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  #1  
Old Aug 28th, 2017, 08:21 PM
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To the CallHill:Chapter 6-Free Leilon! (Bluejack)

Orcus Triumphant in Leilon
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Thundaga surveyed the land around Sten CallHill. In only 12 months they had done so much work. Adrik had settled into a regular rhythm with the Rockseekers detailed from Phandalin. The wooden palisades had turned to stone walls. Towers had grown. A small sculpture of Akaenary had traveled with Edynn from the Vale and now sat in the Inner Bailey. The Sten had been made habitable, and the booming village around the castle had become harder and herder to control due to all the refugees.

Thundaga had a difficult balance to maintain. Edynn had to carry warning from the Druid Circle to the Thane. Don't despoil the land or one time allies would become foes. Kadaran and Raackma had remained staunch, with Coin serving as envoy. They owed their very lives to the Corkscrew Volos. Bran and Felicia (!) had provided the Tears of Horus to the village, and though times had been tough, Phandalin's spirit had seen them through. Coin reported the Festival of Lathander would once again go on as planned despite the suffering and death that had occurred around the celebration only one year before.

As for Neverwinter, well, Lord Neverember was awfully demanding for someone who sent no help during the fight against Seqana. He sent notice that he expected a tithe from the Thane, and that he considered both Phandalin and the CallHill vassals of the City State. If not for the constant pestring on the Thane's behalf by the Feylords of the Vale and the Neverwood Rangers the pressure might have become more real.

Though only recently minted, the crest of the CallHill was already a local badge of honor. Though some of the Corkscrew-Volos hated the name, the soldiers of the CallHill had taken to calling themselves C-V's. They held the saviors of Phandalin in high regard, and adventurers flocked to the town like prospectors in a gold rush. But instead of gold they sought treasure and adventure. The C-V's had started with the Depth of the CallHill.

'The Depths' as the Soldiers of the CallHill had been a bit more thorny a problem despite Gyl's constant recruiting of raiding parties. How the heroes had survived the legions of enemies underground was nothing short of a miracle. For a short time the undead had stayed disorganized, but then after a month or two their uncoordinated attacks had gained purpose and direction. Orcus had reasserted his control, somehow. A war of Cragmaws and undead occurred below int he bones of the Sten. Though the C-V's were winning, the going was slow and difficult. At some point the decision makers would have to figure out how to shut off these undead and Cragmaws at the source.

And what were the sources? One was certainly the newly inspired Cragmaws from the northeast. While previously bugbears and the occasional ogre was a part of their troops, now there were ogres and hill giants. The giants in fact were harassing Neverwinter in numbers never seen before. The undead were fueled by Leilon, the foremost necropolis of the Sword Coast. Reports from The Heroes of the House (one couldn't complain about strange party names when you were called the C-V's) were that Leilon was a Phandalin without the Tears of Horus. Phandalin had patrols of the Order of Torm under Kadaran's command constantly battling undead minions from the necropolis to the west. Coin had told Adrik, Gyl and Thundaga that while they held their own for now, the undead were spectres and ghosts, not just skeletons and a few zombies. Something would need to be done.

Bran and Felisha knew that it was the Book of Kod Falish that held some answers. They had returned to Tymora's library under the Sleeping Giant, even after Grumveldt had come to claim the establishment as the Irregulars headquarters. With Grumveldt's help they had filtered through the vast volumes, finding clues where they may. Grum even found information on Felisha's 'condition.' An awakened undead, a revenant. Gyl had shown up once or twice with information as well, including an ancient scroll from Neverwinter about the Demon Lord Orcus.
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To the Callhill 5E: Baldur's Gate (DM), Dragon Heist (DM), Giants and Beyond (PC) Out of the Abyss (PC), DotMM (PC), To the Depths of Hel (PC), The Dark Citadel (PC) , SKT (PC); PF2:Age of Ashes (PC). Oath of Sangus.

Last edited by Bluejack; Sep 14th, 2017 at 12:48 PM.
  #2  
Old Sep 14th, 2017, 12:46 PM
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The Braintrust
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The scroll was the tale of an ancient set of gods, the Mulhorani from Helipolis. Set and Horus were great foes in this tale, and Set eventually sought the help from an extremely powerful demon lord, Orcus. Orcus was the master of undead. Ghouls owed their very existence to this foul fiend. With Orcus' help, the great empire of Mulhorand had been completely consumed with death by the Water of Orcus.

Isis, the sister of Horus, evenetually found a cure. But the recipe for the Water of Orcus still existed within his book. The Book of Undeath. The Book was a thinking thing, with the essence of a tanar'ri locked inside the pages. The Book had existed for eons in the Abyss, where Orcus and his minions added to the necromantic lore.
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Bran, Grum, Felisha and Gyl looked at the Book of Kod Falish. "Surely, not this? You said he was but a sot!" yelled Grum. Was this the Book of Orcus? The dead cats had thought so realized Bran. In the next few days they contemplated the Book when word came from the Thane of the CallHill. Come forward to the CallHill came a whisper in the wind, The Corkscrew-Volos are needed yet again.
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To the Callhill 5E: Baldur's Gate (DM), Dragon Heist (DM), Giants and Beyond (PC) Out of the Abyss (PC), DotMM (PC), To the Depths of Hel (PC), The Dark Citadel (PC) , SKT (PC); PF2:Age of Ashes (PC). Oath of Sangus.

Last edited by Bluejack; Sep 14th, 2017 at 08:09 PM. Reason: Tabar'ri and other such creatures have no souls, as revealed in the book "The Gossamer Plains"
  #3  
Old Sep 14th, 2017, 07:55 PM
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Mulhorand, a nation dying.
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A great many years before the Water of Orcus caused any suffering throughout Faerun, the nation known as Mulhorand had been dealt a deathblow. The spellplague had ravaged the foreign nation, causing death and destruction among-st the poor, and the wealthy. The young, and the old. The good, and the evil. The mortal, and the immortal.

With a nation decimated, the empire of High Imaskar came to comprise Mulhorand's former territories. But this was not the end of the Mulhorandi, for throughout the continent, survivors kept hope alive, remembering the culture and rich history of the ancient nation. Over the years,
survivors, and their descendants began to gather, and slowly reformed their lost nation. It was rumored by some that the Gods themselves had guided the people together, while other rumors spoke of the ancient Leshay being the masterminds behind the nations revival.

No one knew the truth of the matter, but what WAS known, was that an ancient being from Thanatos,
the 113th layer of the abyss. was extending his reach in the prime material plain, and spreading pain and suffering. The weak perished, and became fodder for the ancient demon's growing army. He was known as the Lord of the Undead. the Prince of the Undead, the Prince of Undeath and the Blood Lord. But the ancient being was known with another name, one feared throughout Faerun.

Orcus.

The remnants of the reviving nation of Mulhorand became a necropolis of death. Orcus's ally, the God Set, was pleased by what he witnessed from his throne in Heliopolis. He had failed in the sword coast, he had failed due to the interference of mere mortals and their measly Gods. But while one God failed his task, the Demon Lord succeeded in destroying Set's follower's homeland of Mulhorand.

Horus-Re, Isis, and the rest of the Mulhorand pantheon watched in dismay as their own followers perished, the innocents tormented and enslaved. It was the end of a culture, the end of a people, the death of a nation. Not even the conquering empire of High Imaskar could do anything to stop it. The Waters of Orcus had succeeded, in a land sadly missing the of so important and powerful Tears of Horus.


A God's walk
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Horus-Ra walked the streets of what was once Skuld, the capital of Mulhorand. The God of Light walked in the form of one of his earthly avatar's, in the guise of the shadow-monk Akanaery, who had died to create the Tears of Horus in the sword coast. His eyes were dark, and withdrawn. The sights broke the God's spirits. The undead roaming the streets did not see the God, but one and all felt innate fear, and blindly ran away from the God's presence.

The innocent had one and all been turned unto a horde of undead flesh. His people, gone, one and all. The loss of life among-st his faith left a gaping hole in his inner self, a hole he could not easily refill. But it was not the loss of power that hurt the God the most, it was the loss of life, of light, of warmth. The Gods that served under him would likely feel the loss as deeply as he did. Each and every God, except Set.

Horus-Re gritted his teeth, knowing that the accursed Set must be so very, very pleased.

Shaken to his core, the God of Light faded away, returning to his own throne in Heliopolis, with thoughts of waging war against his brother in their shared divine realm burning in his mind.
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Last edited by Dakkon; Sep 14th, 2017 at 07:56 PM.
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Old Sep 14th, 2017, 10:39 PM
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Felisha Elisin
It had been months since her return to this realm, to this existence. Months spend in a secret library, studying it's hidden knowledge. Months of secrecy, and skulking about at night. She had died, and every villager in Phandalin had known about it. The Corkscrew-Volos had lost three members in it's early days, two women dead, and a male dragonborn leaving the area on a journey of self discovery. Felisha's grave, and that of her late friend could still be found in the graveyard, Both women had been corrupted by the Book of Kod Falish, though in far different ways. One, never able to be revived again, and the other, turned into a mindless zombie.

Now that she had returned to the land of the living, she did not want to waste a moment explaining the how and why of her return. She did not fully understand it herself. Oh, she now knew what she was, a revenant, but she doubted most people would understand. The undead were evil, or so this part of the world believed since Thay's attempted invasion. So in her mind, if he populace learned of her return, it could prove problematic.

But after months of studying with Bran and Gyl, she knew that she could no longer remain in hiding. With the little they had learned, they all knew that they needed to act soon, lest all of the work the Corkscrew-Volos had accomplished be turned to waste. So Felisha decided to fully return to the world, to see Adrik after so very long, and to meet the rest of the group. Bran and Gyl had told her much about the lovely druidess, Edynn. And about the mighty Orin Ironfist, and of the clever Welby. And of course, she would have to meet their leader, Thane Thundaga Stormchaser.

The Thane, and Raackman had supplied her with new clothes, and new gear. She missed her mother's quarterstaff, but had replaced the weapon with a pair of wickedly sharp daggers. She wore a light blue dress with a black leather vest. She wore long black boots that almost ran up to her knees. A cord hung around her neck, and it held a small signal whistle between her cold breasts. They had buried her with it, a prize from another life. She remembered when she had bought it, it had brought her much joy. Lastly, she wore a stylish had she had received personally from Raackma. The hat held a clever enchantment that allowed her to alter her appearance, to enable her to look more alive.

Taking a deep breath, more out of habit than need, Felisha took firm hold of her will, and pushed herself out of the Irregular's headquarters, and into the sunlight. The Irregulars had a vague idea as to who she was, but most were not native of Phandalin, and did not know her when she had been alive. They simply knew her as the sorceress who had been studying in the library for several long months.

As she stepped out into the open, she smiled at the sight of sunlight. The warmth from above did little to warm her body, but it definitely warmed her soul. The village looked so very different during the day than it did at night. It was full of life, people working, children playing, animals roaming. It was a good sight, one she wished to preserve. She would help the Corkscrew-Volos, if they would have her. She would help them save these people once again, and those of Neverwinter, and the Vale, and the others throughout the land. She laced pale fingers behind her back, and headed forth, hoping the town would accept her, as it had a year before.

Bran had accepted her back whole heartedly, once he had gotten past the initial shock. She only hoped her dear Adrik did the same. She wondered if Bran had told him about her return, or if the priest had kept it as a surprise. She had expressed the desire to be kept a secret, she had faith that Bran had respected her wishes.

Felisha Elisin
 


 

 


 

 

 

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Last edited by Dakkon; Sep 15th, 2017 at 03:45 PM.
  #5  
Old Sep 17th, 2017, 04:23 PM
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Mending Broken Hearts
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Having spent a large portion of her time assisting in what would be a long and arduous task of ‘healing’ of both land and people. People not only required physical healing, but too they required aid in getting onto the path of healing the wounds of the heart and soul. They had suffered great tragedy that would leave them scarred both externally and internally. Fully aware of how such wounds can set some if not guided in a positive manner unto a path of darkness, the druidess wanted to do for them what they fey of the Vale had done for her. The halfelf could have easily taken the darker path, the pain unbearable, the pain easily fueled hatred. Thanks to those who had taken her in, she was led back to the light. Knowing it was a process, even if she could not remain, the woman could at least start them on the more positive path. Thus, she devoted much of her time to the people. Also, in that time she too had too, to find a way to once more not lose her own way due to another great loss. To not fall victim to the seething anger and hate fueling the desire for vengeance.

Edynn had for whatever reasons found herself missing the monk far more than she could have dreamed. Their time together very short yet in that brief time he had make a deep mark on her heart and soul. If asked to put it into words, the woman would have been at an utter loss. She had not the words to describe it. It had all been foreign to her and time had been far too short to fully explore and understand the feelings that he had introduced to her heart and soul. Now she would never know exactly what it had been. However, that did not soften the blow of his untimely demise. As it was in part the yearning of his presence that, that now would be forever rather than a stint of time. How does reconcile that? To that very day she still had not found a way to do that very thing with the loss of her first family. Even if their time was brief she knew in her heart of hearts he’d be most unhappy with her dwelling on the matter, but even that could not ease the pain of the loss.

Once the statue was brought and settled in its permanent residence. Edynn began an evening ritual of spending time in its presence. Often conversing with the stone replica. She had not lost her mind, it was something she found to be comforting. He had been so easy to talk to. There was never any judgement in his presence regardless the conversation. So, she in turn continued those talks beneath the glorious light of Selune.

Of course, it was not Akaneary alone that had Edynn in a terrible funk from within. Piotry’s death too had had an enormous impact on the woman. Loss for her was exponential and compounded by her past. That and her huge overt sensitivity made it quite difficult to get past any and every loss. It was a different kind of loss, but a painful one nonetheless! The man had too been in their company only briefly and she had spent even less time with the Piotry. However, they had, had a ‘moment’ and for Edynn, life was all about those ‘moments’. The woman made certain he too was honored for his sacrifice as well.



Reunited and it feels so 'complicated'...When the call came for the Volo’s to reunite the druidess was both frightened, because of the prospect of losing more friends. Yet quite excited in reuniting with her companions of whom she grown very fond of. So it was very conflicting emotions. To have friends meant the risk of losing them, the challenge with opening up ones heart or in her case the challenge of being around others.

Packing up what little she had in her possession, Edynn Druidess of the Vale, reported to the Thane, eager to know what path they would journey together this time.


 
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Last edited by LdyZamara; Sep 17th, 2017 at 06:19 PM.
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Old Sep 18th, 2017, 03:30 AM
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Bran rolled over onto his back and let himself sink into the soft feather mattress. A smile of contentment swept over his face as he lay with his hands behind his head, staring dreamily up at the wooden ceiling. Breena emerged from the covers and rested her head on his shoulder, tracing and invisible doodle on his chest as she smiled up at him mischievously.

”You can do that t’me again, farm boy.”

The cleric lifted his head off the pillow and looked down at her.

”Chauntea save me! There's an insatiable demon in ma’ bed an’ she's tryin’ t’ shag the life outa’ me so she is!”

The tracing finger jabbed him in the side.

”Oh, speaks the man that barges ma’ door open an’ jumps on me before i have chance t’say hello!”

Bran nodded thoughtfully before suddenly springing on her for round two…..



It was almost mid-day by the time he finally emerged from Breena’s house and headed lazily down to the green. With his armor and shield left behind, Bran actually now resembled a more typical servant of the Chaunterian faith. With his long hair, simple clothes and walking staff, one could imagine him blessing crops and leading prayers for bountiful harvests. The cleric greeted his fellow villagers warmly as he passed by, even blessing a baby that looked oddly like the innkeeper……

As he neared the temporary barracks that had been erected to house Raackma's soldiers he caught sight of Felisha. She looked so much more full of life than when he had last seen her. Bran was a one-woman man, but nevertheless her beauty was a little overwhelming. He gave her a wave and headed over.

”Ah it's a fine mornin’ fur’ sure. Is it still mornin’? Well, either way it's grand. Yur’ look….. well what I mean t’say…. er speakin’ as a friend o’course…. is yur’ very……”

His gentle and calm demeanor had wobbled a little. A rapid subject change was urgently needed.

”So, I hear ol’ Adrik Axenbeard is doin’ a fine job o’ whippin’ the Callhill into shape. I reckon that beard o'his 'll turn red again when he sees you standin' at his door so! I think some o’ Raackma's men are headin’ upto the fort, an’ Edynn too so I hear. I was thinkin’ o’ taggin along ma’self. Would yur’ care t’join a simple servant o’ the Grain Goddess on a little pilgrimage t’the Thane?”

The symbol of Chauntea around his neck was glinting in the sun from his open shirt as he offered his hand to the sorceress.


 


 
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You fool! You gave cheese to a lactose intolerant volcano god!
  #7  
Old Sep 19th, 2017, 08:10 AM
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Adrik Axenbeard
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A blackened stone. Adrik’s gemstone. A symbol of how things are oft more than they appear.

Furry orcish hands pick up the stone and begin rubbing it. Hennen sets the stone gently back upon the mantle, inside Adrik’s quarters. The teenaged half-orc had been in possession of Adrik’s Gemstone for some time now, his mother having been given the stone as a gift. From the waddling fighter his-self of course! And now, finally after some time, half-orc mother and son have made the trek from Phandalin, to the Sten, for to visit the whitebeard. Funny how time flies.

"Hmph.”

A low and familiar grunt of approval, exerted from the castellan of Sten Calhill. Ol’ Adrik Axenbeard watches young Hennen place the stone back upon the mantle. A humble display, but one that Adrik holds in much pride. His precious gemstone.

“I,” the teenaged half-orc says, shaking his head. “I…I just don’t…”

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"It’s al-r-r-r-ight,” Adrik replies with a stern look of dwarven understanding. "I’m de only one fer dat can see de stone’s true beauty. To mos’ e’er-one else, ‘tis but a blackened lump o’ coal, r’ some-such. Why, I don’ even think ol’ Bran ‘Olstram could see it when I showed it to ‘im, back when we were both but mere appr-r-rentices in de village. Nor when I gave it to ‘im, fer ta take back to yer mum. And now, even as ye bring it back ‘ere ta me during yer visit...”

Adrik pauses.

"’Tis but ‘bout time now, yer mum n’ ya comin’ ta see me, ya know.”

“I know, Adrik. Mother had been wanting to come for so long now. It’s just…well, been busy. You know how it is.”

The shield dwarf strokes his whitened beard. A beard whitened by unspeakable evil some time past. An evil that, in ways more than just his beard, has changed him. Broadened his perspective, even as a dwarf lives long and wise days.

"Yes, young one. I do know.”

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“Hennen,” calls a female voice from beyond the chamber. “Did you put the stone back on the…?”

Walking into the quarters is a lithe half-orc woman. Nerrestine, the boy’s mother. Not knowing the castellan would be returning from his rounds so quickly, Nerrestine looks awkwardly surprised to see the dwarf.

Adrik looks upon Nerrestine, with kindness in his single hazel eye. And smiles.

 
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Last edited by Geldar; Sep 20th, 2017 at 05:15 PM.
  #8  
Old Sep 26th, 2017, 07:13 PM
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Orin Ironfist - Day Seven- The Shadow Dragon
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The last year had been a bit of a blur. They had saved the Cahill from a shadowy dragon in what amounted to the weirdness series of events he would have ever imagined. In fact, if he had imagined it, he would have written it off as a keg of honey mead that he downed too quickly and had gone off and had messed up his head.

Then again, he wasn't 100% sure that isn't what happened. There was something odd about that fae wine...

Since then it had been for the most part pretty uneventful. He had a run-in with some dragon born slavers or whatever they were (it's still in progress), but the rest was....difficult to remember. He had made a few friends from his love of merriment, drink, and song. Rolf, whom he had met soon after arrival, had become his right hand man when it came to revealment, although he didn't partake in the ladies, having a wife and five children already. As he put it once, he came to Cahill to "finally get some piece and quiet!".

He wondered if he ever wanted to be married if that was the case.

The cleric of their party had become the third head of their little group, which surprised him to no end. He seemed to dive right into the drink, the merriment, and the ladies. Something involving his Grain God or something was the reason behind it he was told one night, but it wasn't too important in the end. Finding someone that enjoyed the trappings of life instead of looking down upon them. Bran....yes, that was his name. Bran, Rolf, and Orin, the terrific trio we were.

He wondered if their was a keg of mead within a fifty mile radius of Cahill after a year of us three, he thought to himself as what looked like a squire ran into the room, panting heavily as he reached the table he was at.

"Master.....Orin.....", the squire bent over, trying hard to catch his breath.

"You've got him!", roared Rolf, still a bit lit from last night. "The man, the legend, the drinking machine."

"Yes....", the squire huffed and puffed. "Master Orin, the ranks are being called."

"Well....the party had to end sometime.", Rolf sighed, a slight slur twinging his reply.

"Oh the party continues...", he replied, finishing up his mug of mead as he stood up to leave. "It just now involves more excersize.". he turned out Rolf, and held out his hand. "Come Rolf, if it's anything like last time, we could use another strong arm and skill with the blade."

With little hesitation, Rolf grabbed his arm, staying up quickly after before swaying a bit. "You have my services Sir.", he slurred. "Beats showing new pups which end of the sword they're supposed to use.", a mock shiver showing just how little he relished the alternative task.

And so they head off to the barracks, two warriors ready to fend off evil once again.

And drink the entire area dry, of course.


 


Last edited by creed; Sep 26th, 2017 at 08:02 PM.
  #9  
Old Sep 28th, 2017, 09:30 AM
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Sir Welby Tealeaf, Master of CoinHans Olo had much less use for a thane than a provisioner like Welby. The supply train for a growing castle and surrounding village in the middle of an enchanted forest was difficult to establish. But establish it he did. Opportunities for a scheming em, industrious halfling merchant were robust to say the least. The CallHill was a well positioned hub. The rangers needed armor, the CallHill needed longbows. The Happy Vale wanted cider from Phandalin, Triboar wanted silver from the mines in the Depths. In a short year Welby had five separte caravans to run, and that task occupied much more of his time than he would have liked.

He'd acquired assistants from here and there, and Adrik had built the halfling a large stone and wood caravanserai for his work. Gyl had helped him recruit and establish contracts, and the growth was too much to keep up. A young Tiefling from the Scriveners Guild had arrived in the second month after Seqana's leaving. Essential Agnefaris was young, excitable and possessed by an evil devil, but she was a wizard with books, weights and numbers. She was as sweet as some Edermath Red Cider, and as honest a creature as Hans had ever met. (She was cute to boot!).
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Gyl, Essie and Hans made a great team, and the taxes from the Thane were reasonable. The caravan master took only a tithe of the proceeds, half for the Thane and half for himself and his staff (after expenses!) and that had made him the wealthiest man in the CallHill. He had more gold than he could have imagined, and he could have imagined a lot of gold. At the same time, Hans had funds to help refugees and the CallHill build a safe haven. He helped bankroll the expeditions into the Depths, and even that had gone well for the merchant halfling. He'd funded the expedition that discovered the ancient dwarven silver mine under the CallHill.

"We have more money than we can invest, Essie!" Dawnie was Essential's magic sword. The short sword could talk and it was perpetually happy and thus, annoying. Between the sword and Agnefaris, they didn't miss anything in the books.

"We need to make a bank, Sir Tealeaf." Thundaga had knighted Welby (notably not Hans) for all of his mercantile benefit to the crown. Hans was nearby counting some silver when Essie brought up the subject. He'd long ago gotten over the deep reverberating tone of the warlock's voice. Between Dawnnie the Talking Sword, Fierna's Proxy Xignut speaking through the tiefling and Essential herself, every conversation was a conference. Hans had learned to appreciate the mutiple opinions in one body. One could not argue with results.

"If we build the First Bank of the CallHill, goods and services will boom. And we will make a lot of gold."
Essential's patron was Fierna, a Duchess of Hell, but she infrequently inhabited her vessel. She left that to Xignut, one of many devil bureaucrats to handle her scores of warlocks. He was evil and smart, but he seemed to love Essie. For her part the daft but well meaning girl kept the devil in check (mostly).

"Oh, Xig! Think of all the good we can do! Bakeries! Weavers! Tailors! Coblers! Someone found a thicket of blackberries! I love blackberry wine!" Essie clapped her hands and hopped up and down in her seat in excitement. She turned to Dawnie and then Hans, though she knew him as 'Welby.' "What a wonderful idea!"

"I agree, Sir Tealeaf. We should loan out our gold. Otherwise it just sits here." Has would have sworn the sword was reading the ledger in front of Essential. How the damn thing could read without eyes was beyond the merchant halfling. He was considering the request when a C-V came into the room. One of the younger soldiers assigned as a runner. Hans had forgotten his name, Hyde maybe?

"Sir Welby, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Thane Thundaga requests your presence. The founding C-V's are here. It is time for the council to meet." The young human was a bit nervous as he looked towards miss Agnefaris and her secretarial allure. The tiefling was oblivious, but not Dawnie.

"Eyes up, private!" chided the sword. Apparently Hyde was looking at Essie in a way the sword didn't like. The young soldier straightened like a pole and stared into a dark corner of the caravanserai office. "Yes, Sir! Er, Mam! Er, your Swordship!" The magic sword had flustered the runner. He waited on Sir Welby Tealeaf, Master of Coin.



OOC
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Last edited by Bluejack; Sep 28th, 2017 at 09:32 AM.
  #10  
Old Sep 28th, 2017, 06:16 PM
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Hans Olo aka Welby
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Welby's greatest skill was perhaps his ability to spot the cons and the cheats. Not that he could tell who was lying, but he knew the tricks and could ferret them out. And such people received a visit and given a choice, much as Coin had given him: go straight, or get out. Find a nice proper big city, like Neverwinter, with proper set of rich folk who could support a few honest leaches of their ill gotten gain.

Hans sat at his desk: a desk, who would have thought? Those first two months, that was exciting. Leading mercenaries into the forest to clear the monstrous raiders, convincing merchants to put Calhill in their routes, spreading news of Thundaga's new domain. But business was business, and business was good and profitable. Just a lot more work and less fun than the simple swindles.

Essential was certainly essential. A warlock accountant with a magic sword made short work of the numbers. All those columns, all that order, it was changing the halfling. Not that he really thought of the gold as his, but joining a community and gaining status within it, these seemingly simple choices profoundly changed his outlook.

About month 5, Welby came clean with Thundaga and Gyl, and he recounted his story with Coin. You see, with refugees also came a criminal element. Someone had to run a thieves guild, and it would be better if those someones were Gyl and Mr. Olo, a rotund swarthy halfling who could never be found unless he found you. Gyl and Welby made it work. Sure, there was some talk mingled with relief when several known ne'er-do-wells were found outside the walls being scavenged by the wildlife. It was whispered: no robbing refugees or the poor. The rich, like the Corkscrew Volos, seemed to be fair game, albeit very dangerous game. Just like Welby had promised Thundaga. Honest thieving, just another tax and cost of doing business. Poor Orin and Rolf, if only they knew only part of their gold was being spent on drink.

As a bonus, when large work teams were needed, it seemed many of the refugees would turn out to lend a hand. And the captain of the town guard found regular "donations" in his office, Mr. Olo's portion of the the guild tithe, which helped to keep the guard well feed, equipped, and honest. That, and the occasional guard found naked and hog-tied, with a note about his indiscretions.

Welby contemplated his empire, visible and invisible. His child army of urchins, spies, and pickpockets, led by Splint (Welby) and his juvenile lieutenant Marksie. His thieves guild led by Gyl, Mr. Olo and their lieutenant Mr. Grimes. And his legitimate business, run by Welby and his accountant Essential. If only I were an elf who only needed four hours of sleep a night!"

He sat at his desk, listening to calls for a bank. "Well, naturally I agree with the premise, but ,"

"...It is time for the council to meet." No, it's Bride. Maybe McBride? Bride McBride?

"Young private Bride," and Welby paused to see the reaction, "Tell your superiors I will arrive shortly."

Welby got his cloak. "I will raise the issue of the bank with Lord Stormchaser. It is an excellent idea. We will need someone to run it, who can ferret out the cheats from the honest folk."

Welby left his office and walked to meeting, taking his usual stealthy ways, the better to eavesdrop on the unwary. An empire of information and meetings. This council better be short. I've got my rounds to make. But Hans knew, at some point the town would be too big for him to manage, and he would have to choose, his old life or his new.

OOC Welby is now NG, from CG.
Bluejack, if this is too much, I can roll it back / tone it down.
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  #11  
Old Sep 28th, 2017, 09:40 PM
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Heavy is the Head
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Thundaga
Thane Thundaga sat on her makeshift throne. Nothing seemed quite as firm and appropriate as the Throne of the Sten in the caverns under the CallHill. True to it's name, Thundaga had been called to lead, called to defend, called to beat back the dead. She rested poorly some nights, dreaming of a rotten faced jester, a city of undead ogres and giants, the dark opponents below the Sten. There was no end to the responsibility. Ridding the Neverwood of Seqana and the dhaer from the Vale had been only one small step in their journey.

Thank the gods for Adrik, Gyl and Hans. She had neither the inclination or the ability to run a village-***-city on her own. Adrik had taken to the building and fortifications with great fervor, and with the favor of the Rockseeker Clan for saving Phandalin, the building never seemed to stop. Once the Sten was fortified, Adrik's ambitions moved outward to the safety of the village that grew daily around the Sten. The outer wall would take about two years to build, and already the refugee camps from the undead scourge, the Triboar Orcs and the resurgent Cragmaws had swollen their ranks. Adrik had to learn other new skills to keep those folks safe and occupied. Idle hands are Asmodeas' workshop as they said.

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Gylfreth
Gyl sat nearby in a luxurious chair brought in from Neverwinter. His papers and books littered the alcove next to the Thane's throne just behind the chair, affectionately named the Singer's Sofa. Gyl had become more and more adept at intelligence over the year. He schemed and kibitzed with Coin, Raackma, Felisha, and Grumveldt as they unraveled the lore of Orcus and Kod Falish. Their network meshed with Phandalin's growing by the month into a viable information network.

"You should take the offer, Thunderer. A position in the Lord's Alliance is not to be refused lightly. Quill did not sponsor you at risk to his reputation for nothing. You need to agree. The Book is just the beginning. The root is in the Mere, then in the Abyss." Gyl had spent a good deal of time with the Thane. He knew her moods, and right now she was glum.

"They will do naught to fight off the dead from Leilon. Raackma said there weren't just skellies an' zombies. There be ghosts an' wights now. We need to take tha fight to Orcus now." Thundaga had learned much more than she wanted to know about the Demon Prince of the Undead in the last few months. His power made the Shadow Dragon seem timid by comparison. "But you be right, sweet Gyl, I must say yes. Draft the letter for Neverember."

Bradley the Steward came in then, quietly to not stir up one of the Thane's moods. Initially the man from Waterdeep had a difficult start with the Thunderer, but he'd been professional and learned to serve his mistress well. The man was dressed in the Sten's uniform, and he rang a small handbell twice. "Thane Thundaga, the C-V's are all here." Thundaga grunted assent as the companions that had driven Seqana from the land appeared.


OOCPlease have your C-V make an entrance and bring whatever lore you like into the game. E.g. Bran and Felisha learned the Book of Kod Falish is the Book of Orcus, the Demon Prince of the Undead. Multiple party members have heard bad things about Leilon etc.
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Last edited by Bluejack; Sep 28th, 2017 at 09:46 PM.
  #12  
Old Sep 29th, 2017, 06:39 PM
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Hans Olo aka Welby
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Welby Tealeaf was standing by Thundaga and Gyl as the other companions entered the room. Welby Tealeaf looked old, well positively mid-aged. Still quite fit, he had a decidedly haggard look, especially around the eyes.

"... and with the nearly 5000 taken in this month so far, that's nearly 15,000 gold just sitting around not doing anything for the realm. Please either come fetch it, or Essential suggested creating a Bank here in Calhill. But I'm not sure who has the local knowledge or business sense to run it."

"Oh, Gyl, the lads report a pair brothers, refugees, preying on other refugees. Maybe Mr. Grimes..." and he sees Orin, nursing his perpetual hangover, in the room. "Or maybe..."

"Orin,"
Welby booms, quite loudly for a little man. Orin winces slightly. "How goes the militia sword training?" Welby asks more quietly. "Need a couple of stout lads with too much time on their hands, so they fill it mugging the orphans for bread? If you could convince them to join the militia, it would be quite a load off my mind. I'd use the 'food, shelter, gold' arguments rather than 'duty to hearth and home'."

Welby's face darkens with sadness and regret. "Of course, if you can't, then we may need to make another set of examples."

Welby made the rounds, even initiating the hug with Edynn. "I really need to come stay with you in the country. Take a break from all this. Breath fresh air and all, not that the air's bad here, but ... I could use a bit of a change."

"Adrik, that ale you wanted should arrive tomorrow, and that special metal, the, the, well blast it, I'm not a metalsmith, that should be here next week. It's a heavy load and slow going." He turns to Thundaga. "Will we have the full load of ore to go back with them? If not, we may need to send some of that gold."

"Bran, the shrine items you ordered should be in from Neverwinter by the end of the week. Unless things get worse on the coast?" and again, Welby turns to Thundaga and Gyl.

"Oh, in happy news, Piotry's widow is allowing courting again. She's a right proper lady of Phandalin and all. Invested his portion of the treasure in some land, and she has a proper green thumb. She kept the Agate and made a pretty pendant of it. She even showed it to me when we last had tea."

Welby finally slouches at the table in exhaustion, after all the greetings and news are shared.

OOC
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  #13  
Old Sep 29th, 2017, 07:34 PM
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Felisha Elisin Walking into the inner chambers of the Sten Callhill, Felisha felt a deep sickness in her stomach, a feeling that should have been impossible for one with a condition such as hers. This was a safe place, reclaimed by some of her friends, rebuilt by them, and manned by goodly people of the land. From Neverwinter to Waterdeep, people had traveled to visit this place, and quite a few had signed on to stay and maintain the ancient castle. A safe place, yet she felt nervous, afraid, and a part of her wanted to run away and hide once again in the library in Phandalin. But she had come here for a reason, to help the Corkscrew-Volos, to represent her Goddess as her chosen agent in this foreign land. Walking through it's halls, so absorbed in the strange sensation in the pit of her stomach she was forgetting to breathe. Not that she needed to do so, but it helped to maintain appearances.

Before arriving at this place, she had traveled with her dear friend Bran, travelling the many miles between the newly rebuilt fortification, and Phandalin. The priest of Chauntea had told her about Adrik, and the work he performed in this place. He was now known as Castellan Adrik, and was an integral part in maintaining this place. She felt pride for her friend, and hoped that he would not react badly at seeing her again. Gyl and Bran had kept her a secret, for the most part. She hoped that Adrik would receive her with open arms, and not with fear and doubt. Thanks to her enchanted hat, she resembled the living, so unless someone flat out told Adrik about her... Condition... Things should work out fine. These people needed to believe she was one of them, one of the living, for the enemies they all faced made the good people of the realm fear the undead. She was not an enemy, she was but a victim of the Book of Orcus.

Stepping within the ante-chamber, she recognized some of the people, mostly from descriptions offered. She recognized the Thane instantly, the woman was unmistakable. The lady was a firehair, much as she was. She smiled softly, hoping such a little connection could lead to something more significant. The Thane looked like a true leader, and a mighty warrior. Felisha's eyes widened as she took a good look at the woman's weapon. It was heavily enchanted, and very powerful. The Thane must be quite remarkable for having such a magnificent weapon. The sorceress's gift also noticed something about the Thane's throne. It held power, so much power, it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Only the accursed Book of Orcus was more powerful. The throne's power was almost blinding!

Next she saw a halfling, chatting away with others in the room. By his appearance, she thought that she knew who it must be. That had to be the infamous Welby, Other than the fact that he was a member of the Corkscrew-Volos, she knew little about him. The people she had spoken to over the last year had rarely spoken of him. She knew he was important to Phandalin, and the Sten Callhill, but why she was not sure. He was a hero, but what else was he? The halfling moved with an elf's grave, and a warrior's confidence. He was clearly a dangerous man, but he was also Bran's friend. She would have to make his acquaintance sometime soon.

She saw Gyl up ahead, and offered the bard a warm smile. He had been the first to discover her since her return to the land of the living, and had befriended her over the last year. Together, with Bran, they had made a study of everything in that ancient library. Hours upon hours spent pouring over books, some delivered from Neverwinter, and some from Waterdeep. It had been good times spent together, with the bard helping her grow into a worthy scholar. The man had treated her like a woman, and not like some undead freak. She liked him a great deal. Not as much as Bran, she secretly loved the man, but was fond of Gyl a great deal none-the-less.

Walking across the room, she presented herself to the Thane, and bowed deep,y one hand raising her dress sightly in a curtsy, while her other hand held the magical hat resting upon her red hair. "Greetings, Thane Thundaga." Felisha said formally to the woman. Felisha had recently gotten hold of a book from Waterdeep, from the library of Blackstaff tower, and had learned a great deal from it. She had some theories she wanted to share with the Thane, and her Corkscrew-Volos. She was not one of them, but she hoped, with her studies, and the occasional divine knowledge gained from her Goddess, she could be of value to them.
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  #14  
Old Sep 30th, 2017, 06:17 PM
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Back in the saddle...
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The druidess spent the earlier part of the year on a short stint with Bran organizing the beginnings of the relief efforts across Phandalin and nearby lands. The two learned they could reach more people and do more good were they to part ways to tend to varying needs of the people and land. Quite grief stricken as the losses during the war were her first since childhood she found it quite difficult to move forward. Edynn busied herself with the efforts to heal the land and man. Though she worked the half elf in truth was pushing herself farther and farther away from any real ‘connections’. Perhaps it was just that excuse that pulled her from her friend’s company so early in their venture rather than true need? The work provided great excuses for not remaining in any one place for very long again further avoiding creating any new connections. Eventually she made her way back to the Vale as it needed aide too, but that was not the earnest reason for her return. No, it was the very place that had provided her sanctuary so many years ago when she had suffered a greater loss.

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Those closest to her, her second family, could easily see what their overtly sensitive Dhalia was attempting and were quick to assist with gently forcing her once more out of the proverbial nest. One could not hide from their fear lest they be lost to it. To isolate themselves for fear of loss would leave one eternally alone and they knew very well that was not a fate she was intended for. It would be no different than stealing the sun from the lovely Islander Dhalia, it would be fated to wither and die. She would be no different. The ailing world needed her compassion her warmth, her ‘light’. The war may have ended their region. However, there would always be darkness in the world and thus the world would always require light to maintain a peaceful balance.

The woman made the attempt before but she was younger, to hide away, but she was no more a child, it was time to grow up and learn better to deal with loss. Not that they were not sympathetic of course, that was not the case at all. But just like falling off a horse if you do not quickly return to the saddle there was a good chance you never would. Edynn had had a year it was time to get back on the proverbial horse.


A Stop Along the WayOf course, she had returned to visit the statue prior to heading back to where lives end and now life began anew. It was both a boon and blessing, that statue, it was for his honor and he would forever be remembered for his sacrifice, but too would it forever be a reminder of his passing.



The ReturnIt was not that she did not keep abreast of her companions works while apart. After all, where did the eyes and ears of the druids not reach? If there were flora and fauna present so where they. She did not greet them with her usual overbearing affectionate hugs, but instead approached with great reservation, mingling among them with quiet common courtesies. However, just surrounded by their familiar presence something unknowingly, had already began to stir within the druidess soul.

left-aligned image
A shadow still loomed heavily over her delicate features. Edynn moved to linger nearby as everyone was reacquainting themselves, that was until ‘her’ Welby busted through them like a tiny twister!

His self-initiated hug did more for the mourning half elf than any words could have over the past year. It was the first real reminder of what was still present, what had not been lost, rather than the constant reminders of the losses. She easily returned the hug and smiled the first genuine smile that had graced her face in a year. Of course, her Welby had always been something special. At that moment she was once more reminded just how special. Of course, forever blind to the full extent of his business expansions, the talks of more dubious things went right over her head. Or more what she heard was how successful he had become and it sounded much like his entrepreneurial ventures were beyond successful and scaling far wider than he could have imagined. Unfamiliar with ‘business’ in most every aspect she chalked up most of it to what occurred ‘naturally’ in those sorts of ventures.


When he mentioned the need for a vacation and venturing to the Vale for a break,” It would be an honor to have one of self-made success to visit. You say when and I will be there to escort you myself personally. ‘My’ dearest Welby, you are a much needed breath of fresh air.” Still holding onto that warmth of the spark lit within her suddenly. Oh, she still considered him ‘hers’ that much had not changed.

This, this was what her ailing heart and soul needed to get on the mend. The sudden loss of Akaneary and Piotry, coupled with a sudden separation of everyone, had left the druidess in an awful state of despair. It was like losing them all one by one the losses compounding one atop the other. Of course the others remained among the living but the sudden separation, out of sight but not out of mind, still fed fearful notions of no return. So soon after the loss of their friends, the separation, had had a terrible impact upon the overtly sensitive woman with severe separation anxieties even as an adult. This reunion was very much needed to begin the mend of the woman's broken spirit!

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Old Oct 1st, 2017, 10:53 PM
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Orin Ironfist - Day Seven- The Shadow Dragon
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The walk to the main keep that the Thane of Cahill resided seemed to be miles away, he contemplated to himself. The sun wasn't helping his headache, a troubling issue that he had noticed over the months become more and more common. Originally, he had thought that it was just too much bad drink, but as time progressed, that theory became less and less believable. Perhaps he needed to see a healer of skill once this business in the Phanledian was over with? It would at least remove this nagging suspicion of his of a darker reason for the strange occurrence.

He took a swig from his skin as they slowly made their way through the crowd. It was near midday, and the streets were full of the common people coming and going. The population had grown since the day they had emerged from the shadow dragon's lair, bringing with them commerce, chatter, and coin. Pheasants from the countryside, refugees from Leilion and Neverwinter, and others that were without a home, they had landed here to help rebuild, be it the Sten, or their lives. Some days it felt like all of Faerum was now within these walls by the press of the throng.

And of the members of his crew, they seem to know him well. It wasn't surprising, he thought to himself as he greeted yet another townsmen. He had attempted to inject some revelry to the Sten after their arrival, and from what he had seen, it worked and then some. Like the parting of storm clouds to let in the sun's rays, it seem to inject life into the town. There were now three pubs in the Sten, and another possibly hinted at. One named the Paladin's Brew. He always got a bit of a smile out of that, and it hinted that his presence here wasn't just to be the town drunk, but to be a bit of an inspiration to the people.

'And in the end, isn't that what Lillira's teaching commanded their followers to bring to the world?', he thought as they marched along.

Some children came up behind him and tapped his armour with a light bong. He turned, pretending to swipe his sword as they ran away giggling. It seemed to have become a thing here since he arrived. Children did it at play, and adults would tap it either in greeting or in affirmation, as if they were tapping the relics of a saint. It was strange, but he didn't mind too much. He took great pride in the armour that the fey had bestowed on him, keeping it polished almost to a mirror shine. He had even come to wear a cape on cool sunny days to keep the blinding reflection under control after a few requests.

"The way this lot greets you you'd swear you were the Thane of this castle", Rolf stated cheerfully. He laughed at the absurdity of him being the Lord of Cahill, his ambitions far from being the uptight ruler that their former leader Thunganda had come across as since taking the job. He couldn't really recall when he met Rolf, but it seemed that they had become almost inseparable. He knew that Rolf hailed from the mining town of Mirabar, and had once been a part of the army they had there, but how it came to be that he ended up hundreds of miles south of the Northern Lands he never heard. Then again, he never asked, figuring if Rolf ever wanted to talk about his past, he'd do so on his own accord. He found that Piority and Rolf were pretty different people, Rolf having more of a northern's disposition about life. He was more outspoken, and didn't possess as sarcastic of a tongue as Piority, but he was skilled with both blade and battle. He could drink with the best of them, although he had been schooled by the much younger Orin more then once.

"Had you heard from any of your former quest mates? Other then Bran of course!", he asked with a hint of curiosity. Like many, Rolf had been regaled by the tales of their travels, and of the various happenings along the way. He got the impression that Rolf hadn't done any adventuring, or if he had it was both long ago and quite mundane in comparison. Either that or he just loved a good story.

"Not very.", he replied. "In fact, outside of Bran, I had heard very little of their goings on. Which is a bit odd, but they are busy with their various duties and such." In truth, he was quite out of the loop when it came to his former quest mates. Their brilliant leader, Thunganda, had been given the title of Thane, the seat of power for Sten Cahill, and the responsibility of making it an effective bulwark against the encroaching night. Judging from the quality of the walls and the guards that he had met and Rolf had trained, she had been mildly successful. 'Better at administration then group naming at least', he thought to himself. Bran had told them what his travels had led him during their multiple meetings and frivolity, so there was no mystery there. He did not know what had happened to Adrik, or the Elf....Elena he believed her name was. The latter he had assumed would have returned to the sylvan glades to which was her home, but the former he had no clue, although he doubted that he was being idle.

"I believe that halfing that was a part of your company, was he not?", Rolf continued, opening the large oaken doors to the Great Hall, the large metal hinges squeaked loudly for what was new construction.

left-aligned image


"Yes, and he's been quite busy I've heard. Running a decent little business and earning a knighthood of all things.", he replied. the sneaky little scamp did know how to find gold from dirt apparently, who knew that the man that was almost constantly underfoot had a useful skill after all.

"Indeed", Rolf replied, his mood darkening slightly. "I was talking with some of the fellows on the wall, and some odd events have been happening since your lot showed up. We caught one or two thieves that hinted that an organized network may exist in the Sten. Also finding suspected criminals in the forest left for the animals to finish off what someone started. For the most part, it's helping keep the criminal population under control, but that it exists at all is a problem."

"Are you insinuating that it would be Welby at the root of it?", he paused mid drink. He always did a bit shifty, but he'd proven himself in battle. To even hint of such a charge would be pretty scandalous. And dangerous, considering his friends.

"Far from it.", Rolf replied. "More that the timing seemed a bit suspect, and there are rumours that there is a connection with the arrival of the CV's.". He took a swig of his ale, slightly wincing at the taste. "Druids aren't known for actions like that, and from what you've told me about her, doesn't seem to be the type. Same for Adrik, whose been quite visible around the Cahill to be running something like that. Bran wasn't here for most of the year, taking care of Phadalain. So that just leaves the Thane, the halfling...", he paused as a smile crossed his face. "And you."

A loud laugh emanated from both of their mouths. "Oh yes, you've got me. I've been leading a double life this whole time!.", he continued his laughing fit for a while, trying to catch his breath.

"Hey you never know!", Rolf kidded before becoming a bit serious again. "But you get how such a rumour can come about. Especially if it truly was your party's halfman. He has the ear of the Thane, a knighthood to act as a shield against all but the strongest allegations, and being in touch of a lot of the business that is carried on in Cahill? He'd truly have an excellent position if so."

"Indeed", he replied, taking another sip of his mead. If such a thing was true....he didn't even want to contenplate such a thing. He never truly trusted him, and had found him to be a bit abrasive more then once, but he hadn't sensed that he could organize such a network. It seemed a stretch. And yep, it'd be a logical setup. Could all of this have happened all under his nose? Could his connection with Lillira be fading?

A foreboding though indeed.

"Like I said though, it's just a rumour, and no-one I know has any hard evidence to level such a charge against anyone. Not that it would matter if there was.", Rolf sighed as they reached a table in the Great Hall, sitting down as two mugs of mead magically appeared. The waiting staff here knew them well, and mead was always ready when they arrived at the Great Hall, for the few times they visited. "The Thane is not one that would give honours such as knighthood lightly to anyone, and from what I had heard, your relationship with the Thane is....not as strong as it would need to be to levy such charges."

"Fortunate for him.", he replied, taking a deep swallow of mead as he watched people file into the Hall. A subtle murmuring echoed off the walls, the crowd sensing something important is coming, but the uncertainty of it had the air of the room tense. He found it was even affecting his mood, the mead not taking the edge off, as it something unwelcomed was in the air...

"Orin!", a small voice yelled over the dim.

'Speaking of unwelcomed', he thought to himself as he involuntarily winced at the realization of what was the source of the voice.

The little man came right up beside him, standing at eye level with him, and being much closer then he cared for people to be. "How goes the militia sword training?", the halfling asked loudly, not aware that it was Rolf that was charge of that task, as he saw Rolf bristle at the mistake. Whether through ignorance or malice, it was a poor way to introduce himself.

Then again, the fake small talk hinted at something else. Always playing an angle he was.

The little man then leaned in even further, almost whispering so only they could here. "Need a couple of stout lads with too much time on their hands, so they fill it mugging the orphans for bread? If you could convince them to join the militia, it would be quite a load off my mind. I'd use the 'food, shelter, gold' arguments rather than 'duty to hearth and home'."

"Oh I'm sure you're doing this out of the goodness of your little heart.", Rolf sneered. He had learned he didn't hate Welby....more he had no respect for the silly games he liked to play. 'Can't say I really blame him', he thought to himself. Subtlety, he attempted to use the powers that Lillira had bestowed upon him to see if Welby had begun to drift, but nothing was seen.

If the halfling heard Rolf's barb, he paid it no mind. His features darkened, his expression one of sadness and regret. "Of course, if you can't, then we may need to make another set of examples."

His senses snapped awake, as if he had been struck by a bolt. 'We?', he thought to himself. 'Who is we....by the Gods, could Rolfs rumour have some teeth?!'

"Like the examples found in the forest, Welby?", he replied, his expression darkened, his eyes turning a shade of black as he looked into Welby's eyes as if he was trying to drill through them with his stare. "Remember not to stare too long at the abyss. You may find that you become what you are trying to shield Cahill from.", the sound of metal gauntlets gripping the hilt of a sword could be subtlety heard. "And if that occurs....you may find yourself going for a walk in the forest with me..."

Welby flashed a slight smile at his response, but he noticed a slight quiver to the sides of mount, his hands shaking slightly. Whether through shock, fear, or rage, he was uncertain, but he knew Welby to be a man of strong convictions. It was a reaction he had not seen from him before. He hoped that the message had gotten across; keep up your little vigilantism, and you'll find yourself meeting the same fate by those given the power to enforce the law.

Welby began to leave, but quickly whispered in his ear, "Get your head and ass out of your cups, and do something to fight the abyss back. Scores of people could use your help, if you weren't just doing for yourself," the halfling whispered. He quickly turned with his hand still on his sword, but Welby was out of arm's length, smiling like a small child that thinks he's said something terribly witty before going back to gladhanding seemingly everyone in the hall with a voice that resonated off the walls more then it needed too to reach his audience.

He turned back to Rolf, who had a bit of a surprised look on his face. "That was.....interesting to put it mildly.I thought paladins were supposed to be all pure and proper and such?"

He shurged, taking another swig of mead. "Paladins are usually stone sober too Rolf.", he replied coldly. "Plus, that does highlight that the Sten does need a more organized enforcement of the law. Vigilantism is not the way."

right-aligned image


"It's been working ok so far.", Rolf replied, holding up his hand before a rebuttal could be formed. "But no, I agree that it is not the way. A sheriff and accompanying deputies are needed. It's something that needs to be suggested to the Thane."

"And ways to keep any unsavoury elements out of getting their strings in that lucrative pot.", he replied. "Legitimising the current bunch of bandits is just giving the current problem a reward.

"Yes indeed", Rolf replied, taking a long swig of his mead. "What was that bit of silliness about anyways? Whispering sweet nothings in your ear?", he continued, a slight smile crossed his face as he attempted to lighten the mood.

"Hardly". he replied. "Apparently our little man is of the opinion that I'm doing little to combat the evil spreading across this land, and being quite selfish to boot."

Rolf let out a hearty laugh at the statement. "Well we know that he's isn't the spymaster for the Thane. The little man's bravado is as misplaced as his accusations.", he replied. [

"Perhaps he mistook me for someone else. It is tough to see from such a low vantage point.", he replied, a slight smirk cross his face.

Rolf let out another roar. "Now there's the Orin we all know!", he roared as he held his sides. "Cut back on the barbs friend, my sides are already aching.", he continued as he had an expression of trying to remember something. After a few seconds, his eyes snapped open, "Also that was an interesting statement of his. 'We'? Does he always talk in the third person?", Rolf continued.

"No....no he doesn't....", he replied. He had forgotten about that slight slip of the tongue made earlier, but that was a bit illuminating. 'Why would he say We'? A slip of the tongue? Or could Rolf rumours have some fire to their smoke? "Something to remember indeed."

"Too bad neither of us have that kind of pull with the powers that be.", Rolf sighed with slight annoyance."Speaking of, did you see how he look? I swear he's aged ten years since he arrived in the Cahill!"

He smiled, downing the last of his flagon of mead. "Oh I doubt it. But yes I've noticed that as well. Although I'd say it's more stress. Look at the little whirling dervish swirl around the Hall with his introductions, as if missing one would be fatal. A bit active and high strung for a halfling. At least from what I've been told of their ways."

Rolf looked around for one of the waiters, flagging one down and pointing at his flagon with two fingers extended. "Well, at least he's not the most annoying in the Cahill. Remember that group of newbies that went down in the depths for clean out duty that were at the pub a few days back? I swear that one guy, the eyepathed one, was going to end up in the infirmary."

A hearty laugh escaped his lips at the memory. "Oh yes I remember that fool. Came in and started bragging about how he was going to clean out the Cahill single handenly, then knocked into some dwarf and made him spill the flagon of beer her had."

"And then had the audacity to say it was his fault!", Rolf roared. "That was the best bar brawl that I'd been in since I got here. Surprised that nitwit was still standing at the end of it all."

"I'm surprised I didn't end up with splinters with the amount of furniture flying around", he replied as the waiter brought them two full flagons of mead. "If that dunce doesn't get his outfit killed, I'll be surprised."

"I'll drink to that", Rolf laughed at his reply, downing a large gulp of mead. He turned to listen to the crowd, focusing on what the halfling was braying about now to anyone that was in earshot. The words Piority could be heard over the dim, the wound of the loss had become a dull ache. "Wasn't he part of your group?", Rolf asked cautiously.

"Yep.", he replied, a slightly vacant stare crossed his face. "I went to visit his widow soon after arriving at Sten and told her what happened.", he took a swig of his mead. "Would have rather faced that shadow dragon again, let me tell you."

"I can bet", Rolf replied. "She's doing pretty well nowadays. Saw her place in town, it's pretty nice. Surprised you never tried to...you know...", his face hinting at more then just tea.

"No.", he replied flatly. "That would defile Priority's memory, and just feels wrong to someone that you promised that you'd avenge their husbands death."

Rolf took another swig of his mead, the contents quickly disappearing down his throat. "Ya that would do it all right. Good thing, less competition for me!.", he replied, a smile crossing his features. "Better then that short stack at least"

He smirked at the thought. "I doubt she'd ever be that desperate.".

A sudden thump of pewter on wood made them look over to see Bran with three flagons of mead and a large loaf of that bread he kept coming up with. He didn't know what it was made of, but it like fluffy honey sliding down your throat. ”Room fur’ a small one my good Sir's?”, he exclaimed with a smile.

"By the Gods Bran, you're a mind reading magician!", roared Rolf, shaking his hand heartily. "It's good to see you again."

He shoke Brans hand once Rolf was done. "Agreed, surprised to see you in such good spirits after last night. By the Gods, that vixen you took with you, it's amazing you're still standing.", he smiled, taking a large chunk of bread. He leaned over to Bran, and whispered in his ear .

As they caught up, the sound of the room began to drop, hinting that something was forthcoming. "Looks like they're finally getting this show on the road", he stated to no-one in particular.

"About time", Rolf replied. "I swear we've been waiting so long I'm starting to become rooted to this seat."

OOC

Removed assumptions, replaced with suspicions and inuendo, nothing more.

Removed intimidation roll since it was useless.




 

Warning: rolls have been deleted from this post.

Last edited by creed; Oct 26th, 2017 at 03:36 PM.
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