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I cannot post in gameplay even though it is active. I deleted my first post there weeks ago, so maybe that messed it up. We will have to post here until it is fixed. Please PM me with possible solutions. I emailed webmaster twice.
Backgrounds are extended to Monday, March 10. I am making 1d100 rolls and . If I don't hear from both of you by Monday, I will assume you have dropped.
I never heard back from Rothgar, so we are currently a party of 5.
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Party relationship history (this is subject to change):
Windom= (Drasven) friend of a friend + (Zov Surellis) hunting buddies
Drasven= (Windom) friend of a friend + (Zavar) reputation alone
Zov Surellis= (Windom) hunting buddies + (Zavar) former enemies
Zavar= (Drasven) reputation alone + (Zov Surellis) former enemies
N'devere=unknown stranger
How do we do dice rolls in here? I thought I saw it somewhere, but cannot locate it now.
Oh, btw, dedicated healer here now.
OK, set my "default" messageboard alias to this character, so hopefully I don't have any more of those hiccups.
The doors slam open and in walks a surly dwarf. His armor gleams even in the dim light and shows an incredible amount of care. Battered, dents still in parts of it yet it gleams as if fresh from the forges. Battle scars a well seasoned warrior would understand at a glance as a mark of pride.
The dwarf himself, like all his folk is bearded, his beard long and tucked into his belt encompassing his broad girth empathizing that all 4 feet of him is muscle. Despite starting to grow snowy white, his eyes are alert and his stride is sure. The confidence he carries is paplable.
The greataxe carried in one arm is as if it was a feather carries its own fair share of nicks and missing chipped pieces yet its haft topped by twin gleaming instruments of death, the blades fanning out in a fanlike shape to further improve the speed it can be swung. Not a pleasant thought if it was at you.
A brace of daggers sling across his broad chest, a trio of circular discs identified as chakrams at his side, pointly on his free hand side if one cares to notice, completes the walking arsenal this dwarf is.
Spying Windom, He strides purposefully, stopping a the table, his eyes like the winter sky, yet his voice a rich baritone and warm.
"Windom. Well met in this place, though I've not expected to see you here. What brings you here?"
Windom stands to shake Drasven's hand.
A man has to eat. Please take a seat, or two, you grow wider each time I see you.
Laughs at his own joke.
It is a glad thing to see you under such ill tidings. How do you fare?
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Before the door can settle from Drasven's entrance n'Devere sleeks in, and follows through the crowd to an open seat. Her motion, smooth and calculated, is less as a matter of stealth and more a habit of not drawing attention and the wide berth granted the dwarf is convenient for not stumbling into a drunk or two.
these folk look jovial. perhaps they can lighten my mood... what was that about a horse? don't interrupt, but don't miss your window
The mare outside says this should open a seat for me among you.
She tosses a wineskin on the table with just enough force that a few drops of the pungent white liquid inside (Kumis) is forced through the cork stopper. She curtsies, wrapping the excess of her cloth belt about her forearms in lieu of a skirt to lift.
Did he say your name was Windom? I am called n'Devere. Not as easy on the tongue I know, but with practice.
She wink's at him and takes a seat. Dressed for travel, she carries no weapons. Her 5'7, 120lbs. fit nicely in the the chair but she doesn't relax. As she reaches for her wineskin to pour a finger or two to any interested, the keenly aware can notice the her fingertips still red with the pigment she used to dye her hair. Even harder to spot is her ears until a careless laugh tucks her hair behind them. Golden cuffs wrap the scars where the points of her half-elven ears were removed and each is artfully decorated with the red/orange/yellow of a flame.
Excuse me.
She blushes slightly as she hides her shame in her shortly cut hair again.
Windom stands to greet the new guest, bowing to the lady gentleman like.
Yes Windom. Practice it I shall, n'Davera, n'Devere, n'Devere. Your excuse is no good here, you did nothing wrong.
Windom gives the elf a smile and nod to grant her confidence.
Who is your escort? If I may be so bold to ask. Should you require one I or my friend Drasven would be more than happy to protect your honor and escort you. I would love to try some of your beverage miss. Was the horse outside you speak of generous giving you a full wineskin to make friends.
Another smile letting you know you are welcome.
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Party relationship history (there was a name change):
Windom= (Drasven) friend of a friend + (Cassandra) hunting buddies
Drasven= (Windom) friend of a friend + (Zavar) reputation alone
Cassandra (Windom) hunting buddies + (Zavar) former enemies
Zavar= (Drasven) reputation alone + (Cassandra) former enemies
N'devere=unknown stranger
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The Laughing Demon sits overlooking the small river on the eastern bank. It's warm and cozy inside; the head waitress immediately fawns over the lot of you. "Oh, poor dears....you must be so thirsty. Oh! You're here for the funeral.......let me go get Zokar!"
She brings out something called 'wolfballs', 'corpse chowder' and mulled wine all around; "don't be put off by the name......uh, Zokar has a....certain sense of humor.....vampire steaks....haha..."
A few minutes later a strapping middleaged man comes in to the place and speaks in a deep (Russian) accent. "Welcome, friends......welcome to the Laughing Demon!" He seems to be trying to check a certain natural ebullience in honor of this sober occasion.
"I am Zokar, and this is my establishment. I understand you all had to travel a great distance to our humble town of Ravengro. Make sure to eat as much as you like, on the house, for I too was a friend of the Professor's....and when you're ready, I'll have my son lead you to the Restlands. Now unless you need anything, my friends, I should be getting to the Restlands for the funeral myself..."
Again standing to greet a new face and shake his hand.
Thank you sir, if the reputation of the food is as good as I have heard that will be quite a treat. It is good to know more of the professor's friends; as a friend of the professor you are a friend to me without question.
Windom will wait for the conversation to end before he sits down.
Drasven gives a nod towards the half elf and coughs slightly at Windom's introduction.
"Hail and well met. I'm afraid I will not be able to take up any new contracts for any escort duties as I'm technicall still on retainer services until discharged. My Apologies for that."
At Zokar's words however, the dwarf is silent before speaking up.
"I thank you for your hospitality Zokar, I'll have some ale to sweeten the throat and to toast a common friend we have, the late Professor himself."
So saying he waits for his drinks before, toasting a friend in silent memory.
Windom, where are you from? As we have previously known each other, and hunting together, I am trying to make my back story coincide with yours.
Cassandra is planning on arriving to Ustalav from the south (through Lastwall).
Thoughts?
I do not know much about CC or Ustalav. When I wrote his backstory I picked Kavapesta, growing up in the country area around it.
Just think where and why would we be hunting buddies. What are we hunting; boar, fox, quale, rabbit, undead, or deer.
For my side, if someone offered to Windom a chance to go hunting he would jump at the opportunity, he would find this pastime exciting and refreshing.
Windom is secretive of his past, you would know he is a cleric of sorts for the church of pharasma and he is widowed (still wears his wedding band).
I would suggest keeping the professor out of this relationship, it should not all revolve around him. Maybe an inter-faith fundraiser... LOL. If you are from Kavapesta too we would have flexability with this. Also the DM could rule it be another past time to replace hunting; I think the point is to be an acquaintance not friends. Maybe the two of us cleared out a small undead tomb together.
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to Windom as she pours him a drink from her wineskin:
Kendra's missive took me by such surprise I regretfully did not secure one... until now. Consider the Kumis the start of your compensation.
so many... his kindness touched so many. Her eyes gloss over as tears begin to betray the smile on her face.
n'Devere turns to Drasven--still pouring--and her voice takes on the tone of a little girl imitating her father's scolding.
She sips of the Kumis and puts it away before reaching to the mulled wine with both hands so she may use one to waft the scent.
As for Saffron, the mare, she has always been so giving. When I told her I had to go say good bye to Petros, she nearly knocked me over offering a shoulder for comfort.
n'Devere then uses the raising of the goblet of wine to mask the motion of wiping tears from her face.
Still teaching, yet already gone. I think I remember the lesson. Let not who you are be the product of what you are.
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Also the DM could rule it be another past time to replace hunting; I think the point is to be an acquaintance not friends. Maybe the two of us cleared out a small undead tomb together.
Acquainted and not grew up together. Undead hunting is very popular in Ustalav. Long history of it. Pharasma churches keep meticulous records and hire additional clerics when short handed. Cassandra, Windom contacted you for a job but it turned out to be a rumor or false information. You were pen pals regarding undead activity looking for additional clues.
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Without a word a thin, dusky complected man casually walks through the tavern door, pushes back his hood and eyes the room cooly. Various tools and gadgets, a small crossbow and a rune covered book hang from his belt. He is dressed more for utility than fashion, but the embellishments on he blue robes betray his Kelish roots. After all, whats the good in adventuring if you can't look good doing it?
Interesting group...
With a slight grin, he strolls confidently across the room and takes a seat in the corner, summoning the barmaid.
Taking out severl worn documents from his pack, he begins to thumb through them.
Drasven grins at the adroit reply from N'devere Lvvais.
"You speak well the language of my people. I don't suppose the professor taught you?"
As Zavar walks in, the dwarf forehead frowns slightly as the creases deepen.
I know that one from somewhere, Don't I?
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Also, your ex-boyfriend is back and your gonna be in trouble. He's been gone for such a long time. (Hey-la-day-la your ex-boyfriend's back) Now he's back and things'll be fine.
Dresven, the Kelish man does fit the description of a very intelligent lore seeker that the Professor spoke of on occasion as they shared this common interest. The two of you have never met.
Zavar, the barmaid rushes to bring you mulled wine and grounded lamb's meat shaped into spheres with a honey glaze, also known as Wolfballs.
Cassandra enters the tavern, a looks around briefly. She quietly takes a seat in the far corner to survey the people gathered here within. She surveys the crowd, and one surveys a group of strangers for the first time, attempting to ascertain who might be a potential ally, and who might be a potential enemy.
After about ten minutes or so, she rises and approaches her old ally, Windom.
"It has been some time Windom. It is good to see you well in this time. Your travels have been well since last we hunted together?"
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Party relationship history (there was a name change):
Windom= (Drasven) friend of a friend + (Cassandra) hunting buddies
Drasven= (Windom) friend of a friend + (Zavar) reputation alone
Cassandra (Windom) hunting buddies + (Zavar) former enemies
Zavar= (Drasven) reputation alone + (Cassandra) former enemies
N'devere=unknown stranger
Please determine the nature of Cassandra and Zavar's relationship. It doesn't have to be romantic. How were you former enemies?
Raising and bowing.
Why yes I have been well. How have you been Casandra? It has been too long. Everyone this is an old friend of mine Cassandra, also a friend of the professor's.
Windom will go around the table introducing all the people to Cassandra.
Please sit with us, we were to eat then attend the funeral.
Windom will pull the seat out for the lady being true to his gentileman's nature.
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The sun-baked loreseeker eyes the friendly dwarf with interest.
Surely I would remember someone of your...stature. What do they call you?
Zavar continues fiddling with his papers and reaches for the goblet.
I must say, the wolfballs look quite tasty. He says with a wry smile.
He pauses for a moment to eye the young female cleric with a hint of familiarity and a slight gleam of antici......pation in his eyes before taking a mouthfull of wolfballs.
Well...look who we have here
Thank you Windom. Thank you indeed. It is nice to see you ......
Cassandra's voice tails off as she sees Zavar seated in the corner.
Well, I had not expected to see YOU here. Try not to choke on those wolfballs.
Pardon my lack of attention Windom. Thank you for the seat.
Cassandra takes a seat, and orders a glass of wine.
Master Dwarf, what did you say your name was?
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Zavar gives a sly wink to the dwarf as he begins to speak. With a slight grin he says to Cassandra:
Come now, love, you're not still angry about that little incident are you? I said I was sorry.
He cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow.
Or did I? he says, more to himself than to anyone else.
Shrugging, he takes another long drink from his goblet.
I am NOT your love. Try as you might.
Cassandra turns to Windom
Suddenly I'm not very hungry. Perhaps you can escort me to my room?
Turn the dwarf
Good evening to you Master Dwarf. Hopefully I will feel better in the morning. This trip has drained me.
Nodding at the half elf. He says it in common, his voice somehow bouncing of the walls.
"He taught you well. Nothing less to be expected from one such as him."
Looking on in amusement at the next two who seemed to know each other judging by their banter. He interjects his name within.
"Hail and well met. I am Drasven Hammers, on retainer to the late Professor and here to discharge my last duties to one such as him."
Seeing the woman looking to avoid the man. Drasven attempts to guide teh conversation.
"Perhaps the trip is draining but being in our company should revitalise you. gesturing to Windom or at least he would. Come join us here at this table since we're all here for the same thing. Surely you can put aside your respective aminosity just for this moment.?"
I would agree with my friend Drasven. Sir,
Addressing the man that has not shared his name.
this is a table of friends, old and new. If you come to insult my friend, you will be asked to leave.
Facing Cassandra
Cassandra please suffer your angst against this man for a short while, we are heading to the funeral within the hour. But if you insist to retire I will be more than happy to escort you.
Back to the nameless man.
I would insist on your name sir, and your agreement on a peaceful stay at the table.
Windom's voice does become a little stern on the last part of the sentence.
His name is .... Zavar, Cassandra says as if the word itself causes her pain and he dabbles in strange things that go boom in the night.
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Zavar glances around at the others and, rising to his feet, begins to speak.
Yes, I am called Zavar, seeker of that which does not wish to be found, and there really is no need for such a fuss. Cassandra and I simply had a... misunderstanding.
He smiles wryly and takes a sip of wine.
As for the rest of you, well met I'm sure. I think you will find that, like so much crypt moss, I will grow on you.
With a nod and a wink in nDevere's direction, he takes his seat at the table and rummages through his pack and draws out a small wooden box.
Anyone for a game of cards?, he says with a smile.
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Zokar's son, Pevrin, leads you to the gates of The Restlands after all of you have finished dining, groomed, dressed and briefly acquainted.
Why in all the small dead end places in all of Ustalav did your late friend, Professor Petros Lorrimor, chose Ravengro as the place to retire to? As you passed through the little town you were eyed with suspicion and sometimes terror, but at least you learned of The Restlands (as the local cemetery is called) and that you were just in time for the burial of the Professor.
Now you stand before the gates (in a light drizzle) watching the progression coming up the small hill towards you. But you do not stand alone, there are others there (obliviously not locals - just like yourself - by their gear and demeanor), standing silently and watching the small group of people who march along before a small cart pulled by a fat plow horse.
The woman in the lead is very young and can not be Professor Lorrimor's wife. You remember him talking of her fondly in the past tense those few times he did speak of her.
Kendra is a tall, slim human female of some 25 summers. Her eyes are red and puffy and is dressed in dark, conservative clothes - a floor-length dark red dress. Her dark hair is uncovered, tied up in a bun atop her head. Trim and attractive, she greets you all as you arrive with a mixture of curiosity, sadness, and relief - for, as she says, no one else has come to pay their respects to her father, and "with
things the way they are in town these days," very few folks from Ravengro have come out for the funeral either.
When she looks up at the gates an sees all of you standing before them she stops the others and walks ahead of the group alone.
She gives each of you a curious glance and then recognition dawns on here face. "It is you," she says huskily, her voice a little sore from crying and the rain. "It is all of you. You have come after all."
She notices your perplexed looks and then introduces herself. "I am Kendra Lorrimor. Professor Lorrimor is..." she looks away very sad. "The Professor was my father. You all must be the friends he spoke of. Please to meet you um..."
She waves off questions for now, promising you that after her father is buried and you all return to her house, she'll answer any questions you have — both about her father's death and about his will.
"And as for why he asked for you, specifically, to be invited, I know not. It was just a list of those who were to be summoned. Perhaps his will shall make it clear. Councilman Vashian Hearthmount will preside over the reading of the will after we are done here."
She gestures round the few people standing by the gate. "These good folks have come to honor my father. They are Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman Gharen Muricar, the tavernkeeper Zokar Elkarid and his son Pevrin, and finally Jominda Fallenbridge, the apothecary and one of my father's good friends."
The people indicated nod solomnly but do not speak.
"The custom here is that the deceased is borne through the graveyard by his friends on his last journey, to the burial site where the priest awaits him. I see one you is ready to accept the pallbearer's burden, I thank you... perhaps a few more? The custom is four to six..."
Zokar Elkarid the tavernkeeper steps forwards at once to stand beside the simple casket. Although the professor could afford luxury, he often cloaked himself with humility. Anyone else wish to help?
Drasven needs no prompting as he immediately steps forward and assumes a place beside the casket.
"I do no more than to honor a friend."
I also step forward to be a pallbearer.
Cassandra wipes a tear from her eye, and solemnly steps forward, one hand straying towards her symbol of Sarenrae.
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You carry the professor north along the Dreamwake, then turn right on the Eversleep. And that is when you notice them. A silent mob, about 30 men...more than a posse anyway. They wield stones and pitchforks and stand silently in the dark, no torches. They do not appear to intend to let you pass!!!
An elderly but wiry fellow, looks like he has seen military service in his time, steps forwards out of the group barring your way. "That's far enough," he says. "We been talking, and we don't want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain't goin' in the ground here!"
At the front of your little procession, Kendra stiffens and steps forward. "What are you talking about?" she cries out, her sadness turning to anger. "I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He's waiting for us! The grave's already been..."
"You don't get it, woman," the old man interrupts, meeting her anger with fury of his own.
He seems about to say more, does anyone wish to interject a comment?
Drasven under the weight of the casket asks his own question.
"What's going on here and why won't you let his remains be buried here? Do explain yourself."
Turning to Kendra, Drasven indicates the man.
"Let him speak Kendra, being fresh to this town we won't know what's going on."
Gentlemen, do you even know what a necromancer is? Truly is? It is a man black of heart that leaves villainry and disdain in his wake. A necromancer is a blight, wreaking havoc and ruining lives in his passing. I ask you what do you see here? Let me tell you, a parade of good folk this man has helped over the years, he has treated many sick, fought many denizens of darkness most mortal men could not begin to fathom. He has fought necromancers, destroying their attempts of foul sorcery. I applaud your actions to keep your burial soil free of such an abomination, I would do the same if this was my home also. But I will tell you now you are grossly misinformed and this man has never held ill will toward any man, and was a saint to many. If I must throw credentials out to quench the flame of your anger I am a practicing Pharasmite, a representative of the church. The professor has been nothing but an aid to our religion, do not forbid his body rest because of bad information and misguided old wives tails.
Need some help please.