Father would like to see you for dinner tonight at our estate. I think he asked mother to send Gareth to see father Willis about having a swine slaughtered this morning. I could smell it roasting all afternoon! Mmmm. Whatever he has planned, it must be truly special," She says as she blushes. "Mother asked that return to help her in the kitchen strait away after telling you, so I must be going. See you tonight?" she asks as she curtsies in a silk dress worth more than the savings of most residents of Kassen.
The Hawthorne family has always been a curiosity for the rest of Kassen. Their wealth has always been more than adequate to afford an estate in Skelt or even Tamran. Yet, for some unkown reason, they settled here. They keep to themselves almost exclusively. Their hired servant does all of their shopping and tutors are brought up river from Skelt to educate their children. Once every ten years or so they approach a young villager, almost at random, and invite them to come and live with them so that they may learn their "family secret". Never has a youth turned down this invitation and, just as unbelievably, none of these individuals have ever divulged this secret to anyone within the village. Polite with their neighbors and giving to their community, they nonetheless often end up the subject of wild speculation and tall tales.
"Many thanks Arissa, I will certainly attend." Carrion rubs her head for a moment. "Get on back there you. Tell father I look forward to what he will entreat upon us." Carrion will watch as Arissa departs, ensuring nothing happens while she is in line of sight.
Carrion returns to his tome, "Now, where was I?"
After finishing his afternoon of splitting and stacking, Thorvin makes his way to the Lumber Camp. Walking the overgrown trail that he has become so very familiar with these past 10 years, he realizes that all this familiarity will soon come to an end. While exciting, the price of a life of adventure is a life of constant change.
Arriving at the camp a good hour before the lumber crews usually come in from the cutting site, Thorvin finds the camp all but deserted save for Wilhelm, the camps portly cook, busily chopping moose steaks from a freshly dressed carcass. He whistles an old Nirmathan drinking song as he works, chubby cheeks puffing out with each note, his cleaver beat out the counter rhythm as it strikes the chopping block. Thorvin gets almost on top of the fellow before he is noticed.
"Well hello Master Thorvin! You sure be here early. I bet you be wanting a taste of the fine brandy on tap tonight, yes? I know you better than you think, yes I do!" intones the cook a look of smug satisfaction upon his face. "Well, I don't suppose anyone would miss a small sample. Considering the the sampler be you, and the occasion be what it is..." the man stops himself short as if he has said something he shouldn't. He then quickly changes the subject. "Do you be hungry? I happen to have some goat cheese stuffed woodcaps fresh out of the hearth cooling. I bet you'll be wanting one with your sip" With that, the cook produces a small wooden tray and forks a pair of delicious looking stuffed mushrooms onto it. Grabs a small wooden cup and brings it to a small cask behind him. Pulls a few ounces of spirit and produces both for the dwarf. "You'll be enjoying that, let me tell you. Just don't let Vetnar know I spoiled your appetite yah?"
Virgil arrives at the guard house to report for drills as he has as it would seem, forever. The smell of sweat and old leather that was once overpoweringly repulsive has with time evolved into an affectionately reminiscent aroma of victorious sparring matches and hard won praise.
Exercises begin with archery practice followed by an armored jog around the towns outer wall, which begrudgingly includes fording the Tourondel river twice with only a pull rope to steady ones self. At first, years ago, this ritual was incessantly trying upon Virgil's fortitude. Now after years of repetition, it has become routine and a good "warm up." The workout then moves on to one on one sword play with Captain Wisslo moving from pair to pair correcting mistakes and praising good form.
After the completion of drills for the day, Captain Wisslo addresses the guard as a whole. "You've done admiral work today, and you deserve and admirable reward. We shall gather at the inn for dinner. Everyone is required to attend and everyone's first drink is on me."
As the other guardsmen begin filing out, Virgil fades to the back of the group. Many of them will find one reason or another to stop at home or speak with another villager before making their way to the inn. Their staggered arrival will cover him staying for a while longer. Time for him to practice just a little bit more. Virgil had long stayed afterward to practice the forms and stances on his own. He found that free from the distractions of slow-learning comrades, he could find the silence and focus he desired.
After sliding the wooden practice sword back into the barrel with the others, Virgil walked over to the weapons stand and slowly opened the display case. Although Captain Wisslo believed him a capable student, he frowned upon the use of live weapons in training. "Wooden swords and spears will do just fine in teaching you," he would say. But Virgil always felt that there was something different. A wooden weapon did not have the same weight or density, felt different in his hands, and did not sing through the air in quite the same way as deadly steel. Little differences that could mean life and death, when it came down to it. He removed the greatsword and took his place in the middle of the training floor. "A few minutes won't hurt."
Virgil assumed a basic guard stance, with the sword held at shoulder height, ready to move into a variety of positions. "Lion on the Hill." He had a habit of whispering to himself the names of the forms and stances from endless drills and repetition. Something he sometimes did without even being conscious of it. For several seconds he stood in quiet, focused concentration. Then he moved. "Bundling Straw." He whipped the greatsword around swiftly into several quick, chest-level thrusts, followed by an arc and a paired return arc to bring the blade back to guard stance. "Moon Rises Over the Water." A quick vertical arc after a horizontal, tentative slash brought the blade to an end position near his waist. "The Falcon Stoops." A quick overhand thrust, returning to a guard position just as quickly.
Several minutes later, with new sweat beading on his forehead, Virgil decided he couldn't go on much longer without someone noticing his tardiness. He swung the blade smoothly around from the guard stance and sheathed it, all in one motion. "Folding the Fan." He carefully replaced the sword into the display case and jogged out into the night to meet his fellow guardsmen at the inn.
|
|
Lianth buries her anger in the work, cleaning the clothing in the cold water and hanging it to dry in the sun, adjusting it occasionally on the branches she uses for this, to allow the items to dry evenly.
She passes the time exploring her link with Rourke, closing her eyes and feeling the rushes and flows of his mind as his eyes track the movements of dragonflies or his keen nose picks up interesting scents. When the clothing is dry, she inspects it one more time, brushing off any dust that has settled on the clothing as it dried, and carries back to a home that feels increasingly distant to her.
Leaving Rourke at the gate, so as not to provoke her mother any further, she attempts to drop the clothing off without encountering either parent, as, even hours later, she does not trust herself to speak to them with a civil tongue.
Thorvin sheepishly steps up to Wilhelm while eyeing the steaks carefully and then shifts focus to begin scanning for the brandy.
"Ahhm... Seems to be quite the occasion, says I! I'll take that sip, I will. Those 'shrooms smell mighty fine, lad."
Thorvin takes the plate and scoops up both of the stuffed mushrooms only to shovel them into his mouth simultaneously. After a brief bout of chewing, he takes the cup to his beard-shrouded mouth and takes a few sips. Unable to contain himself much further, he gulps the remainder down in one quick swig and then as he lowers the cup, belches loudly.
"Aye, that's some fine drink! I'll be expectin' some more of that later."
"Somethin' tells me Vetnar's got something up his sleeve, my friend. I'm interested to see whats got 'im crackin' open a three year old cask o'booze. Ahhmm..."
Thorvin begins walking around the Camp watching Wilhelm at his work. After making a round he stops by the cook. "Say, you need any help there, lad? Since you were gracious enough to offer me a sample, I can't have my services unused should they be welcome. What say you?"
|
|
"Many thanks Arrissa, I will certainly attend." Carrion rubs her head for a moment. "Get on back there you. Tell father I look forward to what he will entreat upon us." Carrion will watch as Arissa departs, ensuring nothing happens while she is in line of sight.
Carrion returns to his tome, "Now, where was I?"
After a few hours spent reading more of the Nirmathas independence tome, Carrion marks his place, leaves the tome on the table, and organizes his study a little. When Carrion is satisfied, he gathers some basic supplies of survival and places them in a satchel.
Carrion departs his home, with his satchel, heads south down the road to Holgast's tower, intent on speaking with Holgast about otherworldly demesnes and philosophical issues which may arise due to their interaction.
When Carrion arrives at the entrance (if no buzzer or the like), he knocks lightly at first. If there is no response, he will knock harder, he will gain an audience unless Holgast is not there or currently unavailable.
|
Several minutes later, with new sweat beading on his forehead, Virgil decided he couldn't go on much longer without someone noticing his tardiness. He swung the blade smoothly around from the guard stance and sheathed it, all in one motion. "Folding the Fan." He carefully replaced the sword into the display case and jogged out into the night to meet his fellow guardsmen at the inn.
Virgil makes his way to the small inn. It is the only building other than the Hawthorne Estate that has a tile roof in town. Pulling in the large iron rings to open the solid oaken doors that make the Inn's entrance, Virgil sets eyes upon the smoke filled bustling common room. His fellow guardsmen have already assembled and are seated at a large round table in the rear of the establishment.
Taking a seat and ordering a round, the evening begins. Everyone seems to be in a jovial mood for no apparent reason. The night continues with Captain Wisslo buy many rounds of drinks. A chair sits behind him and slightly to the left, covered with a large burlap feed sack bulging with unknown contents. Just before the hour grows unreasonably late Captain Wisslo unexpected stands.
"Ahem," he enunciates while clearing his throat. "I'm not much on speeches or fancy words, so I'll keep this short and plain. Once a career does a guard captain have the honor of training and working with a recruit who excels at all he does. Not everyone is born with an unending strive for perfection. The few that do, rarely realize their true potential. I am honored to feel that our very own Virgil is one such man. Your dedication to the blade has been unerring these past 10 years. Long after others would have given up and given in, you stood your ground and kept your mettle. In the early days, I had the pleasure of teaching you many lessons. These past couple years, I have had the pleasure of learning a thing or two from you. Tomorrow, you leave our ranks for the honor of our entire village and your fellow guardsmen wish to see you off in style. To Virgil! The best swordsman to ever grace my practice field. Here! Here!" With that, the captain raises his glass. The other guardsmen do the same while letting go a raucous cheer.
Captain Wisslo then stands and moves to the sack-covered chair behind him. With a dramatic flourish that looks a bit clumsy in his intoxicated state, he whips the sack away revealing a beautifully crafted steel breastplate, a finely embossed flame has been hammer imprinted into the piece resting atop where the wearer's heart. Stuck into the seat of the chair in front of the armor is an equally fine longsword, a dark red polished river stone set into the pommel and a matching flame motif has been set into the cross guard. [I]"You didn't think we'd let you go out into the world looking like a recruit did you? All the boys chipped in and Renet went to work making them just for you. Oh, and lest I forget, this is from me personally," laughs the captain as he thrusts a leather pouch, containing 30 pieces of gold, in Virgil's direction.
After a rather conversationless dinner, Lianth makes her way out of town into the wilds she has come to know so well. Rourke follows dutifully behind. After a while she makes her way to the obscured, small clearing Lianth and Olmira use often to meet and discuss the ways of the Earth Mother. Tonight, illuminated by the light of the harvest moon, the elder druid stands before the sculpted, rune-inscribed monolith in the center of the clearing wrapped in a cloak of owl feathers, a crown of club moss covering her white, wispy hair framing a perfect and ageless face.
"Greetings, my child, I bid you welcome," begins the elder druid. "Many cycles of the moon you and I have met to discuss the order of life. Many a Spring have we gone through the village planting the seeds of the field in the streets and hedgerows. And, you understood it was to teach your brethren that the natural tide of nature cannot be stopped only slowed. When I asked you to travel with me into the mountains to listen to the wind for all of Pharast two years ago, did you not learn that our Earth Mothers says much, but talks softly? And finally, when I bequeathed upon you the charge of leaving your brethren and your village for a week during the snows of Abadius to run on all fours with your new found compainion Rourke to live as the wolves do. Did you not learn that we are all animals and it is no easier for Rourke to live in your world as it is for you to live in his?" With this, she pauses and smiles revealing her perfect white teeth. "You have done much and done well. You have learned much and thus know more than most of how things grow change and live. In fact the time has come, my daughter. I have nothing left that I can teach you. The rest of the lessons the Earth Mother will teach you, you must learn on your own. These past years, I will never forget. Nor, will I ever stop fearing for your safety, which is why I wish to bestow you a boon." The woman then draws up a finely tanned bladder drawn tight with sinew and offers it forth. Inside lies a finely carved bone tube sealed on one end with beeswax. Carefully inscribed along it's polished surface is a short phrase in druidic letters as well as 3 pieces of polished jet worth 15gp each.
Phrase Carved on Scroll Tube (Druidic)
|
|
Torn between a sense of exaltation that she has finished her training, that at least this 'mother' recognizes her with pride, and stark, raving terror at the thought of having to set foot now on her own path, Lianth smiles broadly, while tears stream down her face, her emotions all over the place.
In Druidic, she intones, "Through gates of horn and dreams of yore, secrets shared and burdens borne, fickle as the wind, constant as the tides, shelters of stone and scars of fire, I honor you in all ways."
She turns the stones over in her hands, a distant child-like part of her still thinking of them as gemstones, while her training sees them as merely rocks, no more or less precious than granite (and far less useful). She recognizes the irony in this gift, of shiny rocks plucked from the endless supply to be found within the earth and polished, to be traded for items of real worth, such as clothing, seed stock, armor or provisions.
Virgil rises from his chair, suddenly very and humble and awkward. A childhood devoid of praise or recognition tends to produce focused, introspective individuals who are generally reticent and not comfortable with positive evaluation from others. He walked across the inn hall and clasped hands with Captain Wisslo, the man who was so much to him what he wanted his father to be, but wasn't.
"Thank you, Captain." he said, his voice suddenly gruff and hoarse. "I will do all I can to live up to this honor." Virgil spends the rest of the evening trying to keep his composure and humbly accept any congratulations or good-wishes from his fellow guardsmen.
"an equally fine longsword"
Meanwhile at the lumber camp, Wilhelm heartily agrees to Thorvin's offer of help and with the dwarf's help the two finish their work well ahead of schedule. Looking at the less than modest pile of dirty cooking gear, Wilhelm eyes the cask of brandy and notices his dwarven companion eying it as well. "Care for another nip lad?" the swarthy cook asks with a grin, "Ya know to make the dirty work a little sweeter?"
Agreeing heartily, as any dwarf would, the pair have time for a fine drink before the woodsmen come lumbering in from a day of chopping and dragging, mule teams pulling huge sledges of lumber up the trail. Thorvin and Wilhelm merrily assist their fellow lumberjacks sort and pile the day's take and then they all sit down to a hearty meal.
After dinner Vetnar, stands wiping barbecued moose from his face. "Men, I have a special treat for y'all tonight." beams the Vetnar through yellowed and crooked teeth. "We're gonna drain that cask o' Taldoran Brandy we liberated from that wrecked Chelaxian wagon we took care of last Sarenith. Why you ask? Because we are honored, thats why," he says as he walks over to his lean to and procures a rather large drinking horn. "Good 'ole Bess, holds two full quarts, she does." He then amid cheers from his men walks over to the keg of Taldoran brandy and procures his hatchet. With one well aimed chop he lops the tap clean off the cask. The jet of brandy which spills forth is caught almost entirely by the enormous drinking horn. The flow comes to a stop and Vetnar is careful to catch the last of the drizzle but oddly the horn is still only 3/4 full. The lumber boss looks confused and shrugs his shoulders. Wilhelm flushes and begins to examine his boots.
Holding the horn aloft, Vetnar quiets his men. "I would like to dedicate this fine Chelaxian spirit to Thorvin, for it was in truth his axe that convinced the Hell Knight that the baubles and libations of his devil worshiping lord were best invested in our interests. So to Thorvin, may his adventures tomorrow night be grand! With that, the lumber boss takes a sizable gulp from the horn and passes it to Thorvin who in turn has a nice pull and passes on to the left. The horn goes almost all the way round, with the poor souls who went without get teased mercilessly by those who got a sip.
Just when things look as if they might get ugly, Vetnar stands waving his arms and thus silencing the crowd. "You know that brandy is not what is really important tonight. We have come to honor one of our own! Tomorrow Thorvin goes to face uncertain death in the Crypt to bring back the flame that gives each and every one of us hope through the long winter! Do not dishonor him with your squabbles,"[/i] chastizes the lumber boss, tersely. "Here, I have somethin' else fer ya. The men got up nearly before light yesterday and sifted through the stick pile till they found the perfect replacement handle fer that axe head you thought you lost last week," Vetnar says with a wink and produces a Thorvin's battle axe it's old splintered handle replaced by a finely polished shaft of curly maple, the grain of which spirals in a mind bending fashion about the shaft.
"I, on the other hand," continues Vetnar, "walked near 10 mile to find the perfect yew tree to make this fine peice 'o work", he beams as he produces a beautiful yew longbow simple and elegant decorated only with a plain leather handle and a pair of eagle feathers tied to the top and bottom of the stave. "I want you to have these too," he says as he also produces a huge quiver holding a bristle of feathered fletchings numbering 40 in all. "A life of adventure is a life full of danger. What say you, friend Thorvin?"
Many of the lumber men observe Vetnar's fine surprise enviously.
Much later, after returning home, Thorvin finds a leather satchel with a note next to it: I thought that giving you anything else in front of the men might make you an unfair target for taunts and thievery. So, I took the liberties of dropping this off while you were helping Wilhelm earlier. Oh and thats a pull of Old Finn's shine in the flask, it's been known to put the spring in more than one overindulged lumberjacks step from time to time. Consider the rest bonus pay. Best of luck, my friend. --V Within the satchel, Thorvin finds a small clay jug about a pint in volume with a simple X scrawled on the front, the top sealed tightly with a cork. It rests atop a pile of 60 gold coins and 80 pieces of silver.
DM:
What do you think? Pretty please?
DM:
** spoiler omitted **
Kensai were educated swordsmen, often of noble birth. In order to properly represent their order you must be capable as both a negotiator and swordsmen. There historical use as mounted sword in battle ensures they must be skilled riders as well. Lastly, mastery of the art of the sword requires graceful and precise footwork. Flavor the training as you like, but the Perform(dance) skill is essential in providing the framework in which a swordsman executes his moves.
Holgast's tower lies on the North of town a short walk. The singular tower made of timber and mortar leans ever so noticeably to the South, yet seems altogether structurally sound for the most part, a rather oversized oaken door with a large iron pull ring is the only obvious entrance.
After a few brisk knocks on Holgast's tower door, Carrior gives up and is actually a couple steps away when the door opens. The wizard's hair is in great disarray and imprints of woven linen criss-cross his left cheek.
"Oh hoo, you're one of the Hawthorne boys, yes?" begins the aged mystic. "I hear tell that you be one of the younglings heading to Kassen's tomb on the morrow. Now, you wouldn't have come all the way out here unless you had something of importance to discuss or request, so please do enter my stead," intones the mage beckoning Carrion inside.
Just inside a modest entryway, with several pegs and shelves to stow coats and footwear, Holgast leads Carrion into a modest, but charming study. A pair of mahogany chairs upholstered with green velvet frame a rough stone hearth with a knee-high table made of cherry in between. Atop the table lies some sort of game consisting of a grid of black and white alternating squares and several oddly shaped stone pieces. The mages takes a clay cannister off from the mantel along with a pair of long stemmed clay pipes. "Care for a smoke? The tabac is as fresh as one can find leaf imported all the way from the River Kingdoms. As fine as any local smoke that you will find, I assure you. Now, what business do you have for me this day?"
|
|
"Oh hoo, you're one of the Hawthorne boys, yes?" begins the aged mystic. "I hear tell that you be one of the younglings heading to Kassen's tomb on the morrow. Now, you wouldn't have come all the way out here unless you had something of importance to discuss or request, so please do enter my stead," intones the mage beckoning Carrion inside.
Just inside a modest entryway, with several pegs and shelves to stow coats and footwear, Holgast leads Carrion into a modest, but charming study. A pair of mahogany chairs upholstered with green velvet frame a rough stone hearth with a knee-high table made of cherry in between. Atop the table lies some sort of game consisting of a grid of black and white alternating squares and several oddly shaped stone pieces. The mages takes a clay cannister off from the mantel along with a pair of long stemmed clay pipes. "Care for a smoke? The tabac is as fresh as one can find leaf imported all the way from the River Kingdoms. As fine as any local smoke that you will find, I assure you. Now, what business do you have for me this day?"
Upon entry into the tower, Carrion states, "I am considered one of the Hawthorne boys, not by blood, but such bonds don't dictate personal relationships." Carrion studies the entryway, looking for wards or magical identifiers. "Do you place wards or the like upon your entryways, and if so, what type of magics do you employ?" (Carrion wouldn't cast magic in someone's home unbidden)
As Carrion enters the study, he notes the black and white grid with stone pieces.When Halgost offers the pipe, "I do not partake in smoking anything, such things have boded ill tidings in the past." (Carrion thinks of how the farmhouse fire began with his father falling asleep with a pipe in his mouth, and how he happened to be coming downstairs to use the privy(?) only to find a small fire that grew faster than he thinks is natural, his father already dead, too late to warn anyone else).
"Sir, I came to you in the hopes of divining information about Kassen's tomb, those that have gone before, what is to be expected or known to be within, those that I may be traveling with on this sojourn, likely future events stemming from our journey. In essence, I wish to scry the past, present, and future possibilities and those involved, gain all information possible, before departing.
Oh yes, that black and white board, I'm unfamiliar with its purpose; can you explain?
If you have time after, I wish to discuss the philosophical ramifications of otherworldly entities coming into this realm, and how they would be dealt with. Would they be given rights as others have, be treated as prisoners; I'm curious of your thoughts."
Thorvin spends the rest of the evening packing up his gear and spending a few hours before sundown practicing on his makeshift boar target with his newly crafted bow.
After he retires inside his home, he lights a fire in his hearth and sits back on his hand-crafted rocking chair smoking his pipeweed while processing the nights events in his head. In the morning he will get up early in preparation for the venture to the Crypt.
Upon entry into the tower, Carrion states, "I am considered one of the Hawthorne boys, not by blood, but such bonds don't dictate personal relationships." Carrion studies the entryway, looking for wards or magical identifiers. "Do you place wards or the like upon your entryways, and if so, what type of magics do you employ?" (Carrion wouldn't cast magic in someone's home unbidden)
Carrion carefully studies the entry into Holgast's abode, but finds no trace of a ward of any kind, not even a string of bells to let the aging wizard know when his front door is open. When asked about the subject, Holgast replies, "I cast a ritual of alarm on my door with the first and last glimpse of the sun each day. It alerts me the minute a living creature of more than 30lb is within 10 feet of my door. I knew you were on my stoop the minute you approached, but was preoccupied."
"Sir, I came to you in the hopes of divining information about Kassen's tomb, those that have gone before, what is to be expected or known to be within, those that I may be traveling with on this sojourn, likely future events stemming from our journey. In essence, I wish to scry the past, present, and future possibilities and those involved, gain all information possible, before departing.
"Scry, eh? You ask a tall order for one so young. I cannot grant the request you seek, but I can give you some information. Know that Kassen's Tomb was created to honor the man who endured many a hardship to found the community in which you now live. An everburning flame was magically created above Kassen's interred remains to symbolize his everburning ambition to realize his dreams and his descendants everburning drive to preserve his memory. In the past, many young adventures have gone before you each reporting something different experienced within the tomb. Some have found it infested with devious goblins, others warmongering orcs, other still frightful undead. Most report that the denziens of the tomb are the least of the danger found there. Many who return tell tales of fearsome traps and hidden puzzles which unlock the way below to Kassen's Crypt. In the end know this, despite the grim tales told by younglings after dark, never has anyone perished on this quest and never has anyone actually gone missing. This endeavor will push you to the limit, but it won't break you. In the future, this opportunity will unlock many doors for you. Past participants in the journey to the crypt have gone on to become mercenary captains and legendary scholars, some have even gone on to become true adventures, becoming unimaginably wealthy from the treasures they have discovered," the old wizard finishes a starry look in his eye. "More of the crypt and it's secrets, I will not tell you for fear that it will diminish what you are about to do."
Oh yes, that black and white board, I'm unfamiliar with its purpose; can you explain?
"What this?" ask the wizard with an arched fluffy eyebrow as he gestures to the marble game board. "This is a game of King's Table sold to me by an Ulfen peddler near twenty years ago. It is a simple game to learn, yet there are times I feel I still do not master it's intricacies. Do you have the time? I could teach you how to play. Perhaps we could discuss something other than your impending journey?"
I wish to discuss the philosophical ramifications of otherworldly entities coming into this realm, and how they would be dealt with. Would they be given rights as others have, be treated as prisoners; I'm curious of your thoughts."
The two scholars while away the afternoon playing King's Table, which Carrion catches onto with surprising speed and even manages to win a game. Their discussion continues in a thick, interwoven manner that would cause the heads of most laymen to spin and before long, Carrion realizes he is nearly late to dinner. Politely excusing himself he heads off.
KIND OF WANT:
Chalk
Beltpouch
Signal whistle
Rope 50'
Trail rations
Flint and steel
Oil (1 pint flask) (2)
Torch (3)
REALLY WANT:
Dagger
Sling w/ bullets (20)
I enjoy roleplaying much.
KIND OF WANT:
Chalk
Beltpouch
Signal whistle
Rope 50'
Trail rations
Flint and steel
Oil (1 pint flask) (2)
Torch (3)REALLY WANT:
Dagger
Sling w/ bullets (20)
Virgil quietly enjoys the festivities, mentally preparing himself for the journey ahead.
Carrion makes his way to the Hawthorne residence nearly following his nose to the estate. He is greeted by their footman, Aldo, and seen into the dining room. The entire family is present, a place set aside specially for Carrion.
"Welcome", intones Moltus Hawthorne, his shaggy white hair draping down clear to his knees. "Please be welcome and sit, there has been quite a feast prepared. All in your honor, I must say. Not every day one of the Hawthornes is chosen to bear the Flame from Kassen's Crypt. So sit and eat." he finishes, much too abruptly and then sits and begins carving off giant hunks of barbecued pork and roasted beef.
The meal is grand filled with one dish finer than the last and all washed down with some very fine Andoran Merlot. The night seems to drag on a bit, however, as if Moltus is about to get at something, but never does.
Late in the evening just as Carrion is about to go, Moltus stops him. "If you have the time, there's something I'd show you," he invites.
The two make there way upstair, Moltus leasding the young Carrion forward until they reach Moltus' study. The aged sorcerer, then reaches forth and grabs a candle holder mounted to the wall and tugs on it firmly. The candle holder rotates outward attached to a steel lever. A grinding can be heard above and an unseen hatch opens in the ceiling as a rope latter drops forth. With an arched eyebrow he questions, "Care to see what's inside?"
In the attic above the house lies an extensive laboratory filled with flasks, beakers, retorts, and all other strange manner of apparatus. "Welcome to my thinking room!" booms the man with pride. "You are the only living soul other than myself to have ever set eyes upon it."
"Did you ever wonder why I have never taught you the intricacies of the arcana?" questions Moltus, his beard dangling accidentally into a pot of vile looking grey liquid. "The answer is a simple one," he continues oblivious to the mess he is making. "Early on, I refused to teach you anything that you did not need to know in order to manifest your magical gifts. Beings such as you and I are born with magic in our soul. It flows through us and is a natural part as who we are. I feel I have given you the best upbringing one could have, but none the less your magical prowess would be no less were you raised by a cooper, thatcher, farrier, or by wolves, for that matter. Nonetheless, I do feel a bit guilty over all the drudgery I've put you through the past years. I have arranged a bit of payment or a farewell gift, if you would prefer." continues the scholar barely breathing between lines as he speaks. He removes a tarp from a nearby workbench displaying a light crossbow carved from darkwood found only in the Andoran vale of the same name. Next to the crossbow lies a pair of bolt case lined with thick cotton padding. Inside the cases are 20 crossbow bolts, 10 fit snugly in each case. One of the bolts in the cases has a larger than normal tip which holds a glass ball containing an unidentified liquid, which rests just behind the steel tip with the bolts shaft passing seamlessly through the glass reservoir.
"The crossbow I made from my own design. I used one just like it when I was a younger man, it will server you well even if you doubt it's usefulness. I've included a special modified ammunition I would like you to test for me. It contains a reservoir of alchemist's fire which is designed to break on impact. If you like what you see, I'd be pleased to spend the time to share with you the secrets of their creation. I'm sure a fellow as daft as yourself will catch on quickly. Lastly, I bequeath upon you a sum of 60 silver coins. Spend them as you wish, but I would prefer they be spent on ale and women." he finishes with a wink and a grin.
|
|
Carrion makes his way to the Hawthorne residence nearly following his nose to the estate. He is greeted by their footman, Aldo, and seen into the dining room. The entire family is present, a place set aside specially for Carrion.
"Welcome", intones Moltus Hawthorne, his shaggy white hair draping down clear to his knees. "Please be welcome and sit, there has been quite a feast prepared. All in your honor, I must say.
Carrion has a look like, what the hell, why? Carrion then shrugs and moves to the table.
Not every day one of the Hawthornes is chosen to bear the Flame from Kassen's Crypt. So sit and eat." he finishes, much too abruptly and then sits and begins carving off giant hunks of barbecued pork and roasted beef.
The meal is grand filled with one dish finer than the last and all washed down with some very fine Andoran Merlot.
During the meal, Carrion does not drink the alcohol, those present would know why.
The night seems to drag on a bit, however, as if Moltus is about to get at something, but never does.
Late in the evening just as Carrion is about to go, Moltus stops him. "If you have the time, there's something I'd show you," he invites.
The two make there way upstair, Moltus leasding the young Carrion forward until they reach Moltus' study. The aged sorcerer, then reaches forth and grabs a candle holder mounted to the wall and tugs on it firmly. The candle holder rotates outward attached to a steel lever.
When the candle holder is pulled, Carrion simply utters "hm"
A grinding can be heard above and an unseen hatch opens in the ceiling as a rope latter drops forth. With an arched eyebrow he questions, "Care to see what's inside?"
When asked if he wishes to look inside, Carrion shrugs nonchalantly with his normal right head tilt and clambers up the ladder.
In the attic above the house lies an extensive laboratory filled with flasks, beakers, retorts, and all other strange manner of apparatus. "Welcome to my thinking room!" booms the man with pride. "You are the only living soul other than myself to have ever set eyes upon it."
"No living soul you say. What of other beings, such as from beyond our realm? I would be interested in such magics or teachings."
"Did you ever wonder why I have never taught you the intricacies of the arcana?" questions Moltus, his beard dangling accidentally into a pot of vile looking grey liquid.
"No"
"The answer is a simple one," he continues oblivious to the mess he is making. "Early on, I refused to teach you anything that you did not need to know in order to manifest your magical gifts. Beings such as you and I are born with magic in our soul. It flows through us and is a natural part as who we are. I feel I have given you the best upbringing one could have, but none the less your magical prowess would be no less were you raised by a cooper, thatcher, farrier, or by wolves, for that matter. Nonetheless, I do feel a bit guilty over all the drudgery I've put you through the past years. I have arranged a bit of payment or a farewell gift, if you would prefer." continues the scholar barely breathing between lines as he speaks.
"Fate is a mysterious mistress. I would prefer it as a gift, no payment is required to me; perhaps from me for you taking me in, but such is part of the tapestry of life." Carrion looks toward what Moltus is acquiring. Carrion watches with a curious look uncommon to him, such displays are not "normal" for the Hawthorne household as he has seen. Carrion wonders to himself if this is a free act or something scripted.
He removes a tarp from a nearby workbench displaying a light crossbow carved from darkwood found only in the Andoran vale of the same name. Next to the crossbow lies a pair of bolt case lined with thick cotton padding. Inside the cases are 20 crossbow bolts, 10 fit snugly in each case. One of the bolts in the cases has a larger than normal tip which holds a glass ball containing an unidentified liquid, which rests just behind the steel tip with the bolts shaft passing seamlessly through the glass reservoir.
Carrion moves to examine the crossbow, feeling the texture of the wood, the weight, and finally the bolts. When he comes across the bolt with glass reservoir, he pauses, looks at Moltus, and looks back at the bolt. "Father, what is this interesting device? Where did you find this beautiful wood, and who crafted it?" Carrion appears as a child, enraptured with such a gift, oblivious to his display.
"The crossbow I made from my own design. I used one just like it when I was a younger man, it will server you well even if you doubt it's usefulness. I've included a special modified ammunition I would like you to test for me. It contains a reservoir of alchemist's fire which is designed to break on impact.
"Sweet, I will test this when the time is right, I'm sure I will know." Carrion turns the bolt with alchemist fire in it, watching the fluid move, wondering on how and why the fluid moves as it does.
If you like what you see, I'd be pleased to spend the time to share with you the secrets of their creation. I'm sure a fellow as daft as yourself will catch on quickly. Lastly, I bequeath upon you a sum of 60 silver coins. Spend them as you wish, but I would prefer they be spent on ale and women." he finishes with a wink and a grin.
"As daft you say, surely you meant deft; (pause for dramatic effect) I know what you meant. I'm no alchemist, yet, but I can ascertain the basic skill set; if you bid to teach, I am your student. If it is seen fit, I will persue the alchemical trade, at least for such creations as what is before me. No ale, you know that much, old man, clouds the mind and reason; not a useful combination, as of yet. The women, if fate sees fit that I return alive and well; I would be looking to allow some lucky woman my company, or a couple women." Carrion takes the coins, holding them in his hand, he will take them to his room when he is complete in the thinking room.
"Father, is there basic adventure gear within the premises? I seek a backpack, some twine, bells, I have a list. Can I scrounge what I can from the estate?"
"As daft you say, surely you meant deft; (pause for dramatic effect) I know what you meant. I'm no alchemist, yet, but I can ascertain the basic skill set; if you bid to teach, I am your student. If it is seen fit, I will persue the alchemical trade, at least for such creations as what is before me. No ale, you know that much, old man, clouds the mind and reason; not a useful combination, as of yet. The women, if fate sees fit that I return alive and well; I would be looking to allow some lucky woman my company, or a couple women." Carrion takes the coins, holding them in his hand, he will take them to his room when he is complete in the thinking room.
"Daft? Deft? I suppose they are quite different and you are just the kind of sharp to remind me," he says with a chuckle. "I am glad that you approve of my gift. May you journey be a safe one and you return so that we may study the construction of my new bolt together. Magic is a grand and awesome power, yet alchemy is the power of the future, the power of reason, so to speak."
"Father, is there basic adventure gear within the premises? I seek a backpack, some twine, bells, I have a list. Can I scrounge what I can from the estate?"
"The only pack I have ever owned was the one I used when a young adventuring lad and it went with my oldest son Vhardigan when he left the estate some fifteen years ago. I do have a small spool of twine here in my workshop. It won't hold any significant weight though. I use it for taking measurements. The bells I think I have downstairs. They used to be tied to the front door. If you give me a moment I could retrieve them for you. Here make your way with me back to the sitting room and I will find them."
Moltus leads the way, closing up the secret door to his thinking room leaving no trace of it ever existing. After leaving Carrion with his new found spool of twine and crossbow, Moltus returns with a wide heavy leather strap a hole punched in one end about 3 inches across. Bells the size of fat thumbs and ten in number have been stitched into the front of the strap. The elder scholar thrusts it towards Carrion creating a gods awful ruckus.
"All yous, young man. I have not used it in quite an age. Once I hired Aldo, there was little use for such a thing. Feel free to use it or destroy it as you wish," he finishes with a charming smile. "What else is on your list? I doubt I can be of much further assistance, but I can try."