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  #241  
Old 04-19-2019, 09:29 AM
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Talia
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As they are leaving the Gnoll rock and tribute place, Talia notes Cyprian watching the dagger he left.
She knows that he knows that she knows he is watching and that if he didn't, she'd probably take the dagger and leave something else.
She tries to make a game of it, acting many times as if she is going to go back for the dagger, but they're all just feints.
She gives Cyprian a smile each time, but he isn't interested in her game.

She has also realized she sort of wore out her welcome with the pick pocketing and planting, so she just quits altogether. She slips a coin or two under the big Plains Cow's harness once or twice to see if the big draft animal reacts, but what little reaction there is causes Talia to lose interest quickly.

It is an extreme understatement to say that she's bored.

She isn't even paying attention at all when the Grassy Gnoll is first spotted and once the third person has spoken up about staying does she get it. She stands from her position atop the wagon next to Ada and practically shouts, "Stay! Stop here! Let's take a break! The... wagon needs a rest!"

She didn't quite say that right, but she didn't care. She is ready to check out this place she has never been.


 
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  #242  
Old 04-19-2019, 01:11 PM
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Cyprian Thoros
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Cyprian wasn’t necessarily thrilled about The Grassy Gnoll. He would have rathered continued on; people in concentrated areas was exhausting, and Westruun would undoubtedly be worse. Deciphering motives, keeping track of whereabouts and situations, faces, names, analyzing dangers, the list was endless and excruciatingly tedious. But, the cons did not outweigh the pros in this case. He witnessed and sensed a shift of disposition in the group, and morale had been dangerously low since the undead battle. The mood had only seemed to fall ever lower since something happened in the mountains, although he was fuzzy on the details.

He tensed. Ron’s words stung unexpectedly, and Alys’s attention did not help much either. Cyprian was painfully aware his own self-resolve had taken a hit, and those looking at him for a consensus certainly struck him harder than he would’ve liked.

He wasn’t fit for this. He had frozen. In the middle of it all, with the fight against the mound of corpses, he froze and panicked. It may have only been for a moment but moments were counted in battle. It was unacceptable--his past meddling in the present and getting emotional. His lips pressed flat for an irritable frown. This was the second time he had been nearly blinded by his own inner hysteria. He hadn’t had a problem before, so why was this all happening now?

Cyprian paused for a silent breath, compiling before dismounting his horse. “Might as well,” he answered.


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  #243  
Old 04-20-2019, 11:21 AM
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Having grown used to the gentle swaying of the wagon, Confire had started to find it comforting. He had taken to having naps during the day so that he was more awake during his midnight watches, and he found that he was having some of the best sleep of his life. He had fallen into a comfortable routine, only really broken by the interruptions of Alys who always seemed to have more questions. Confire’s responses started out terse, but he soon started to look forward to her visits, and would often think over her questions long after she had left wondering if he could have provided a better answer.

When the group came in sight of the little settlement Confire was just making a cup of tea on the little stove, so he quickly prepared the beverage and sat on the doorstep at the side of the wagon to watch as they approached. He smiled as this little outpost of civilisation grew in detail, wondering what it must be like to live somewhere so remote. He had always felt very lucky to have lived in a great metropolis such as Stilben, but (for a fleeting moment) he could see the attraction of a peaceful life with few interruptions. These last few days had been nice. Well, other than the big ball of undead and the ravine siren, but he had been trying very hard not to think about those incidents.

As the wagon stopped in the courtyard he threw the dregs of his tea out onto the ground and then stood, stretching his back and then carefully washing the cup and putting it away before emerging to talk to the others. They seemed to be of the opinion that they should stay in this place. He looked around doubtfully.

"I’m sure this place is lovely, but we have important work to do in Westruun," he murmured. "And, don’t forget, we have a deadline, we just don’t know how long that is. Any delay could be disastrous."

He still hadn’t told them about his discussion with Dispater, and really didn’t intend to, so it was perhaps quite a hard sell.

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  #244  
Old 04-20-2019, 12:15 PM
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Cyprian Thoros
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“I agree with the fundamentals,” Cyprian responded to Confire as he he slid the reins over his horse's head. He hadn't felt the need to stop here either, but it was a personal opinion vs the basic needs of a group. ”However, we would be stopping in a few hours at any rate, and since we are here we might as well take the opportunity.”

He frowned to himself. Since when did Confire care about deadlines? Out of everyone he appeared to be more at ease than the rest...Until now. Why? He could've misinterpreted Confire's apparent ‘ease’ as his way of coping, in which case he had to completely reassess Confire's micro-tells. That entire line of thought was maddingly unsatisfying to think about, so he set it aside.

”Besides,” he added with the barest phantom smile, ”You like to enjoy some finer things, maybe they have a tailor fit for you.” He glanced Confire's way, more than a little amused at the particular call back. ”Just try not to start any arguments with any of the unsavories, Ruffles. Hm?”


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  #245  
Old 04-20-2019, 03:18 PM
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Ada
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As she took stock of the structures from afar, Ada thought to herself. A little slice of humanity making its way so far out here.. one we passed coming the other way. Wouldn't mind a little stop.. but can we chance it?

She listened to the others, and when even Cyprian seemed amenable to the idea, she piped up. "I think we've earned a rest. This time, we.. may want to stick together. Last time we split up at an inn things got hairy." Her mind went back to Wenric for a moment. If I ever see that filth again, it will be too soon.



 
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  #246  
Old 04-22-2019, 05:48 PM
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The Grassy GnollThe late summer sun dips lower toward the horizon of fields to the west as Cow pulls the traveling wagon through the large open gates of the Grassy Gnoll. To the left is a small guardhouse. Through the open doorway, the gate guard can be seen asleep at a wooden table. A few empty bottles litter the room. The guard himself is a man of middle years, his dark brown hair showing the faintest grey at the temples. His uniform is a faded blue, wrinkled and stained and slightly too small for him. A belt with a longsword leans against the far wall like a piece of furniture.

The courtyard itself is pleasant. Interior windows from the surrounding buildings look over a well tended vegetable and herb garden. A few stately oaks lend shade to the open area of walkways that criss-cross between the doors to the buildings. To the left is a large stable and barn. To the right is the largest structure, with the tavern and main house forming two sides of the enclosure.

Opposite the entry gate at the far end of the complex is a workshop and blacksmith’s forge, and it is from there that the hammer continues to ring. The hindquarters of dun stallion protrude through the open doorway, giving the impression that perhaps it is being shoed by the forgemaster within. But at the sound of the approaching wagon company and beasts, the hammering stops. The horse turns to face the newcomers, and where its head should sit on its withers, there is the torso of a heavily-muscled man! His face is human, but with distinctly equine features. His broad nose rises straight to his brow and is colored with a patch of white in an approximation of a horse’s muzzle. Bare-chested but for his heavy leather apron, the centaur holds a heavy hammer in his right hand. He raises his left hand in greeting.

Laying his hammer aside, the centaur steps out fully into the late afternoon sun. He stretches his shoulders and stamps the ground with his hoof. "Darryl! Bud!" His voice is deep, with a slight accent of the earthy horse-folk speech.

A boy of about 12 years exits the stables, shielding his eyes from the bright blue sky as he dons his gloves and moves to take Ninazu’s reigns. He nods respectfully to Bellamy and then looks over at Cow. "You’ve brought Winnie!" The boy rushes over to pet Cow excitedly. "We haven’t had her come through in months. I was starting to wonder." Then, to Cow, "Hey Winnie girl! You want some apples? C’mon, we’ll get you settled." Another boy, slightly older than Darryl, comes out to take Cyprian’s mare. Darryl takes Cow’s harness and expertly parks the wagon near the stables before unhitching her. "We’ll take good care of them, ma’am," he says to Ada. "Buddy should be right along to see you inside."

Movement in the grass near the stable catches Alys’ eye. In the longer grass near the building there looks to be a hole, maybe 8 inches across. And poking up from that hole is a furry nose, followed by a tawny brown animal head. The head pauses, holding very still. It then looks around in darting glances before the creature emerges fully from its burrow. A large gopher, or a prairie dog, pops up from the hole…and stands upright!

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Standing almost two feet tall on its hind legs, the prairie dog must weigh nearly 20 pounds! He is unclothed, but a small satchel hangs from his shoulder as he runs over to the group. "Welcome! So glad to have you!" The little guy speaks incredibly fast, with almost a chittering cadence. "My name’s Bud. Well not really. My real name is Afternoon-Breeze-that-Brings-the-Scent-of-the-Dandelion-Buds. But everybody here talks so slow that they don’t want to say that so they call me Bud. Which is fine but it’s such a short name that sometimes I don’t hear it. You can call me Bud. Unless you talk fast enough and want to…"

"Bud!" The centaur interrupts. "The guests look tired. Why don’t you take them inside and get them settled in?" He nods to the group and turns back toward his blacksmith shop.

Bud takes the travelers across the yard to the main building, chattering all the way. He speaks so fast that, in the sixty or so foot walk across the courtyard, he has shared most of his life’s story. Which actually isn’t very long. He’s a Burrowling, and Burrowlings don’t live as long as bigger folk. Bud is almost 2 years old, but he’s considered fully grown. He left his burrow when his aunt tried to kill him to remove competition for her own pups. Milo and Patricia Murgan, who run the Grassy Gnoll, took him in. He helps out around the place and tends the vegetable garden and brushes horses and hands tools to Thadulos, the big centaur blacksmith and, "Oh! Did you notice that Thad has a limp? That’s why he can’t run with the herd anymore and has to live here. But poor Patricia because Milo…"

"Bud! That’s enough, thank you." Patricia Murgan is a pretty woman of about 30 years. Her simple summer dress is covered by an apron and she pushes some hair back over her ear as she comes to greet the guests and usher them into the common dining room, where a few other travelers, just simple farmers and small merchants, are already seated and eating steaks and fowl and pies. "Bud, will you please go help Leviya with some dishes?" The burrowling looks a little hurt, but a kind smile from Patricia seems to soothe him and he scampers off toward the kitchen. Delicious smells waft out through the kitchen door as he goes. Turning to the newcomers, Patricia smiles and directs them to a large table. "Now, what can we get for you?" A serving girl brings several moist towels over to the table for them.

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  #247  
Old 04-23-2019, 07:38 AM
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Ronald ‘One-Bone’ Devyn
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Although Ron tries to tell himself he doesn’t really need the comfort of an inn, he is happy to smell food on the air and see actual people. The sleeping guard is a good sign as well. If nobody minds a guard sleeping on duty they must feel safe around here.

He does enter the guardhouse as the others pass through the gate. He gets up really close to the sleeping guard, sticking his face within a couple of inches of the man's face. He then shakes one shoulder with his left hand, holding Ronda in the others. ”Wake up, old-timer,” he says, not to unkindly. ”There are nasty things out in the world. You don’t want to let the people in here down if something happens on your watch,” he continues, backing away from the startled guard as he wakes up. ”You’re lucky I’m good people and friends of guards-people everywhere, you know,” he says with a grin that tells the guard beyond a shadow of a doubt that neither statement is true. Without waiting for the startled guard to reply, Ron leaves again. Perhaps the man will be vigilant enough after this to spot something nasty coming.

As he hurries to catch up with Cow and the others he sees what he first assumes is a horse’s ass sticking out of a smithy. It turns out to be something a lot stranger. A horse with the torso of a man where the neck of the horse should be. Or it could be a man with a horse’s torso where his ass should be. Ron grins the way he sometimes does when he doesn’t know what to think and scratches his head.

The horse-man calls a boy to take care of the horses, and the boy recognizes Cow. As it turns out, Cow isn’t named Cow after all, which is slightly disappointing to Ron. He was starting to feel very confident that was, in fact, Cow’s name. ”Winnie, huh?” he says, scratching Cow behind the ear. ”You still look like a Cow to me, but I suppose you must like it when people call you by your real name.”

The rats in Stilben grow to prodigious size, especially late summer when they are fat and squishy. None of them come close to the size of the fat rat that jumps out of a hole in the ground. Ron is about to smack the disgusting thing with Ronda when he notices the pouch and the fact that the little thing, oblivious to Ron raising his hammer directly behind it, starts talking. Fast. A lot. Apparently it’s a talking rat. Ron’s jaw opens in surprise and he slowly lowers Ronda. That rat is huge, fat and even has a fat tail. Things must be going pretty good around here. He realizes he hasn’t heard anything the rat has said, other than something about someone called Patricia and someone else named Milo. He closes his mouth slowly.

As the others enter the inn, Ron lingers outside. There is something on his mind and he isn’t sure the horse-man will be around to ask later. He slowly approaches the smithy, interrupting the blacksmith. "I once know a ravenite who could turn himself into a horse,” he says without preamble. He’s always found it better to get straight to the point. ”Or I guess he could have been a horse that could turn into a ravenite. But he could speak so I don’t think he was a horse. Although if giant rats can speak, I suppose a horse can speak as well. But the point is I never saw him when he was only half a horse. Guess he never got stuck like that. Does it hurt? And why didn't you finish changing? Were you trying to change into a horse? Or are you a horse trying to change into a man?” Ron blurts out, trying to make sense of the strange people he’s just encountered. The rat-thing can wait. He needs to figure out this horse-man first.

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  #248  
Old 04-23-2019, 09:41 AM
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Confire stood in the middle of the courtyard observing the strange goings-on and just wanted to retreat back to the comfort of his wagon. The fact that he was starting to think of it as his wagon wasn’t something he had really thought about, but he was certainly starting to get a bit possessive and resented it when anyone else intruded for any length of time. That was one of the reasons that he had taken to sleeping during the day, that way he could just leave when everyone came in to bed down for the night.

First there was the horseman. Confire tried very hard not to stare but he was pretty sure he had failed at that. Then there was the little creature which talked a mile a minute. Confire felt much more comfortable staring at this because he was pretty sure it couldn’t cave in his skull with one well-placed foot. He lingered outside, reluctant to leave the wagon unguarded lest the shifty-looking boy who had led it away break in and look through his stuff, but then he heard Ron talking to the horseman. What were they called again? He was sure he had heard a story about them when he was younger, but couldn’t quite remember. He tagged along behind Ron and then gasped as he heard what the big man was saying; was he crazy? Ron was strong, but he wasn’t sure even the enforcer would be safe if he insulted a creature like this! He had to do something!

"Ron, Ron, Ron," he started, shaking his head and rolling his eyes to help reassure the horseman that this display was typical of Ron and not meant as an insult, "he’s a sentile! This is what they’re supposed to look like!" He patted Ron on the shoulder and then stepped slightly closer to the horseman, hand and stump held reassuringly in front of himself, "I’m sorry about him, it’s his first time outside of the swamp, y’ know."

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  #249  
Old 04-23-2019, 10:48 PM
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Alys
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The Grassy Gnoll gave Alys a disturbing sense of deja vu as the wagon entered the fort. It was...quiet. Peaceful. Safe. The sleeping guard at the gate seemed to suggest so, anyway. It reminded her of Drynna.

She decided she didn't like the Grassy Gnoll very much.

Of course, as soon as Alys had made that petulant decision they ran into the first of the Grassy Gnoll's citizens. A...horse that was part man? A man that was part horse? Either way, Alys had never seen his like. She stared in surprise while the horse-man welcomed them and started to get their animals squared away. Then the talking rodent rushed at them, and Alys gave up with a shrug. Okay. This place is nothing like Drynna. It's way more interesting.

She followed Bud, along with the group, to the inn. The common room was another new experience. Quaint, quiet...totally different from the taverns she'd only occasionally entered back in Stilben. Well-kept, too. Patricia had them seated and served with practiced congeniality. With the coin jingling in her pocket, the smell of rich food, and the temptation for drink Alys was more than willing to settle down and relax. They'd been on the road a long time, so far as she was concerned. "Stopping was a great idea!" she said, shooting a grin back at Cyprian. Then she settled into a seat and ordered all she thought she could stomach for food...plus as much strong drink as they'd let her get away with.
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  #250  
Old 04-24-2019, 10:43 AM
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Talia
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As they approach the town, Talia has moved in a
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1d20+6 (5)+6 Total = 11
tight-rope walking fashion down the rigging to be standing atop "Cow's" back.
She slips and
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tries to make it look like she did it on purpose to simply sit on Cow's back, and put on a show. Hard to tell if which is true.
She notes the guard and it brings a smile to her face as she thinks that she can probably get away with whatever she wants to here.

Hearing "Cow's" proper name, she slips to the ground, sheathed butterfly blades showing and walking with her cane. Only one of her daggers is showing as she moves along like a proper villain adventuring lady.

She only raises an eyebrow when Ron flubbs the introductions to the Centaur. "He was recently swallowed by a ball of meat - long story. So..." She gestures with her head in a way that asks forgiveness and for him to overlook Ron's manners.

"I'm Talia, and these are my friends. Ron, you've... met sort of. This is Confire. Ada. Cyprian. Alys, and Bellamy. We thank you for your welcome and hospitality."

She then heads into the Inn, not seeming to be bothered at all by the gopher-rodent that is leading them. She is a shifter after all.
She pauses to shake his paw before he leaves and gives him a simple thanks - she may need to ask him a favor later.

To the lady greeting them, she takes the moist towel and if it looks clean, she'll wipe her face and exposed skin.
Sitting down she says, Thank you kindly ma'am. Now, for me, you can get whatever the special is of the day. Drink, that is. Oh, and something to eat as well."


 
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  #251  
Old 04-24-2019, 05:20 PM
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ThadulosThadulos, the centaur blacksmith, shows signs of irritation as Ron seems to imply that he is some sort of inept shapeshifter, stuck in the middle of a transformation. He expresses this irritation not by scowling or through a menacing glare as a man might. Thadulos stamps at the floor of his workshop and rears his head back like a male horse might when challenged.

There are a few tense seconds as Confire and Talia make excuses for their friend’s uncouth speech. Thadulos looks intently at Ron, but then relaxes and sets down the hammer and tongs holding the slag metal he was working into a socketed farm-implement of some kind.

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"My people prefer the wide open land of the plains to the narrow streets of man-cities. That may explain your ignorance of our kind, Ron. We are the centaurs," he enunciates the word and looks to Confire to make sure he is paying attention. "…descendants of Laphithas. Long ago, before the Divergence, the gods walked among us and made war against the betrayers in this world. When the rest of the elves fled to the fey lands to escape the devastation, the elven Horselords of Laphithas remained on Exandria and rode faithfully into battle beside The Archeart. Their lances pierced The Ruiner’s hosts, driving through his ranks as the vanguard of the divine army. The Archeart closed with The Ruiner and pierced his eye. The Ruiner was defeated, but in his throes of agony and rage, the power of the Abyss burst from him, slaying the entire tribe of Laphithas…" Thadulos’ deep voice takes on a somber tone. "…and their noble mounts. In the aftermath of battle, the Archeart wept in grief. His tears flowed over their bodies, joining the flesh of elf to the flesh of horse, and the centaurs were born. Since that time, we have run free across the open lands that spread from his throne at the Ironseat Ridge."

There is a small twinge of pain in Thadulos face as he favors his right foreleg suddenly. He does not acknowledge this fact to his guests. "Forgive my lengthy speech. Humility is not a trait that comes naturally to the centaur. I should simply tell the Burrowling this story and allow him to repeat it endlessly to the passing guests. Then none would be ignorant of the centaurs’ history!" He gives a throaty laugh and reaches for his tongs.

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Old 04-25-2019, 02:41 AM
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The Grassy Gnoll tavernSix days on the road eating camp food makes the good fare offered at the Grassy Gnoll taste that much better. The near constant caravans of farmers, ranchers, vintners, and provisioners passing through here has provided Priscilla with her choice of suppliers of meats, cheeses, produce, and drink. Leviya, a young girl of about twelve helps lay out the table. She looks remarkably similar to Darryl, the stableboy, and is likely his twin.

Priscilla brings out wine and a short while later brings plates of breaded and pan-fried grouse on a bed of greens, with a large buttered potato for each of them. She looks doubtful when Alys asks for hard liquor, but when none of the older ones at the table object, she dutifully brings two bottles of pear brandy and some glasses. As the afternoon turns to evening, one of the other guests, a young man with jet black hair combed straight back, produces a guitar and plays softly by the fireplace. The young woman he is traveling with smiles dotingly at him. Bud comes out from the kitchen and stands on a barstool to listen and watch. The atmosphere of the room is comfortable, as bellies are filled and wine flows.

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Uneven footsteps from the doorway signal the arrival of the guard. Apparently roused from his nap in the gatehouse, he stumbles slightly as he walks over to the bar and sits down, his sword belt thrown over one shoulder. Priscilla frowns, but goes back behind the bar and meets him. She speaks in hushed but firm tones, "No, Giran. Just look at yourself." She pours him a glass of water. "Drink this and sit here a minute. I’ll get you a plate of food."

"Dammit, Prishhhilla," he slurs. "Ima grown man. Iffff I want a little nip at thuh end uff thuh day, who ‘r you ta tell me I cant. Isss okay, tho. I reeshhpect a woman’s word." Priscilla goes into the kitchen shaking her head.

Giran turns on his stool to survey the room. His eyes settle on the party and he strains to focus across the room. He gets up and approaches the table with a smile. "Well, hullo strangers." He stands uncomfortably close. Judging by his breath, not all those bottles in the guard house had been empty when he woke up. "Welllcome to thuh Grashy Gnoll." His eyes bounce often to the bottles of brandy at the table. He pulls over a chair from a nearby table and sits next to Ada. "What’re you there." He leans forward and looks long at her pewter tankard. "You shum kind uva priest?" He still smiles but he is no longer focused on the alcohol bottles. "Don’t take me wrong, ma’am. I know the gods exshisht and all. They been pissin’ on me an’ mine long enuff. I jus’ wonder what this sun god’s done to earn your special shervice and devoshun?" Giran stops smiling. "I sheen dyin’ sholdiers call out to a bunch o’ gods. And you know what? They all died. Shcreamin’ and cryin’ ‘til thuh end. Men with young fam’lies. Women with little kids back home. Ever’ mornin’ they ashked some god to look out fer them. An’ they still got some Goliath blade in their stomach. Or eaten alive by the acid of that Umbrashyl lizard." For a moment his eyes are distant, looking off at nobody in particular. "I never ashked no god ta help me. And here I am. Why’s that, priest? Why?" There is a hint of anger in the last word.

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Last edited by 4eyedBadger; 04-25-2019 at 03:57 AM.
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Old 04-25-2019, 05:50 AM
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Ronald ‘One-Bone’ Devyn
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At first, Ron thinks the horse-man is having trouble keeping his balance, but the enforcer soon recognizes the angry posturing for what it is. He takes a step back with a neutral look on his face, annoyed at Confire and Talia for interrupting. They probably annoyed the half-horse. He’s pretty sure his own questions didn’t annoy him. Why would they?

”Take it easy, guy,” he growls softly, but the half-horse then starts talking about his people. So that’s the way he’s supposed to look? How unfortunate can one race of beings be, Ron wonders. He doesn’t quite understand everything this centaur is saying. It’s something about elves and horses and how they became one after a great battle. When he pictures the elves somehow joining flesh with their noble steeds he finally understands. Bald Pete, the sixty-something years fat stablemaster from Stilben sometimes does that. Or so some said. Ron had never wanted to try to catch him trying to join some flesh to his noble steeds. Or, filthy nags, more like it.

”My mistake,” Ron says with an apprehensive look. ”I’d like to hear more,” he lies unconvincingly, ”it sounds like a good story but my friends are waiting,” he blurts out as he back-paddles out of the smithy.

He hurries to the inn, muttering softly enough that Confire and Talia can only barely hear what he’s saying. ”Joining flesh with their horses? Disgusting elves." He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it any more and he gives the smithy one last disgusted look. And the centaur seemed proud of this little tidbit about his race’s origins.

Ron is glad to get into the warm, nice-smelling inn. He has coins in his pocket, and he knows how to spend coins at an inn. He asks for a place to sleep in the common room and a bath later that evening, but first he wants a good meal and ale to wash down the dust from the road. After eating until his paunch is finally protruding further than it has since they started this journey he leans back in his chair with the third pitcher of ale in front of him. Ron has always been able to live in the moment and moments like this one are the ones he likes the best. Sitting with his friends, eating and drinking. He considers telling them how centaurs were created but he doesn’t want to spoil the mood.

He is still thinking about the elves and their noble steeds when the drunken guard enters. He had barely stirred when Ron tried to wake him earlier and it’s clear the man is very drunk. That doesn’t really bother Ron. He’s dealt with drunk people a lot. The drunkard, who’s apparently called Giran, starts pestering Ada, so Ron quietly stands up and moves behind him. He doesn’t do anything to him, not yet, but he’s ready to act if he tries to lay a finger on any of his friends.

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Last edited by kymrel; 04-25-2019 at 06:00 AM.
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Old 04-25-2019, 08:53 AM
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Ada
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Ada listens to Giran and lets him stick his head in nice and close, without flinching one iota. She had run into these kinds of situations more times than she could count, and at least the man hadn't touched her yet. Quite the gentleman! Last one that tried that was blind for an hour.. She smiled as she took a drink from her cup.

Ada figured Ron would be watching the whole thing before he actually moved closer, so she finally broke her content silence before Ron plucked Giran out of his seat.

"Who can say.. Giran was it?" Ada looked him squarely in the face. "Perhaps one of the gods has a special plan for you." She took a swig from her cup and used it to gesture to the weapon he carried.

"One thing I do know for certain, is that if people like you, me, and my comrades do nothing, many more will suffer fates worse than death. Those that go before us no longer suffer, so we must content ourselves with addressing the suffering we can prevent."

"You're one of the Shields, so you must have faith in something, even if it is protecting those you love." Her eyes flit to the kitchen for a moment. "Once you have some proper food and water, you can try my barleywine, and I'm happy to continue our chat." Insight check - 11Ada probes the deep pain behind the man's anger, knowing that it has likely been bottled up for some time.



 
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Old 04-25-2019, 11:56 AM
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Cyprian Thoros
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Cyprian thought about getting a replacement dagger from the local half-man, half-horse blacksmith but it appeared the others put him in some kind of mood, so he decided to get one later or wait until Westruun. He followed the others into the tavern in the meantime.

Once inside, he surveyed the area but nothing immediately jumped out at him as dangerous. It felt like a small town tavern which was both good and bad. As food and drink arrived, he dug in without saying much as his mind was elsewhere. He didn't say anything about Alys and the drinks she obviously wanted. Why would he? It was up to her.

He tensed as a day drinking guard came stumbling in to the tavern, conversing quietly yet there was no mistake Priscilla was exasperated. Cyprian only narrowed his eyes critically as Giran decided to come near their table. He only coiled further as the guard leaned toward the holy woman and begin on some tirade. But, as the man blathered about watching dying men, their cries for their gods and the pain he had witnessed, Cyprian’s appreciation became mild irritation. He snorted almost dismissively as he lifted a glass of brandy to his his lips. Ada was certainly more sympathetic to the drunk guard, clearly taking the road of the religiously philosophical to find meaning in it all.




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