(Adventure) The Monestary of Saint Feragon <Judge:Macbeth>

[nimisgod]

A Deep Halfling wearing a studded leather jacket and riding a leather barded warpony approaches the group. "Greetings," he says to the lot while surveying them with his strikingly blue eyes. "My name is Sir Ishmael of the Wooden Sword and this is my companion in combat, Courage. I seek to lend my aid to the monks of St. Feragon's Monastery. A boy at the Inn hath given me news that the horrors of undeath ravage these holy men. If this is the group that give them reprieve from the dark, Courage and I would be honored to serve with thee in divine justice with warsledge and valor"

His symbol, a brown sword upon a field of white, is displayed prominently upon his surcoat and shield. To all appearances, Sir Ishmael looks like a poorly armed and armored warrior of short stature with only painted wood and studded leather to protect him. Nevertheless, he seems forthright and eager to participate in the mission at hand. The scar upon his face adds to the seriousness of his tone, a trait rarely found among the small folk.

OoC: Alas, I've no money for potions. I'm willing to take a few hits for the team though.

 

[dpdx]

Rurik's bemused expression is usually hidden beneath his beard, but astute judges of character can tell it in his eyes, if they know what to look for.

"Pleasant marnin' to ye, Sir Ishmael. I be Rurik Axebender. I do a bit o' fightin', a bit o' smithin', and as it turns out, a bit o' writin'. Happy to have ye, if we're havin' ye. But they'll be no need to be takin' hits fer the team. That's what we're fer." He indicates himself and Sturm. "No need to be gettin' yerself kilt..."

Rurik takes the wad of paper and the inkpen from Sturm, straightens out the papers as best he can, and finds a flat surface to write upon. When he does, he looks back at Sturm. "Now, what'n ye want to say?"

 

[Ankh-Morpork Guard]

"Looks like this filled out nicely, doesn't if Fang?" Telerin asked the wolf that was walking next to his horse. The Human smiled warmly and looked over his shoulders at Aranel, "You know...I do have to breathe sometimes."

 

[Uriel]

Bron Bekkle wiped the rain from his face, removing his oilskin slicker as he sat down for tea at the Roadwarden's station. Grinning through a smile missing more than a few teeth, the oldster says 'Well, then Master Rurik, Sir Ishmael, tis good ta have ye along, as another sword, another axe may be crucial when we reach the Monestary.' Addressing the young Paladin, Bron asks ' I do have one question, though . I'm not for Titles usually, so, if it's all right...May I call you Ishmael?'

OoC:He,he,he...

 

[Guilt Puppy]

(OOC -- Don't feel guilty, Uriel... someone had to say it )

"'n a good day to ye, Lady Elf..." Sturm points off in the distance. "Oh 'n look now! Here's comin' Sir Halfling!"

As Ishmael approaches, he listens to his introduction, seeming confused.

"Horrors o' undeath, ye say? That's like what, ghosties? Glinty, I say. Had a worry fer a second we might just be sent'n pick somethin' up."

"Anycase, welcome up'n with us, 'shmael. Ye and yer armor'd 'ound'll be a boon at us all, no doubtin'."

Once the introductions are over, he follows Rurik for a bit more privacy to dictate his letter. He lowers his voice, speaking in Dwarven:

"Dear ole mum... I'm out 'n got another jobby, this time out slayin' a mon'stery o' undeath named St. Feragon. I'm not sure 'ow much gold's in it but it's like granda always said, 'doin' what right's the right thing'n do, 'n hopefully there be some gold in it, too.' A human let me borrow 'is giant 'ound fer the task, and I named 'im after you, as a gesture o' kindness, and he ain't bit me once since it, so maybe it's worked. Tell da I'm doing proud, 'n lie to Eoff a li'l like I'm doin' a bit more glory-work than what is. I'll be back fer Shoutin' Day. Love, Sturm."

"Right," he says, "got all that? Now where's'n I go 'n find a body that'll deliver it?"

He checks around the Roadwarden station, searching for someone who'll take some gold for delivery.

 

[dpdx]

Rurik follows the dictation word for Dwarven word, and when finished, folds up the paper, properly.

"Ye got a sealin' wax fer yer letter? At'd make it sure from ye, n'case yer mum din't recognize me writin'."

Now where's'n I go 'n find a body that'll deliver it?"

Rurik looks around at the Roadwardens.

"I reckon ye Roadwardens'd send it w' ye normal post, eh? 'Ere, problem solved."

 

[nimisgod]

' I do have one question, though . I'm not for Titles usually, so, if it's all right...May I call you Ishmael?'

Sir Ishmael returns the smile though with noticably more teeth. "Verily, sir. As a Knight of the Wooden Sword-" The halfling pauses and for the moment a shadow crosses his features. Where there was once nobility, there was a gloom of despair and sorrow as grey as the rainy day above him.

He snaps to in but a few moments, his reflection of a past misdeed taking no more than a single second. "I mean to say, of course, Ishmael, or 'shmael would do fine for nomenclature. I would merely ask that thou dost not call me 'unpunctual for morning sup'" he grins as if nothing else had ever crossed his mind.

"My duty is to aid in the task at hand, Master Axebender. I would not dare let thee and thine fellow Dwarf handle the dangers of our quest alone. My warsledge, Violet, would readily crush the bones of walking dead and I could act as a shield if needed. Halfling flesh may not be as tough as Dwarven hide but I would make up for my lackings in valor and Courage" Sir Ishmael pets his mount as the last word is uttered. He maintains his gay demeanor with grace and tact, never surrendering to the arrogance or condescension that would plague the mannerisms of more prestigious knights.

"So, shall we hie to yon monastery or is there business to perform in this Roadwarden station?"

 

[Ankh-Morpork Guard]

"So, shall we hie to yon monastery or is there business to perform in this Roadwarden station?"

Telerin smiles, "I believe our Dwarf friend wishes to first send a letter before we depart."
Whitefang was slowly stalking over to the Halfling and his mount, sniffing them cautiously. The Druid shook his head a little, "Always have to inspect everyone, don't you Fang? Don't mind him, Ishmael...he's just a curious creature."
Satisfied after a moment, the wolf nods to them and trots back over to Telerin.

 

[Uriel]

OoC:Great RPing, new fols...I was merely stopping the group here to allow you to catch up. I have a Human Druid (and Wolf), a, Elf Rogue, a Halfling Paladin, a Dwarf Barbarian, a Dwarf Fighter and a Gnome Cleric. Good mix all around, though a Mage would have been great...Bron Bekkle is a Ranger, though an old one, he is mostly for flavor and guidance in getting there, as hewas last time.

IC:Bron nods at how these folk were getting on with one another. There seemed to be many stout blades, hammers and axes now, and he was sure that they would be desperately needed in the coming Storm. Smething was brewing up North, somthing that had driven the followers of Kroggoth southwards in their Hunt...

A large part of the Roadwardens have now stood and moved off, leaving two or three in the room. Bron motions all forward so as to share information perhaps more sensitive than he would like other ears to hear.

'Aranel and telerin already knows this, but Id like ta catch you other Goode Folk up on things. Something is driving an alien force Southwards, or spurring them on. These invaders, these followers of Kroggoth the Beast God are bestial and horrible, seeing all good folk as Prey and the whole World as their huntin' grounds. So far, Orcs and Ogres have been encountered, horribly changed into monsters even more Base.The Monestary was attacked yesterday and I don't think the City'll send folks out to help in time, so I asked fer youto help. I have this, from the Church of Hyrag...'
Bekkle pulls out a sheet of parchment, rolled and stuffed into a waterproof leather tube. Extracting it, it is a Promisary Note from the Church of Hyrag in good faith for their Allies the Monestary of Saint Feragon to the sum of 2,000Gold Crowns, to be delivered upon either bringing survivors back to Orrassus or bringinf proof of what has transpired there.

Kirin recognizes the name Kroggoth as a northern Deity, an obscure one who turns his followers Feral. releasing the most bestial and base instincts in them.

While you are all pondering what has been said, the door opens and several more travellers enter.

Three Roadwardens seem to be helping a woman who looks to be with child, she is swaddled up completely and one Roadwarden helps her along.

The other two in the room glance up, one saying ' Rory, we'd started ta think you wasn't coming back You wuz due two hours ago...Rory...?'

The man adressed stops, listening to the speaker.

It is at this point that Whitefang begins to snarl incessantly, baring his teeth at the newly arrived Roadwards.

Telerin and Ishmael feel the hackles rise on their necks, and <DM liscense> ishmael [I[Detects Evil[/I] on a hunch, becoming instantly assailed by the Foul reek from these men.


Throwing off cloaks the three Roadwardens show faces hideously changed, canines extended through bloody gums, eyes bulging and bloodshot. Their hands...they now sport long 2 inch black claws and their forms seem unnaturally muscled, this showing through their riding leathers and the occassional boot that now has talon holes where they poke free.
With a Howl they attack, the htree and the 'pregnant woman' standing to show another man, smaller, though possessed of the same animalistic visage and nature.

Initiatives

Telerin, Whitefang and Ishmael have a Suprise round action, then as below...

Feral Roadwardens 20 (ACK!)
Aranel 19
Telerin 18
Whitefang 16
Roadwardens 13 (the good guys)
Kirin 12
Rurik 11
Bron Bekkle 8
Ishmael 6
Sturm 4

 

[Uriel]

Round one map...

Sorry for tha tea stains