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Dark Days in Sion - Act 3: Scene 2
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<blockquote data-quote="97mg" data-source="post: 6957492" data-attributes="member: 6799460"><p><strong>Wrenwil: Getting a light under it</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="color: #b22222">~This cursed land is well to full of extremes! Weather. People. Cultures. And now this!~</span></p><p></p><p><span style="color: #000000">There was some dark humor in it, but the aging cleric of Pentos didn't really see it that way. Foreboding was slowly returning to his bones again, as the emotional high of the demon's defeat was replaced with lowly begging and grovelling for food. He really had had a gut-full, but not of anything containing sustenance! Trial after trial after trial. Back home, he pondered, their incredible slaying of the foul clawed beast would have been fit for a song and a merry-ol'-tale with which to brag relentlessly. Here however, killing evil's work didn't even guarantee a bloody meal, although it might allow one time to take a few extra half-starved breaths.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000">Convincing people. Diplomatic gesturing. Playing games balancing needs against reward. None of these things were Wrenwil's strong point. Just because you are wise, doesn't mean that you are charismatic or respected, not by people like this at least.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000">He stood behind his colleagues, listening to Ordechai's bizarre intonations.</span></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><span style="color: #0000cd">"I've heard these sounds before..." </span><span style="color: #000000">he said with a wry smile. </span><span style="color: #0000cd">"...coming from the surgeon's bench, lying upside down with leather strap between the teeth, and a red hot lance playing with one's piles." </span><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span><span style="color: #000000">Wrenwil chuckled a little. Aside from the blazing gifts of his God, moments like this would get him through, an extra touch of old fellow grit to spice things up. Then his thoughts returned to half-starved breaths again, and he had an idea. First though, he'd try and help the youngster Svexyn, with something constructive.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"><strong>[Appraise Lamb Shanks local value. Roll = 4 (including +3 modifier <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite8" alt=":D" title="Big grin :D" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":D" />)]</strong></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000">Well, sadly nothing constructive came to mind. Lamb? He hadn't seen any free-roaming animals that innocent. There had been no indication of land set aside for a peaceful rural life either, that he had so far seen here. In all honestly, he had no clue, no idea at all, what the price of such a meal might be. Surely if his team could kill a demon, then it would make sense that only the best of guards be on duty this eve. The kind of guards that could afford a luxurious delight?</span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000">He shrugged, offering Svexyn a humble frown. </span><span style="color: #0000cd">"Don't ask me, I have no arse-breathed idea. That doesn't mean their isn't a carrot on my stick though."</span><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000">With the guard's attention now on Kumbakarna's guests, Wrenwil set his pack on the ground in front of him and set about a rather over-acted sequence of events. He poked and prodded around inside it with his narrow wrinkling phalanges. He groaned as he searched inside. Then he retracted a small pouch, a pipe, and flint n' steel. With a wink to his colleagues, the old cleric rubbed the sweet tobacco in his palm, letting it warm and moisten from the sweat on his palms. It was dropped into the pipe, fussed over a little, and then lit.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000">With a deep grin, Wrenwil took in a mighty lungful of Chivalran baccy. The good stuff. Sweet as rum and aged as old oak. It was exhaled in a thick waft of oozing delicious smog. He held the trusty pipe out to Svexyn.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span><span style="color: #0000cd">"Want some?" </span><span style="color: #000000">He asked. </span><span style="color: #0000cd"></span></p><p><span style="color: #0000cd"></span></p><p><span style="color: #0000cd">"For a man arisen from the dead, smoke and flames, I doubt this would harm you in any further ways. All I ask is that you pretend to whole-heartedly enjoy it. Immensely. Let us see if we have something which tickles these bone-head's interest huh? A foreign pleasure. At worst, it does help reduce one's appetite somewhat."</span><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p>[sblock=Wrenwil Stats]<span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span> <table style='width: 100%'><tr><td><strong><img src="http://www.dawnindustry.com/Temp/Wrenpic.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></strong></td><td><strong>WRENWIL </strong><em>- a tough old boot on a terrible holiday</em><strong><br /> <br /> Sheet: </strong><a href="http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=209300" target="_blank">http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=209300</a><strong><br /> Level</strong> 4, <strong>Init</strong> 2, <strong>HP</strong> 20/27, <strong>Speed</strong> 30<br /> <strong>AC</strong> 15, <strong>Touch</strong> 13, <strong>Flat-footed</strong> 13, <strong>Fort</strong> 6, <strong>Ref</strong> 3, <strong>Will</strong> 10, <strong>Base Attack Bonus</strong> 3 <br /> <strong>Masterwork Staff </strong>+7 to hit (d6+3)<span style="color: #0000FF"><br /> </span><span style="color: #000000"><strong>Spells: </strong>5-1/5-1/4-2</span></td></tr></table><p> [/sblock]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="97mg, post: 6957492, member: 6799460"] [b]Wrenwil: Getting a light under it[/b] [COLOR=#b22222]~This cursed land is well to full of extremes! Weather. People. Cultures. And now this!~[/COLOR] [COLOR=#000000]There was some dark humor in it, but the aging cleric of Pentos didn't really see it that way. Foreboding was slowly returning to his bones again, as the emotional high of the demon's defeat was replaced with lowly begging and grovelling for food. He really had had a gut-full, but not of anything containing sustenance! Trial after trial after trial. Back home, he pondered, their incredible slaying of the foul clawed beast would have been fit for a song and a merry-ol'-tale with which to brag relentlessly. Here however, killing evil's work didn't even guarantee a bloody meal, although it might allow one time to take a few extra half-starved breaths. Convincing people. Diplomatic gesturing. Playing games balancing needs against reward. None of these things were Wrenwil's strong point. Just because you are wise, doesn't mean that you are charismatic or respected, not by people like this at least. He stood behind his colleagues, listening to Ordechai's bizarre intonations.[/COLOR] [COLOR=#0000cd]"I've heard these sounds before..." [/COLOR][COLOR=#000000]he said with a wry smile. [/COLOR][COLOR=#0000cd]"...coming from the surgeon's bench, lying upside down with leather strap between the teeth, and a red hot lance playing with one's piles." [/COLOR][COLOR=#000000] [/COLOR][COLOR=#000000]Wrenwil chuckled a little. Aside from the blazing gifts of his God, moments like this would get him through, an extra touch of old fellow grit to spice things up. Then his thoughts returned to half-starved breaths again, and he had an idea. First though, he'd try and help the youngster Svexyn, with something constructive. [B][Appraise Lamb Shanks local value. Roll = 4 (including +3 modifier :D)][/B] Well, sadly nothing constructive came to mind. Lamb? He hadn't seen any free-roaming animals that innocent. There had been no indication of land set aside for a peaceful rural life either, that he had so far seen here. In all honestly, he had no clue, no idea at all, what the price of such a meal might be. Surely if his team could kill a demon, then it would make sense that only the best of guards be on duty this eve. The kind of guards that could afford a luxurious delight? He shrugged, offering Svexyn a humble frown. [/COLOR][COLOR=#0000cd]"Don't ask me, I have no arse-breathed idea. That doesn't mean their isn't a carrot on my stick though."[/COLOR][COLOR=#000000] With the guard's attention now on Kumbakarna's guests, Wrenwil set his pack on the ground in front of him and set about a rather over-acted sequence of events. He poked and prodded around inside it with his narrow wrinkling phalanges. He groaned as he searched inside. Then he retracted a small pouch, a pipe, and flint n' steel. With a wink to his colleagues, the old cleric rubbed the sweet tobacco in his palm, letting it warm and moisten from the sweat on his palms. It was dropped into the pipe, fussed over a little, and then lit. With a deep grin, Wrenwil took in a mighty lungful of Chivalran baccy. The good stuff. Sweet as rum and aged as old oak. It was exhaled in a thick waft of oozing delicious smog. He held the trusty pipe out to Svexyn. [/COLOR][COLOR=#0000cd]"Want some?" [/COLOR][COLOR=#000000]He asked. [/COLOR][COLOR=#0000cd] "For a man arisen from the dead, smoke and flames, I doubt this would harm you in any further ways. All I ask is that you pretend to whole-heartedly enjoy it. Immensely. Let us see if we have something which tickles these bone-head's interest huh? A foreign pleasure. At worst, it does help reduce one's appetite somewhat."[/COLOR][COLOR=#000000] [/COLOR] [sblock=Wrenwil Stats][COLOR=#000000] [/COLOR][TABLE="width: 800, align: left"] [TR] [TD][B][IMG]http://www.dawnindustry.com/Temp/Wrenpic.jpg[/IMG][/B][/TD] [TD][B]WRENWIL [/B][I]- a tough old boot on a terrible holiday[/I][B] Sheet: [/B][URL]http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=209300[/URL][B] Level[/B] 4, [B]Init[/B] 2, [B]HP[/B] 20/27, [B]Speed[/B] 30 [B]AC[/B] 15, [B]Touch[/B] 13, [B]Flat-footed[/B] 13, [B]Fort[/B] 6, [B]Ref[/B] 3, [B]Will[/B] 10, [B]Base Attack Bonus[/B] 3 [B]Masterwork Staff [/B]+7 to hit (d6+3)[COLOR=#0000FF] [/COLOR][COLOR=#000000][B]Spells: [/B]5-1/5-1/4-2[/COLOR][/TD] [/TR] [/TABLE] [/sblock] [/QUOTE]
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