Dinnertime has arrived in The Glade, and as is normally the case on pleasant evenings the band has settled in around several large campfires. The wood crackles and pops occasionally, interrupting the sounds of tales being told and boisterous laughter. About 50 people are nestled around 3 centrally located firepits, but a few spots remain empty around the last of the three. Seated here are Fyrwyn Dern, leader of The Glade, Banatar Firth, her second-in-command and leader of the Defenders of the Glade, and a stranger - a rugged human man of middling age. Their voices are lowered, and they appear to be talking animatedly. Seeing that they are about to be joined, however, Fyrwyn sits up on her haunches, beckons, and clears her throat.
Come, friends, Gladesmen. There is room at our fire, room aplenty! Come and chat, and enjoy what the forest has provided.
On a nearby blanket a glorious spread has been laid - roasted venison, a plum pudding, a collection of berries and grapes, and an open cask of mead, standing aside of a bowl of clear water.
A very tall and muscular Half-Orc approaches the campfire. Everyone recognizes Two-Fisted. He is difficult to miss. He has a gray-green tinge to his skin, and enlarged tusks jutting from his lower lip. His hair is long and red but tied neatly in a pony tail. He is truly an intimidating and impressive physical specimen, but he is also generally good-natured to those who know him. The problem is that not many people take the time to get to know him. So, he is somewaht of a loner.
He strides to the array of food and drink. After tugging off part of a leg of the venison, he fills a tankard with mead from the open cask. Two-Fisted lifts the tankard in acknowledgement with a nod in the direction of Banatar Firth before sitting cross-legged at the third fire.
Hmmm...I recognize Banatar, Fyrwyn and most of the others, but the human is new...
He sneers at the human as he tears into the leg of venison.
Ryarg, taking one of his rare trips up to the fires from his lonely hut on the outskirts of the village, silently slips up to the last fire. An equally silent shadow of a figure accompanies him.
Ryarg sports the typical dwarven stocky physique, though his hair and beard are neatly trimmed, almost to a human length. His clothes are well-worn, but well-tended also, and he carries with him a gentle odour of blueberries, no doubt from whatever latest batch of fruitwine he has been fermenting.
As he slides onto a log, he offers everybody a polite nod, but then his eyes quickly find the ground and his shoulders take on his characteristic defensive hunch. In the meantime, Bern his young bear cub who accompanies him everywhere, stretches out on the ground in front of the dwarf, and with a playful yawn, bats at Ragar's venison.
Telias, a tall wiry native man in well worn boots and a grayish green outfit less walks out of the darkness as emerges from it like a shadow peeling itself from the dimness.
He gives the rest a small smile before taking a seat.
"Funny, I don't recall the forest ever giving me mead and plum pudding." He quietly says mostly to himself.
He unhooks a large bow and an even larger axe from his back and sets them next to him so he can sit comfortably. He shoulders off a heavy looking pack as well before nodding to the others.
There are plenty who know of him, or rather, know of the things he does and the things he teaches and the knowledge he passes on from his long incursions into the deep woods.
Hmmmm. He says picking up his venison. Healthy, male. Was a good kill for someone undoubtedly." He bit into it with no apparent signs of enjoyment or disgust.
Otherwise I'll just flip a coin.
Thoughts?
Ryarg, taking one of his rare trips up to the fires from his lonely hut on the outskirts of the village, silently slips up to the last fire. An equally silent shadow of a figure accompanies him.
Ryarg sports the typical dwarven stocky physique, though his hair and beard are neatly trimmed, almost to a human length. His clothes are well-worn, but well-tended also, and he carries with him a gentle odour of blueberries, no doubt from whatever latest batch of fruitwine he has been fermenting.
As he slides onto a log, he offers everybody a polite nod, but then his eyes quickly find the ground and his shoulders take on his characteristic defensive hunch. In the meantime, Bern his young bear cub who accompanies him everywhere, stretches out on the ground in front of the dwarf, and with a playful yawn, bats at Ragar's venison.
** spoiler omitted **
A tall almost gangling man walks towards the fire. Even if you didn't recognize Tom you would know there was something unusual about the man as a small mote of light hovers near him lighting his way to the fire pit. Tom snuffs out the light as he approaches the group
"Evening all, Fyrwyn, Banatar."
Tom takes a seat near the dwarf and the bear cub.
"Ryarg you old hermit! I didn't know you were in the glade. How are you? And how is my favorite fur coat?"
The fur coat comment refers to night last winter when Tom took shelter in your cabin. When morning came you awoke to see Bern, sound asleep, half lying on Tom. Tom was trying to shift the cub but having little, if any success.
"Oh, Two-Ftsted, I have some work for you if you'd like. The De'Wint family are adding a room or two to their cabin. I figure with my brawn and your brains we could get most of it done by lunchtime. What do you say?"
"Telias, the De'Wint boy, Wynan, wanted me to tell you that it looks like something was nosing around the badger set you showed him last year. He hopes they will be back to use it again."
Tom is a good man, but he does tend to talk too much.
Ragar reaches down and ruffles the the fur on the top of the head of the head of Bern with one of his huge hands. As he does so, he inclines his head towards Tom. Asd the firelight catches his visage, there are greasy pieces of meat all around his mouth and tusks, and he talks between bites with a partially full mouth.
Aye...Tom...be glad to..help out...meet ya at De'Wint's in mornin'...
I like Tom. He often says what I have trouble putting into words. Telias is skilled, but I often see him before others do, as I am sure Ryarg does. It is hard to hide from me at night, but by Belkzen's Balls - he IS good at it.
So Fyrwyn, how fares life at the top. What is on the mind of the leader of our bustling metropolis?
"Good, long as they stay downwind when they arrive they should be able to observe them in peace. They are small but fierce and quite temperamental. I pointed them out so they know to avoid getting close to them with the food."
Telias continues eating his venison observing the others as he does so.
Ryarg wilts visibly with each word from Tom, hisshoulders hunching further and further towards his ears as if he could shut out the sound. "I'm fine. We're both fine," he replies, a barely audible whisper.
Bern, on the other hand, comes over to sniff Tom's hand and start clawing playfully at whatever food the man has.
Ragar rises and fills his tankard witrh a fresh mead. He grabs a second tankard and fills it as well. Upon his return to the fire, he sits back down next to the dwarf and places one of the two meads in front of him.
Here Ryarg...drink up! Not your brew, but decent...
I will never forget what I am or from where I came, but I do not carry the same grudges that my orc ancestors do towards the dwarves. Ryarg has always been fine with me. In fact, I believe that we may think alike on many things.
"Oh! Um..." he pauses, searching for the right words. "Thank you."
He takes the mead and sips it.
So Fyrwyn, how fares life at the top. What is on the mind of the leader of our bustling metropolis?
After chewing thoughtfully for a moment while nodding her head, Fyrwyn clears her throat and responds.
Good to see you, Tom - life is good, of course! As to what's on my mind, mostly nothing - although I'm in the company of an old friend, to whom I should introduce you all. Everyone, this is Delwin. He comes to us all the way from Kaer Maga. We go back a long, long time. Delwin, this is Tom, Ragar, Ryarg - and that's Bern - and Telias. They're all friends.
Delwin smiles genuinely, revealing a gap where his incisor should be along the bottom of his jaw. He gestures amiably with a huge piece of meat.
Pleased 't meetcha, everyone.
Ryarg nods a greeting to Delwin, keeping his eyes on the ground.
Aye...good to meet you too...what do you visit The Glade?
Ragar jestures with his tankard of mead while giving a toothy grin.
Do not get too many visitors, especially a friend of Fyrwyn that she wanted to introduce to us.
Telias watches passively continuing to eat his vanison.
Pleased to meet you Mr. Delwin. Tell me is the Asylum Stone as crazy a place to live as the stories say?"
With tom distracted by the newcomer Bern nearly makes away with Tom's dinner.
It is at that, Tom - crazier, even. Which'd be why it spawned the likes of me!
At this, Delwin erupts into a fit of laughter, and Fyrwyn smiles, shaking her head. When he is finished, she rolls her eyes playfully and explains:
Delwin wasn't always the man you see. When he was younger, he was a noble's son! Can you believe it? But it's true. Long gone are those days, eh, Del?
The grizzled man smiles wanly, a rivulet of mead coursing down his beard.
Aye, Fyrwyn, they are indeed. Well, consider what I asked you about. I'm off to bed, if it's all the same to you. It was a long ride, and the like. Pleased t' meet you boys, mayhap I'll be seein' yeh again.
He takes his leave, wiping his beard with his arm.
After a while, Fyrwyn also stands.
You four, would you mind coming and seeing me tomorrow morning? I have something that needs...doing. We'll speak more on it then. At breakfast, perhaps?
Two-Fisted looks to Tom, then Fyrwyn.
If it's ok with Tom and De'Wint...I will see ya at breakfast. For now, I will have more mead.
He stands up to his full height of nearly 7 feet, chugs the remainder of his mead, spilling some all down the front of his chin and chest. He belches loudly, then takes two strides to the keg. He stops, bangs the empty tankard off his forehead, turns and strides back to look down upon the dwarf.
Need a refill Ryarg?
I forget so much when I drink...maybe that is why it is so much fun!
Two-Fisted looks to Tom, then Fyrwyn.
If it's ok with Tom and De'Wint...I will see ya at breakfast. For now, I will have more mead.
He stands up to his full height of nearly 7 feet, chugs the remainder of his mead, spilling some all down the front of his chin and chest. He belches loudly, then takes two strides to the keg. He stops, bangs the empty tankard off his forehead, turns and strides back to look down upon the dwarf.
Need a refill Ryarg?
I forget so much when I drink...maybe that is why it is so much fun!
"Uh, no thank you, Ragar. I...I think I'll see if anybody brought out a cask of my raspberry. That was a good batch."
He goes over to check the liquor supply. Bern, in the meantime, grabs Ryarg's abandoned mead cup and licks it clean. The look he then gives Ragar is almost intelligent, knowing.
Two-Fisted yells to Ryarg.
I will take some of your brew, if you find any.
He looks down at Bern, and with a slow hand, retrieves the empty tankard.
I'll bring ya some boy.
He heads to the keg and fills both tankards, leaving one for Bern and returning to his seat by the fire.
Ryarg returns empty-handed and sits himself back down on his log. He glances at Bern in disgust. "Drunkard," he mutters.
Telias watches the bear with soe minor amusement having yet to realyl participate in the conversation yet he doesn't seem to have missed anythin either. "Of course Fyrwyn. I do not suppose this involves Delwin? Visitors are rare in these parts. Visitors from distant lands are rarer still."
Two-Fisted looks to Tom, then Fyrwyn.
If it's ok with Tom and De'Wint...I will see ya at breakfast. For now, I will have more mead.
"Shouldn't be an issue. I'll let them know we've been shanghaied before I head to the tower tonight."
"Of course Fyrwyn. I do not suppose this involves Delwin? Visitors are rare in these parts. Visitors from distant lands are rarer still."
It does...in a way. He has brought a matter to my attention which is of some concern to all of us, if he has the right of it. Before I make any other decisions - decisions upon which lives may depend - I'd like to see if he does have the right of it. Forgive me for speaking so cryptically, but I'd rather sleep on this tonight and discuss it in full tomorrow morning, where we would be less likely to be overheard. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me - I'll see you all in the morning.
She strides away with the air of someone much-troubled.
The revelry lasts well into the night as it is wont to do - the men and women of the Glade work hard during the day, and are not afraid to take their leasure with equal aplomb in the evening. Ryarg's brew is consumed with great joy, several men raising toasts to the reclusive dwarf throughout the night.
Eventually, the gathering disperses. Gladesmen fade into the night, their silhouettes barely visable amidst the low-burning torches scattered amongst the surrounding trees. Long experience tells each of you that they will return to their homes, sleeping peacefully through the night to awake the next morning for breakfast and another day of work - hunting, fishing, tanning hides, fletching arrows. It is on this day - 14 Pharast, 4711 AR - that our adventure will begin.
Bern's second hit die:
I know we discussed this in email, Naz, but to reiterate for everyone else, we straightened that up matter in the OOC thread a while back, so no worries about the 3 HP.
This thread is dead, so any RSS feeds you may have set up or favorites to it can be deleted, and redirected to the main thread or the OOC thread as needed.