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<blockquote data-quote="Systole" data-source="post: 6267693" data-attributes="member: 93930"><p>Cheesewright half-limps, half-stumbles off into the shadows. Harry shakes his head, listening to him go. <span style="color: #ff8c00">"Don't give much for his chances at all..." </span>he says. <span style="color: #ff8c00">"Anyway, you wanted to go visit the graveyard, and this leg of mine feels just fine. Now where was I? So one of the sailors managed to stand up, and took as swing at the one of the other gents. But because he was nigh-insensible from drink, he managed to hit his own chin with his own haymaker, and he knocked himself out, which led to considerable consternation amongst the betting public ..."</span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center"><img src="http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/graveyard2.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p></p><p>Harry leads you out of Gandling and into the bluffs overlooking the town. Eventually, the road turns to the east, and you can see the Gurry Hill Graveyard in front of you. The graveyard is an odd place, as it seems to be two different graveyards, uncomfortably mashed together. Many of the graves are simple and older, and bear simple inscriptions, often with fishing motifs. Along the east side are a set of newer, more expensive and elaborate crypts which seem to date to within the last five or ten years. It would be a reasonable guess to that Gandling's <em>nouveau riche</em> erected these. </p><p></p><p>A cold mist hangs over the graveyard, and there's an uncomfortable odor of decaying flesh. Perhaps not unsurprisingly given the recent murder spree, there seems to have been a fair amount of recent foot traffic.</p><p></p><p>Sitting on one of the stones in the center of the graveyard is a grubby, heavyset man, who is presumably Nom Raskey the gravedigger. His spade lies on the ground next to him, as you round the bend, you can see he has an inkpen and parchment, and is writing something down with a look of intense concentration. Seeing you approach, he hurriedly puts the writing materials away and retrieves his shovel. <span style="color: #006400">"What is it yer wants?"</span> he says in a rather suspicious tone.</p><p></p><p></p><p><img src="http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/BH_150.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /> <img src="http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/nom_150.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p><strong>. . . .<span style="color: #ff8c00"> Blind Harry</span> . . . . . . . <span style="color: #008000">Nom Raskey</span> . . . </strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Systole, post: 6267693, member: 93930"] Cheesewright half-limps, half-stumbles off into the shadows. Harry shakes his head, listening to him go. [COLOR=#ff8c00]"Don't give much for his chances at all..." [/COLOR]he says. [COLOR=#ff8c00]"Anyway, you wanted to go visit the graveyard, and this leg of mine feels just fine. Now where was I? So one of the sailors managed to stand up, and took as swing at the one of the other gents. But because he was nigh-insensible from drink, he managed to hit his own chin with his own haymaker, and he knocked himself out, which led to considerable consternation amongst the betting public ..."[/COLOR] [CENTER][IMG]http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/graveyard2.jpg[/IMG][/CENTER] Harry leads you out of Gandling and into the bluffs overlooking the town. Eventually, the road turns to the east, and you can see the Gurry Hill Graveyard in front of you. The graveyard is an odd place, as it seems to be two different graveyards, uncomfortably mashed together. Many of the graves are simple and older, and bear simple inscriptions, often with fishing motifs. Along the east side are a set of newer, more expensive and elaborate crypts which seem to date to within the last five or ten years. It would be a reasonable guess to that Gandling's [I]nouveau riche[/I] erected these. A cold mist hangs over the graveyard, and there's an uncomfortable odor of decaying flesh. Perhaps not unsurprisingly given the recent murder spree, there seems to have been a fair amount of recent foot traffic. Sitting on one of the stones in the center of the graveyard is a grubby, heavyset man, who is presumably Nom Raskey the gravedigger. His spade lies on the ground next to him, as you round the bend, you can see he has an inkpen and parchment, and is writing something down with a look of intense concentration. Seeing you approach, he hurriedly puts the writing materials away and retrieves his shovel. [COLOR=#006400]"What is it yer wants?"[/COLOR] he says in a rather suspicious tone. [IMG]http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/BH_150.jpg[/IMG] [IMG]http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/nom_150.jpg[/IMG] [B]. . . .[COLOR=#ff8c00] Blind Harry[/COLOR] . . . . . . . [COLOR=#008000]Nom Raskey[/COLOR] . . . [/B] [/QUOTE]
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