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(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 2452361" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p><strong>Our Heroes Find a New Mission (or two, or three, or...)</strong></p><p></p><p>Otis has stacked boxes, dusted shelves, arranged books alphabetically and by language, washed dishes, washed laboratory beakers, flasks, vials and bottles, copied over correspondence, repainted faded walls, weeded the garden, monitored experiments and a hundred other things over the last week. He is tired but happy: mistress Xastys has released him for a day. </p><p></p><p>So it is that he walks into town in the evening, after doing the morrow’s chores. He wanders about, looking for something to do, but of course there isn’t much in a town the size of Whitewater. There is the swimming hole... but it’s already almost dark, and cool enough that the bugs will be out. That pretty much leaves the taverns as a place to go. <em>Well,</em> he thinks, <em>perhaps I will run into some of my friends there.</em> That thought gives him pause for a moment: for years he has not had any friends. Since entering the Tower of Xastys, his life has been dedicated to magic. Nothing else has entered the equation for him- or at least, not until the recent events surrounding Castle Laagos, the bandits and Bangus Redcoat. For most of his life Otis has served the mercurial, capricious Xastys, hungrily consuming all the knowledge of the hidden world that she could provide. But with his adventure against the bandits, Otis had made friends- people who risked their lives with him. </p><p></p><p>When he reaches the Honest Man, he finds some of those friends: Cara Reed is singing a melody, accumulating a few copper pennies, while Cur Sed Seed drinks sips on a mug of ale. Goer, Dahlia and Jorgen are all finishing a meal- the smell of Goer’s shepherd’s pie is <em>delicious.</em> Otis nods to them and walks to their table to join them.</p><p></p><p>“Greetings, Otis,” Jorgen declares. “Please, join us.” The wizard pulls up a chair and murmurs polite greetings to his friends. “We were just discussing some rumors that a couple of us heard,” the sheriff tells him. “There was a fire in Cotton Hill a while back, and we’ve heard that it might have been started by some sort of winged devil.”</p><p></p><p>“A devil,” muses Otis. “That would be... most unfortunate.”</p><p></p><p>“Especially for the cotton crop,” remarks Goer. </p><p></p><p>Dahlia adds, “And for anyone whose home burned down.”</p><p></p><p>“Anyhow,” Jorgen continues, “we were considering going to Cotton Hill to investigate the matter. I think that your aid would be invaluable- especially if it is some sort of devil that started the fire! Why, our weapons might not even have any effect on it.”</p><p></p><p>Otis nods hesitantly. “My lady has had much for me to do lately,” he says. “I must check in with her.”</p><p></p><p>“Of course,” Jorgen replies. </p><p></p><p>“I’m still worried about the Old-Timer,” Dahlia says.</p><p></p><p>Goer asks, “What’s wrong with the Old-Timer?”</p><p></p><p>“Well- er- there was this lady who came to my hut and asked a bunch of questions. At the time I thought she was okay, but now I’m not so sure. She was supposed to meet me here today, but she never showed up. And she said she had an errand to run first, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was.”</p><p></p><p>“Why do you think she’s after the Old-Timer?”</p><p></p><p>“Well, I don’t <em>know</em> that she is, but she asked a bunch of questions about elves and elfbloods, and I know he’s an elfblood. And I mentioned this to her.”</p><p></p><p>Jorgen thinks out loud, “Well, that’s interesting. Why would someone be so interested in elves? I wonder if the crazy old lady got her name. Hey, Dahlia, did you get her name?”</p><p></p><p>Dahlia stares at him for a moment. Then she answers, “Her name was Persiparie.”</p><p></p><p>The group sits and chats for a few more minutes. Dark has fallen outside. Dahlia grows increasingly worried. Cara, her performance over, comes and joins the party at their table, ordering up some wine. They tell her about the subject of their discussion. “Unfortunately, none of us know the Old-Timer, or exactly which house he lives in,” remarks Goer.</p><p></p><p>“I do,” Cara says. The others turn to her, surprised. “I trained with him,” she adds. “He’s a hell of a fiddler, you know.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, do you know where he lives?” asks Jorgen.</p><p></p><p>Cara nods. “He’s actually right next door.”</p><p></p><p>“Then let’s warn him!” Dahlia springs to her feet. “Who knows what terrible things Persiparie is plotting!”</p><p></p><p>The party pays their tab, then exits the Honest Man. Next door is the house the Old-Timer lives in. It is a small, homely place, with a few ill-tended gardens. The door is shut and the windows are dark and shuttered. The group spends a moment listening for signs of trouble or life, and hears nothing, so they begin pounding on the door and calling for the Old-Timer. Eventually, they wake him up; he is safe and sound, but very irritable when awoken. He yells at the group to go away and let him sleep, and after a few moments of trying to calm him down the group realizes just how senile the Old-Timer is becoming- he seems to have little, if any, recollection of training Cara, for instance- they determine that coming back in the morning is their best course if they wish to question him as to whether he has been visited by the mysterious Persiparie.</p><p></p><p>Afterwards, Goer remarks, “Well, we can at least make a journey to Cotton Hill.” Then his face falls. “Although I may not be able to go. Sir Cedric is enraptured by some tales of a land covered in ice. I may have to stay with him, if duty requires it.”*</p><p></p><p>But as it turns out, Sir Cedric is happy to allow his squire to go along with the party to represent him. In the morning, therefore, he hurries the dangerous mile between the Whitewater estate and the town of Whitewater, joining his friends at the Fat Mallard. They have breakfast together, then go out to speak to the Old-Timer, who is in a much better state of mind now that he’s already awake. He doesn’t seem to remember last night’s intrusion, but he does know Cara after a little prompting. He claims that he has not been visited by any strange people (other than our heroes) lately. </p><p></p><p>Then, when Dahlia explains why the group is concerned and remarks that Persiparie had seemed interested in old elven ruins, the Old-Timer’s demeanor changes. Cara asks him if he has been to any- Dahlia mentioning the rough location of the one she’s aware of, in the Ashen Valley beyond Goblin Gorge- and the old elfblood begins muttering direly.</p><p></p><p>“No, no, no, no,” he growls. “Bad, bad idea. No, no.” He shakes his head over and over again. “Not for a long time. Don’t go. No, no, no, no. Bad. Bad idea.”</p><p></p><p>The party, puzzled by this change, tries unsuccessfully to draw more out of the old man, but to no avail. He clearly does not want them to seek the ruins, and just the mention of them seems to have shaken his grip on sanity. The party thanks him for his help and withdraws to the Fat Mallard in order to talk it over (and have lunch).</p><p></p><p>Otis purchases a bottle of the finest wine that Brandon Mallard has on hand as a gift for Xastys, hoping once again to win her affections. Then he sets to his fish stew, think with chunks of potato and cabbage. It is Cara who notices Brandon Mallard heave a sigh. He reaches up and pulls out another bottle of fine wine, twin to the one that Otis just bought, and uncorks it. He takes a lingering sip and sighs again.</p><p></p><p>“Hey, everyone,” Brandon says. “Take a sip and pass it along. This is my last bottle of the fine Kamendan wine.” Sadly, he adds, “I won’t be getting it any more.”</p><p></p><p>“Why not?” asks Cara Reed.</p><p></p><p>“Oh, it just... doesn’t turn a profit like it used to,” Brandon replies. </p><p></p><p>“What do you mean? It doesn’t sell so well anymore?”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, it goes as fast as it should- it just doesn’t bring in enough.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, did your cost go up?” Jorgen asks.</p><p></p><p>“No, no- it just...” Brandon stops, puzzled. “I don’t understand it,” he admits.</p><p></p><p>“Maybe you should have the book keeper look through your books,” suggests Goer. </p><p></p><p>Brandon shrugs helplessly. “What good would that do?”</p><p></p><p>“Well, at least you would know where the loss is happening.”</p><p></p><p>“Maybe someone is stealing from Brandon,” the sheriff muses aloud. “Or is it possible that he is being shorted on his shipments? Well,” he says to Brandon, “let me know if you turn up any evidence of thievery.”</p><p></p><p>Brandon looks like he’s been given something to chew on. He nods. “You’re right. I’ll hire Lazarus to go over everything with a fine screen.” He sighs yet again. “But I fear the fault is my own- I’m too generous sometimes,” he admits.</p><p></p><p>“But generous with <em>that?</em>” Goer says doubtfully.</p><p></p><p>“Aye, yeh’ve given me beers before, but never that fine wine,” Cur remarks in his thick brogue. “At least, not afore now, when it’s yuir very last bottle.”</p><p></p><p>Brandon Mallard nods again. “I’ll hire Lazarus,” he repeats. “Thanks for the advice.”</p><p></p><p>Our heroes return to their previous discussion. “Well, so far this Persiparie person doesn’t seem to have done any harm,” Jorgen points out. “We have no idea of where to find her, what she’s after or if she’s a danger. Let’s put that on hold. Now, this fire in Cotton Hill sounds worth investigating- especially if there’s some kind of devil running around.” He shudders.</p><p></p><p>”A devil!” yawps Cur.</p><p></p><p>“Yep,” nods Goer. “It could be very dangerous.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, danger’s my middle name, then, innit?” Cur grins, showing uneven teeth. “Don’t forget, lad- I run with the Outcasts. We’re a tough bunch!”</p><p></p><p>“It’s decided, then- we’ll go to Cotton Hill,” declares Jorgen.</p><p></p><p>And the party sets off.</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> Our heroes journey overland through a very hostile world! What will they encounter? And what will they find once they reach Cotton Hill? Find out next time!</p><p></p><p></p><p>*omrob, Cedric’s player, was on vacation in Iceland. Goer’s player actually said something along these lines in game, and it was amusing enough to deserve mention and this footnote here.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 2452361, member: 1210"] [b]Our Heroes Find a New Mission (or two, or three, or...)[/b] Otis has stacked boxes, dusted shelves, arranged books alphabetically and by language, washed dishes, washed laboratory beakers, flasks, vials and bottles, copied over correspondence, repainted faded walls, weeded the garden, monitored experiments and a hundred other things over the last week. He is tired but happy: mistress Xastys has released him for a day. So it is that he walks into town in the evening, after doing the morrow’s chores. He wanders about, looking for something to do, but of course there isn’t much in a town the size of Whitewater. There is the swimming hole... but it’s already almost dark, and cool enough that the bugs will be out. That pretty much leaves the taverns as a place to go. [i]Well,[/i] he thinks, [i]perhaps I will run into some of my friends there.[/i] That thought gives him pause for a moment: for years he has not had any friends. Since entering the Tower of Xastys, his life has been dedicated to magic. Nothing else has entered the equation for him- or at least, not until the recent events surrounding Castle Laagos, the bandits and Bangus Redcoat. For most of his life Otis has served the mercurial, capricious Xastys, hungrily consuming all the knowledge of the hidden world that she could provide. But with his adventure against the bandits, Otis had made friends- people who risked their lives with him. When he reaches the Honest Man, he finds some of those friends: Cara Reed is singing a melody, accumulating a few copper pennies, while Cur Sed Seed drinks sips on a mug of ale. Goer, Dahlia and Jorgen are all finishing a meal- the smell of Goer’s shepherd’s pie is [i]delicious.[/i] Otis nods to them and walks to their table to join them. “Greetings, Otis,” Jorgen declares. “Please, join us.” The wizard pulls up a chair and murmurs polite greetings to his friends. “We were just discussing some rumors that a couple of us heard,” the sheriff tells him. “There was a fire in Cotton Hill a while back, and we’ve heard that it might have been started by some sort of winged devil.” “A devil,” muses Otis. “That would be... most unfortunate.” “Especially for the cotton crop,” remarks Goer. Dahlia adds, “And for anyone whose home burned down.” “Anyhow,” Jorgen continues, “we were considering going to Cotton Hill to investigate the matter. I think that your aid would be invaluable- especially if it is some sort of devil that started the fire! Why, our weapons might not even have any effect on it.” Otis nods hesitantly. “My lady has had much for me to do lately,” he says. “I must check in with her.” “Of course,” Jorgen replies. “I’m still worried about the Old-Timer,” Dahlia says. Goer asks, “What’s wrong with the Old-Timer?” “Well- er- there was this lady who came to my hut and asked a bunch of questions. At the time I thought she was okay, but now I’m not so sure. She was supposed to meet me here today, but she never showed up. And she said she had an errand to run first, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was.” “Why do you think she’s after the Old-Timer?” “Well, I don’t [i]know[/i] that she is, but she asked a bunch of questions about elves and elfbloods, and I know he’s an elfblood. And I mentioned this to her.” Jorgen thinks out loud, “Well, that’s interesting. Why would someone be so interested in elves? I wonder if the crazy old lady got her name. Hey, Dahlia, did you get her name?” Dahlia stares at him for a moment. Then she answers, “Her name was Persiparie.” The group sits and chats for a few more minutes. Dark has fallen outside. Dahlia grows increasingly worried. Cara, her performance over, comes and joins the party at their table, ordering up some wine. They tell her about the subject of their discussion. “Unfortunately, none of us know the Old-Timer, or exactly which house he lives in,” remarks Goer. “I do,” Cara says. The others turn to her, surprised. “I trained with him,” she adds. “He’s a hell of a fiddler, you know.” “Well, do you know where he lives?” asks Jorgen. Cara nods. “He’s actually right next door.” “Then let’s warn him!” Dahlia springs to her feet. “Who knows what terrible things Persiparie is plotting!” The party pays their tab, then exits the Honest Man. Next door is the house the Old-Timer lives in. It is a small, homely place, with a few ill-tended gardens. The door is shut and the windows are dark and shuttered. The group spends a moment listening for signs of trouble or life, and hears nothing, so they begin pounding on the door and calling for the Old-Timer. Eventually, they wake him up; he is safe and sound, but very irritable when awoken. He yells at the group to go away and let him sleep, and after a few moments of trying to calm him down the group realizes just how senile the Old-Timer is becoming- he seems to have little, if any, recollection of training Cara, for instance- they determine that coming back in the morning is their best course if they wish to question him as to whether he has been visited by the mysterious Persiparie. Afterwards, Goer remarks, “Well, we can at least make a journey to Cotton Hill.” Then his face falls. “Although I may not be able to go. Sir Cedric is enraptured by some tales of a land covered in ice. I may have to stay with him, if duty requires it.”* But as it turns out, Sir Cedric is happy to allow his squire to go along with the party to represent him. In the morning, therefore, he hurries the dangerous mile between the Whitewater estate and the town of Whitewater, joining his friends at the Fat Mallard. They have breakfast together, then go out to speak to the Old-Timer, who is in a much better state of mind now that he’s already awake. He doesn’t seem to remember last night’s intrusion, but he does know Cara after a little prompting. He claims that he has not been visited by any strange people (other than our heroes) lately. Then, when Dahlia explains why the group is concerned and remarks that Persiparie had seemed interested in old elven ruins, the Old-Timer’s demeanor changes. Cara asks him if he has been to any- Dahlia mentioning the rough location of the one she’s aware of, in the Ashen Valley beyond Goblin Gorge- and the old elfblood begins muttering direly. “No, no, no, no,” he growls. “Bad, bad idea. No, no.” He shakes his head over and over again. “Not for a long time. Don’t go. No, no, no, no. Bad. Bad idea.” The party, puzzled by this change, tries unsuccessfully to draw more out of the old man, but to no avail. He clearly does not want them to seek the ruins, and just the mention of them seems to have shaken his grip on sanity. The party thanks him for his help and withdraws to the Fat Mallard in order to talk it over (and have lunch). Otis purchases a bottle of the finest wine that Brandon Mallard has on hand as a gift for Xastys, hoping once again to win her affections. Then he sets to his fish stew, think with chunks of potato and cabbage. It is Cara who notices Brandon Mallard heave a sigh. He reaches up and pulls out another bottle of fine wine, twin to the one that Otis just bought, and uncorks it. He takes a lingering sip and sighs again. “Hey, everyone,” Brandon says. “Take a sip and pass it along. This is my last bottle of the fine Kamendan wine.” Sadly, he adds, “I won’t be getting it any more.” “Why not?” asks Cara Reed. “Oh, it just... doesn’t turn a profit like it used to,” Brandon replies. “What do you mean? It doesn’t sell so well anymore?” “Oh, it goes as fast as it should- it just doesn’t bring in enough.” “Well, did your cost go up?” Jorgen asks. “No, no- it just...” Brandon stops, puzzled. “I don’t understand it,” he admits. “Maybe you should have the book keeper look through your books,” suggests Goer. Brandon shrugs helplessly. “What good would that do?” “Well, at least you would know where the loss is happening.” “Maybe someone is stealing from Brandon,” the sheriff muses aloud. “Or is it possible that he is being shorted on his shipments? Well,” he says to Brandon, “let me know if you turn up any evidence of thievery.” Brandon looks like he’s been given something to chew on. He nods. “You’re right. I’ll hire Lazarus to go over everything with a fine screen.” He sighs yet again. “But I fear the fault is my own- I’m too generous sometimes,” he admits. “But generous with [i]that?[/i]” Goer says doubtfully. “Aye, yeh’ve given me beers before, but never that fine wine,” Cur remarks in his thick brogue. “At least, not afore now, when it’s yuir very last bottle.” Brandon Mallard nods again. “I’ll hire Lazarus,” he repeats. “Thanks for the advice.” Our heroes return to their previous discussion. “Well, so far this Persiparie person doesn’t seem to have done any harm,” Jorgen points out. “We have no idea of where to find her, what she’s after or if she’s a danger. Let’s put that on hold. Now, this fire in Cotton Hill sounds worth investigating- especially if there’s some kind of devil running around.” He shudders. ”A devil!” yawps Cur. “Yep,” nods Goer. “It could be very dangerous.” “Well, danger’s my middle name, then, innit?” Cur grins, showing uneven teeth. “Don’t forget, lad- I run with the Outcasts. We’re a tough bunch!” “It’s decided, then- we’ll go to Cotton Hill,” declares Jorgen. And the party sets off. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] Our heroes journey overland through a very hostile world! What will they encounter? And what will they find once they reach Cotton Hill? Find out next time! *omrob, Cedric’s player, was on vacation in Iceland. Goer’s player actually said something along these lines in game, and it was amusing enough to deserve mention and this footnote here. [/QUOTE]
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