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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 03:28 AM
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Prologue: Zelkor's Ferry

The Coast Road was a craphole.

Roving bandits, goblin warbands, gnoll slavers, fey courts, pirates, monsters, trolls... Traveling that road was asking to get killed. Or worse.

Travel by boat was slightly safer. Slightly.

Still, Zelkor's Ferry, the fortified outpost in the Wildlands surrounding the Coast Road, made for a decent stop over. Especially for those seeking Rappan Athuk.

Ah, Rappan Athuk. The Dungeon of Graves. A million rumors surrounded that vast, sunken pit of evil. They bubbled up out of the fetid levels buried beneath the Coast Road.

It was these very rumors that drew you to Zelkor's Ferry. Were you here to vanquish to smoldering vileness that called Rappan Athuk its home? Were you here for treasures and fame? Were you here to test your bravery and mettle?

Whatever the reason, you found yourself sitting at one of two long tables inside Bristleback's Inn at Zelkor's Ferry. Around you were a dozen different men and women; merchants guards, other adventurers, peddlers, hunters, etc.

DM TextEveryone roll 1 d100 and an intelligence check. Wizards, bards, and clerics roll an additional d20 and add your spellcasting ability.

 
  #2  
Old Jul 17th, 2013, 04:10 AM
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Father Mightily Oats

Father Mightily Oats made his way through the town of Zelkor's Ferry wondering idly to himself just who Zelkor was, and what was his ferry doing here? Had the town been built by the man, as he ferried people across to the fetid home of the undead at Rappan Athuk? Father Oats had heard stories of a boatman who ferried people across to the land of the dead, and while it was supposed one was usually dead to start with, the parallels to this place seemed to hang over Oats as he made his way through the disgusting town.

The tavern was also not a place Father Oats would usually find himself, but given the situation he was in, it was surprising to him to discover that the tavern was the cleanest place to be. He knew he would hardly get a decent meal and a drink once he had reached the precipice of the dungeon itself, and he contented himself with the noisy, filth-ridden tavern.

He creaked into the tavern, his old bones making disturbing clicking noises as he moved. He was half-blind as well, he took every movement carefully and slowly, as if every step pained him. It was as much the truth as it was an act-Father Oats preferred people to think of him as the decrepit old man and, although he refused to admit it, his old body was showing the signs of age. As he sat, he also took the opportunity to look around. The assortment of locals in the tavern were to be expected, yet there were a few who stood out.

The likely looking bunch of tough mercenaries and vaunted magi. Will any of them be able to help me here? I doubt it-Rappan Athuk has claimed more of those types than they could no doubt count...

He received his meal from the barkeep and gratefully thanked him. As a token of respect, as well as the silver coin he paid for the meal, he waved his hand and a feeling of contentment washed over the barkeep. As he ate, he kept an ear out for mention of the famed dungeon. There was plenty of idle chatter about the tavern, and Father Oats contented himself with sipping on mulled wine and watching.


OOCNot to get ahead of myself, but Father Oats would genuinely think the place is drab and disgusting, even if it isn't.

 
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 04:23 AM
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DM TextFather Oats knows the following secret:

Feel free to make Knowledge (Local) checks or Diplomacy checks to gather more.

Last edited by Quarterpound; Jul 17th, 2013 at 04:26 AM.
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 04:47 AM
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Vashtyr made is way slowly through the town of Zelkor's Fairy wondering what he was doing here. Honestly he felt drained and aimless ever since his exile. One town was as good as another really and this one seemed like it had a higher chance of killing him than most. That suited him just fine. Death would be welcome in many ways. But he would be damned if he was going to let it be easy for whoever finally did the deed. He fingered one of the vials strapped to a bandolier across his chest and smiled. No, he was no easy meat that was for sure.

Between his hoard of alchemical items and his bristling quiver, most things that wanted to kill him were lucky to get even close.

For now all Vashtyr really cared about was putting his feet up in a bar and getting as drunk as he possibly could. Bristleback's Inn seemed like the most likely place to accomplish that particular goal and so Vashtyr made his way there. The place seemed to be doing a steady business and Vashtyr made his way to one of te benches and sat himself down on the end. Solitude seemed an impossibility in here but at lest by sitting at the end he could minimize the number of people who might talk to him.
 

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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 04:49 AM
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DM TextVashtyr knows the following secret:
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 05:30 AM
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Father Mightily Oats

Father Oats looked out across the tavern and spotted the man drinking by himself. He was not too far away, and the father suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to watch him, inspecting his behaviour with a critical eye. "Disgusting..." he muttered to himself as the man grabbed drink after drink. "How can a man take so much drink, yet stay sane? Should Desna be here, she would surely smite his infectious filth..."

The distance from his village, and his acolytes who had for so long relied on him for his teaching gave Father Oats a propensity to dish out his wisdom wherever he went, even where it was not called for. It was this urge that propelled the old man across the tavern to where the man sat and to begin lecturing this newcomer on the sins of imbibing too much drink. "Beware, my son-your path takes you into the realms of evil. Repent and you will be saved, but continue this path and your body will soon reject your very being!!" Father Oats had seen this before, grown men who retched and emptied their stomachs all over tables, ground, other people. Surely this man knew this? "This drink," here the father motioned to the man's cup, "will cause you nightmares, hallucinations, loss of balance and memories, eventual brain damage and death! How can you live with yourself?" His righteous indignation was beginning to take a hold over the old man.
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Last edited by pianoman90; Jul 17th, 2013 at 05:35 AM.
  #7  
Old Jul 17th, 2013, 09:20 AM
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Tyzvalia Dorcan

Opening the door to the in, Tyzvalia stood, allowing her eyes to adjust to the lack of light offered within the bar. Not wanting to add any additional unwanted attention that would be given to her, she slowly made here way to an open seat at the two long tables that occupied the bar.

The sound of her passing did little to hide the amount of metal that she was carrying on her. The leather under her armor would stretch, and creak, while the metal itself would occasionally hit and grind on itself. Each of her steps was punctuated with the clinking as she walked across the room.

Avoiding eye contact with everyone except the barkeep, she motioned the need for food and water to the man. Finally at her seat, she takes a quick swipe at the tables surface, noticing the accumulated filth and grease that matted it's surface. She knew that if this was how the table was kept, that the plate her food would be brought out on wouldn't fair much better.

The men seated next to her, leered at her, yet she gave them no mind. It wouldn't do, to provocate the locals, as she would most likely be needing their skills sooner or later. Rappan Athuk awaited her, and she was sure clearing out it's crypts and catacombs would not be an easy task. Surely this town would sooner or later become a safe haven of sorts as she continued to go further and further within the shadowed place.

'Now to see what information these peons have.'

RollsRumor:
Dice Roll:
1d100 48
(48)
Intelligence Check:
Dice Roll:
1d20 16
(16)

Last edited by Insacrum; Jul 17th, 2013 at 01:19 PM. Reason: removing the color, as per Quarterpound's preference.
  #8  
Old Jul 17th, 2013, 12:11 PM
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DM TextTyzvalia knows the following secrets:
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 12:52 PM
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Vashtyr

Vashtyr spared a glance for the old man who had taken it upon himself to lecture him. The few words he said were enough to tell Vashtyr that the old man was some sort of holy man used to shepherding the souls of men down the path he deemed righteous. The man called him son even though Vashtyr was willing to bet he had seen at least a few more decades than this man. Feeling particularly spiteful at this man's presumption to judge him Vashtyr made as if to reach for his drink but instead knocked it over spilling it's contents off the edge of the table to soak the old man's boots.

"My apologies. Must be that loss of balance and eventual brain damage setting in. They sure do creep up on you. As for the living with myself, who said that I wanted to do that?" Vashtyr's tone was all over the place during the brief words, ranging from mock sincerity at the beginning to profound resignation and sadness at the end. He knew he was being caustic, but he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore.
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 12:52 PM
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Amos Lightspring the Nephilim

Amos had come to this town seeking to cross the waters to Rappan Athuk, the Dungeon of Graves, the Land of the Dead. The town's high walls did not surprise him, as any sane being living in such a dangerous place would certainly want some sort of fortifications. However, he'd almost expected a monastery of some sort, as he'd thought that some holy order or other would have established a base here, from which to send out crusaders into the dungeon to hopefully clear the place of evil, or at least as a bastion of first defense, to watch over the place in case an army of the dead spewed forth.

Instead, there was a tavern, a shop, a smithy, a stable, and a couple of other buildings that Amos couldn't recognize right off. One of them at least looked slightly militaristic, possibly the barracks for the town guards. Still, Amos steeled his resolve. He needed to do this, for himself and for the world. He needed to prove to himself that he could do such selfless, and some would say idiotic, acts of good, and that his tainted blood did not hold sway over him.

The fact that there was gold, fame, and personal power to be gained didn't hurt, either.

He entered the tavern with a smile on his face, trying his best to seem friendly, as his clean, white robes might seem imposing to some, though others would see his healer's robes as a good sign. First things first, the young mage was going to try and dig up whatever he could on the dungeon, and see if he could separate rumor from fact.

Rolls
Dice Rumor:
1d100 32
Dice Int Check:
1d20+3 (11)+3 Total = 14
Dice Diplomacy:
1d20+8 (17)+8 Total = 25


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Last edited by austarrowsplitter; Jul 17th, 2013 at 12:55 PM.
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 01:30 PM
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DM TextAmos knows the following secrets:
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 01:36 PM
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Tyzvalia Dorcan

Tyzvalia turned at the commotion of the two men arguing. 'Typical.' Sensing the start of something, something good or something bad she wasn't sure, she turned to them watching the interesting interplay between them. Not knowing what troubled her about the situation, Tyzvalia stood, and approached the two.

Speaking to the older looking of the two, "Brother, I sense conviction in your words, but perhaps there aim needs help. There are those whose mindset are less accepting of criticisms and accusations, while there are others who thrive on such teachings." Tyzvalia looks at the drink that was on the ground and wasted, and turned to the elf, who was now looking melancholy.

"And surely to see such waste in sustanance is a great cause of heartache. Perhaps we can be more civil to each other, while drinking and discussing our thoughts on gluttony and consumption." Turning to look at the old man, "Even if that drink is only water?"

Turning to the bar, and the barkeep behind it, Tyzvalia talks with the bartender about bringing anther beer, and a water, along with her previously ordered water and food. While there she takes the time to talk more with the barkeep, and others around, while waiting on the ordered items.

OOCAre we all allowed to make Knowledge (Local)/Diplomacy checks, or just Father Oats?
OOCDiplomacy for more rumors:
Dice Roll:
1d20+8 (7)+8 Total = 15

Last edited by Insacrum; Jul 17th, 2013 at 02:12 PM.
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 02:19 PM
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DM TextTyzvalia overhears the following secret:

Amos overhears the following secret:
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 02:26 PM
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Bristleback's Inn is buzzing with activity. Sunset is only a few hours away, but the shadows are too long for any other travel. The common room is packed with all manner of humanoids, from unsavory, shifty-eyed folk to more refined merchants. The topic on everyone's tongue is Rappan Athuk and the dangerous wilderness all around them.

It isn't hard to finagle rumors out of people. Some the rumors contradict others and some of the rumors seem too implausible to be true. If Orcus really did live at the bottom of Rappan Athuk, then certainly he would've risen and destroyed the world already!

Zelkor, a massive brute of am an with thick, bristly hair and heavy stubble, moved around the common room, chatting with folks he knew, refilling drinks for coin, and adding his own knowledge to the rumor mill. He had been living in the area for quite some time and had first hand experience with the local bandits. As you came into Zelkor's Ferry, 10 kobold skulls adorned the gates and it seemed it had been the latest failed bandit raid.

Perhaps talking to Zelkor would reveal even more information about Rappan Athuk?
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Old Jul 17th, 2013, 04:14 PM
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Illidris Vaithrond

A few steps behind the white-robed human is a blond elf woman, in leather armor painted green. Her violet eyes flash about, partly in cold defiance of anyone who thought to challenge her, and partly in disgust at the excesses of those who live here. If they're going to harm our planet, couldn't they at least have the common sense to make their dwellings nice?

No sooner had Illidris walked through the door did she find herself part of the flurry of rumors and speculation surrounding the hideous pit of aberrations on the other side of the river. Perhaps gathering information would be best, before just starting out armed only with the place name and her blade. She could sense Zorba lounging outside the inn, the pale leopard glaring at anyone suspicious who came in the building. Which, as far as the elf was concerned, was all of them.

Walking up to the bar, she bought a glass of claret and inserted herself into the most promising conversation she could find.

Rumor:
Dice Roll:
d100 72
(72)
Intelligence Check:
Dice Roll:
d20+2 (12)+2 Total = 14
(14)
Diplomacy:
Dice Roll:
d20+1 (17)+1 Total = 18
(18)
K (Local):
Dice Roll:
d20+6 (16)+6 Total = 22
(22)
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Last edited by thewattinator; Jul 17th, 2013 at 06:39 PM.
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