1st of Planting, 591 CY Weather; High 71, Low 56, Clear Skies, Sunrise 5:52, Sunset 6:11 Campagin Location: Inn of The Welcome Wench, Hommlet
You are taking breakfest in the Inn of the Welome Wench, this famous in is located in the village of Hommet. Which is famous for the forces of good defeating the hordes of Elemental Evil twice in the span of about 20 years.
The smell of fresh baked bread and warm porridge fills the air of the cozy common room, with it's worn but comfortable chairs. Ahh yes the hot food takes out the morning chill out of the bones.
There are several patrons in the in this morning, about 12 , most of them farmers by the looks of them. One person stands out amongst the commoners is a tall well dressed man. You notice that he is having a heated conversation with one of the farmers.
You overhear a bit of thier conversation through the noise of the Inn, the farmer to the tall man, "Come on Elmo, you know something..." and then you can hear no more as the farmer lowers is voice and looks around nervously as he continues to talk more softly to this "Elmo" person.
Last edited by Dragoon; 24th October 2005 at 01:34 AM..
Reason: stupid spelling
The tall human at the table closest to the warm hearth leans away from his dwarf companion, even as the dwarf leans even closer towards him. Only an arm bracing himself on the back of the chair keeps him from falling over. He corrects the situation by shuffling his chair across the table from his companion, then leaning forward to speak.
"I still say that the sage is a dead end. My point will be proven, soon enough, when we visit the man. The diary is still at that foul place." The man is barely above average height, solidly built and athletic looking, wearing plain, but very well made, garments of brown fust. Pouches and pockets line the garments, and he wears an indigo cloak against the morning chill. He appears unarmed except for a morning star within a leather hood at his belt, and a dagger in his left boot. His head is shaved bald, and a very trim and neat van Dyke beard juts forward from his chin. He appears to give no notice to the conversation across the room, although his eyes wander to that scene, and around the room as well, on occassion.
Erimel chews thoughtfully on a hunk of warm bread, occasionally dipping it into his porridge. His playful eyes dart around the room, never focusing on any single thing for very long.
The Wench is busy this morning, Erimel thinks. A lot of travellers, it seems. He watches the servants frantically rushing about the common room, dropping off plates of steaming porridge and filling up mugs with cold juice or warm water. Curious that so many of the farmers would be here this morning as well, having no doubt taken their breakfasts several hours earlier, when they first rose to tend their fields--which at this time of year must be quite important to them. Then Erimel notices the well-dressed man talking with one of the farmers. Ah...they've all come to see this, I think...and they've chosen that farmer to speak for them.
Erimel sits quietly for a few more minutes, finishing his meal, and considering his options. I have sworn to watch over and protect these lands, so if they are discussing something of interest, I should try and become aware of it. On the other hand, if it is a simple argument over a debt owed, I'd do best to stay out of it...
Finally, he makes a decision. With one hand, he waves one of the servants over, gesturing for a refill. When the young boy comes closer, Erimel leans over and whispers, "Excuse me, lad, but do you know who that gentleman is? The one they call...'Elmo'?"
A young man sits by himself, a few feet from the human and dwarf, soaking up the heat from the fire. His bowl of porridge rests on the table before him, barely eaten, and he slowly picks a bit from the center of his bread. He occasionally glances up, peeking looks at the others around the inn, then looking away when they would meet his gaze, embarassed. The farmers, however, seem distracted, and he watches them carefully out of the corner of his eye, straining to hear more of their conversation - and then he hears something about a "diary at that foul place," and noticeably snaps his head around to look towards the pair discussing it.
Foul place, he thinks. I wonder, perhaps there are others curious enough to... no, likely not. I should stay out of it. After a moment, he blinks, and realizes he is staring, blushing and dropping his eyes back towards his porridge, which he goes at with abandon.
Last edited by Terraism; 23rd October 2005 at 10:55 PM..
Reason: Removed signature
Comfortably leaning into his chair and stroking his graying, blond mustache, the man near the kitchen door is clearly not one of the local farmer. The brightly chequered vest, the neat, but aged and much used instruments and most of all his bright blue eyes, mark him as the wandering bard and enterainer who savours the hot meal his fiddle earned for him the eve before.
"The famous Hommlet of glorious deeds and legend, and yet the fine food is the most exciting tale I'd have to tell about my stay so far." he mutters to himself while following the dispute between the locals with unfeigned interest. Doubly so once the men appear to hide their arguments.
"But than again.. " he continues more quietly with a mischievous smile "... maybe there are a few secrets left here, that would be interesting to hear."
Rurik digs through his thick beard to scratch at an itchy chin. Leaning any closer to his friend would require crawling onto the table, “Maybe…maybe not. You are surely the most pessimistic Raoist that I have ever known. This Nem fellow seems as solid a lead as any. If for no other reason, he must certainly have some knowledge of our paladin and perhaps useful information about that dreaded place should we require it.”
Rurik is similarly armed, with a morningstar at his hip and dagger in his boot. His armor gleams brightly, with a beautiful silvery sheen. Rurik’s full black mane is a solid contrast to his friend’s “beware of glare” hairstyle. Rurik’s brown eyes follow Baran’s gaze. I wonder what’s up there?
Rurik whispers, “Much as I hate to meddle in local affairs, perhaps we should inquire…”. He waits silently for an answer.
A big man sits on a bench at a corner table. His hairless gray skin is the color of granite and his massive jaw and brow ridge might seem to be carved of stone if not for the alert bright green eyes taking in the room. He sits with two bowls of porridge and a large basket of bread normally reserved for a table full of hungry farmhands. The spoon looks out of place in his massive hand. He bends his nearly eight foot tall frame uncomfortably to fit the table and his 300 pounds strain the bench. He looks friendly enough and smiles pleasantly at any who make eye contact. However, there is something offputting about the large heavy canvas duffle with dark stains that sits on the floor next to the table. It is filled with odd shapes that could well be a collection of large body parts from the look of them. Furthermore, a huge double bitted axe with a haft as long as the gray man is tall leans causually in the corner within easy reach next to a quiver of javelins that could almost pass as pikes. A strange cool blue light comes from the axe blades and chases the shadows from the corner. The big gray man too wears a morning star at his belt over well worn studded leather armor. He tries to look focused on the food, but clearly the conversation between the well dressed man and the farmer has his attention as well.
"Excuse me, lad, but do you know who that gentleman is? The one they call...'Elmo'?"
The boy spins around after being grabbed by Erimel, "ehh what's that, you don't know how the mighty Elmo is? Smasher of the Risen Temple of Elemental Evil. He is our militia captain!" exclaims the boy loudly. With the boy speaking loudly, Elmo glances over in the direction of Erimel.
occ: I won't be able to post until the evenings on the weeknights, my work blocks enworld (boo), so continue to make posts and I'll summerize what I need to at the end of the day. ohh also I never talked about dice rolling, you can roll you're own at Invisible Castle, just link to it. I'll just roll for inits for everybody.
Last edited by Dragoon; 24th October 2005 at 01:44 AM..
"Serenity, Rurik" responds Baran, "comes from expecting little. Joy comes from being proven wrong." A few minutes of silence, as both men eat.
Rurik whispers, “Much as I hate to meddle in local affairs, perhaps we should inquire…”. He waits silently for an answer.
"I think..." Baran muses, "that the idea has merit. Perfidy can arise in even the most innocent corner of the land. It has here, before." His face turns a bit darker, and he stands up, ignoring what is left of a rasher of bacon, spiced potatoes, and a tankard of small beer. He and the cleric of Hieroneous approach the crowd, where Baran stands a bit to the back, but close enough to hear, arms crossed across his chest.
Last edited by Erudite; 24th October 2005 at 04:02 AM..
Bugger, Laumos grumbles to himself. They're leaving. He follows the man with his eyes, observing over the rim of his porridge bowl as the former approaches the crowd. Oho! Not leaving, but... hm. If they're going to get involved, it may be worth keeping an eye their direction. Now, where did I hear someone else mention the Temple just a moment ago? The pale-skinned man sets down the porridge and reaches for another bit of bread - just the meat, mind, never the crust - and looks around the room, stopping on the elf and young boy gesturing animatedly beside him.
__________________ - Terraism
"Say, has anybody seen Terraism's still-beating heart around here anywhere? Thanks!" - Piratecat
He pops up out of his seat and marches over, directly between the two men that were speaking, “Listen lads, I don’t want to get in anyone’s way while I’m here, and maybe I am perceiving things incorrectly, but you seem to be trying mighty hard to get the attention of everyone around you. Now, maybe you’re just daft and haven’t got any sense about privacy or polite conversation. But me, I think you’re sly and crafty. I think you raised your voice deliberately. You know, to draw some ears and eyes over here. Well, I am not the shy type or one that beats around the bush as they say. Hell bound if I know who they are…
Anyway, as I was saying it seems you need help but don’t know the best way to ask for it so you throw up this ruse of an outburst to get notice. So here I am, you got me. Rurik Dankil; faithful servant of Hieroneous, lending aid wherever I can.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Rurik sees Baran cringe. What?
"Militia captain, you say? Thank you, young one," Erimel says--only to find the servant lad is no longer paying attention to him. The boy stares, open-mouthed, at the well-armed Dwarf currently confronting Elmo. With a quick glance around the room, Erimel notes that the Dwarf has managed to draw nearly everyone's attention to himself.
This 'Rurik' is direct and straightforward, Erimel notes, as is typical of the mountain folk. But there are times when a more subtle approach is called for, and this may be one of them. Erimel reflects over what he has already heard to this point. Assuming Elmo does have some serious news--something related to the safety of the town, which is not improbable considering his position--than he would likely wish to keep such news quiet, lest he cause a panic.
Erimel taps the lad on the shoulder, getting his attention once more. "Thank you, lad," he whispers, smiling, "and don't forget to take my coins for the meal." Erimel slips a handful of coppers into the boy's hand. "Run along now, child--I think your mister Elmo has the situation well in hand."
Should I step in, lend aid to the captain? No, I have not yet a full grasp of the situation, and an Elf steps lightly, as they say, where a Dwarf rushes ahead. Let me wait, Erimel ponders, as he sips at his water, and see what develops. Should Elmo seem to need rescue from the Dwarf's attention, then I shall intervene.
{OOC: If Elmo seems flustered or unwilling to speak to Rurik, Erimel will step in and peacefully suggest that he, the dwarf, and Erimel all speak somewhere in private--perhaps outside. Otherwise, Erimel will just listen to the conversation and watch the other people in the room, to gauge their reactions.}
Anyway, as I was saying it seems you need help but don’t know the best way to ask for it so you throw up this ruse of an outburst to get notice. So here I am, you got me. Rurik Dankil; faithful servant of Hieroneous, lending aid wherever I can.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Rurik sees Baran cringe. What?
The Bard snaps out of his seat with a spring uncommon for man of his age and strides across the room towards the locals and Priest Rurik, casually draining the last of his drink before leaving it casully on some random table.
"Whichever tale or secret you've tried to hide at the most crowed place this splendid village has to offer, you've certainly not been able to evade the fatherly vigilance of Hieroneous it seems." he teases as he joins the gathering, hiding his smirk from Rurik with a little formal bow.
"But that again, your name and deeds have traveled farther Sir Elmo, than just the Inn of the Welcome Wench. That at least, being known myself as Ascalante - a traveling Bard and Musician, Dancer and Storyteller, Lyrist and Poet of humble skill and little renown - I can assure you of." Carefully stroking his mustache, Ascalante carefully gauges the mans (and dwarfs) reactions.
Eglath can't help a smile at the dwarf's bluntness, it is any wonder that dwarves favor hammers and axes--burst it open or split it in half, that's the dwarven way. He continues to watch the unfolding spectacle, but remains as unobtrusive as posible for one of his size.
Baran watches the proceedings, but instead of observing those in the center of the commotion, his eyes wander over those along the periphery of the crown and the rest of the room. He notes the large, stone skinned humanoid, the elf, and anyone else who looks out of place. He also pays attention to those who look like they are too obviously trying to fit in, including residents of the town.
A silghty irratated Elmo gives the farmer whom he was speaking to a dirty glance, and then looks at the dwarf who adressed him, "Now, Now..." The farmer cuts of Elmo mid sentance, "erhh Sorry Elmo, I didn't notice any non-villagers in here until I spoke' to loudly, just nervous..." Elmo then cutting the farmer off, "do be quiet, Johan." With that the Johan kicks a chair out and slumps into it with a huff.
Elmo then turns back to the dwarf, "Sir Dwarf their is no problem, this farmer is just upset that he has lost a sheep to wolves, nothing sinister about that, please go back to youre meal."
Shortly after Elmo gets done speaking a man descends from the upstairs, dressed in fine clothes and and ample amount of jewlery, "What is everybody standing around for? All waiting for me to take breakfeast?" he says with a loud laugh.
Baran stands noncommitally where he was, letting the inn traffic flow about him. He waits surrupticiously, aware that much has yet to occur this morning. His position is unobtrusive, his expression bland.
Rurik speaks loudly enough so that only those nearby can hear him clearly. He tries to keep a calm tone as he retorts, “No problem!? You just said the man lost a sheep to some wolf pack. I’m not the most educated individual but don’t wolves hunt a set territory til it can no longer support them? I’d say they’ll eat quite well if they remain here. Rather dangerous to all if left unchecked, wouldn’t you agree. Oh, my meal is finished but my business in Hommlet is not.”
A slightly puzzled look suddenly appears on Rurik’s face, “Isn’t there a divine grove around here. Can’t the druids aid you in this matter? If not, I have a small task that I must take care of presently; however, afterwards my time is my own and I will gladly assist in rectifying this concern.”
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OOC:. Sense motive vs. Elmo’s story: id=173917.
Laumus sinks back in his chair and returns to his meal, finishing off the porridge and turning his attention to the bread, satisfied - or perhaps unsatisfied - to have concluded that the exchange had nothing to do with the Temple. Bugger. Now what? Well, I suppose I should still keep an eye on the dwarf - his friend did mention something about the place... perhaps...
Picking up the bread and mug, and adjusting his cloak - Darvus tucked neatly against his neck - Laumus leaves a few coins on the table and moves towards the older man the dwarf was breakfasting with, pausing when he hears someone new to the room mention waiting for breakfast.
__________________ - Terraism
"Say, has anybody seen Terraism's still-beating heart around here anywhere? Thanks!" - Piratecat
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