GM:
Derisnospewn
It’s early spring, the 12th of March by the Human calendar.
As you approached the village, you noticed signs that not all is well. Birds and animals seem to have abandoned the surrounding countryside, and the insect noises are soft and tentative. The village bustles with life. but not with conversation. Far off you heard a dog bark, but it quickly stops. There are a number of houses here as well as trade stores. The Black River flows north-south parallel to the main street of the village, the Sleeping Lion Inn being at the crossroads of the T-intersection between the main street and the street leading towards Trell.
As a mainly hunting village, there is a tannery and butchery as well as the water-powered mill and a bakery. On the river itself there a small number of docks used to trade with villages downstream. No fishing is carried out and the animals caught within the river are poisonous or mutated into awful shapes.
From the north to the south (and left to right) the village consists of the following :-
Kether’s Tannery, a small log house surrounded by wooden drying racks covered with skins. This building is the farthest from the village centre, as it’s also the smelliest. There are a number of barrels of salt in the yard.
Binah’s Warehouse, a large wooden building that also acts as village’s grain store.
Houses belonging to trappers (3)
Hochma’s Mill, on the river with a large water wheel.
The chapel of Daat, a minor god of hunting. This is a partially stone structure with Daat’s holy symbol at it’s top (a bear trap).
Gevura’s Butcher’s, also on the river as he keeps some of the carcasses cooled with water.
The Sleeping Lion Inn – a large sturdy wooden building of two stories (bedrooms above). There does appear to be one ground-level room with round windows, but otherwise it’s a fairly standard Inn. Lodging are two shillings a weak (but are probably worth only one). The owner of this establishment is advertised as being one Malkut.
Hesed’s General Store full of all sort’s of hunting gear and farm implements.
Houses belonging to merchant.
Tepheret’s Boatyard, on the river (not surprisingly). This is actually a number of small buildings and racks containing the ribs of small boats in various stages of construction.
The Dying Demon tavern. Not used for lodgings very often, but does contain a common room in which any may sleep freely (usually because they passed out drunk the night before). The owner’s name is Hod, a large burley man who is not easily angered.
Netzah’s Smithy, a small blacksmith’s shop – open faced with a rather worn anvil sitting inside near the forge.
Yesod’s hunting lodge, a large building that appears somewhat desserted. As if the hunters and trappers who used to meet here had moved on.
Ari:
As you are lounging around the common room at the Sleeping Lion late one evening, you happen to spy something quite unusual – an Elf. He’s obviously come with the regular trade caravan from Trell – he peers into the room as he wanders past into the Inn proper. He’s quite obviously well off, as he wears a well crafted velvet tunic and trews (many different colour strips woven together in an interlacing pattern ), deerskin knee high boots with soft wooden soles. He also wears a green velvet cap with a dove feather jutting from the left side over his golden. His cloak is double sided, colourful patchwork on one side (similar in construction to his tunic) and plain serviceable grey on the other. He carries a short sword on his left hip with a dagger on his right.
Getting up late the next day (the 12th), you notice other strangers in town :-
At the crossroads near the General Store and the Inn is a tall, gracefully curved and deliciously tanned ranger with long pale hair pulled into elvan foresting braids lounging in the village green on her grey-green cloak with her wares spread for sale and a silver pipe delicately clasped in her long fingers.
Looks like it may be time empty a few of your cells in preparation for new guests.
Wandering into town, you notice another newcomer, a young human woman on horseback in mail, which is unusual seeing as the cost is fairly prohibitive for the average peasant. Her features and build are both unusually fine for a warrior, and her skin has the pale appearance of those whom were born far to the North. Unusually, her hair is straight, black as coal, and remarkably long. Her skin is still largely unmarked, her posture is very good as a result of a number of years spent on horseback. Her horse is black with white fetlocks. Trotting down the main road, she seems to pause and survey the surroundings.
Okay, this isn't the full reply, but it's a start. Something which only occurred to me when I read the town description, but is actually retroactive. I have been in town for a few weeks, staying in the Sleeping Lion, in the ground-floor rooms with round windows (which are obviously hobbit rooms). I've been making a bit of a name for myself around town as a nice guy and a teller of fanciful tales of adventure (which shouldn't be too hard considering my fast-talk, etc. skill). The locals have also seen me many times before, as I come through quite regularly, always with a different tale of my exploits. I often leave with people in search of adventure, but unlike them, I have opted to remain local. While they go off into the wide world after their adventures, I always return here and tell the townsfolk what became of them.
I'm going to follow the newcomers about in a stealthy/obvious kind of way, looking as if I am sussing them out so I can steal things from them. If given the chance (and not challenged beforehand) I will even attempt to steal something, making sure I get caught in the attempt. Once caught, I will claim (not trying too hard to be believed) that "that guy over there put me up to it" (accusing one of the other newcomers). This should lead to some confusion.
After much silliness, I will finally admit that I was working on my own, my name is Ari the Swift, and stealing things is what I do for a living. This is where I *will* be using my skills to make sure I am believed. I want to seem like a lovable rogue who has nothing much to hide now that I've been caught out. In recompense for trying to steal things from people who are obviously too smart for that kind of thing, I'll offer to show them around town.
~In conversations with townsfolk, I will gently prod the conversation towards the fact that I have some knowledge of a nearby dungeon, having been there every so often (all that is detailed in my earlier message). This probably won't be any use for a few turns, but that's the plan.
Balron:
Stumbling out of the Dying Demon after your restless night and frustrating prayers, you see some new arrivals in town :-
At the crossroads near the General Store and the Inn is a tall, gracefully curved and deliciously tanned ranger with long pale hair pulled into elvan foresting braids lounging in the village green on her grey-green cloak with her wares spread for sale and a silver pipe delicately clasped in her long fingers.
Wandering into town, you notice another newcomer, a young human woman on horseback in mail, which is unusual seeing as the cost is fairly prohibitive for the average peasant. Her features and build are both unusually fine for a warrior, and her skin has the pale appearance of those whom were born far to the North. Unusually, her hair is straight, black as coal, and remarkably long. Her skin is still largely unmarked, her posture is very good as a result of a number of years spent on horseback. Her horse is black with white fetlocks. Trotting down the main road, she seems to pause and survey the surroundings.
And coming out of the Sleeping Lion you notice an Elf! He’s quite obviously well off, as he wears a well crafted velvet tunic and trews (many different colour strips woven together in an interlacing pattern ), deerskin knee high boots with soft wooden soles. He also wears a green velvet cap with a dove feather jutting from the left side over his golden. His cloak is double sided, colourful patchwork on one side (similar in construction to his tunic) and plain serviceable grey on the other. He carries a short sword on his left hip with a dagger on his right.
I'm going to wait and see what the others are doing. I'll be carrying a mug of ale to try and wash the taste out of my mouth. fully armoured and beweaponed, of course.
If no one makes a move towards me I'll stump my way over to the ranger and see what she's got to sell. Dust rises at each footfall and lingers for a second before wafting away in the breeze. Each one forms a half seen shape and then is gone. What he gets close, he stands, hands behind his back, glowering at the items, ignoring the seller, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. After he has absorbed each detail of each item, he looks up and stares at the ranger with dark eyes.
Gwen:
Yesterday the regular caravan from Trell arrived with various goods for trade. You can see them loading up with hides for the return journey.
As you set yourself up for the morning, you notice an Elf coming out of the Sleeping Lion – He must have spent the night there after travelling with the caravan. He’s quite obviously well off, as he wears a well crafted velvet tunic and trews (many different colour strips woven together in an interlacing pattern ), deerskin knee high boots with soft wooden soles. He also wears a green velvet cap with a dove feather jutting from the left side over his golden. His cloak is double sided, colourful patchwork on one side (similar in construction to his tunic) and plain serviceable grey on the other. He carries a short sword on his left hip with a dagger on his right.
Wandering into town, you notice another newcomer, a young human woman on horseback in mail, which is unusual seeing as the cost is fairly prohibitive for the average peasant. Her features and build are both unusually fine for a warrior, and her skin has the pale appearance of those whom were born far to the North. Unusually, her hair is straight, black as coal, and remarkably long. Her skin is still largely unmarked, her posture is very good as a result of a number of years spent on horseback. Her horse is black with white fetlocks. Trotting down the main road, she seems to pause and survey the surroundings.
And, as you know, there is a certain Dwarf waking up after a VERY bad night at the Dying Demon.
Hey Peter, at the risk of being painful, i have written too much, fearing presenting too little. I looked at transcipts of your pbem, but must admit they didn't help at all regarding how I'm meant to interact. i realise the fudge gm element is there somewhere, but I had no idea where to stop, how to talk or how to compensate for what the others will be doing - so here's my long-winded intro. _Please_ write back with comments and advice!!!! Also, please please please - forward me a snippet of what you described of my character to the others so that I know what you've said and what they've noticed so I know what not to go over. Help!
ps - I had fun writing this - Gwen may come across as less "sinuous and sleazy" than your stereo-typical vixen, but I avoided this to a large extent on purpose - her charm flows from her friendliness and believe me, when she decides to turn her seductive charms on someone, it'd be overwhelming. Get back to me. I think I need to see how all this will work from practical application.
pps - I included a short bit about the evening but have no idea if it's necessary/relevant at this stage.
Smiling, and energetic in the clear morning air, Gwen stands strikingly apart from the quiet locals with whom she jokes, telling tales about worn shoes, angry bears and swarms of bees in heavy northern accents as she tends her wares. Her elvan longbow is propped against a broken-down hitching rail behind her, ivory inlay gleaming in the morning light, while a longsword lies on the ground below it. She doesn't bother to hide her curiosity about the activities of those who are apparently new to Derisnospewn, her direct gaze revealing startling, lavender eyes, but Gwen does no more than smile when anyone looks her way. She moves deftly and attentively, arranging her freshly attained pelts, hands protected by soft, close-fitting, stained gloves.
Occasionally she flicks a loose strands of pale hair from her eyes as she confers with villagers. She has a habit of gesturing colourfully as she talks, cheeks faintly flushed with enthusiasm, laughing often as she chats with her purchasers. Few seem to walk away without a lighter look on their faces, nor before buying some of Gwen's stock.
[I keep a wary eye on the elf, having already bundled up my cloak with its dangerous pin soon after spotting him wander from the Sleeping Lion. As for the woman, I'm guessing she's the cleric - since she isn't my fighter, and doesn't look like a thief. I expect her interest will focus on the Inn. If it does, then she's one of the five. I'm presuming the elf definitely is, since most elves wouldn't come to this miserable little town if they could help it. Which begs the question, why does a god puts up with such things? I watch to see if she will dismount and how well she moves as a warrior]
Will get back to you on this (haven't got a post yet from the woman on horseback). Currently you hate and despise the fact that you live in a Pantheon and you are not the most powerful god. It's because of that bastard ineffable Balance that you are forced to put up with these things...
Gwen sighs and stretches in the morning sun, content with the way her leather clothing has warmed against her back, before turning her attention back on business. As she waves a lonely fly away from her meat cuts packed in cool, damp leather, she continues to appraise the movements of the others with unabashed curiosity.
Alert and clear-eyed, Gwen engages a few locals in conversation concerning the oddness which affects the surrounding countryside. [She puts them at ease first with small talk about families and travel, choosing those who best respond to her charms or look merely lonely.]
An elderly woman in worn clothing of various brown and green hues pauses while pawing through your merchandise. Politely stopping what she is doing she addresses you
"Well, yes I am quite well thankyou. Both my sons are off tending to the farm. The weather's definitely easing up so you won't be having much problems travelling in these parts - Daat willing."
"I don't hold with this dungeon thing - all sorts of evil monstrosities come wandering out of the cursed place! Pestering us hard workin' folk! Something should be done about it! The Duke should get his army out here and raze that place to the ground - and stop sending out these 'adventurer' types who just come for the money and never return. Can't say I feel sorry for them."
She asks about business and hunting, nodding her head in the direction of Yesod's hunting lodge which she notes with concern looks under utilised. She expresses her hope that Derisnospewn's tanning, butchery and hunting industries are not suffering.
"Well, it's a strange thing, it coming on to spring and all - you'd think there'd be a score or more of the hunters wandering around... But these last couple of days - they do seem to have up and disappeared! Now these are sturdy folk, not the adventurers sort that go off after that damn-fool dungeon, and I don't expect they'd do anything risky like that. Maybe the animals has got too scarce in these parts (I blame the river meself) or something? Dunno really, sorry..."
[When she finds an eager gossip she begins to press for more rumors on why things have become so quiet, what they think has happened to the animals, why even the dogs seem afraid to bark. She encourages the trust and openess of her informants by insinuating that as a ranger, she may be able to help. Have there been strange beasts about? Dire wolves from the foothills roaming at night? Raiders?
"Occasionaly we gets wierd stuff coming from the River or the Dungeon - but we've learned to live with it."
She listens attentively and seems to take all babblings seriously. She cuts amazingly generous deals with those who seem most inclined to talk. She makes this apparent in front of other potential informants. She even has free advice or herbs for those who, in the course of small talk, confess to some ailment.]
"Why, thankyou young lady. I say you aren't seeing anyone at the moment, are you. Only I've got a couple of good, strong, hard working sons as get awful lonely tending the farm. They're right handsome too! Maybe you'd like to come by sometime for lunch?"
Gwen cultivates a smiling collection of customers and new friends, [seeking someone willing to trade a common cloak pin for a nice cut of meat. Plus, I believe I put the names of the various young fellows who may offer me a drink in an earlier post]. Sitting on her bundled cloak, slowly, happily smoking her elegant pipe, [thinking she'll have to "lose" her current cloak pin] she waits to see if she'll be approached by any of those who seem to be other parts of the prophecy. [in a pensive moment, Gwen wonders if her appearance has supplanted a true ranger, then shrugs off the hypothetical as irrelevant]. In idle moments, she watches the sweet, coiling smoke rise from her lips and nostrils and begins to relax. When she sees the dwarf, she can't help the smile of amusement which pulls at her lips. [Such a short, comical figure]. Under heavy lids, she watches to see where he will go.
[If approached by the elf, woman or dwarf], Gwen tip's her head back, shades her eyes with a gloved hand, silver and horn bracelets clicking faintly at the movement, and smiles widely, showing strong, even white teeth. She has a warm smile, one which speaks of long experience in jovial company, and an easy manner which suits the way she casually lifts a pouch and offers her visitor some dried berries. [She waits to see if they eat or refuse the gesture, then, without rising, or apparent insult if they refuse, grins more broadly and introduces herself.]
"I'm called Gwendellheil Bright-Eye in civilised company." Gwen glances around, arches a brow and looks back to her visitor with a soft laugh. "Considering the circumstances, you better call me Gwen." She rises then, gracefully as any elf, but with a reserve of strength and self-assurance that comes from long years and considerable experience. The elvan handiwork on her jacket is unmistakable, but worn and tattered in places. As she pulls of her right glove to clasp hands, her tanned skin and calluses are quite apparent. The tips of her right fingers are hard from the friction of the bow string, her palm tough from sword use. Her eyes, however, are warm and friendly, not to mention compelling. She is, altogether, undeniably lovely. "And who might you be, friend?" She asks in a melodic voice, tucking another errant strand of white-blond hair behind a gently pointed ear. At your answer, Gwendellheil nods serenely and draws a happy breath which, much to your embarrassment, draws your eyes to the honey-hued smoothness of her elegant throat. She seems not to notice your glance, turning already to the tentative enquiries of yet another customer with an exclamation of greeting and good will.
[Peter - have realised I have no idea how we're meant to *talk* to each other! - but if any further questions are asked, Gwen will tap the side of her nose, wink, and suggest they wait till evening over drinks in the Sleeping Lion. She claims she has no desire to leave the sunlight while it still shines, nor before she has sold her last skin. If asked anything about her accent or the such like, she'll admit she has a fondness for the Gvaarwald of Brondheim but can't claim a distinct heritage because she comes from two sides of a joyous coin.
As for the duck sitting on the well, she awaits it and the Dwarf's meeting with glee. She'll stare if he stares, but otherwise try to be subtle about her interest. If the dwarf chases the duck, she'll rise up and rebuke his blundering, before laughing and turning away. I'll also fill up my water skin before evening.
Gwen remains happily by her makeshift stall most of the day, at one point sharpening various blades, at another, oiling her beautiful bow. She whistles Dornican dancing songs for a while as she works, boots crossed at the ankle, jacket unlaced in the day's warmth, leaning against her rolled pack. For lunch, she strolls over to the bakery, having picked up her bow and buckled on her well used sword, and purchases some sweet rolls and a small pie. She flirts with the baker charmingly and makes a point of licking a finger with pleasure as she "accidentally" smears some cream on it. She asks if he's ever thought of going to a big town where he'd be bound to make a fortune [fail miserably] and if he warms to the topic, and her, will ask about the state of the town and guilessly ask if the terrible Dungeon is to blame. When she leaves, Gwen eats her treats as she strolls down the main street. She pokes her head into shops, grins a hello at people and makes a point of patting and feeding dogs while avoiding cats. [As I touch any animals, I'll look for any influences connected with my strongest areas of magic, ie: bad stuff] Gwen turns her feet towards Daat's temple where she pauses, nods her head respectfully [yack yack] before strolling with a light step and soundless grace towards a nearby tree. There she halts again, draws a fine, broadheaded arrow fletched in black and white from her battered quiver and lies it in the dry grass at the tree's base. [Mummery for the curious. I feel so dirty] After a moment's reflection, she heads back to her belongings, refilling her silver pipe on the way from a small blue pouch [I was never far from my stuff and kept a hawkish eye upon it at _all_ times despite my "casual" lunchtime stroll], and settles down for a small doze. Gwen's tall, distractingly fit body seems to mold to the contours of the old post against which she sits after five minutes of peaceful smoking. An attentive watcher can see her lids grow heavy through the coils of smoke as her muscles ease languidly. A faint smile of contentment tugs at her lips and her chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths. Its hard to tell if she dozes or merely waits for more buyers in her relaxed pose. [I do a brief check on the needs of my bloody worshippers. They usually conduct their rituals at night, but you never know ...]
Gwen sells the last of her wares cheap in time to head to the tannery [to bat my eye-lashes and ask a few questions as a professional and sexy ranger of Kether about business, the local state of hunting and about rumours of some insidious influence from this so called Dungeon said to lie nearby], before heading to the Sleeping Lion to collect offered drinks.
[I'll enter there at exactly sunset - is this next turn???? where do we stop? Rachel flounder's briefly then decides to include a description for safety's sake]
At exactly sunset, Gwen strolls into the Sleeping Lion. With a spring in her step and colour dusting her high cheekbones, she smiles widely, her eyes brightening as she spies some familiar faces. [keeping an eye out for any unexpected or unusual people -apart from pcs]
In a broad northern accent she calls a cheery greeting to a gathering of villagers near the bar and pausing to dump her pack [at the table where one or more of the other PCs have sat down], strides over to the group of coarsely dressed men who promptly hand her a flagon of ale with grinning generosity. Gwen, laughing over some breathy quip from a red faced boy, throws an arm around another young man and cracks a joke that has the barman choking in a comical fit of shock and amusement as others near enough to hear roar with merriment. A dark haired man adds an short remark to Gwen's joke and she doubles with laughter, a hand to her mouth as she abruptly coughs and laughs, some ale having gone down the wrong way.
[Gwen will spend about half and hour with the locals, garnering info on their trades and difficulties, plying them with beer and charm, selecting one she likes most for a possible bed-warmer - probably the one most needing corruption or the one who tells the most refreshingly vile jokes. During this time she'll watch how the others interact - whether they sit together etc, before finally heading over and sitting with where the most PCs have gathered to have dinner. She'll excuse herself from her new local friends then plonk herself down without asking the permission of the other PCs and introduce herself to any she hasn't as yet met:]
"I'm Gwendellheill Bright-Eye. I guess we were expecting one another?" she says with a wink and a slow draw on her long-stemmed silver pipe.
I know not what else to add - expect she remains a smiling, relaxed and comfortingly competent dinner companion. -R
Kaceubel:
The innkeeper showed you to one of his better rooms. Malkut doesn’t often receive elvan visitors and was quite impressed with your looks and sophisticated manner. There are various patrons lounging in the common room. Most seem to be talking in subdued voices and eyeing you suspiciously. They are all human except for the hobbit in the corner who seems a lot cheerier than the rest. He’s a small, light skinned, dark curly haired halfling, with a quick grin and a mischievous twinkle in my eye, wearing all brown leathers. He looks at you oddly as you pass on into your room for the night. The next day (the 12th) you awake refreshed to wander the town. The Hobbit is absent from the common room as you pass (he’s either not up yet or has gone).
At the crossroads near the General Store and the Inn is a tall, gracefully curved and deliciously tanned ranger with long pale hair pulled into elvan foresting braids lounging in the village green on her grey-green cloak with her wares spread for sale and a silver pipe delicately clasped in her long fingers.
Wandering into town, you notice another newcomer, a young human woman on horseback in mail, which is unusual seeing as the cost is fairly prohibitive for the average peasant. Her features and build are both unusually fine for a warrior, and her skin has the pale appearance of those whom were born far to the North. Unusually, her hair is straight, black as coal, and remarkably long. Her skin is still largely unmarked, her posture is very good as a result of a number of years spent on horseback. Her horse is black with white fetlocks. Trotting down the main road, she seems to pause and survey the surroundings.
Been thinking and there are a few things that I'm going to want to check out before dark. Temple of Daat, do they have a cemetary or do they burn their dead? (if they have a cemetary, check for recent burials).
I just need to do stuff, waiting for others to respond is slow so I thought I would give you more stuff to write and see if I couldn't get more pieces to the mystery.
Need to have a look for the priest. <detection spell to see what kind of holy symbols he may be carrying of have as tattoos>
Conversation bits to priest, these questions will be asked eventually.
"Good priest, a pleasure to see you here. I am in this town for a short period and couldn't help noticing your fine temple. I'm sure that Daat is well worshipped by those hereabouts as the towns wellbeing seems to rely on the ready availability of fine skins and generous portions of meat. How have things been for the last season? I understand that not all of the
hunters have returned in a timely manner from their hunts. Have you heard anything about or from them since their last visit."
"Have there been many unpleasant incidents resulting in death or serious injury over the last season or so? How about incidents of evil monsters? I heard this morning that food pulled from the river has been poisonous of late, is this a common occurrence or just something that has happened recently?"
Evening entertainment at the inn. Tell the story of the Great Kron, complete with musical accompaniment on the flute (kind of Peter and the
Wolf style with particular tunes representing different characters). This will establish personage in the eyes of the town folk. Will emphasize Krons struggle against evil.
Kron story will basically be a man defending his people from incursions of an evil necromancer. How he concentrated on defence, he made alliances and built the great wall to hold back the evil undead minions of evil, and the necromancers allies. How, once the wall was nearing completion, Kron realised that defence wasn't enough against Evil, that Evil must be fought. How Kron lead a legendary force against the necromancer and defeated him in his own stronghold, and died of wounds received in the struggle. How the Evil necromancers allies turned on him and how the necromancers name was erased from all records so that, today the only record of his existence is a vague memory and that is the fate of all evil.
<Magic translation up and some acoutical enhancement so that the audience can almost hear the sounds of battle and the cries of warriors and such, should keep them, excuse the pun, spellbound>
Rob. Will later include snippets of story for the other players to overhear should you desire it.
When Kaceubel got up this morning he talked to Malkut and arranged to rent his room for two weeks, paid in advance.
"Well, sor, we's mighty obliged for your patronage of our humble establishment. You have any questions about our village or other needs, you feel free to come to me - we always keep our customers happy at the Sleeping Lion I always say.". Malkut whipes his large hands on his slightly stained apron as he tends to the cleanliness of his tables.
Ask about Yesods lodge at the inn (preferably the cook or a serving girl, if they exist)
The serving girl is busy bringing people their breakfasts in bed (those that can afford it), likewise the cook (Malkut's wife you take it) is otherwise engaged and I presume you don't wish to disturb them in their work. Malkut himself is less busy and answers your questions with gusto - he seems a bit of a gossip (imagine Butterbur from Bree, but less absent-minded)
, is it deserted? Is this normal?
"Well, it's a strange thing, it coming on to spring and all - you'd think there'd be a score or more of the hunters wandering around... But these last couple of days - they do seem to have up and disappeared! Now these a sturdy folk, not the adventurers sort that go off after that damn-fool dungeon, and I don't expect they'd do anything risky like that. Maybe the animals has got too scarce in these parts (I blame the river meself) or something? Dunno really, sorry..." He looks somewhat sheepish as he continues with his work.
(could be seasonal) is it available for hire? (could make decent base of operations). Are there any dark rumours about the lodge? (all this will take some time given Kaceubels circuitous nature).
"I imagine you could hire it, if you want - you'd need to speak to the owner 'bout that. Of course it seems he's one of the men missing so's it may be a tad difficult. I ain't heard anything bad about the place, even though they do say as to how they sometimes comes back with very strange creatures from up north. Very strange indeed. When times get lean they do tend to venture closer to that accursed dungeon, but they've never entered as far as I know."
Quick time out from Kaceubel, what is Goddesses relationship with Daat right now? Could Daat be prevailed upon to reveal what, if anything, his worshippers in Dereisnospoon have been complaining about lately?
The Goddess is on fair terms with Daat - he's a lesser god of nature and war (which are in the jurisdictions of Balance and Chaos). As you enter the spiritual realm to contact him, you notice how quite it is. It's as if all the Gods are away, or busy. You fail to track down Daat. Must be this Apocalypse thingy.
Are there any stalls, or people selling things apart from the half elf with elven forest braids?
There are some fruit stalls and merchants from the caravan have started to set things up as well. Various villagers are also chatting with the half-elf (will add more to that later).
Keep an eye on the peasant girl as she wanders into the village while having a look at the half-elvan’s wares (perhaps a clairvoyant spell so I can look in two directions at once).
For the most part they seem to be parts of animals or vegetation - meat, skins, carved wood.
<Tag both Cleric and Ranger - Magical tag spells, dormant connections that will tell of the tagged persons location when I want to know - probably linked so can only ask about both, to save on maintenance>
Concentrating briefly and staring for several seconds at both women, you cast your spell. To find their locations later, you will need to concentrate again.
To Half-Elvan girl in Wood elvan (Tauriquendi) "Hello fair maiden on this fine summer morning, I trust you slept well and that the day agrees with you. Could you please enlighten me as to the place of origin of these delightful handiworks?" Bending over for a close examination of said wares.
Nadia:
Yesterday the regular caravan from Trell arrived with various goods for trade. You can see them loading up with hides for the return journey.
At the crossroads near the General Store and the Inn is a tall, gracefully curved and deliciously tanned ranger with long pale hair pulled into elvan foresting braids lounging in the village green on her grey-green cloak with her wares spread for sale and a silver pipe delicately clasped in her long fingers.
And coming out of the Sleeping Lion you notice an Elf! He’s quite obviously well off, as he wears a well crafted velvet tunic and trews (many different colour strips woven together in an interlacing pattern ), deerskin knee high boots with soft wooden soles. He also wears a green velvet cap with a dove feather jutting from the left side over his golden. His cloak is double sided, colourful patchwork on one side (similar in construction to his tunic) and plain serviceable grey on the other. He carries a short sword on his left hip with a dagger on
Do I know of anything odd in the area? Or just travelling through?
You had encountered some strange forms of life on the way - you assume the came from the Dungeon or the river. There was a lack of normal animals as you approached the village.
Is Daat associated with/against us? Would lodging there be more appropriate than the inn?
He's nature/war which is part of balance/chaos. And is neutral towards the Virgin Goddess (and a few other Good gods, but not the vegetarian one). You could lodge there depending on which Good God you worship. Clergy tend to stick up for each other unless they are of opposite beliefs, or they are monothiests.
Barring these being 'yea', just do the usual check-in routine. Go to the better inn, which I trust has stables. Look after the horse properly.
Yep, forgot to mention stables. There's room for about 9 horses and it's got several in there already.
Go and speak with Kether, as one of the straps on the horses tack is becoming worn and requires replacing. Check out the wares of the trading caravan. While going through the items spread out before the 'ranger', inquire as to the odd feeling in the town. ditto Kether, of course. Needless to say, I will at all times have my 'longbow' case slung over my shoulder, or carried, or leaning against me and I against it. Speak to the priest, should there be one, of Daat. Follow whatever procedures are standard. Again, speak to the cleric in question regarding the odd feeling in the air.
Will answer the above when I find out what all the other players are doing.
If nothing further happens, retire for the evening to the common room of The Sleeping Lion and allow my natural charm to over a period of time draw the locals out. Would it be normal behaviour for a cleric to announce themself and allow those who were interested to seek confession/etc? Or does one tend to defer to the local faith?
Depends on the tenets of your religion. Does your church believe in missionaries and preaching, or in good works and conversion through example? It is polite to introduce yourself to the local clergy first as you may be stealing away his faithful.
Sorry, away ill Monday.
Happens to everyone now and then