Game Thread Part 1: An Elusive Antidote

Zany · #1 Aug 4th, 2014, 06:55 PM

"I thought the same when I first arrived; a fine frontier, a fresh start, everything I'd ever dreamed of. I'd just stumbled off the trail with debt collectors nipping at my heels. Tall trees, fresh winds, and an honest day's work in the cut-yard for an honest day's pay, that's what Boss Teedum told me when he put an axe in my hand. Wasn't long, though, 'til I was working well after sundown just to keep up with the 'Consortium fees' and 'axe tax'."

"Welcome to Falcon's Hollow, and may the gods take mercy on you 'cause sure as hell no one and nothing else will."

- Edal Sathelbury, Lumber Consortium veteran

The normally bustling town of Falcon's Hollow appears almost deserted, most residents are either home fighting the disease themselves or else nursing their ailing family members as they wrestle with the sickness.

Blackscour taint, as the sickness is commonly called, is an ingested disease with an incubation period of 1-3 days. Those who are infected develop a hacking cough that quickly turns bloody if the disease is allowed to progress.

Falcon’s Hollow has few clerics, and only Lady Cirthana shows any interest in stopping the illness, she however lacks the ability to cure diseases.
So while local remedies prove as useless as prayers at the Church of Iomedae, fortunately for Falcon’s Hollow, a canny herbalist named Laurel has traced the source of the malady to Brookman’s well, a small spring on the edge of town, and a rare fungus called blackscour. By banning the use of the spring, the town constabulary hopes to prevent further infection, but such measures offer little respite to those already afflicted.

As few trust the Lady Cirthana with their illnesses and Laurel was the one to discover the source of the affliction most have been turning to the herbalist for treatment.
Laurel is a tough woman, whose income stems as much from her sale of snake oils and aphrodisiacs as from questionable cure-alls and bitter teas. As quick to suggest expensive remedies as she is to remind angry buyers that she is not, in fact, a physician, Laurel does her best to help those who come to her in need, but her tight income, need to survive, and pride prevent her from admitting failure.

Since her discovery of the cause of the disease Laurel’s shop, has been besieged, both by the afflicted and their families, and by hypochondriacs of all stripes. While she tries to help those with legitimate concerns as best she can, she has no qualms in selling the deluded her most expensive balms.

The bar was only half full and the air was certainly not one of joviality, a silence filled the room, a solemn silence, punctuated only by the scraping of an occasional chair or the frequent rasping coughs.
The ranger sat at the bar his hood pulled up as an clear indication that he wasn't in any mood for chatting, nursing a drink that had long since lost its appeal. He had traveled a long way hunting this bounty only to be foiled at the end by something as random and unpredictable as disease.

The hobbit Tipple certainly had nothing to lose, he was dying, from the same illness that had rocked many in Falcon's Hollow, with nothing to lose there was nothing for Thias to threaten. Almost chocking Tipple had laughed through the racking cough as he said, "You get me a cure, I'll get you your money Hunter!"
A cure? Thias didn't imagine for one minute that all these people would be dying unaided if there were such a thing as a cure, his position was a hopeless one.

The door to the side of the bar swung open and a huge lump of a man stepped through, huge, armed and packed ready for a trip. The barkeep nodded in the giants direction and glanced around the bar to check he wasn't needed, he finished wiping the glass he had been methodically polishing and moved a little closer to the newcomer.

A burst of coughing from one of the more sickly looking patrons masked the words of the new arrival but his expression spoke of sorrow, desperation and although only a hint, perhaps a little hope.
As the barkeep placed his hand reassuringly on of one the green eyed giants shoulders the coughing subsided.

"....st go. If Laurel thinks as she's a cure for this foul disease then ye must go and help 'er. Don't you worry none 'bout your ma now, me an Rach can give all the care she needs, go, go do what needs doin' and may God look over ye!"

The two men embraced then faced each other, the big man bowed his head in resignation, lifted his chin and nodded in acceptance and then headed for the exit to the street.

Thias couldn't believe his luck, "a cure for this foul disease" was all he heard, the big warrior was going to look for a cure?

The crossbow was pointed directly at Arthos’s midriff and although a weapon is only as dangerous as the man wielding it in this instance the big man behind it was making the threat loud and very, very clear. He had found himself in a very dangerous situation indeed, if he were to disappear right here, right now, there wouldn't be very many questions asked, he would simply, well, disappear.

To the rear of the room, in the shadows there were two other threats, there was no need to see these two, they obviously hadn’t discovered water yet and if you threw them a bar of soap they would probably eat it.
The main concern though, aside from the obvious crossbow bolt, its tip glimmering in the light, was the big fella of to the right. Boss “Pay Day” Teedum, Kreeds right hand man and a nasty piece of work if ever there was one.

“A bloody spy! That’s what I reckon! That’s it ain’t it, the board sent yer scrawny arse down here to spy on me and me men ‘ere!” Kreed was a big man himself and there was no shortage of self confidence he was bolstered even more with his henchmen in support.
He shifted the crossbow to the left a little and one of the aromas at the back of the room shuffled nervously as it angled in his direction. Not a kind employer then this Lumber Consortium representative in Falcon's Hollow, a bully and a coward in fact, the worst kind of dangerous.

Kreed nudged the papers that Arthos had supplied from the board of directors stating his terms of employment. Obviously he was considering his options; the cogs turning inside his mind were almost audible.

“Hmmph.” The big man suddenly seemed to concede, and his whole presence deflated slightly, “I’ll admit all this sickness is makin’ it damn hard to meet me quotas of late. So many lazy sods lying around feelin’ sorry for ‘emselves when they should be out cuttin’ trees.”

He clicked the safety on the crossbow and let it drop to his side, there was a loud thunk as it hit the floor and an almost louder sigh of relief from those present.

“A’right, you go and do your diggin’ round see if yer can’t find a cure ter get me men back on their feet with an axe in thier hands. By my reckonin’ best place to start would be with the Witch woman down in town. She’s the one discovered the source of all this malignancy, people been queuin’ ter see ‘er like she was some saint or sumthin’. Laurel Gebre aye that’s ‘er name Laurel, down at that drug den o’ ‘ers, “Rots n Remudys” she calls it. You canna miss it, just across from the Sitting Duck, follow the line of malingerers. Now git! An’ don’t let me catch you snoopin’ around up ‘ere, we dunna take kindly ter spies round ‘ere!”

It's warm and dry, if a little overcast, which is normal for this time of year. Perhaps a little too dry, the dust has begun to rise on the streets and the roads, seeping into buildings and clothing, drifting in suspension and inhaled with every breath. Not the ideal environment for those suffering from the disease and while a damp environment would be even worse a little rain to freshen the air would certainly be welcome.
The nights are becoming longer and the days shorter, but for those fighting for their health and lives in darkened rooms it doesn't really matter. Never has the whole town felt quite so solemn or quiet, despair is a terrible crippler for the spirit.

Outside in the street a queue stretches nearly all the way from the Sitting Duck itself, to the creeping ivy and full window boxes that cover the façade of the rugged-looking, two-story shop bearing the faded sign “Roots and Remedies.” A line of twenty-some somber townsfolk, some with pale, wheezing children, others seeming to be precipitously near tears, stretches from the open door. Anxiously waiting, resting all their hopes on the slender shoulders of Laurel the herbalist. A few push and shove, some even try to jump the queue but tensions are high and several small fights have broken out over position. Between their desperation, anxiety and anger its a wonder that a full scale riot hasn't erupted but right now the people queue quietly if not quite patiently.

LWAGNER · #2 Aug 4th, 2014, 11:34 PM

This was a serious problem. Thias stared absently into his luke-warm ale searching his thoughts and arranging the desperate few actions he had before him. That little !#$%^& Tipple had managed to contract some sort virulent pestilent and was laying on death’s stoop. Thias had spent the majority of his per-diem tracking the Halfling to this hollow. And while it wasn’t unheard of to request more from his employer, it would most certainly cut into his profit. He would also have to suffer the indignity of a lecture from his wife because of it. Coin would always take precedence over any marital vow she made.

Thias took a long draw from his stein.

The empty stein hit the table as shame rolled over him like waves crashing on a beach. He had the sudden and embarrassing revelation that he was prioritizing just as she would. Tipple did not ask for the slow death of this illness, any more than anyone else in this town had. Of this they were all innocent.

Thias was not happy with the man he was becoming. He could hear Pastor Fagan’s baritone voice as if he sat right beside him, “….and be like unto each, a messiah.” His favorite verse to quote. As if it was the answer to all the world’s ills. And really, in all truth, it was.

With that, Thias threw his coin onto the table, gathered his pack and readied to leave. It was time to gather information and see what aid he could offer. If he managed to save the miserable hobbit as well, so be it. But where to begin? As if in divine response to his internal rebuke he overheard a hushed conversation between two men…
……a cure for this foul disease……..
The two men embraced and Thias watched as the larger of the two head for the exit to the street.

Thias couldn't believe his luck, "a cure for this foul disease" was all he heard. Thias moved into the shadows and followed this giant of a man at a safe distance. He was certain he was in no mood for any questionable allegiances from a stranger and he did not look like anyone Thias wanted to have any sort of a quarrel with.

Solid Minotaur · #3 Aug 5th, 2014, 01:12 AM

Trent stood at the back of the shop, hidden amongst the shelves of oils, balms and creams that Laurel kept in her stock. Although he knew that no one could see him back there, Trent kept to the darkest corner, where he felt most comfortable. He waited until Laurel came back to search the shelves for another ointment to sell before replying to her. "You mustn't blame yourself," Trent said at a whisper. "If you hadn't found the source then the town would be in worse shape then it is. But your right, I can't stay cooped up back here. I've hidden from Kreed and his men for too long." Trent thought back to all the near misses that he has had with Thuldrin Kreed and how he wish he could confront him and his goons. "It's time I ventured out from the safety of your shop and actually did some real good for Falcon's Hollow. There must be someone out there that wants to find a cure, rather then come to someone else for aid. I'll look around town and see if I can find someone who can help me and we'll bring back a cure."

Trent let Laurel go before her customers got too suspicious. When he found is chance, in between Laurel seeing off Maisy Briggin and welcoming in an overweight lumberjack, Trent snuck out the back door and into the ally. He pulled his cloak over his red skin and long horns. A close look might give himself away but with everyone afraid to get close to someone who might be sick, Trent thought he should be safe. He quietly moved out to the street, stopping before reveling himself to check the crowd. The line was longer then Laurel described it and only seemed to be growing. Keeping his head down, Trent moved along the line, walking towards the back, keeping an ear to the conversations that the waiting customers were having. He listened until he heard someone say something about finding a cure.

PercyHux · #4 Aug 5th, 2014, 02:07 AM

Arthos took a step back when the hulking man loosened the grip on his tunic. Kreed glared at the half-elf, his gaze almost as threatening as the crossbow that now lay on the dusty wood floor between them. Truthfully, the prospect of a bolt through his skull was not what frightened Arthos. He knew what kind of place the Hollow had been, before he and his late wife, Anya, had departed those many years ago. Then, it was a town built with the blood and sweat of not only honest folk, but also of criminals and vagabonds; of outcasts and outlaws. Time had not been kind to Falcon’s Hollow. The good folk seemed to number few, while the unsavory folk thrived under the Consortium’s rule.

The real fear that Arthos felt in this moment, was the notion that he might not be able to find a cure for the Blackscour in time; and that he would not see Anya’s friends and neighbors released from these dark bonds of death. He vowed to help restore the Hollow’s spirit, for her.

Arthos straightened the wrinkled front of his shirt and adjusted his cloak so that it once again rested neatly over his broad shoulders. "At last, you have come to your senses,"

What little you have left, Arthos growled to himself, his disgust creeping out of the corners of his eyes like the waning hope of the sickened citizens of Falcon’s Hollow.

He snatched the now wrinkled parchment off of the table next to him, rolled them up, and slid them gently into a small brown leather tube that he had produced from his jacket pocket.

"I saw the line of infirmed on my way through town," Arthos said curtly. "This ‘witch’ shall be my first stop."

He gathered his brown leather backpack from the floor, and glanced around the room once more. The Scented Shadows in the back of the room sat motionless, the whites of their eyes glistening in the dim torchlight. Arthos look back at Kreed, his mouth forming a thin line before it opened once more.

"One last thing, Kreed. Though the Consortium has contracted me to locate a cure, I do not work for you or your men. I shall investigate on my terms, and if I ‘smell’ any trouble…" he glanced purposefully at the mass of shadows behind Kreed, "…the Blackscour will be the least of your worries."

Arthos turned on his heel and strode quickly out of the room. A soft murmur of excitement and relief wafted after him as he stepped into the dusty street. Clearly, the altercation had been a welcome distraction.

A light breeze blew down the thoroughfare, kicking up flurries of dust and grime from the dry path. Arthos pulled his dark green scarf over his mouth and nose, squinting as he walked toward the throng of people in front of the herbalist’s shop at the edge of town.

He passed men, women, and children; all of them showing the tell-tale signs of Blackscour sickness. Some of them looked at him with despair as he passed. A couple men with dark circles under their bloodshot eyes protested when he moved past them, as if to say “We were here first. End of the line, buddy”. For the most part, people took no notice of the tall ranger. He was dressed in the traveller’s garb of an adventuring merchant: simple tunic, dark brown leather vest, scarf, and a dark grey cloak that hung effortlessly on his shoulders. In a city bursting with traders, merchants, and adventurers, Arthos was nothing special.

As he reached the front of the line, Arthos looked back over his shoulder swiftly. Confirming his suspicion, Kreed’s two henchmen were tailing him, trailing by around 50 feet.

The door to “Roots & Remedies” was propped open by a coughing young boy with tears in his eyes. He looked up briefly as Arthos pulled his scarf tighter around his mouth and quickly pushed his way into the small shop.

Zany · #5 Aug 5th, 2014, 03:09 PM

After so many years running the Sitting Duck the sound of coin hitting it's bar had become like a bell drawing Roalds attention, even as he spoke with the man he long considered his son part of him registered the cloaked stranger collecting his pack making to leave. It was not something he even thought about as his subconscious began filing a list of jobs to be done, collect the stein, wipe the bar, replace the stool and wa....

It was so habitual the train of his unattended thoughts stumbled with the inconsistency of the stranger suddenly pausing, his attention clearly focused on the interaction between himself and Griff.

As Griff started to leave and the hooded man's head turned to follow alarms were firing automatically within Roalds psyche. When the cloaked figure made to follow Griff to the door Roald reacted with a low broken whistle.

Besides the locals who regularly drank at the bar the Sitting Duck was frequent host to all kinds of adventurer, explorer, and other rapscallion looking for excitement, a barkeep didn't survive long without a keen sixth sense, several alarms, a few contingency plans and the three foot heavy iron bar he kept under the counter.
Almost as automatic as Roalds was the response to his whistled alert and a man drinking near the exit to the bar suddenly pushed back his chair and made to stand in an apparent drunken stupor. The hooded stranger cursed something unheard as the ejected chair blocked his path and the drunk who had been sitting in it almost fell into his arms muttering some ditty about a woman called Betty who he'd met down by the jetty.

An awkward dance ensued between the stranger, determinedly trying to free himself, and the drunk equally insistent on apologizing with a round of drinks. It was only a few seconds but it was enough, the door to the bar had closed and Griff was well on his way before the two entangled bodies managed to separate themselves.

____________

Outside in the street the large man was nowhere to be seen, just how someone of his size could disappear so effectively was one of those mysteries that under different circumstances might have been amusing. There was something else though, something just as mysterious, a disturbance had broken out in the long line of people queuing across the street. Several people were shouting a variety of curses and waving angry fists as a tall man in a grey cloak with a bow thrown across his back walked down the side of the queue and entered the shop. Another man, this one a lot shorter but equally as cloaked noticed the first and walked so briskly in pursuit as to be almost jogging.
While the big warrior was nowhere to be seen experience, if not the angry crowd, would indicate that something was unfolding over the road. The convergence of so many unusual occurrences was too much of a co-incidence to be ignored.

____________

Inside, the clutter and disrepair of the shop shows the recent traffic, and Laurel visibly overworks herself at the store’s rear, brewing remedies for the ill.

The smell of burnt earth and spicy incense chokes the air of the cramped, dust-tracked shop. Bunches of dried herbs hang from the ceiling, along with dangling pots, presses, alchemical apparatuses, and glassware of more arcane purposes. Pouches of rare plants, jars of colored glass, and all manner of dried, preserved, and jellied animal parts fill high shelves and tables doing double duty as displays and workspaces.
In the shop’s rear, a rail-thin woman with severe-looking spectacles and hair pulled back tightly busies herself between an over-packed rack of herbs, a table covered in stray powders and measuring equipment, and a pot loudly bubbling over with thick gray froth.

Over the din of her work and without looking up, the woman impatiently shouts, “Who the hell are you, and what do you mean by barging in here while I'm with a customer. You some kind of important or something? I suggest you get yourself back outside and wait your turn along with everyone else!"

She turns around to face the intruder and is immediately brought to a halt by the bow slung across his back and the hilt of a sword protruding from the edge of his grey cloak. The masked stranger shows no sign of aggression and yet if bursting into her shop wasn't such an indication she was unsure what might be.

Casually she reached behind her and felt blindly around on the tabletop searching for her knife, her delicate hand brushed the smooth handle of her heavy pestle and she clasped it firmly behind her back.

Sensing the change in mood and both unnerved and intimidated by the mans sudden entrance the elderly gentleman Laurel had been assisting slid carefully towards the exit.

"Trent! Trent!" Laurel hissed over her shoulder in those hushed tones people use when they don't want others to hear them though they quite clearly can, "Trent! where the hell are you!"

With no response to her hushed calls she smiled at the man before her.

"So," she says, trying to keep her voice calm and level, "just who are you, and what do you want with forcing your way into my shop like this?"

Before any answer could be given Trent burst in through the door, almost knocking the escaping customer to the ground, and her confusion reached new levels. Automatically she glanced over her shoulder to the shelves at the rear of the shop where Trent had been hiding himself, her mind unable to provide a reasonable explanation she looked back at the two cloaked figures, raised her eyebrows expectantly and gripped the pestle a little tighter.

LWAGNER · #6 Aug 5th, 2014, 05:38 PM

Thias had nearly exited the establishment when he encountered…an obstacle. What seemed to be a highly inebriated obstacle at that. The patron had quickly and most succinctly become tangled in Thias’ path and person. So complete, one could almost wonder if it was purposeful. Thias attempted a turn but the patron’s arm had curled under one of the straps of the pack and his fallen chair had become wedged between his legs

“Oi! Beg your pardon shir!”

Thias had politely freed the patron’s appendage when suddenly his head shot forward and landed a solid blow to Thias’ nose. Not enough to “break the beak” but it was enough to bring the accustomed tears to his eyes.

“Shir, you musht *belch* join me! I must inshishst!”

The patron’s hand shot out to emphasize his eager pronouncement, unfortunately for Thias, this allowed one of the excited patron’s digits to find the half elf’s unprotected eye. The well delivered poke caused even more tears

“ROALD!! TWO MORE STEINSH!!"

Both arms launched from the drunken patron in a wide circle and wrapped around the half elf’s shoulders. The patron began dancing some broken off time jig in an uncomfortably close proximity to Thias, all the while yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Oh don’t cry my friend…SHING wish me! Come on now everyone know the wordsh….

Knew a tiny girl
And she was quite fine
Betty was her name
And she liked cheap wine

She had eyes of blue
And was full of sass
Loved all the boys
That saucy little lass

She had hair of gold
And swore like a jack
You paid no mind
With a blouse that stacked

Don’t forget your blanket
Don’t forget your gold
Bring those flowers
If you’re young or old

If you want a kiss
You dare not miss
You may have to wait in line

It will make you broke
But its worth the stroke
To meet BETTY AT THE JETTY!!”

Thias very patiently lowered the man’s arms off of his shoulders.
“Thank you my friend. Perhaps another time, I must take my leave. Enjoy your evening.”

Thias successfully dodged another attempt at a drunken embrace, detangled his feet from the chair and made his way through the exit.

The large man was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had seen him? His eyes searched the city streets but to no avail. He was gone.

Just before Thias became disheartened, a furious string of obscenities erupted from across the street. Someone had quite rudely stepped out of turn from a long line flowing before a business. Its patronage consisted of townsfolk in varying stages of illness and debilitation waiting en masse to see the owner of the establishment.

It was quite apparent that this needed to be Thias’ next stop. He made his way through the angry horde of people, looking for some way to enter into the building and continue his investigation without causing more discontent.

PercyHux · #7 Aug 6th, 2014, 01:20 AM

Initially dumbfounded by the bespectacled woman's reaction to his entrance into the small dusty shop, he quickly remembered the scarf that concealed the majority of his face. He pulled it down slowly, taking care not to further startle the obviously tightly wound shopkeeper.

Arthos heard someone enter the room behind him, but he kept his attention on the situation brewing before him. She turned to look into the darkened room behind her, as if expecting assistance.

"I beg your pardon, madam. I did not mean to interrupt." He tried to smile in an attempt to defuse the mounting tension. He had been told that his smile could melt glaciers, though it had not been near any over the years to test that theory. In fact, his grin hadn't seen much use at all in the last few years. With a moderate amount of concentration, the corners of Arthos' mouth turned upward slowly, and he could almost hear his cheeks creaking with the motion.

"My name is Arthos, madam. I was told that you discovered the source of this dreaded illness. I only wanted to know more of what is destroying the people of this town." He could see the woman's grip loosen a little on the pestle she had grabbed as he entered. "You see, my wife is fr...was from Falcon's Hollow. I know first hand how difficult life can be here, without the aid of the black malaise that has taken up residence. I wish to help stop it and release your neighbors..."

He looked back toward the queue stretching into the street beyond the doorway.

"...and patients, from its icy grip." He stood motionless, waiting to see if his words would be enough to quell the fear in Laurel. His left hand nervously brushed the slight bulge in his jacket pocket that housed the Consortium contract, as if its presence brought him some comfort.

Arthos was aware of the looming, hooded man behind him. His piercing yellow gaze fixed intently on the back of his neck.

"I truly mean you no harm." he quickly added, for everyone's benefit.

Solid Minotaur · #8 Aug 6th, 2014, 02:58 AM

Trent wandered up the line, keeping his head down. Fortunately no one seemed to look up at him, perhaps to concerned with their own woes. Just as he reached the end of the line, he heard a commotion come from the front of the group. A man, his face covered by a scarf and weapons slug across his back, had pushed his way past the crowd and into the shop, much to the disgust of those waiting outside. Shortly after that followed another in a green hood who seemed to sneak in unnoticed. Trent began to worry about Laurel and wondered if leaving the store was the right decision. Risking angering the crowd more, he pushed his way forward and followed the duo in.

As he entered he nose was assaulted by the familiar scents of Laurel's ingredients, although he felt strange. He had always entered through the rear door and this was the first time he used the front. He looked around the shop and the various people that now occupied the small space. He saw a pestle in the grip of Laurel's hand and heard the comforting words of the scarfed stranger as he attempted to defuse what appears to he a heightened situation. Trents gaze fell upon the overweight lumberjack that was still waiting for his products. Trent looked at him, although it was hard to tell with his face in darkness due to his hood, and said "I think it best if you wait outside. I don't think you want to be here for this." The lumberjack's appeared wide eyed and left quickly, not wanting to become part of a scuffle. As he left, Trent turned and locked the door behind him to prevent an unwanted interruption from an angry patient from outside.

He turned his attention back to the group, now that the first one had expressed his intentions of no harm. Trent thought this would be a time to finally reveal himself. He lifted his hands up to remove his hood, and the first thing that is noticed is the bright red colour of his hands and his dark thick nails that almost resemble claws. He pulled back his dark brown hood to expose a more hideous visage. All of his skin was stained in bright blood red. Thick bony horns run from his brow to the back of his head and black and red tentacles make up his beard. He looked at the two men in front of him with his bright yellow eyes. "So you wish to find a cure? Most people here only look out for themselves and care little for helping others. I'd say you aren't from around here. So why do you want to help those you don't know?"

Berzerkersaurus · #9 Aug 6th, 2014, 06:56 AM

Griff didn’t want to look over his shoulder at Roald as he left through the door to the inn he called home; he know that to do so would weaken his resolve. Instead he marched determinedly towards Root and Remedies, eyes downcast, thinking of what he should say to the herbalist. He didn’t get far before he nearly ran straight into the poor soul at the end of the queue. Griff knew he needed to find the cure, in doing so, he would be helping all these people desperately lined up outside Laurel’s shop. At least, this was what he told himself as he ducked off down a side road and made his way to the little used back door. He had helped his Ma as a child bring herbs for Laurel in through the back door and hoped his desperation would allow her to forgive the impolite intrusion.

Knocking gently, he let himself in. "Laurel, I need your help. I hear you know of a way to cure this wretched disease. Please, it’s me Ma…"

The words died in his mouth as he took in what was going on in the front room, his hand slowly reaching for the grip of his falchion. Why were these men in the room and why was the door shut? Something must be going on for Laurel to be holding her pestle like that. Wait, was that a Tiefling? He was sure that the tales of a demon in their midst were just drunken yarns. But here he was, in the flesh, so to speak.

"…Why do you want to help those you don’t know?" Was all Griff caught of the conversation and it was enough for him to loosen his grip. Not sure what to say, Griff and all of his 6 feet and 3 inches of height just stood awkwardly towards the back of the room, fearing the damage he could cause to Laurel’s shop should he have to swing his falchion…

Zany · #10 Aug 6th, 2014, 09:24 AM

'Absurd!' That was the only word she could think of, 'Absolutely absurd.'

The man in grey, Arthos he'd said his name was, she didn't know it and yet, somehow the face looked vaguely familiar, perhaps he was one of Kreeds many henchmen? But he had said he meant no harm and to be honest, even for a woman of her age, with a smile like that it was hard not to believe him.
The other one looked as confused as she must have done, she couldn't make out his face clearly what with his green hood drawn up as it was, there seemed to be some kind of marking running down the side of his cheek and neck. Peculiar, but she was no stranger to peculiar, many would even accuse her of the very same.

"And who might you be?" she seemed to ask of the painted man in green, or perhaps she was just thinking out loud for her glance moved on before he could answer.

Scanning the room she assessed the odds, with Trent here and now Griff she felt a lot safer for certain, and if this Arthos fellow really meant her no harm then they were four to one against the other fellow if his intentions were dishonorable. She relaxed a little and began to try and make sense of what was going on here, thoughtfully she walked around behind her desk and flipped the pages of her appointment book back and forth.

"Was there some meeting I forgot to attend?" she asked without looking up, "Some clandestine masquerade, wear a cloak, look mysterious?" she glanced at the one in grey and added, "masks optional?"

She held up her hand to show the question was rhetorical, then she frowned and her lips puckered in thought.

"If it wasn't for young Griff here," she swept her hand to indicate the big warrior standing between the shelves, "I might think this was another one of Thuldrin Kreeds nasty little plots. Accuse the old witch of having a cure and keeping it from the people, standing by watching while they die, making money from their suffering. Yes, that would certainly be Kreeds style. But not you Griff, I know you would never be party to such a thing."

She lowered herself down into her old wooden chair and it creaked in the silence of the room. 'a room full of people and I can hear a chair creak, what a strange day this is.'

"So gentlemen, what makes you think I'm the sort of woman who would sit here with a cure for this awful disease while the sick and dying gave me their money for a few herbs and comforts? Do you really think I would watch my friends die if I had a cure! No, there is no cure......."

She paused mid sentence as a thought struck her, "Is this your doing Trent?" she exclaimed, "Have you been going through my private things?"

The look of surprise on the Tieflings face made her realize the stupidity of her question, "No, no of course it isn't."

She stood and removed a chain from around her neck, a small key glinting in the light from the window, turning to the wall behind her she inserted the key into a tiny barely visible hole and turned. A small panel swung open, she reached in and removed a small and very worn notebook.

Turning back to face the room she graps the book tightly against her chest. "I have learned a lot about herbs and their effects in my time," she states, half to those in the room and half to herself, "but most of the real magic comes from this little book."

She clutches the book a little tighter as she reminds herself of its value.

"This book was my grandmothers, she was the real healer, but there was another whom even she stood in the shadow of. A real witch, a crafty, mean, strange old woman, Ulizmilla. She lived, or may still live out in the depths of the Darkmoon forest, alone I believe and she likes it to remain that way. My grandmother sought her out and begged her to share some of her magic, Ulizmilla eventually agreed but her price was high."

A cloud of sadness seemed to descend on the thin woman for a moment or two as she delved into her memories.

"My grandmother paid the witches price and spent the rest of her life in darkness." She pressed her palm against the cover of the small book and took a deep bracing breath.

"There is something in here that might help, might help I say gentlemen because I cannot be certain. I have been thinking hard on the idea for a few days now but it is not a simple thing. You see although I have most of the ingredients here in my shop there are a few that I do not have, and they are not the sort of thing you can just pick up at the Goose'n'Gander. There is certainly danger in trying to find them, great danger, it may even mean dealing with Ulizmilla herself and I have told you how high her prices can be."

Her shoulders droop and her head bows forward as she considers the weight of the decision she holds before her, after a moment she continues.

"I couldn't consider it before. I just couldn't." She looks at Griff her eyes moisten and she pensively chews on her bottom lip. "It was too much to ask of someone to go wandering around the Darkmoon looking for ingredients that may or may not yield a cure, may yield a cure or may result in the death of the searcher. But now, with thirty, forty maybe more people in the town dying, perhaps....."

She sinks into silence, weariness and sad resignation overwhelming her, a tear creeps down her cheek and she seems oblivious to the crowded room before her.

LWAGNER · #11 Aug 6th, 2014, 12:59 PM

Amidst the angry curses and incensed conversations of those lining the streets, Thias seized a moment of opportunity and slid from the darkness into the business unnoticed. An apothecary or some sort of herbalist? Of course. Where else would one run to find aid and assistance over a potentially dangerous contamination?

Thias struggled with his introduction. Should he be open and honest with his plight? Or should he hold his situation close to the vest? It would be difficult to impart any sense of moral obligation to the town if he disclosed Tipple’s garnishment.

Thias decided to let this conversation run its course before he divulged his purposes. He truly did wish to provide assistance to the townsfolk but he also wanted to close on his mark. If for no other reason to wipe the smirk off the horrid little hobbits face. He could do neither if he was dead. There were others here now that looked to discern the source of the epidemic and he did not know where their allegiances lay.

The Man in gray looked…..dangerous. Haunted.
An imposing tiefling scanned the room with his infernal and a.....protective gaze?
And the giant of a man who had somehow escaped Thias’ tail. How did someone that huge disappear like a wraith in a fog? This definitely calls my skills into question.

Thias pulled back his hood and bowed slightly with his empty and open palms upwards. “Forgive my intrusion. My name is Thias Jæger and I wish nothing more than to offer my assistance to Falcon’s Hollow in their time of need.”

Solid Minotaur · #12 Aug 6th, 2014, 03:20 PM

Trent moved to Laurel's side and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, which might have looked out of place, a monster consoling a lady in distress. He looked up at Griff, who stood easily as the tallest in the room. Although he had never met the man, Trent knew a lot about him. He has had the occasional encounter with Roland, the innkeeper, who agreed to keep the rumor of a devil in Falcon's Hollow as just a rumor. He spoke highly of Griff so Trent knew he could trust him.

He turned back to the other men. "If your intentions are true then your aid is welcome. This town has needed more men of noble nature for longer then this plague has had it in it's grips." Trent turned back to Laurel as she began wiping tears from her face. "I wish you had said something earlier. You know I would have gone out and looked for the missing items." He sighed and a small smile crept along his face, a rare sight. "I suppose that's why you haven't said anything, afraid for my safety once again. Well it's high time that no longer becomes your problem. I can't remain hidden here forever. It's time I reveal myself and ask that others accept me." Trent felt that he needed to prove his theory so he turned to the other occupants of the room. "What say you gentlemen, would you work with a man in the guise of a demon to save the people of Falcon's Hollow?"

PercyHux · #13 Aug 7th, 2014, 12:59 AM

Ulizmilla. The name rang soft bells in the back of Arthos’s memory. Perhaps Anya had spoken of her. They spent many nights laying under the canopy of the forest, talking of dreams, regrets, history, and the future. The many legends and ghost stories of the region also filled the conversation on cold dark nights.

The room suddenly shrank around Arthos, as it filled with strangers in what seemed like an instant. The new arrival, the half-elf named Thias, stood quite still before him with his palms turned upward. Arthos had not seen the man until he stepped forward from the shadows and spoke. How did I miss him? He cursed himself for being distracted by the herbalist and her Tiefling friend. You’re slipping, old man. "Well met, ser Thias. I'm embarrased to say that I mistook you for my shadow. "

The Tiefling moved to Laurel’s side, almost gliding with an unexpected grace. He had only seen a Tiefling once before in his travels, and the creature hadn't been as amiable as this one seemed. There dwelled a kindness in his shining eyes. "We are of a common purpose, it seems. I am Arthos." He smiled again as he looked around the room at each of the inhabitants, making deliberate eye contact with everyone.

"As I was telling Ms. Laurel, my wife was born in this town and spent the majority of her days here. In another life, I spent many warm nights here, as well; I was a travelling merchant before she passed away. When I heard of the plague, I made a vow to try and help the people that my wife cared for." He neglected to mention who brought him the news of the Blackscour outbreak. If they had any further doubt of his intentions, it might make his investigation more difficult. There was no reason to 'stir the pot', he reasoned. The pun made him grin again; this was becoming all too common.

Laurel clutched the leather bound journal tightly, gently rubbing its cover with her thumb. "If you believe that the contents of that book can create a cure, then you shall have your missing ingredients. No price is too high when so many lives are at stake." He looked at the Tiefling for approval, then around the room at the others.

The front door started to rattle as the mob of infirmed grew restless outside; their impatience with the impromptu secret meeting was increasing exponentially.

Zany · #14 Aug 7th, 2014, 09:22 AM

Laurel looked around at those gathered in the room, Trent was right of course how could she have mentioned it to him before, knowing full well he would rush off heedless of the potential danger. Or Griff? She could no less do the same to him although she had lightly skirted on the possibility of a cure with her good friend Alice, Griff's mother.
Then there was the fact that it was all only possibility, she couldn't make any guarantees that the concoction detailed in her grandmothers hand would serve the purpose of a cure for blackscour.

Four volunteers, four willing volunteers, Griff she knew of course, strong, reliable and devoted to his family, Trent, clever, caring and capable. These other two she did not know but they seemed both earnest and sincere in their desire to help.
Four young men, could she be responsible for sending them away on a possible fools errand, risking their lives for what could be just another of Grannies jam recipes? But then again was it for her to deny them the opportunity to make up their own minds, did she have the right to make such decisions on their behalf. Then there was the question of the townsfolk who would most surely die if something were not done, it was not a price she wished to weigh in the balance, four for forty, but using logic alone it was a fair price.

She looked up at the three expectant faces in front of her, waiting as they were upon her next words, and she felt the reassuring pressure of Trent's hand upon her shoulder. No, she did not have the right to deny them their own choices, but she did have a responsibility to help them as much as possible. She lay the old book down on the table and thumbed through the pages to the crucial recipe, taking her time to be sure she read down the list of ingredients and checked through the process.

After a few moments she nodded, "Trent, you are a good man and your concern for others is laudable. Griff you have the biggest heart of any man I know and your love for your family is inestimable. Arthos, although you seem familiar I do not remember you but I am sure your wife would be proud of you standing here making this offer now." she looked into the striking green eyes of the other taller half-elf, "Thias, I do not know you but your willingness to lend your hand to this cause only speaks of a good heart, filled with compassion and bravery."

She sighed deeply and ran her finger down the page, "This recipe is a weird concoction that sounds more like hoojoo than real medicine. It requires some rare roots and concentrations, most of which I have here, but there’s three I don’t."

She taps the nail of her slender finger against the aged page.

"The first is a moss, Elderwood moss. It grows only on the oldest tree in the forest, the obvious rarity of locating and identifying this tree, means it is difficult to find.

The second is a root called rats tail which needs to be specially pickled. I do not know where you may find such a thing I've never seen it before but without doubt the witch Ulizmilla would know. I am dubious she will be willing to help without a cost though, and that cost may be dear.

The third ingredient is a fungus called Ironbloom, I need at least seven of these. They are stunty little things that only grow in dark places thick with metal, a favorite among dwarves, or so I hear. I have no idea where you may find this one either but I can tell you that way north, toward the mountains, people say there used to live a bunch of dwarves. They’re not there anymore, but I’d bet their forges are. If you can find Ironbloom anywhere around here, that’d be your best bet."

She reaches down and opens one of the drawers in her table and rummages through the pile of papers, finding what she is looking for she places it on top of the open book.

"I cannot tell you where to find these items but wherever they may be you can be certain that if it is within the Darkmoon then it will be dangerous. I do however know a man who may be able to help you with at least some of your search. His name is Milon Rhoddam, he works for the lumber consortium and was once their best forester, there is no-one alive who knows the Darkmoon better than Milon. He used to survey the forest, laying tracks and marking the biggest trees but his heart grew heavy with the devastation the indiscriminate logging was causing and he resigned his position. As far as I know you can still find him at the Consortium's largest lumber camp just a few miles north of here. I have been treating his nephew for the blackscour and if you mention my name I am sure he would be happy to help."

She removes her glasses carefully, places them on the table top and buries her face in her hands as she considers her next words.

"Gentlemen you should be clear before you commit to this folly, I can make no guarantee that you will find these ingredients in any of the places I have mentioned or anywhere else. If you are fortunate enough to locate them I can offer no assurances that the concoction will cure the sick of Falcon's Hollow. If it were more certain I would have acted days ago, but right now, feeble as it may be, it is the only option I have. You should consider these facts carefully before you make and decisions because I for one would not think any less of any of you if you were to conclude that the odds were not good enough to risk your time, or possibly, your lives."

She puts her glasses back on and takes up a small piece of charcoal with which she marks a spot on the map in front of her.

"Griff here probably knows the way to the Lumber camp and who can guess what Trent knows," she smiles up at her friend, "but this map may come in useful anyway so I have marked the camp and you are welcome to take it with you should you choose to go."

Pushing her chair back she stands and walks over to her shelves where she rummages through the clutter of bottles and powders. After a moment she finds what she is looking for, a small simple bottle with a blue liquid within, she holds it up to the light of the window and nods in satisfaction before walking over to Griff.

"I know that nothing I could say would stop you from going on this quest young Griff, but I want you to take this." She presses the bottle firmly into his hand, "It isn't much but I have used most of my healing these past few days as you may well imagine. Alice would never forgive me if I didn't give you this last one. Drink it when you need it most and it will offer a little relief. I promise to look in on your mother and dear Rachel while you are gone, although I am sure old Roald will make sure they want for nothing."

The pounding on the front door of the shop seemed to suddenly increase in volume as the vexation of those outside reached new heights. Laurel returned to Trents side and placed a hand on his arm, leaning a little closer she whispered, "Take care of the boy Trent, take care."

Turning to the rest of the room "For those of you that take this journey I offer you my prayers and my respect, for those who choose not to I offer my understanding. Now gentlemen unless you have any further questions of me I am sure you have decisions to make and plans to formulate."

With that she moves to the rear of the shop and continues to work on the remedy she was creating before the interruption.

LWAGNER · #15 Aug 7th, 2014, 01:44 PM

Thias couldn’t help but notice the tiefling’s evasive demeanor. The poor man had obviously borne the brunt of severe persecution and racism in this small town dominated by man. With his half-breed heritage, this was something that Thias was no stranger to. Among his extended family Thias counted Ogre’s, Goblin’s, Gnomes and Orcs just to name a few. He was always taught to judge a person by their actions, not their appearance. This man was ready to potentially lay his life down for those that would sooner stone him or set him ablaze on a pyre. This spoke volumes on his character. Infinitely worth more than the sanctimonious and hypocritical.
“Better a man in the guise of a demon than a demon in the guise of a man.” Thias held out his hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance my friend.”

Thias turned to face the man in grey. Sad sullen amber eyes. The weight on his soul was palpable. He made mention of his wife in the past tense, painfully forcing the correction from present tense. Was he a man with nothing to lose or was he, as he said, honoring her history with Falcon’s Hollow? Either way, there was a perception of artifice and stratagem in every movement, tone and speech. Like pawns on a board, he knew every movement before it was made and had a pre-planned counter.
“Thankfully, you thought of me as just a shadow and not an enemy. Well met friend Arthos.”

Thias looked at…er, up at the imposing man that he had attempted to follow. Thias saw the impatience screaming in silence at every second wasted. Someone he held very dear had this malady, of that there could be no doubt. And this man would go through hellfire or rip off an angels wings to obtain a cure if need be. Given his substantial size and strength Thias was sure this man could muster enough resolve to do either or both. Without receiving a single singe or with obtaining a fine feather for a cap. Thias reached out a hand and prayed the bear of a man did not crush it in his frustration.
“Well met….Griff is it?”

Thias felt a bit awkward by the praise that came forth from Laurel. His motives were not entirely pure and he felt like a charlatan because of it. Never the less, he would do as he was asked. Perhaps then he would feel more accomplished in his state of affairs.

Thias stepped forward to offer a suggestion on their next action. “Should we stock up on supplies for this journey? Perhaps we can pool our resources to purchase what we need?”

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