[Pathfinder] Flames of Littleton

[VanorDM]

As night falls over the village of Littleton, a foul wind kicks up from the south and spreads out over the town. Town's people put down their cups, pause with dinner nearly to their lips, and hush their children and listen.

No one knows for sure what is wrong, only that a stench unlike any they have experienced before has drifted across their peaceful homes.

A few rush to windows or look out doors to see if the can spy the cause of this foul wind, but none can see anything in the town itself or anything out among the woods or hills that might cause this.

The only thing anyone can see that is out of place is a faint red-orange glow in the south below a line of hills, it seems out of place due to the sun having set some hour or more ago and it being full dark.

 

[Mark Chance]

Onslau exits the Littleton Inn laughing, Mathilda on his arm. He gently pulls her down to whisper in her ear, and the lass blushes but giggles. Quickly, the pair walk toward the bridge, Mathilda looking back, expecting the innkeeper to come rushing after her, having noticed she's no longer slinging drinks.

"C'mon, love," Onslau says, his step light. "Once we're past the trees, he want be able to see us no how." His voice drops to a conspiratorial tone. "And once we're under the bridge, no one will be able to see us."

Mathilda giggles some more.

"Of course, folks might be able to hear," Onslau says, and Mathilda socks him on the shoulder, but her giggling continues nonetheless.

"Ug!" she says, pinching her nose. "What's that stink?"

Onslau frowns. The stench certainly isn't one to encourage amorous feelings. The young warrior looks around, and then his eyes fix to the south.

"By the hells," he mutters. "Is that a fire?"

 

[Scott DeWar]

Calvin is finishing up tidieing up the village shrine and sw just leaving, darkness fully set in. His hunger speaks for itself with a rebelious growl. he is about to head to the littleton inn when his appitie is suddenly quenched by an oder of foulest prescense. A gag issues from his throat before he is able to notice the peculiar orange glow to the south. This causes alarm in his mind so he starts again to the Inn, to see if there might be some who can join him in investigating this strange happening .... <move to littleton inn>

 

[Onyx]

Having spent the last few nights taking refuge from wet weather, Talmon has found himself guest to the local Inn of this quaint village Littleton. The place is quiet enough to conduct some study most evenings, despite the fact many villagers take there the evening meal. In fact it has been very convenient for him to take a table out of the way and set out his research. And since food has been simple and the beds free of vermin, the elf has found himself with very little to complain about... until now, that is.

Affronted by such a stench Talmon's weak stomach could scarcely hold its contents and in the scramble to cover his face against it the elf knocks over an ink vial onto some parchments he was looking over.

In a civil tone his youthful voice asks of no one in particular, "What is that ghastly smell?!"

The elf scans the room as if expecting reply.

 

[Walking Dad]

Experiencing maybe one of his prophetic nightmares, Devos leaves his hut. He didn' bother to lock it up, as the local wildlife knew better than to mess with these place and he left nothing that any humanoid would think worthy to steal. Not saying goodbye, because after his mothers death he lived alone, he makes his way to Littleton.

Coming from the north, where the river meets the sea, first sensing the smell and then the fiery glow, he moves fast toward the tavern to alert the villagers...

[sblock=ooc]
AC 13 (T13, FF10), HP 12/12, F +2,R+2,W+2
0 Level: Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Guidance
1 Level: Mage Armor, Sleep

[/sblock]

 

[Rhun]

The elf smiles to himself as he crouched in the shadows, near the door of one of Littleton's wealthier looking homes. He knew nobody was home...he had watched the residents leave a little bit before, perhaps heading to the inn for a drink. He brushed a strand of errant platinum blonde hair from his eyes, back under the black cowl of his cloak, as he carefully removes a set of lockpicks from a pouch at his belt.

The night was dark, perfect for deeds such as Vithralas Fél had planned. But where had the sudden stench in the air come from? And what was that strange glow in the distance? The elf turns his azure blue eyes to the south, his plan for burglary forgotten for the moment.

 

[ghostcat]

Lydia is out later than she likes to be. She usually makes camp just before sunset. Tonight, however, she is still plodding down the road even though the sun had long ago set and it is full dark. She has heard that the town of Littleton, which is just a little way ahead, has a nice inn. She feels that she had earned a night at an inn after being on the road for so long, so she keeps going.

Arrived in Littleton from the north, it does not take Lydia long to find the way to the inn. However, just has she starts to anticipate some hot food, maybe a glass or two of wine, definitely a hot bath and a warm soft bed, her nose is assaulted with the foulest smell she has ever experienced. Not noticing the fiery glow coming from the south because of her bad eyesight, she says to herself. "If Littleton always smells like this, then I have made a big mistake".

 

[Mark Chance]

Onslau spots the stranger coming in from the north toward the inn about the same time he watches Devos enter the aforesaid building.

"Ooh," says Mathilda, "that stinks right awful."

"Yes, my darling, it does," Onslau says. "I'm thinking maybe tonight's not a good night for, you know, inspecting the bridge."

Mathilda giggles despite the stench.

"Run back to work before you're noticed missing," Onslau says, slapping the wench on the backside as she heads back to the inn.

The halfling checks the lie of his clothes, adjusts his collar, and smooths back his hair. He then turns toward the stranger and walks a bit.

"Hail and well met!" he calls out to her. "Don't let that awful smell give you the wrong impression. It is certainly not native to our sleepy little hamlet."

OOC: Tag, Lydia!

 

[ghostcat]

Lydia heard that someone was approaching her long before he spoke. However, she knew that with her short-sightedness it was no use her looking round to see who it was. Therefore, except that her hand surreptitiously went to her Morningstar, she gave no indication that she knew somebody was behind her. Only when he spoke did she stop and let him catch up. "Good evening sir. Thank you for telling me that, I was beginning to think that I had made a mistake rushing here. I have been on the road a long time and I was looking forward to some hot food, maybe a glass or two of wine, definitely a hot bath and a warm soft bed. However, the smell is killing that idea. By the way, I am called Lydia."

OOC: Just to make it clear, Lydia is leading a pack mule.

 

[Mark Chance]

"I'm sure that stench has killed more than one perfect evening. I'm Onslau Steeltoe," the halfling says. "Welcome to Littleton, Lydia. Let's get that mule into the stable, and I can help you with any gear you might need to tote into the inn."