RPG Crossing Home Forums Create An Account! Site Rules & Help

RPG Crossing
Go Back   RPG Crossing > Games > Dungeons & Dragons: 5e > Uncaged
twitter facebook

Notices

Closed Thread
 
Thread Tools
  #1  
Old 09-06-2019, 11:27 AM
Wynamoinen's Avatar
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen is offline
Eternal Bard
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-19-2019
RPXP: 16807
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen
Posts: 5,596
Scene 0 - Around a smoldering hearth

EarlierA few days ago, you received a letter. The envelope was sealed in wax with the symbol of a water mill, and the messenger said simply, "From Constable Vasili." Between those two bits of information, you are able to gather that the letter has come from the village of Degorod, an isolated farming village situated near a small falls on a river. Breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment, you see a short note written in an untidy hand:

Vasili's letterEsteemed hero,

I wish I was contacting you about a joyful matter, alas it’s quite serious. A local villager died recently, an old farmer named Dimitri. While he lives alone on his farm, his body was found still fresh by someone passing by. It appears that Dimitri had a stroke and proceeded to fall and drown in a water trough. While this may simply be an unfortunate event, there were some suspicious aspects to his death. I beg your assistance in the matter. If you can please meet me on the evening of September the 29th at The Flying Pestle Inn. I shall be there to meet you.

I have little to offer by way of reward, but the mystery must be solved before winter comes. Our town has suffered much, and I worry what a Season with a murderer among us will bring. I would not ask for help, if the town did not need it.

Your Friend,
Vasili

You have met Vasili before, and you have been to Degorod, but neither he nor the town are places that outsiders spend much time getting to know. Yet the need is clear. You set off for The Flying Pestle.
The presentYou reach The Flying Pestle late on the 29th. The sky is purple, streaked with flaming-red clouds. Dry leaves blow briskly by at your feet, rustling on their journey. Tall bundles of hay stand silhouetted on the horizon, looming like a silent army. Tomorrow is the Equinox, and the moon will come full in another two days.

The Flying Pestle is a tiny place, a small wayside near a speck of a hamlet, built of daub and thatch and exposed timber. But the sign hung above the door, an old woman astride a pestle, marks it as a place of rest. You enter. There can not be more than three or four rooms in the whole Inn. The room you enter is the public space. A broad hearth is built upon one wall, and the logs are already burning down to cozy embers, giving the room a warm orange glow. The room is adorned with a few rectangular tables, a few benches, and a few tatty chairs near the fire. A handful of guttering candles, plus a lantern at a short counter, are the only other lights. The room is dim yet lively. A number of people are there, and you recognize more than a few. First, a stout short bald human man rises to greet you. A tin badge on his lapel marks him as the Constable, Vasili. He comes to shake your hand.

"Welcome, welcome!" he says in a high-pitched voice. "Please, make yourself comfortable. Quarters will be arranged, and food will be ready shortly. I've told Ekatarin that I'll pay for your drinks tonight," he says in a provincial sort of grandiosity. Leaning in, he lowers his tone and adds, "but don't expect many options." Ekatarin is a thin old human woman with a long grey braid of hair. She stands behind the counter, near a small fire and kettle. It's hard to imagine that the Flying Pestle has a staff, so you guess she must be the proprietor. Speaking louder again he says, "As you can see, the others are just arriving now, too. Relax a moment, refresh yourself, and we will speak about serious matters later."

OOCAnd we're off! This session zero is a little addition to the module, which is designed for an established party. Here we're going to introduce our characters, and through RP, we're going to establish existing links and relationships between our characters. You can assume that all the characters are in the room. Through the magic of Story, you all arrive about the same time. I would like you to establish TWO things in your first post:

1) The first impression of your character. Please describe what you look like: coloration, gender signifiers, prominent things you carry and wear, height, weight, and so on. Give us an impression of your mannerisms, quirks, carriage, and so on.

2) Please establish ONE connection. Pick one of the other PCs, and greet them in the manner that is customary to you. This character you pick in your first post should be a character that yours has met and/or knows by reputation, but who you do NOT know well. You have a positive, respectful impression of them.

In subsequent posts, we are going to establish other connections, so don't go overboard with connections and greetings yet in this first post. This is inspired by the beginnings of a FATE game, or Monsterhearts, where the players collectively develop a set of interconnected backstories. I'd like to have three rounds of "connection" RP posts: this, plus two others. When we're done, I want each of you to have four types of connections:
a) someone with whom you are friendly, who is well known to you, and with whom you have good ongoing relationship,
b) someone you know positively by reputation, but do not know well (this is the one we're establishing in the first post)
c) someone you don't know at all - they are a complete unknown to you,
d) someone that you struggle to get along with - they accidentally said something unkind about you, or you had a fight, or you've heard negative rumors, or they are a long time rival, or you secretly think they're ugly, or whatever. This should NOT be a vicious hatred, or an open warfare - we want a cohesive collaborative group. I don't want to encourage bickering and backstabbing - this is a STRUGGLE to get along, not a failure to get along. A little dramatic tension makes things interesting.
Items a (good friend) and d (negative impressions) in particular should probably be determined in collaboration, with the consent of the player at the other end of the relationship. If you have an idea to connect to someone in one of those ways, I suggest you pitch your idea in the OOC thread. The negative impressions do not need to me mutually held, but the friendship probably would be. We will weave these relationships into the narrative in the next few posts. Probably the "negative" impression one will be played out in the next set of posts; those tend to be more visceral and immediate. But we'll see how discussions go.

It would be helpful if each of you made little notes in your character sheets about your connection to each character, for your own and everybody else's recollection later.
__________________
GM of Uncaged: Our Fair Maidens, a folklore-inspired D&D 5e one-shot adventure module.

Last edited by Wynamoinen; 09-16-2019 at 07:28 AM.
  #2  
Old 09-18-2019, 12:17 PM
goatmeal's Avatar
goatmeal goatmeal is offline
neighbor to the beast.
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-19-2019
RPXP: 11839
goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal
Posts: 4,448
Receiving the invitationCarew was shining the silverware when the delivery came. By hand this time instead of cheating with magic. He had thought that maybe if he put in that sort of effort perhaps it would help him feel better about serving Lord Mateescu. It wasn’t that he was a poor employer or unkind or anything, it just felt a bit empty devoting himself in this way. He had to admit he kind of missed Baldr in spite of everything else. But it was a job and he was allowed to be himself while doing it, so for that he was grateful.

He was grateful now to be able to answer the door, perhaps he’d have a chance to say something great about his liege in the process. He was quite shocked to see that the delivery was addressed to himself and not to the lord of the house.

Whoever would care to send me a letter, I wonder.

He put aside the cutlery for now and opened it with an immense sense of curiosity.

Ah yes, Constable Vasilli. I’m happy he remembers me. He was so helpful in my travel to this land, telling those servants of Thor that he hadn’t seen anyone fitting my description while I hid beneath his floorboards. I would have stayed there too, if it hadn’t been so dangerous. Perhaps it’s been long enough to try the place out again. I do owe him a favor at least. And perhaps even more…

He quickly prestidigitates the remainder of the cutlery, ascends the staircase and then knocks dutifully and obsequiously upon the door of his Lord’s study.

“Yes, Mr. Gail do you need something?”

“I wanted to let you know that everything is prepared for this evening. Unfortunately, I have some other news as well. I have matters to attend to out of town and will be needing to leave right away. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to inform you earlier, but I’ve only just become aware of them. In terms of the dinner party tonight, as in the spellmight I suggest conscripting one of the townsfolk to welcome the guests in my absence. I will only be gone as long as necessary and don’t require any pay until I return. Will that be alright with you, sir?”

“Why yes, of course. That is a splendid idea.”

Carew quickly packed his belongings in preparation for the journey: a few changes of clothes, all the scrolls and ink quills he should ever need, a few pointy bits just in case, and of course the necessary toiletries. He wore his nicest padded hoses and picadill, with his beloved doublet and a rather fancy overtunic. Ah yes, his beloved doublet. It was a nice tan color with a few fine slashes at the shoulders and was festooned with numerous gilded buttons that shone in the light. Those buttons were clever enough to turn the blade of anyone with ill motives, should it come to that.

And finally then, there was the bandore hanging there on the wall above his bed. The question wasn’t whether or not to take it with him. He would not go anywhere without it. The question was whether to take the case or to wear it openly. He’d come here specifically because he wanted to hang it openly upon the wall or sling it over his back if he were planning to play it for his master or others later in the day. But Degorod was the last place he’d been where he needed to hide it in the case. As much as he liked the feel of it against his body, this was much too important to risk it. Finally, reluctantly, he pulled the case from beneath his bed and placed the sacred instrument inside. Kissing it once upon the bridge before closing and locking the lid. Hopefully when he arrived in Degorod he would find it safe to remove afterall, but he had no guarantees…

He packed his belongings onto his trusty pony, Mr. Frodo, and bid farewell to Lord Mateescu and his staff. He promised to be back in just a few days, but deep down he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be back. It would just depend on what he found in Degorod.

---

The Flying PestleAs he arrived at the Flying Pestle, the first person to catch his eye was the walking statue.

So the stories about her are true, then?

He blushed slightly as he remembered confiding in her his frustrations with the priests of Baldr, thinking her at the time to be simply an inanimate carving that decorated the town square. It was only after this that he’d heard the stories that she was in fact alive. He only hoped that she couldn’t hear while she was immobile, or was at the very least the sort with the decorum to not repeat such tales that had been shared in confidence. Oh well, sometimes a little flattery can help with this sort of thing.

“Sylvia! It’s so nice to finally meet you, uh, in person! I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you! And already I feel so much safer here knowing there is a strong warrior like you about in case things turn unexpectedly rough for whatever reason. My name is Carew Gail, I am a humble servant of…well it seems like it’s Constable Vasilli at the moment. But we’ll see how the evening unfolds,” he said with a pleasant smile and gentle manner.

After making his introductions to the stone warrior, he stood looking about the room, his arm clutching the front of the case that was slung over his shoulder.
__________________
At Big Bad Con 10/11-10/13, posting could be slowed for foreseeable future.
He/Him/His Gaming CV here
My latest game is about roleplaying a child's lovies.
  #3  
Old 09-18-2019, 09:55 PM
Inuvash255's Avatar
Inuvash255 Inuvash255 is offline
Level 30 Commoner
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-17-2019
RPXP: 3754
Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255
Posts: 2,885
A few days prior...Boyar Pieter Turgenev's villa was a castle on a hills, but instead of walls and homes, it was surrounded by a carefully curated city of brilliant green pear trees filled with gently blushing fruits. Sasha was a guest of the boyar for a time- his unusual appearance and background made him a favorable guest to Midgardian nobility who were always seeking a new novelty. Sasha was always careful to never overstay his welcome, to practice his best courtesies, and to never tell a particular host the same story or sing them the same song twice. While he was a curious fellow, he was not an entertainer at heart- and sought the first opportunity to follow his true callings: magic, fighting, and a way back home to Alfheimr.

Sasha had stayed with the Turgenev family for three days, and on the third afternoon-becoming-evening, he found himself on a stroll with the Boyar's wife, Alyona- trailed by two guards just out of earshot. She was smitten by his tales of crystal towers, fairies, and forests- and with every tale, Sasha became more and more homesick... Such was the price of their hospitality and connections.

As they neared the villa, a boy no older than thirteen approached with a letter for Sasha. As the sun passed beneath the orchard hillsides, Sasha read the letter over once and twice. He paid the boy, bowed low to the lady of the house, and sent his regards to the boyar- then escaped to the stables.

A silvery waxing moon lit the path ahead as Sasha stole into the night- to the village of Degorod.


The Flying PestleAlmost exactly three days later, on the 29th, the youthful elf with the maple-leaf-wreathed head unhitched his faithful steed at the stables of The Flying Pestle. His hair was cut below his ears, but stubborn waves made it springy and full of life despite the frosts of winter that highlighted the tips of his auburn locks.

Despite bearing the description of "Light Elf", Sasha was quite dim- it seemed. His eyes were a earthy brown, and his skin carried a hint of dark warmth like the comfortable glow of a campfire on a cool evening. His lips were pouty and maple red, his body was lithe like a tree that's shed its summer coverings. His clothes were modest for the journey, but the saber on his belt glittered with a fading, otherworldly luster.

When he entered the Pestle, it seemed like he belonged. Of course, not in the common way- like a villager of Degorod, but as the spirit of autumnal warmth, bounty, and generosity.

"You are far too kind, Constable Vasili, far too kind," he took the man's hands in both hands and shook them graciously, then brought him in close for a familiar hug (though perhaps a touch too familiar for human folk). Sasha visited the counter, and to the old woman behind it, he asked for a glass of cider: "Please and thank you very much."


OOCWanted to write a bit more- but ran out of time. Sasha's at the tavern now, at least.
  #4  
Old 09-18-2019, 11:57 PM
Charlotte Charlotte is offline
Mature Adult Dragon
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-15-2019
RPXP: 373
Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte
Posts: 231
BeforeSylvia had always been in the village, a fixture so permanent you gave directions by her. And she had been content to simply watch, and let those of soft flesh live their lives, while she stood in mute contemplation in the Grey.

But there had been a chance in the air that had left her restless; an ill wind. Something that no one else quite saw, that she couldn't put a finger on but that still compelled her attention. Finally, a few weeks ago, her curiosity had overwhelmed her contentment, and she had moved, for the first time in ages.

People were stunned as she looked to the first passerby and said "hello." Someone impulsively thought she was a monster and threw a stick of wood at her, which did nothing but hurt her feelings. But finally, someone had listened to her request to talk to the town elders, and they had come - bringing quite the crowd of curious bystanders with them. And so, three things had been established:

1) She was, in fact, alive, and had always been;
2) Long ago she'd sworn to protect the town's founders and their descendants, and she had sensed that something might be amiss and that she might be needed, which was the reason she had awoken into a state of consciousness more analogous to their own;
3) She had a footlocker with some simple belongings that she was going to go dig up in the course of doing so, and did any of them have a shovel?

Sylvia was given a shovel, and then as the digging commenced, a polite conversation took place in which the villagers agreed that yes, it was a little bit silly that everyone was a little bothered by her state of undress now when they hadn't been before, and yes, taboos about appropriate public dress sure did change with the times, didn't they, and with that in mind, could she please wear something a little more modest than sandals?

One simple toga later, Sylvia had her gear, but still lacked purpose. And so, she found herself simply watching and observing, sometimes as still as she had been before. Filled with a need, but unable to focus it, but knowing that something in her town - that she knew all the familiar patterns off, all the rhythms and flows of - something was off.

Then, by chance, a letter came for her, from the Constable, and her path became clear. And she set out, without rest or hesitation, for the Flying Pestle Inn.


Now
left-aligned image
Sylvia had hesitated to go in, standing outside, so still she might be mistaken for a statue, albeit one that a sculptor had seen fit to attach several non-stone accessories - including a well-maintained sword and shield, a red toga with bracers, a traveller's pack, and sandals. She was deep in thought when Carew approached, and for a moment, looked as still as she'd traditionally been. But then she moved, grey eyes meeting his, and she smiled softly.

"Pleased to finally have a name to fit to your face," she said, her voice surprisingly feminine and soft; she offered her hand to shake it. Then, taking his lead, she entered, feeling more at ease with someone around.

"I hope nothing gets unexpectedly rough. My preferred battles are once that are never fought at all. But... yes. If the worst happens, I will protect you, as I've sworn to do."
  #5  
Old 09-21-2019, 01:48 AM
NorthOfOrdinary's Avatar
NorthOfOrdinary NorthOfOrdinary is offline
Adult Dragon
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 09-30-2019
RPXP: 486
NorthOfOrdinary NorthOfOrdinary NorthOfOrdinary NorthOfOrdinary NorthOfOrdinary
Posts: 106
Skadi
right-aligned image

"It would be Thor's blessing to taste battle tonight, I am Skadi chooser of the slain," A small blonde elf spoke up from across the bar, her eyes locked on the halfling as she crossed the floor to greet those whom had already gathered. A shield bearing the mark of Freyja she carried in one hand, a spear in the other, and a sword covered her back. Wearing a copper hued breastplate, leather sandals, and a red skirt she stood poised like a rooster before it crows. "I have heard many tales about yer bravery stone maiden, I pray that they are tested true. Let us not shy from a warrior's death."

Skadi motioned for the barkeep, requesting enough mugs for all as she took a seat at the table and crossed her legs. She raised her own cup full of mead with a silent toast, "To your second chance,", before taking a large sip from the vessel.

__________________
I like pumpkin spice, skating on ice, rolling dice, slaughtering my enemies, and being nice. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ No particular order.
  #6  
Old 09-21-2019, 09:43 PM
rhaiber's Avatar
rhaiber rhaiber is offline
not a fish
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-19-2019
RPXP: 5034
rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber
Posts: 2,004
Dagrún Vanadisdotr
right-aligned image
Dagrún Vanadisdotr
The heavy door of the Flying Pestle flew open colliding with the frame to produce a resounding boom. A blast of chill wind blew through the open door, carrying with it a spray of crimson leaves that appeared to dance in swirling circles upon the air before slowly settling to the floor. The last rays of the setting sun framed a bent-backed silhouette in the open doorway. Slowly, stiltedly, the shadow advanced into the room, each step punctuated by the thumping of the gnarled ashwood staff it leaned heavily upon.

”Vasili Lavr Zakharovich!” The voice that issued from the old crone as she entered was stern and shrill, not unlike the striking of steel against stone. It was the sort of voice that sends shivers down the spine. SummerSumarr, son of Svásuðr, growth of men, has just turned his back upon us and e’en now does WinterVetr, Son of Vindsvalr, snake woe, stand ready to usurp his place. ‘Twas an ill wind tha’ sped me steps here, an’ yet here I be, for ‘tis nae oft tha’ Dagrún Vanadisdotr receives a summons from a man o’ Midgard, certainly nae fer a trouble such as th’ like o’ yuirs.”

Though she was not native to Degorod, Dagrún was known to many there … by name at least. She was a wanderer of the wildways, never living within the village itself. However, whenever there was a difficult pregnancy, the Witch of the White Wood appeared to see the birth through. Whenever plague or blight came to the town, so too did Dagrún. Some were grateful for her ministrations in such times of need. Others felt that she was more to blame for these problems than she was to be thanked for relieving them. Still, for generations she had appeared in times of trouble, only to fade back into the wild afterward.

Hobbling toward the bar where the others were gathered, Dagrún approached the slender elven Valkyrie. ”Skadi, eh? I’ve heard tell o’ ye. I’ve long hoped to see if ye are as I’ve been led to believe. Come, lass, let’s have a look.”

The old withered crone leaned in far closer than the commonly accepted boundaries of personal space would generally allow, giving Skadi the opportunity to see many details that were previously masked by the deep shadows. Tendrils of shock-white hair hung limply in front of her face, like the drippings of a tallow candle, falling to either side of a long hooked nose. Her skin had a wizened bronze tone to it, riddled with deep-set crags and crevices. Flecks of spittle appeared to have gathered in the corners of her tight-lipped mouth. But there was a sharp fire still present in her pale grey eyes that seemed to peer straight through Skadi, searching for something deep within her. Squinting, she leaned in further still, as if investigating the shape of Skadi’s teeth with an unnerving scrutiny. The old hag sniffed deeply through a crooked nose that nearly brushed against Skadi’s face in the process, in a manner more like that of a hound picking up the scent of another of its kind than any typical human greeting. From this close proximity, Skadi’s own nostrils were filled with an earthy musk rising off the hides that wrapped the old beldam before her.

Finally, after a moment that seems infinitely longer due to its extreme awkwardness, the eccentric auger stepped back and, gripping the edge of the bar with one hand while clutching onto her staff in the other, slowly lowered herself onto a stool.

”Aye, so ye’ are, lass. So ye’are.” It was unclear exactly to whom she was speaking or to what she was referring, but she seemed somehow satisfied with her findings.
__________________

"He looked to the Kender for wisdom. If there was one thing she was good for, it was pearls of wisdom. Wisdom buried beneath twelve hours of stories about obscure relatives."
-Imveros
  #7  
Old 09-22-2019, 07:16 PM
Wynamoinen's Avatar
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen is offline
Eternal Bard
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-19-2019
RPXP: 16807
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen
Posts: 5,596
The Flying PestleFor the most part, Vasili greets the wanderers and heroes cordially. They are Names in the land, and are known for their prowess, however boldly or subtly they wield it. Constable Vasili does his best to be a good host, but he spends much of his time fluttering on tip-toe from one corner of the room to another. It's clear that he is more clerk than sheriff. Most authority figures inclined to maintain order by the strength of their arm have been called up north. For the first time in over a decade, the This is the common name of the people who live in the Nordic empire to the north.Ostvulk threaten to come south, and so the duke has summoned his forces. The people will mostly maintain their own order until tensions break.

Vasili only treats Sylvia and Dagrun differently from the others. Sylvia, he gives a certain deference to. She is, after all, a fixture in his town, and her sudden revivification grants this situation a certain gravity. A simple murder would not require a wonder of the gods to remedy, would it? Sylvia gets a bow and a quiet "Good evening" from the Constable, as he would greet a minor Lord. He tries to treat Dagrun with the same nervous pleasantries as the others. But a look of worry floats behind his eyes, as if he is concerned that the crone will pronounce some sort of spirit-world doom upon him. When Dagrun sizes up Freyja's harbinger, he gets even more worried and makes himself scarce.

A few minutes later, he appears again (was he hiding in a back room?), clears his throat, and speaks up, as if delivering a prepared speech. "You're all here, wonderful, wonderful. And it looks like many of you know each other. I'd expect no less. I'm grateful to be here in such esteemed presences. We are all here for a reason, but come, come! the food is ready. An empty stomach lays hollow plans. Sit, eat! Afterwards, we'll talk of more weighty matters."

He and Ekaterine pull a benches up to a table. The proprietor brings her stew-pot to the table, and brings out a few crusty loaves of bread, each as large as a wheel of cheese. Vasili breaks off a hunk of bread for himself without ceremony, but he waits for the adventurers to sit before placing himself at the table. The pot holds a hearty stew of potato, maize, parsnip, winter squash, and what smells like pork. It's a generous meal for such a humble tavern; the harvest this year must have been good.

Each adventurer looks around. Now is the time to gather together. But there are some who they'd rather sit next to, and others they'd just as well avoid. Who will they choose to break bread with?

OOCOK, well some folks are finding this format awkward. So, let's dispense with it in this wave of posts.

It's time to gather around a table together. Please make clear in your next post who your "high esteem / very friendly" connection is, and who your "struggle to get along with" connection is. Presumably most of you will want to sit next to your "friendly" connection, but maybe you want to hash something out with the "struggle" character.

We'll assume the fourth person is your "do not know" character. If you want to mention that person in this post, feel free. But it's not necessary.
__________________
GM of Uncaged: Our Fair Maidens, a folklore-inspired D&D 5e one-shot adventure module.
  #8  
Old 09-22-2019, 11:32 PM
Charlotte Charlotte is offline
Mature Adult Dragon
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-15-2019
RPXP: 373
Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte
Posts: 231
Sylvia
left-aligned image
Sylvia took a seat - or was about to, but upon hearing the painful creaking of the wood, opted to set the chair aside and half-kneel instead, in a pose that would be painful on the knees for anyone where their joints made of ligaments and bone instead of solid rock.

"If I sit, I'm quite likely to break a chair. I'll do this instead."


Sylvia clearly visibly recognized Dagrun, but decided not to say anything - it had been so long, after all. So she opted to sit next to Carew, as used to his voice as he was doubtlessly unused to his.


OOCSylvia isn't really avoiding anyone - she'll happily sit next to Dagrun, Skadi or Boyar - but if given the option, her ranked choices for seat mates would be Carew, then Dagrun/Skadi, and then Boyar.

Last edited by Charlotte; 09-22-2019 at 11:32 PM.
  #9  
Old 09-23-2019, 11:50 PM
Inuvash255's Avatar
Inuvash255 Inuvash255 is offline
Level 30 Commoner
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-17-2019
RPXP: 3754
Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255
Posts: 2,885
-Sasha closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the stew. He wandered into the center of the room, and slipped into a bench seat beside the kneeling Sylvia. Sasha gave her a pleasant nod and turned towards her. Sasha positively glowed in the inn candle-light, and his likeness reflected on the sheen of the stew-pot looked much like a cozy hearth.

"Why, if it isn't the most statuesque woman in Degorod. How have you been, Sylvia?" He peered past her, and noted Carew. He bit his lower lip briefly, and his charm failed him as he spoke, "Oh, hey... they invited you, huh?" Sasha looked between one bench and the other. His was a bit lower. The elf stood up and gave Sylvia a nod, "Here, I'll let this... er... fellow sit alongside you- and I'll find a spot on the other bench."

Sasha gave up the seat for the halfling, whom the exile simply didn't know how to interact with.

Instead, he found a seat closer to Vasili, and waved Dagrún closer, "And if it isn't Dagrún. It's been some time, hasn't it?" He grabbed a bit of the crusty bread, and frost glittered at the edges of the leaves on his crown. Sasha leaned closer to Dagrún to ask, "Hey, I don't suppose you've gotten any leads on the paths between worlds... have you?"
  #10  
Old 09-25-2019, 12:13 PM
goatmeal's Avatar
goatmeal goatmeal is offline
neighbor to the beast.
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-19-2019
RPXP: 11839
goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal
Posts: 4,448
CarewCarew was happily surprised to see Dagrun walk though the doorway. It had been with her aid that he had escaped here from the Ostvulk empire. As much as he felt he owed Vasilli, he owed her so much more. He tried to find a way to diplomatically extract himself from the conversation with Sylvia so he could go greet the crone, but before he could do so she was in conversation with the Ostvulk warrior [or so Carew presumed her to be] sitting at the bar. He clutched the case dangling from his shoulder even more fervently and became uncharacteristically quiet while considering what this conversation might portend. Dagrun had never seemed to be one to mince her words with an enemy, and yet here they were…

As they shuttled there way over to the table, Carew found himself seated near Sylvia and the beautiful elf he’d never met before. So lost in his own thoughts, Carew did not even notice the disdain the elf had for him, nor would he have been able to guess as to why if he had known about it. Dagrun was on the far end of the table, and he finally managed the courage to shout across to her as the conversation ebbed.

“Dagrun, I must thank you again for your help in traveling these lands,”
he wasn’t able to keep himself from self-consciously glancing towards Skadi as he said these words, but bravely continued on. “I feel much safer seeing you might be part of this venture as well.”
__________________
At Big Bad Con 10/11-10/13, posting could be slowed for foreseeable future.
He/Him/His Gaming CV here
My latest game is about roleplaying a child's lovies.
  #11  
Old 09-27-2019, 09:23 PM
rhaiber's Avatar
rhaiber rhaiber is offline
not a fish
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-19-2019
RPXP: 5034
rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber rhaiber
Posts: 2,004
Dagrún Vanadisdotr
right-aligned image
Dagrún Vanadisdotr
Dagrún sighed rather audibly as Constable Vasili suggested they relocate to the table. She muttered to herself, not quite loud enough to be obviously directed at anyone in particular, but certainly not quiet enough to hide it from anyone who cared to listen, ”Damnable fool. Can see perfectly well tha’ we’re already seated at the bar. Now he has to move us to a table? Moight jes’ as well ha’ told us he wanted us there in the first place, ‘stead o’ waitin’ ‘til we’d settled ourselves. ”

Grasping her gnarled ash-wood staff for support and pressing her free hand firmly against the bar, the old crone slowly rose from her seat. By the time she was standing, most of the others had already taken their seats around the table. The butt of her staff produced a rhythmic thumping upon the floor that matched the slow and labored pace with which she hobbled toward the already crowded table.

The old crone placed her bony hand gently on Sylvia’s shoulder. At first, it appeared as if she was simply using the support of the living statue to steady herself. But there was a tenderness and a familiarity in the touch that suggested something more behind it, though tempered by an acceptance that if the stone lady preferred to leave things unsaid, then the Druid would oblige.

As she her gaze passed over those already seated at the table, Dagrún caught sight of Sasha waving for her attention. Her face creased almost reflexively into a scowl, though it was hard to tell; scowling seemed to be more or less the default expression for the Witch of the White Wood. She felt a hand at her elbow gently drawing her to a seat near the Ljósálfar and chose not to fight against the pull … for now at least. As she gripped the edge of the table with her bony fingers to lower herself to her seat, the elven lad leaned in close enough for his perfumes breath to flood the old crone’s senses.

"Hey, I don't suppose you've gotten any leads on the paths between worlds... have you?"

Dagrún shook her head slowly. It was so typical of a Ljósálfar to think first of himself, even when they were gathered here for the purpose of assisting a community in crisis. It was part of the reason she had not traveled to Alfheim in so long. When the First Folk had first retreated from Midgard in the wake of the Aesir invasion, Dagrún often visited with her kin who had taken refuge in Alfheim and Vannaheim, but over time they had changed. The Folk that would become the Ljósálfar lost their connection to the land, becoming caught up in their magicks instead. Try lost their humility along with it, becoming self-absorbed, vain, and haughty. Dagrún’s journeys to Alfheim became fewer and further between. Finally, she resigned herself to the fact that the Ljósálfar were no longer the Folk she remembered.

Still, she did feel some pity for the young lad. Poor thing had no idea just how sheltered his upbringing was. Dagrún didn’t have the heart to tell him that holding a little lost lord by the hand to show him his way home was not the top of her priorities.

”Nay child. Though in times gone by I did keep chase with Ratatoskr along the branches o' the Yggdrasil, those branches ha’ shifted o’er the years, and yuir Kin be fond o’ hidin’ pathways. I fear ‘twill be some time indeed afore either of us lay eyes upon Alfheim again.”

It was at that moment that the peculiar halfling suddenly interjected himself into the conversation by shouting across the table, “Dagrun, I must thank you again for your help in traveling these lands. I feel much safer seeing you might be part of this venture as well.”

Dagrún arched one thin brow as she peered across the divide betwixt herself and Carew. The venerable druid had walked the wildways for generations. In that time she had played the role of guide to many. Sadly, it appeared that the little man had failed to make enough of a lasting impression upon the old wayfinder to make him stand out in her memory from all the others. Still, she nodded her head as if knowingly. ”Aye lad,” the aged wayfinder answered after a brief pause, ”’Tis good to see ye still live.”

__________________

"He looked to the Kender for wisdom. If there was one thing she was good for, it was pearls of wisdom. Wisdom buried beneath twelve hours of stories about obscure relatives."
-Imveros

Last edited by rhaiber; 09-27-2019 at 09:25 PM.
  #12  
Old 09-27-2019, 10:06 PM
Inuvash255's Avatar
Inuvash255 Inuvash255 is offline
Level 30 Commoner
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-17-2019
RPXP: 3754
Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255 Inuvash255
Posts: 2,885
-Sasha did not catch the woman's scowl, and if he did, he wouldn't consider it different than her usual look. She had that impatient and cantankerous air that came with old age

The young elf's hair and the crown of maple leaves continued to frost, and he laid his head in a hand, and drummed on the table with two fingers contemplatively. "Ah, yes, Ratatoskr..."

He remembered references to the divine critter in his studies, "I suppose that, unless times were dire, there would be no reason for him to come down to Midgard... and much less a place like this. Surely if he were to come here, it'd spell some sort of great tragedy, would it not? Or else- a god walking among us." He trailed off, considering where one would find that messenger spirit.

Sasha sat up and took a bit of stew, but his hunger in the moment was dampened. The thought of home had a chilling effect on his appetite. What he did eat did warm his spirits though, if only a little. To Dagrun, he expressed, "I appreciate the insight though. If you'd allow me, when this is all through, I'd like to pick your mind over where and when you'd last seen Ratatoskr." He flashed her a friendly smile, but his eyes and brows were downcast and weary of dead ends.

He slathered a roll with cut of pork-fat and a small hunk of turnip, then addressed the constable, "I hesitate to ask too soon... but curiosity gets the better of me. What is the nature of our quest here? In your letter, you described suspicious circumstances surrounding the... er... the crime." He hesitated to mention death, a drowning, or murder; what with himself and others still eating at the table.
  #13  
Old 09-27-2019, 11:21 PM
Charlotte Charlotte is offline
Mature Adult Dragon
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-15-2019
RPXP: 373
Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte
Posts: 231
Sylvia
left-aligned image
"I'm well, Sasha." Sylvia smiled at Sasha as the elf took a seat. "I hope you are as well."

Sylvia then looked to the hand that Dagrun placed on her shoulder, and nodded at the elder, respectably - or as respectably as anyone could be in half-a-crouch. "Good to see you as well."

Then, at the behest of Sasha's inquisition, Sylvia nodded, turning towards the constable - trying not to stare in the slightly off-putting, disturbingly unblinking way she was told she had. "Yes, please tell us of what we are needed for. I sense I am needed for something, but I'm not sure what."
  #14  
Old 09-28-2019, 06:02 PM
goatmeal's Avatar
goatmeal goatmeal is offline
neighbor to the beast.
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-19-2019
RPXP: 11839
goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal goatmeal
Posts: 4,448
Carew GailEveryone seemed to know of Dagrun. And many, it seemed, had benefitted from her work in one way or another. This was not surprising to Carew. What was a surprise was the way she seemed fluent in the language of the Ostvulk religion. She almost spoke as if she were part of it in a way. And though she might not remember the details now, he was certain she had been adamantly committed to the cause of his escape from them when she had provided her aid. Risking her life, in fact, on a few occasions so that he might be free. Or so it seemed anyways. He glanced across the table at the elf who had declared his own connections to this religion, and then down the table to Skadi who seemed to Carew to be the epitome of those whom he had been fleeing from. Though he certainly felt no sense of warmth towards himself from either of them, they had not done anything to hint at harming him. And he felt sure that Dagrun would not associate with them so freely if they had ill will towards him. Perhaps there were more complexities in the Ostvulk religion than he had thought when he ran for his life from them all those years ago. He did not feel comfortable enough yet to open his instrument case, but his grip on it softened a little bit. Still, he only picked at his food a little bit, as the entrees seemed to bring forth unpleasant memories of things that had befallen the friends of his youth.

As talk turned to the meaning for the gathering, Carew added his voice as well. “Yes, Vasilli. Please share with us the trouble that has plagued your town. I must say that I feel I owe you a favor, my friend, after the help that you provided to me in my own travels. Anything I can do for you now would be but a small portion of the repayment for what you’ve already done for me.”
__________________
At Big Bad Con 10/11-10/13, posting could be slowed for foreseeable future.
He/Him/His Gaming CV here
My latest game is about roleplaying a child's lovies.
  #15  
Old 09-30-2019, 07:49 AM
Wynamoinen's Avatar
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen is offline
Eternal Bard
 
Tools
User Statistics
Last Visit: 10-19-2019
RPXP: 16807
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen Wynamoinen
Posts: 5,596
Common room of the Flying PestleThe gathered group feeds itself as preference (and the presence of functioning biology) dictates. The stew is simple, but delicious. Ingredients do not come much fresher. No matter how far afield the adventurers have traveled, it is hard to deny the pleasure of the harvest season.

right-aligned image
While the food is being eaten, Vasili keeps himself to pleasantries. He chats about the meaningless trivia of Degorod, and for those of you that he knows, he inquires about how the intervening years have treated you. One person asks about the mission, but the issue passes without reply. Then another asks, and another. Vasili rushes to finish his stew by sopping up huge amounts of liquid with the dense bread. The adventurers will not be put off, but he reuses to discuss the matter before the meal is complete. Slopping broth onto the table and into his lap with the dripping bread, the coughs as he tries to eat the last bit.

Looking embarrassed as he wipes his chin with a worn linen napkin, he says "My, but you are a focused group. I suppose one does not reach your positions without drive." Dabbing away a growing stain on his shirt, he continues. "Very well. Let's see... You have read my letter." Of course you have. An old man has died, downed in his own trough. But there was something suspicious about it.

"I need help. I think I was Constable last time any of you passed through. But I have not been for a few years now. I retired to my garden and my pipe." He looks shocked, at the mention, to find his hands empty. He rummages though his satchel, producing a pipe and its herb. After a few puffs near a candle flame, he smokes away, the haze adding to the close feeling of the dimly-lit room. "With most of our warriors off to the North, they asked me to re-take the duties. An interim Constable as it were. I'm out of practice: rusty, and slower than I used to be.

"But I still remember the lessons of the job. The scene at old Dmitri's house was suspicious indeed. It's odd enough to be drowned in your own horse water. He was left there, bent over the trough, where I found him. I inspected the body. One strange thing: I found fresh clay on his shoes. This type of clay is found at the river bank. Dimitri lives an hour away from the river, how was it fresh? He was by the river, but appearances say he drowned on his own property? Odd."
He puffs a few times at his short horn pipe, allowing the gathered group to consider these facts. Theburning cherry glows red before his nose. "And right by those muddy feet, even stranger: a few strands of long red hair were wrapped around his ankle, which was bruised all around."

"He was an old man, perhaps 10 or 15 years my elder. Out on the edge of town, he mostly kept to himself. Lonely. Married long ago, but he was widowed soon after, and never found another wife. Kept to himself. I'd be inclined to think it suicide, or a bad fall. But the mud, and those hairs..."

"You're welcome to look at his farm, of course, if you'd like, but I'll tell you now there's not much to see there. I've looked it over many times. I saw no evidence of monster, or magic. What I really need help with is getting this resolved fast. By myself, with my other duties, I could ask around and it would take me weeks. But I don't think we have weeks. Winter is coming. If there is a murderer about, we need them found quickly. If it's a freak accident, the village needs to know they're safe, before the snows seal us in for the season."


His head is now wreathed in swirling grey haze. He looks around the group. "The Harvest Festival begins around sundown tomorrow. If you want a chance to find anyone and everyone in town, that's the time and place to do it. No one will miss it. Drink might loosen some lips. All of you together can gather a lot of information quickly at an event like that. Folk will be all about before then; hard to find. I'll be helping with the set-up myself. My garden has done well this year," he adds with a self-satisfied smile, "and I'm no mean cook."
__________________
GM of Uncaged: Our Fair Maidens, a folklore-inspired D&D 5e one-shot adventure module.
Closed Thread

Thread Tools

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off



All times are GMT -4. The time now is 11:56 PM.
Skin by Birched, making use of original art by paiute.(© 2009-2012)


RPG Crossing, Copyright ©2003 - 2019, RPG Crossing Inc; powered by vBulletin, Copyright ©2000 - 2019, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd. Template-Modifications by TMB