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<blockquote data-quote="Schmoe" data-source="post: 270817" data-attributes="member: 913"><p><em>nasssty second pagesess...</em></p><p></p><p> As we closed in on the plaza, the burning-wood smell intensified, and as we rounded a corner to enter the plaza, we could see part of its source. At the market’s far end, a man with wild hair and crazy eyes stood atop a crate, a blazing bonfire to his right, and a crowd of several dozen malcontents before him. Off in the distance, flames licked up the sides of several residential buildings, and thick smoke poured from their windows. The man ranted, above the crackling of the flames, about the need for a revolution, for the citizens of Rushington to arm themselves, and to fight against the oppression of Duke Blackthorne. Unable to resist my desire and need to set things straight, I stepped forward out of the darkness, and spoke above the shouts of the crowd:</p><p></p><p> “Do not listen to the lies this man speaks.” The man fell surprisingly silent, and as the confused crowd turned to face me, I continued, “Violent revolution is not the answer. Duke Blackthorne is a compassionate man – he is to be respected and honored.”</p><p></p><p> The man, well-dressed despite his obvious madness, glared at me in such a way I felt my blood momentarily thin. “Look at you – nothing more than money-grubbing mercenaries dressed in the sewer’s finest. What makes you think that these obviously intelligent people will believe anything you have to say?”</p><p></p><p> My eyes narrowed, and one-by-one, my companions stepped out of the darkness. “Because our deeds precede us, and we have already fought for what is right and true. I am Orion Brownacre, of Brookhaven, and these are my companions. We have slain legions of kobolds in Brookhaven, ferreted out deviant serpent-men in Farlan, fought off the so-called League of Freedom, and banished shadow-demons in the Darkwood Forest.”</p><p></p><p> A murmur swept through the crowd – he shrunk back a little, so I continued, “As I said prior, violence is not the answer today! Go back to your homes; support the Duke in whatever he does. I assure you he is just. Listen not to this man, as he will surely lead you to your deaths.” The murmuring continued, then distinct, but subdued, approval could be heard, and the crowd dispersed, with nearly everyone glancing angrily behind them at the man on the platform. Realizing that his performance had come to an abrupt halt, the man continued his hateful stare a moment longer, then disappeared into the shadows. Emboldened a bit, we strode across Thieves’ Market to Rogue Street, and found the address we searched for shortly thereafter.</p><p></p><p> The bookshop was closed up and tightly shuttered for the evening. After pounding on the door repeatedly and after a bit of verbal coercion from our friend Magnus, the owner, an aging, bookish half-elf, reluctantly let us inside to conduct ‘business.’ We asked him many pointed questions about <strong>The History of the Shadowlands</strong>, but all he could tell us is that someone had paid him handsomely to translate it. He mentioned that he still had notes on the subject, and we convinced him to part with them for a modest sum.</p><p></p><p><em> (Actually, the half-elf had considerably more information than that. It seems that several weeks ago he was approached by a tall, thin man with stringy, unkempt hair about whether or not he could translate a book written in the native tongue of the Shadowlands. The half-elf said he could, and an arrangement was made. About a week after that, a different man, this one well-dressed, with brown hair and a full beard and claiming to be affiliated with the first, brought the book to the half-elf and requested that he begin the translation post-haste. The bearded man returned just over a week ago and demanded that the half-elf turn over the book and any notes he had managed to translate, despite the half-elf’s protests that he was not finished. </em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>All of that seemed relatively normal, but this very morning the first man returned and said that there had been a delay in acquiring the book. He said that his need for the half-elf’s services may have been delayed indefinitely, and he demanded repayment of his deposit. When the half-elf explained to him that his services had already been rendered, and then explained about the bearded man, he became extremely angry and flew out of the shop in a rage. Knowing when to get out of the way, so to speak, the half-elf was now in the midst of packing up his shop to leave town.)</em></p><p></p><p> As the half-elf rummaged through his records, we heard a bit of noise outside. I could make out the sounds of spellcasting, but my knowledge did me no good as the building’s front door exploded inward in a shower of splinters, revealing a hulking creature made of earth and stone. The next few minutes are a complete blur to me now, but they involved the half-elf fleeing, defeating the evil earth-creature, recovering the half-elf’s scrolls, and chasing off several invisible foes whose voices we recognized as those belonging to cultists of Durla Kryl.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Schmoe, post: 270817, member: 913"] [i]nasssty second pagesess...[/i] As we closed in on the plaza, the burning-wood smell intensified, and as we rounded a corner to enter the plaza, we could see part of its source. At the market’s far end, a man with wild hair and crazy eyes stood atop a crate, a blazing bonfire to his right, and a crowd of several dozen malcontents before him. Off in the distance, flames licked up the sides of several residential buildings, and thick smoke poured from their windows. The man ranted, above the crackling of the flames, about the need for a revolution, for the citizens of Rushington to arm themselves, and to fight against the oppression of Duke Blackthorne. Unable to resist my desire and need to set things straight, I stepped forward out of the darkness, and spoke above the shouts of the crowd: “Do not listen to the lies this man speaks.” The man fell surprisingly silent, and as the confused crowd turned to face me, I continued, “Violent revolution is not the answer. Duke Blackthorne is a compassionate man – he is to be respected and honored.” The man, well-dressed despite his obvious madness, glared at me in such a way I felt my blood momentarily thin. “Look at you – nothing more than money-grubbing mercenaries dressed in the sewer’s finest. What makes you think that these obviously intelligent people will believe anything you have to say?” My eyes narrowed, and one-by-one, my companions stepped out of the darkness. “Because our deeds precede us, and we have already fought for what is right and true. I am Orion Brownacre, of Brookhaven, and these are my companions. We have slain legions of kobolds in Brookhaven, ferreted out deviant serpent-men in Farlan, fought off the so-called League of Freedom, and banished shadow-demons in the Darkwood Forest.” A murmur swept through the crowd – he shrunk back a little, so I continued, “As I said prior, violence is not the answer today! Go back to your homes; support the Duke in whatever he does. I assure you he is just. Listen not to this man, as he will surely lead you to your deaths.” The murmuring continued, then distinct, but subdued, approval could be heard, and the crowd dispersed, with nearly everyone glancing angrily behind them at the man on the platform. Realizing that his performance had come to an abrupt halt, the man continued his hateful stare a moment longer, then disappeared into the shadows. Emboldened a bit, we strode across Thieves’ Market to Rogue Street, and found the address we searched for shortly thereafter. The bookshop was closed up and tightly shuttered for the evening. After pounding on the door repeatedly and after a bit of verbal coercion from our friend Magnus, the owner, an aging, bookish half-elf, reluctantly let us inside to conduct ‘business.’ We asked him many pointed questions about [B]The History of the Shadowlands[/B], but all he could tell us is that someone had paid him handsomely to translate it. He mentioned that he still had notes on the subject, and we convinced him to part with them for a modest sum. [I] (Actually, the half-elf had considerably more information than that. It seems that several weeks ago he was approached by a tall, thin man with stringy, unkempt hair about whether or not he could translate a book written in the native tongue of the Shadowlands. The half-elf said he could, and an arrangement was made. About a week after that, a different man, this one well-dressed, with brown hair and a full beard and claiming to be affiliated with the first, brought the book to the half-elf and requested that he begin the translation post-haste. The bearded man returned just over a week ago and demanded that the half-elf turn over the book and any notes he had managed to translate, despite the half-elf’s protests that he was not finished. All of that seemed relatively normal, but this very morning the first man returned and said that there had been a delay in acquiring the book. He said that his need for the half-elf’s services may have been delayed indefinitely, and he demanded repayment of his deposit. When the half-elf explained to him that his services had already been rendered, and then explained about the bearded man, he became extremely angry and flew out of the shop in a rage. Knowing when to get out of the way, so to speak, the half-elf was now in the midst of packing up his shop to leave town.)[/I] As the half-elf rummaged through his records, we heard a bit of noise outside. I could make out the sounds of spellcasting, but my knowledge did me no good as the building’s front door exploded inward in a shower of splinters, revealing a hulking creature made of earth and stone. The next few minutes are a complete blur to me now, but they involved the half-elf fleeing, defeating the evil earth-creature, recovering the half-elf’s scrolls, and chasing off several invisible foes whose voices we recognized as those belonging to cultists of Durla Kryl. [/QUOTE]
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