[Game Thread] Welcome to Thornwall

[Master of Monsters]

Crisp clear notes warbles from the songbirds, scattered across the many trees scattered about the town of Thornwall, bringing a sense of peace to the hearts of the citizens. All seems to be well in the for the sake of this game, Thornwall is located halfway between Yartar and Everlund and is wedged south of The Evermoors and north of The High Forest.caravan town, as sweaty farm hands wipe their brow with the backside of their arms as the warm spring sun beats down on them. The weather had just broken a few days prior and while the nights still get chilly the days are confortable as the sense of life renewed fills the air.

 

I could go about describing all 140 or so locations, or I could force you together, but I prefer not to. In the Thornwall information thread is a list of locations in Thornwall. Pick one, and make a post indicating you are heading there, or something of the sort. Assume you all have arrived at some point during the last three days. I will have much more fluff in my replies.

 

I am sorry if you expected a more grand introduction, but I did not want to spend a year on fluff, and I figured getting into the game would be better

Also, I know my spelling and grammar is horrid, so I ask you to forgive me in advance

[danab]

Hat in hand Khagra trudged up to the step of the Mayor's house. The soreness of traveling and camping along the Evermoor Way still clung to him. A wagon or horse would've served better, but he had no clue what was going to be waiting for him here. Better to get the extra gear at home than to be unprepared. Most of it rested at the tavern, except for the bit in his grip. A letter, its envelope stained and slightly crumpled, occupied one hand while the other didn't exactly beat down the door. "Hello?" he bellowed, his fist shaking the wood.

[Mrjoegangles]

The wagon wheels on the gravel road creaked before finally coming to a stop. “Grease needed, apply to axle before wear compromises wheel.” Breathing in deeply, Jonathan no longer smelled fresh, clean smells of the open road. Instead he got his first hint of civilization. A smell of people, of animals, of too many souls stuffed too closely together.
His calloused hands grabbed the rough splintery wood of the wagon and pulled Balefinn to his feet, once again on solid ground. If his face had been more visible, hidden as it was in his deep cowl, the wagon driver would have seen his passenger wince. Slowly recovering as his remaining senses were overwhelmed by the sounds, smells, and feel of the town proper. “My thanks to you citizen, you have made a long, difficult journey bareable.” Pulling a coin from his gold pouch, Balefinn hefted the weight and thumbed the face minted on the side, confirming the denomination. “Now if you could point me toward the magistrate, you would have my thanks again.”
The young Justicar took to memorizing the directions given, head tilted away from the stench of old booze, ”Rye mash, high proof, and a hint of lemon. A Fruerson’s, and clearly not their best batch.” Directions given and business concluded Balefinn nods to the old man and slings his gear over his broad shoulders. “Okay then,” he whispers to the bustling town before him, ”What do you have in store for me?”

[Zazaq]

Akrus wandered through the crowded market in a bit of a haze, not a bad one, he just felt like he needed to think but it was difficult so overcome with emotion. An unusual cocktail of emotions, anger, pride, joy, disappointment, uncertainty... disappointment definitely bared the strongest flavor. Pride was a close second, he was brimming with pride at having completed his first job as a mercenary, he had more coin in his pocket then he had seen in one spot since leaving his home. The brightly dressed little gnome had paid him and the others extremely generously to walk next to his cart from Kuwa to here. Disappointment because that was all he got paid to do, not a sniff of trouble, not a thing to kill or fight or even frighten the entire journey!

The little gnome had laughed when he made that complaint. 'Oh escorts rarely see trouble, see we hire'em cause we'd be slaughtered by bandy's if we didn, but cause we do bandy's can't do ****!' he had said. He laughed, and the other guards laughed with him, laughed at Akrus. It was infuriating, but he restrained himself. One of those fools said he'd been a caravan guard for two decades, and nobody knew who the hell he was, he wasn't famous or admired or anything. So the young chieftan at least knew now that this kind of work wouldn't cut it. He'd never build a name doing crap jobs like that, even if it did leave his purse bulging. So much so he still found himself idly considering the last thing the purple garbed little half man had said. 'Meet me at the gate, 6 days time if ya wan more work!'

He heard music. Breaking from his thoughts and looking to his left, he saw a tavern, and his stomach positively roared. He thought of lamb chops, of decent wine, fresh fruit, hell what he wouldn't give even for some decent soup! After years of living with a former cook he'd tasted nothing but jerky and stale bread for almost a week, somehow he blocked out how much he missed real food. His arm burst through the swinging door, and he ignored the crash of it against the wall as he strolled over towards the bar. Ignoring anyone and everyone as he took his seat and a deep breath. Pinching one of the many gold coins he now possessed in two fingers as he cropped his elbow onto the bar. Staring at the shiny coin in his hand, knowing he had literally hundreds more, pride won out.

[Alphaeus]

The Doctor "Oh goodness no, Ma'am, there is a vast difference between a sprained shoulder and a broken one. Your child is fine. Keep my wrappings on there for five days so that he can't move his arm. On the sixth day cut it loose and let him be about his normal affairs. These minor sprains need rest but in a child they are best healed simply by putting the joint back to work. It will be stiff, but he will be back to normal soon...and perhaps a bit wiser." His words were spoken in a slow, soothing fashion as he meticulously packed his healer's kit back into his pack, shouldering it as he turned to the woman. She murmured a quick thank you as she moved to her boy's side, fussing over the wound like a flustered chicken. A middle-aged man rose from a nearby rocking chair, extending a hand. "Looks like a good job to me. Thank you for coming on such short notice...the little lady can't stand injuries in the house, though after raising two other sons you'd think she'd have learned by now." Tavryn chuckled, shifting his shoulders slightly so that his pack was slung over one side, leaving his right hand free. He took the offered grip before giving a slight shrug. "Mothers will be mothers, Mr. Idleride. Your wife promised me some excellent meat pies when she chased me down in the market, so I can't say the speed of my response was won entirely by virtue of my medical oaths...a juicy liver pastie is a juicy liver pastie. The rest are safely in my pack to keep me happy for the next couple days." Mr. Idleride laughed at this, bidding the Doctor farewell as he departed from the front door. This quick side-business cared for, he kept a quick stride towards Grezen Gold's establishment. A quick glance behind him at the sundial in Thornwall Market told him that he was about to be late for the appointment he had made that morning, and broke into a casual jog, long legs carrying him along at a comfortable rate. Arriving at the Warehouses and Stables, he slowed to a walk as he saw a young man leaning heavily against the outside wall. Approaching, he pressed his hand against the worker's forehead. A touch of reproach crept into his voice. "Now, Arnold, we spoke of this in the morning. You were to stay in bed all day. Master Gold has no desire for his stable-hand to be spreading his fever to anyone else. You're on the mend, but not better. You need rest." Arnold heaved a labored breath, wiping cold sweat from his forehead, and began to raise a protest. Tavryn clipped his chin with an open palm, snapping it shut. "Not one word of protest or I'll let the alchemist treat the fever instead. Back inside you go. Since you are up, you might was well drink the water I left for you on your clothes chest before you lay down, too." Begrudgingly the patient slipped back in the stable doors, hauling himself up a ladder to his cot in the loft. Tavryn rolled his eyes a bit, himself turning to lean against the side of Gold's business. He welcomed the sunlight now, thawing his bones from the long winter. The vagaries of weather rarely bothered him like other people, and his supernaturally good looks and health suggested the reason. Still, he could feel the changes even if they didn't affect him, and the warmth of Spring was a particularly favorite time for him. His ornate white robes -- woven from bleached darkleaf -- rippled slightly in the gentle breeze. The man freshly disembarking from the wagon just past the gate caught his eye. The fellow had the look of someone who was used to gathering information himself, or at least managing it, what with the tome the fellow carried. Definitely a touch out of place for this town.

OOC The person mentioned at the end is Balefinn. Tavryn began at house 84, then headed to building 6, the Warehouse and Stables. Since these are just past the main gate, I presume that is where Balefinn would have entered.

[Sirviantis]

Ren A hooded figure stood in the doorway, clad in long grey robes hiding his features from sight. Step by step the man left the house that spewed him forth, all the while thinking on his brother's words. Make up for your past then, cleanse your name by turning the fallen to the righteous path. He was right, there was no reason to mope and lie still in a gutter hoping a gang came to be stopped. The realization moved the tiefling to remove his hood, feel the sun on his pale skin in hopes some colour might develop. Feeling his horned crown removed that resolve though, and once more he deemed it more prudent to keep his cover up. Better not to scare the children. He took back alleys to arrive at his destination, hoping to avoid as many eyes and as much scorn as possible. It didn't work, a bunch of children thought it funny to remove his hood. They shuffled back awkwardly as they saw his face, bleak and monstrous, and didn't waste the chance to run as they saw his face. Turning into the temple road it wasn't long until he reached it's namesake. A large temple compared to the rest of the town, and quite impressive. Ren stood to admire the craftsmanship involved in the large slabs of white stone for a moment. Hesitation filled his mind and moved him to a standstill. Recognizing this he remembered Oldik's words and recited them like a mantra. They formed the hammer and anvil for his newly steeled resolve. After pushing open the large wooden doors that were the temples, and silently strutted towards one of the confessional chairs in their little alcoves, hiding behind the curtains before he'd undo his cloak. Revealing a simple clad tiefling with a body sculpted for agility. He sat down and started: "I seek to redeem myself. The fires of my past forged me into the monster I was yesterday and the sinner I still am. I hope to cleanse myself of this burden, to work to shape the world in a more divine light, yet all my life I've known naught but bloodshed."

[Torack]

Muinor He walked down the steps of the tavern and sat in one of the tables in the common room, somewhere near the front half of centre, and in a position where he could get a good view of who was going in and out of the exits. A position he chose almost entirely out of habit. A hand went up to signal one of the serving maids to get him a drink. It was too damn early, he knew, but he needed to get his mind off things and a part of him wanted enjoy the quiet of the surrounding area while it lasted. This was his third day in the city so far, and he was looking to go back south or probably even north as quickly as possible. Being so close to his home wasn’t exactly something he wanted, since he was still feeling the effects of his mistake. He had no idea what the people back home were saying about him, and frankly he couldn’t care less at that moment, but he wanted to at least regain some form of honour before another elf from the High Forest noticed him. But, there he was regardless. He came as a favour for Joren Gras to find someone that owed the merchant a bit of money, and had also disappeared with some goods the merchant intended to sell. Muinor found the kid the other day in the market street trying to sell Joren’s items to some other merchant. He had a bit of a talk with the kid and sent him on his way back to Joren, threatening that somebody would find him facedown in a ditch if he saw him in the town again. Not that he meant it, but he knew how to put on a mean face and he’d left more than a few bodies face down in a ditch somewhere to know exactly how to get the boy scrambling. Just as his drink arrived, his mind now back in the present, he noticed a half-orc enter the tavern and take a seat, ignoring everyone there and keeping mostly to himself. He eyed the half-orc for a moment, mainly out of force of habit of trying to get a read on everyone new that entered a building he was in, but eventually turned back to his own drink and giving a gold coin to the serving maid asking her to get him a bit of breakfast as well. Might as well treat himself to a hot meal before some other job came his way and forced him to live off the land. Not a bad thing that, but he couldn’t deny the fact he liked a well cooked meal that didn’t taste completely bland. And although this wasn’t anywhere near gourmet, it was far better than he was used to. Muinor took a sip of his drink and mentally reminded himself that he needed to make, or at least buy more arrows. He was running a little low and because he was so used to moving out at a moment’s notice, he wanted to at least have a packed quiver before he left.

OOC Muinor saw Akrus Thrunja enter the tavern.

[Lord Loco]

Ottar the wizard Ottar walked through the gates, leading Ducky by the reins. The animal was pulling a cart, clearly under-loaded, marking the man a traveller rather than someone transporting goods to market. Exchanging pleasantries with the gatekeeper, Ottar headed to the stables. "Take good care of Ducky, undershtand?" he told a hapless stable boy. "Feed him well, I want him shtrong. There'sh an extra shilver in it for you if I'm happy with your work." No indication was made as to what, if anything, would please him. It was a good day, although it would have been better if he had known last night how close the town was. He could have spent the night in a real bed. Oh well. With his cart stored, he shouldered the backpack and stepped back outside into the sunshine. A man was lounging against the wall outside. He was so handsome Ottar considered it to border on offensive, and wore fine white robes, contrasting sharply with Ottar's own, which were simple, brown, and stained with travel. "He'll do." "Fine day, ish it not?" he said, sweeping his hat off for a short bow. "May I ashk, shir, are you local?"

OOC Ottar is addressing Tavryn. And just so it's clear, he is not slurring, he has an accent.

[Master of Monsters]

Originally Posted by danab

As Khagra approaches the mayor’s house, he notices that the dwelling of Mayor Yurgin and Martha Hayward is a pleasant, sturdy stone house with a tidy, fenced yard that occupies a secluded spot just down the hill from a rather large lodge. Flowers are taking bloom in pots sitting on the porch, and a curl of smoke rises from the chimney. The building is a solidly-built stone house and is immaculately maintained, roofed with redwood shingles set in a diamond pattern. The yard behind the house is neat and free of debris. The chickens cluck happily as they scratch in the dirt.
After a few minutes a young man answers the door with a curious look. ”Good morning, what brings you to the door of the mayor, stranger?” the man, obviously an assistant or servant, asks in a curious tone.

Originally Posted by Mrjoegangles

The wagon wheels on the gravel road creaked before finally coming to a stop. “Grease needed, apply to axle before wear compromises wheel.” Breathing in deeply, Jonathan no longer smelled fresh, clean smells of the open road. Instead he got his first hint of civilization. A smell of people, of animals, of too many souls stuffed too closely together.
His calloused hands grabbed the rough splintery wood of the wagon and pulled Balefinn to his feet, once again on solid ground. If his face had been more visible, hidden as it was in his deep cowl, the wagon driver would have seen his passenger wince. Slowly recovering as his remaining senses were overwhelmed by the sounds, smells, and feel of the town proper. “My thanks to you citizen, you have made a long, difficult journey bareable.” Pulling a coin from his gold pouch, Balefinn hefted the weight and thumbed the face minted on the side, confirming the denomination. “Now if you could point me toward the magistrate, you would have my thanks again.”
The young Justicar took to memorizing the directions given, head tilted away from the stench of old booze, ”Rye mash, high proof, and a hint of lemon. A Fruerson’s, and clearly not their best batch.” Directions given and business concluded Balefinn nods to the old man and slings his gear over his broad shoulders. “Okay then,” he whispers to the bustling town before him, ”What do you have in store for me?”

The old, rutted road winds its way up the hill from the east. Tall trees grow on either side, their branches interlocking above you to create a roof of rich, spring greens. As the gruff cart driver rounds a tight curve and heads west, he catches the first glimpse of a familiar sight: the town of Thornwall.

A solidly built stone gatehouse stands across the road. Small towers flank it on either side, and an equally well-constructed stone wall runs to the north. To the south, however, there is no wall, but a huge, tangled hedge of vines as tall as the gatehouse. The strange, thorny vines that make up the hedge are enormous, as big around as a man’s waist, and t6heir searching shoots seem to grip the edges of the gatehouse like long fingers.

Pulling his cart to a stop outside the gates of Thornwall, he allows the passenger on his cart to climb down from the cart. After a brief parting and payment, the driver flicks the reigns in his hands and starts the cart to clamor on to the west, towards Yartar.

As Balefinn approaches the gate, a fresh-faced young man who can’t be more than seventeen can be seen leaning against the gatehouse. Clad in boiled leather armor, and wielding a spear; the young man shifts slightly to wave you past with his free hand. ”Welcome to Thornwall” he greets in a disinterested tone. Above him, watching from behind a parapet on the roof of the gatehouse, is a Halfling woman wearing matching gear and wielding a small bow.

 

Everyone else at the gate, feel free to interact with each other. I do not have much to add in myself at this moment.

Originally Posted by Zazaq

Akrus wandered through the crowded market in a bit of a haze, not a bad one, he just felt like he needed to think but it was difficult so overcome with emotion. An unusual cocktail of emotions, anger, pride, joy, disappointment, uncertainty... disappointment definitely bared the strongest flavor. Pride was a close second, he was brimming with pride at having completed his first job as a mercenary, he had more coin in his pocket then he had seen in one spot since leaving his home. The brightly dressed little gnome had paid him and the others extremely generously to walk next to his cart from Kuwa to here. Disappointment because that was all he got paid to do, not a sniff of trouble, not a thing to kill or fight or even frighten the entire journey!

The little gnome had laughed when he made that complaint. 'Oh escorts rarely see trouble, see we hire'em cause we'd be slaughtered by bandy's if we didn, but cause we do bandy's can't do ****!' he had said. He laughed, and the other guards laughed with him, laughed at Akrus. It was infuriating, but he restrained himself. One of those fools said he'd been a caravan guard for two decades, and nobody knew who the hell he was, he wasn't famous or admired or anything. So the young chieftan at least knew now that this kind of work wouldn't cut it. He'd never build a name doing crap jobs like that, even if it did leave his purse bulging. So much so he still found himself idly considering the last thing the purple garbed little half man had said. 'Meet me at the gate, 6 days time if ya wan more work!'

He heard music. Breaking from his thoughts and looking to his left, he saw a tavern, and his stomach positively roared. He thought of lamb chops, of decent wine, fresh fruit, hell what he wouldn't give even for some decent soup! After years of living with a former cook he'd tasted nothing but jerky and stale bread for almost a week, somehow he blocked out how much he missed real food. His arm burst through the swinging door, and he ignored the crash of it against the wall as he strolled over towards the bar. Ignoring anyone and everyone as he took his seat and a deep breath. Pinching one of the many gold coins he now possessed in two fingers as he cropped his elbow onto the bar. Staring at the shiny coin in his hand, knowing he had literally hundreds more, pride won out.

Originally Posted by Torack

The sign hanging from a tall post out from lets you know that he has arrived at the Green Briar Tavern. It’s a fine-looking building with glass windows, wood shingles, and plastered brick walls. The walls are decorated with a patterned, painted belt of red triangles that would be only slightly out of fashion in big cities such as Waterdeep. There’s a tall barn on the east side of the property that’s connected to the tavern by a low wooden fence. The space between the two buildings forms an open yard that is rutted with the tracks of wagon wheels and marked by the prints of horses. Most of these lead to thedouble doors on the side of the barn. Carried on a breeze from the north is the mouthwatering smell of roasting meat and fresh-baked bread. It’s faint, but you can hear the sound of voices coming from inside. Meanwhile, a chicken with unusually large eyes clucks contentedly as it scratches at the earth in the yard, watching with an eerie gaze.

A short dirt track leads from the gates to the barn, while a second track leads up to the tavern. The tavern has a long porch in front with some benches and chairs on it. A second short fence connects the barn to the tavern in back. Though the gap between the buildings you see a second yard, some outbuildings and a well.

Grand murals of rolling hills, forested valleys, and serpentine rivers cover every wall of the tavern’s main room. The large room is lit by paper-paned wooden laterns hanging at intervals from the rafters, and is warmed by a huge stone fireplace that takes up most of the wall on the west side of the room. Long tables lined with benches fill the center of the room, while booths and smaller tables line the walls. The east wall is dominated by a long bar lined with stools. Mugs, bottles, and tankards are stacked high on a shelf behind the bar. There is a small stage in the northeast corner with a door beside it, and a seat with a red rope on it in the southeast corner. You also spot a pair of potted plants – trees, actually. One is near the entrance, and another is next to the roped chair. In addition to the door by the stage, there is the main entrance, a door behind the bar, and a fourth door on the south near the fire.

 

Seeing as multiple players are here, I won’t customize it to the select players. Both received similar reactions. As guess enter, they are greeted by a middle aged woman, introducing herself a Katelyn Bythewater, the owner of Green Briar Tavern. Her temperament is friendly but brisk. When asked about food and drink both are handed a menu

Originally Posted by Sirviantis

Standing on the hill above you is a grand Temple of Thornwall. It is a spectacular stone building, and its entrance is adorned with a enormous frieze depicting many of the assume any god you wish to worship is represented here.most popular deities in all their glory. It is crowned with a soaring, copper-plated dome that makes up at least a third of the temple’s height. Although the copper has taken on a green patina, you imagine that it must have shone like the sun when first constructed.

A squeaky voice of a male Halfling replies to Ren from the other side of the confessional. "You are forgiven my son, but remember it is not about what you have done; but what you will do!" A brief pause gives time for the statement to settle in "What is it, my son, that you plan on doing?" the voice asks in a rhetorical mannor.

[Zazaq]

The young orc ordered himself an ale stout full of their finest wine and a plate of slow roasted mutton. Trading the gold piece in his hand with little comment, but unable to suppress the proud grin on his face. He inhaled his meat, even quicker then usual for him, but savored his wine. Sipping the succulent fruity beverage slowly as he reveled in the simple, pure pleasure of having nothing to do and nowhere to be. If this 'merchants brew' was as strong as normal the tankard he held would get him decently drunk. Maybe he'd have just another glass before retiring for the night. After all he was drinking slowly, and it was good.

For a moment he thought of all he had to do, his seemingly unachievable goals, but he shushed his mind. He'd earned a night of rest, a warrior needed his rest after all, lest there bodies become strained and their minds go dull.

[Mrjoegangles]

Balefinn heard the greeting from the man to his right. ”Voice: young, cheerful, carefree; Adult but not much past age of majority. Smell: Leather, and oil? No, mineral oil. Whetstone, clearly a guardsman. Age suggests a new recruit, supervisor within earshot. Sound: A creak of wood as from a footstep, sound was soft though. Town is not prosperous enough for a newer fortification, suggests older fortification with a lightweight occupant. ”.
”May Savras see you both, and his knowledge fill you.”
Balefinn continued walking down the road, keeping his right foot firmly in a groove made by decades of cart travel. Reaching down he patted the massive Grimoire on his hip, it’s chains clinking heavily. As he traveled he memorized the sounds and smells around him. Attempting to map the town from the smell of bread, the whinny of horses, the feel of the ground as it inclined slightly. Deep within his minds eye Balefinn saw the layout unfold as he traveled to the magistrates office, for what reason he had been sent he did not know. But Savras, and some of those who worshipped him had been blessed with divine sight into the future. Clearly something in this town needed Balefinn’s talents.

[danab]

Well, the door hadn't been slammed in his face or locked from the inside. Good signs all. Still, he wished he'd gotten Yurgin instead of one of the help. Usually made things easier to bypass middlemen.

"I was ordered by my captain, Ejar Ryne, to report the the mayor. Not sure what else after that. I'd assume new orders, but I don't know."

He pushes the crumpled letter into the young man's hands. It should explain everything if he wasn't expected. He hoped it was his new orders. If it wasn't and just some letter of friendship or affection... He was a soldier, not a parcel boy. He swore that if it was something meaningless, then he was done. Corbin would be right. Time to look towards Force Grey.

"Got this letter for the mayor too from the captain. Don't worry, didn't read it or anything. Name's Khagra by the way. Sorry, probably should've started with that."

[Alphaeus]

The Doctor David watched the activities of the newcomers today with mild curiosity. In truth he rarely entered a town with any idea if there would be information useful to his ultimate goals, so he had grown into the habit of paying attention to just about everything. He was a people-person anyway, so the lives of people were of interest to him. The first man...there was something about him that seemed off. Strange, all things considered, because he looked quite healthy. Must be an injury long past...it was the movement of his head. He wasn't scanning like a normal person in a new place, yet a twinge of uncertainty meant he still was a newcomer...odd indeed. Worth a closer look. David hailed him. "Good sir, I cannot help but notice the prodigious tome you carry with you, and as a man of learning myself as well as simply an inquisitive mind I was wondering if you wouldn't mind sparing a bit of time to divulge to me its contents?" He did not, however, have enough interest at this point to be bothered to move from his post at the door yet. Another man, this one's magical scholastic training rather obvious, approached the stables and pass his horse off to a stable boy. When the man turned to address him, David raised a hand in apology. "One moment..." Leaning around the doorway, he shouted into the stables. "Maxwell?...Maxwell! Don't make Arnold work today...you'll have to pull of the slack yourself." As he spoke, another less-miserable stable-hand emerged from deeper inside the stables begrudgingly, allowing the first boy to head up the ladder as originally instructed. His task done, he turned back to the wizard. "My apologies, but I am a doctor and the first boy you addressed is supposed to be resting today. His lazy coworker is not helping that matter, though." He waved his hand briefly, as if brushing aside the topic. "At any rate, no, my good fellow, I am not a local. I have been here for only a few days...long enough to know the town and see you to wherever you wish, however, if assistance is desired. I'm a travelling physician -- professionally trained, mind you -- so I tend to learn the residents and homes of a settlement rather quickly. " Another brief pause, and then a chuckle. "Haha, I nearly forgot. My name is Tavryn Wolvera Luen. Doctor Luen, of course, but I rarely asked to be called by that name. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

OOC First comment is directed towards our good Inquisitor. The rest towards Ottar.

[Mrjoegangles]

A voice was hailing Balefinn. “Smell of: hay, manure, horses; A stable.” Flairing his nostrils to pick out the odd horse apple in his path. Walking briskly toward the source of the voice Balefinn lowered his head deeper into the hood and the shadows within, all too aware of the scratchy cloth covering his eyes.
“All things are possible through Savras, and truly HE would appreciate your quest for knowledge, but sadly there is nothing in this tome that you would find of use.” Balefinn grasped his Grimoire and twisted it sharply, snapping the heavy chains free from their clasps. Hefting the mighty iron-bound book in well muscled arms as he addressed his audience. ”Smell of herbs: dried flowers, potent, clean linen, disinfectant; Healer? Slight accent, transient, wandering Doctor or specialist.”
“But by all means healer.” Balefinn lifted his massive tome and flicked his wrist revealing a blank page. Barely visible is the slight indentation from the embossing of the letters. “May it open your eyes as it has my own.”

[Lord Loco]

Ottar the wizard Ottar waited, smiling patiently. The doctor was clearly a man used to giving orders which were obeyed. He seemed compassionate enough, though. Polite too. Ottar defeated the impulse to add his own voice to that of the doctor and tell the two boys to do as they were told. That could puncture the doctor's authority. "You have the pleashure of shpeaking to me," said Ottar, extending his hand. With a mischievous smile behind his beard he waited slightly longer than what was appropriate before completing his introduction. "Ottar Volsh. Journeyman wizard. I wash wondering if there'sh good fishing or hunting in theshe partsh, or failing that, any intereshting gosship or newsh." A thorough look at Ottar identified him as a scholar by trade, rather than inclination. He wore solid traveller's boots, and his backpack was expertly cinched and hefted. There was a dagger on his belt, as well as a simpler knife, and several pouches containing the-gods-knew-what. A number of fishing hooks were stuck in his hat, for convenience. -- "Blank pagesh?" There was some confusion in Ottar's voice. "Do you plan on filling them? I haven't sheen empty booksh look sho well ushed before." Granted there was a lot of empty space in Ottar's own grimoire, but the pages that were filled got used every day. Then again, Ottar did not keep it on his belt. That kind of exposure would naturally cause extra wear.