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IC Game [Pathfinder] Diabolical Plots
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<blockquote data-quote="mazzoli" data-source="post: 5919864" data-attributes="member: 6687941"><p>The din of voices in the packed (if the concept of a fire marshal existed in this place, he’d be having a conniption) common room of Our Lady of the Lake starts to die down at the insistence of the frantic hand gestures of a man standing on the bar. A short, stout balding man with what can only be described as a magnificent moustache, Jethro Alim occupies the highest position of authority in the town of Perium, a position much like a mayor if nobody paid attention to how the mayor got his authority and the race was decided by whoever could bluster the loudest. On second thought, his position is exactly like a mayor.</p><p></p><p> He gestures over at another short, stout man, “<span style="color: DarkOrange">Now we’ve heard what this here dwarf, Furtergarath Tagonagunn-</span>“ he butchers the name badly but doesn’t seem to notice his mistake “<span style="color: DarkOrange">-has to say about how he came to wash up on our shores plum naked and scaring our children aplenty. I say the whole story sounds mighty fishy, but Grunner, our master fisherman and father of the lovely Jeslle-</span>“ he leers at the girl uncomfortably, and she turns away in disgust “<span style="color: DarkOrange">-says he knew just where to find the supposed wreckage of his boat and dragged up what looks like the leftovers of a holedweller squad. Since we know things haven’t been right of late, I have an idea for seeing how far we can trust him without trying to toss him anywhere. We can even see what we should do with all these outsiders what’s finally made their way to town lately.</span>” </p><p></p><p>He looks pointedly at a young girl with gold and blue eyes cloaked in a hood before glancing over at the elf indolently scratching the head of the dog at his side while barely listening to the meeting. “<span style="color: DarkOrange">What say we have Mr. Dwarf here, along with the girl and the elf and those other outsiders who didn’t come here tonight, visit the woods for us and see what it is that’s going on out there?</span>”</p><p></p><p> The room erupts as most of the townsfolk gathered start shouting and slapping tables and stomping their feet. A voice rings out across the cacophony, “<span style="color: Red">Any of you that damage my property, I’ll take it out of your hide! It’s bad enough I can’t serve anybody with this crowd. Get this waste of time over, you’re cutting into my profits!</span>” The tall, lanky owner of the inn, by the name of Marte Price, leans back against the wall behind the bar now that the room is quiet again.</p><p></p><p> Jethro scans the crowd again, a malicious grin on his face that is beet red from exertion, “<span style="color: DarkOrange">I take it you all like my idea? I think if you want to keep staying in this town, draining our supplies when we haven’t got much for ourselves, you need to prove your worth. Take these-</span><span style="color: White">"</span></p><p><span style="color: White"></span></p><p><span style="color: White"></span> He is interrupted when the door to the inn swings open, quickly at first, but slower after a yelp of pain from the person standing in its arc gets hit in the backside. A young woman holding a parasol steps into the room. She shakes her head to clear the wetness from the dense fog before looking up and becoming keenly aware that all eyes are on her. The man on the bar points and starts stamping his feet, his face growing redder by the second. Boilers don’t exist, so he gives the distinct impression of a tea kettle about to whistle. “<span style="color: DarkOrange">You! You can join them! Tomorrow! Into the woods tomorrow morning with all of you, and those others skulking around out there right now!</span>”</p><p></p><p> Jethro abruptly calms down and looks over at Fir, “<span style="color: DarkOrange">What do you think of this deal, dwarf? Wouldn’t you like to go find out where those terrible birdwomen who killed your mates are?</span>” He then turns his gaze to the elf, “<span style="color: DarkOrange">And you, Green Man, don’t you want to go see what’s going on in those woods of yours? I’d say this is your best chance to fix your problems.</span>” His now-unsettling stare descends upon Oraia, “<span style="color: DarkOrange">As for you, missy, you’ve been asking questions about what’s going on in these parts ever since you showed up. Now’s your chance to stop asking questions and see for yourself what the problem is.</span>” He looks up at, or rather through, the just-entered Lanalia and quietly, but audibly, says, “<span style="color: DarkOrange">Yes, that takes care of them, unless they have something to add. But what brings you here, miss?</span>”</p><p> [sblock=”OOC”]Roleplay time![/sblock]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="mazzoli, post: 5919864, member: 6687941"] The din of voices in the packed (if the concept of a fire marshal existed in this place, he’d be having a conniption) common room of Our Lady of the Lake starts to die down at the insistence of the frantic hand gestures of a man standing on the bar. A short, stout balding man with what can only be described as a magnificent moustache, Jethro Alim occupies the highest position of authority in the town of Perium, a position much like a mayor if nobody paid attention to how the mayor got his authority and the race was decided by whoever could bluster the loudest. On second thought, his position is exactly like a mayor. He gestures over at another short, stout man, “[COLOR=DarkOrange]Now we’ve heard what this here dwarf, Furtergarath Tagonagunn-[/COLOR]“ he butchers the name badly but doesn’t seem to notice his mistake “[COLOR=DarkOrange]-has to say about how he came to wash up on our shores plum naked and scaring our children aplenty. I say the whole story sounds mighty fishy, but Grunner, our master fisherman and father of the lovely Jeslle-[/COLOR]“ he leers at the girl uncomfortably, and she turns away in disgust “[COLOR=DarkOrange]-says he knew just where to find the supposed wreckage of his boat and dragged up what looks like the leftovers of a holedweller squad. Since we know things haven’t been right of late, I have an idea for seeing how far we can trust him without trying to toss him anywhere. We can even see what we should do with all these outsiders what’s finally made their way to town lately.[/COLOR]” He looks pointedly at a young girl with gold and blue eyes cloaked in a hood before glancing over at the elf indolently scratching the head of the dog at his side while barely listening to the meeting. “[COLOR=DarkOrange]What say we have Mr. Dwarf here, along with the girl and the elf and those other outsiders who didn’t come here tonight, visit the woods for us and see what it is that’s going on out there?[/COLOR]” The room erupts as most of the townsfolk gathered start shouting and slapping tables and stomping their feet. A voice rings out across the cacophony, “[COLOR=Red]Any of you that damage my property, I’ll take it out of your hide! It’s bad enough I can’t serve anybody with this crowd. Get this waste of time over, you’re cutting into my profits![/COLOR]” The tall, lanky owner of the inn, by the name of Marte Price, leans back against the wall behind the bar now that the room is quiet again. Jethro scans the crowd again, a malicious grin on his face that is beet red from exertion, “[COLOR=DarkOrange]I take it you all like my idea? I think if you want to keep staying in this town, draining our supplies when we haven’t got much for ourselves, you need to prove your worth. Take these-[/COLOR][COLOR=White]" [/COLOR] He is interrupted when the door to the inn swings open, quickly at first, but slower after a yelp of pain from the person standing in its arc gets hit in the backside. A young woman holding a parasol steps into the room. She shakes her head to clear the wetness from the dense fog before looking up and becoming keenly aware that all eyes are on her. The man on the bar points and starts stamping his feet, his face growing redder by the second. Boilers don’t exist, so he gives the distinct impression of a tea kettle about to whistle. “[COLOR=DarkOrange]You! You can join them! Tomorrow! Into the woods tomorrow morning with all of you, and those others skulking around out there right now![/COLOR]” Jethro abruptly calms down and looks over at Fir, “[COLOR=DarkOrange]What do you think of this deal, dwarf? Wouldn’t you like to go find out where those terrible birdwomen who killed your mates are?[/COLOR]” He then turns his gaze to the elf, “[COLOR=DarkOrange]And you, Green Man, don’t you want to go see what’s going on in those woods of yours? I’d say this is your best chance to fix your problems.[/COLOR]” His now-unsettling stare descends upon Oraia, “[COLOR=DarkOrange]As for you, missy, you’ve been asking questions about what’s going on in these parts ever since you showed up. Now’s your chance to stop asking questions and see for yourself what the problem is.[/COLOR]” He looks up at, or rather through, the just-entered Lanalia and quietly, but audibly, says, “[COLOR=DarkOrange]Yes, that takes care of them, unless they have something to add. But what brings you here, miss?[/COLOR]” [sblock=”OOC”]Roleplay time![/sblock] [/QUOTE]
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