Ter-raen is genuinely surprised! He hasn't met any dwarves that know Orcish thus far, and he lets the slight at him pass, just as usual. He replies in Orcish, with a slight nod, "Good to hear you. The young man worries too much." After his short reply, Ter-raen relaxes a little in his seat, his hands no longer on the table, now just slack on his lap. Maybe is good to have dwarf sign up too.
-
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Tavern - City of Orussus, The Red Dragon Inn '08
- Thread starter Bront
- Start date
Jerrand Redband
First Post
serow said:
I'm sorry did you say that part outloud??
Jerrand Redband
First Post
ooc: thought(no pun intended) so
Cyian watches the exchange not knowing if they are arguing or telling jokes. He fells alot better once he sees the half-orc relax a little." Ale," he asks the half-orc?
Cyian watches the exchange not knowing if they are arguing or telling jokes. He fells alot better once he sees the half-orc relax a little." Ale," he asks the half-orc?
Something hidden talents. Ter-raen is no longer bothered by the dwarf's speech impediment, now that he can speak properly with the dwarf when needed. He simply chuckles a little at that sentence.Gildrim said:
"Yes. Please." Ter-raen cheerfully accepts the young man's invitation, a pleasing thought in this rain. Looking at the dwarf, Ter-raen gestures at him with a wave of the hand, "Come, ale too?"Cyian said:
[/sblock]
covaithe
Explorer
"Well, I think that's about enough of that," Alvar says, signing his name with a flourish and handing the page back to the harried-looking halfling. "Joe, the room we discussed is ready?"
Joe nods and waves a bar-rag towards a door in the back of the inn. Alvar stands up and says "If those of you who are interested in hearing the rest of my proposition would please follow me, we can get started." He leads the way into the back room.
[sblock=anyone who follows]
In the back room is a long table, less worn and stained than the one you were just drinking off of. The walls are thick plaster, and when the door closes behind you, you can only hear the noisy common room as a dim murmur.
"I know you all want to the details of exactly what I want you to do, but I'm going to have to give a little background information, a history lesson if you will, in order for it all to make sense." Alvar's voice booms out slightly too loudly for the room. "I'll try to make it quick."
"Two hundred years ago, the Grellgo river -- you all know the Grellgo? It's the big river running north towards Orussus from Lathim and points south. Anyway, two hundred years ago it was a much smaller river, and the lands along its banks were good farmland, not festering swamps. And the owners of that farmland ... Well. Since Orussus is ruled by a mayor and a council, you may have wondered -- I certainly have -- where all these lords and countesses and barons come from. It turns out that they are landowners, or were. They owned farmland. Good farmland." He smiles nastily.
"About a hundred and fifty years ago, some nameless river in the Badlands shifted course and became a tributary of the Grellgo. Overnight, the Grellgo tripled in size, jumped its banks, and flooded most of that good farmland. Family fortunes tracing back generations were wiped out in days. When the river settled into its present course, most of the best farmland had turned into swamplands: the Grellgo fens. Many of the noble families lost everything, and their names are mostly forgotten. A few managed to survive, much diminished, on other holdings: lesser farmlands, trade ships, gold stored elsewhere, and so forth. Those are the ancestors of our current crop of lordlings." His voice drips contempt.
"Now we come to my part in the story. My mother's aunt, Aurelia Higgenbottom, died ten years ago, and in her possessions we found a diary that had belonged to her mother; my great grandmother. The diary records that not long after her marriage to my great grandfather, she received word that her family home was lost in a flood. She goes on for several pages of rather purple prose about how she'll never see her childhood home again, which was painful to read, but was useful in that she described some of the landmarks in detail."
"Naturally, I gave the matter no further thought, but Fewtrell here," he waves towards the halfling, "It seems he makes a hobby out of studying genealogy. By referencing several old maps from before the flood, he has managed to present me a fairly convincing argument that the 'family home' she describes is the manor house of the Mordren family. The Mordrens were counts, and, if Fewtrell isn't mistaken, were among the most successful and respected of the noble families of the era. Their lands were entirely within the flooded lands, and the family was thought to be lost completely. But, if Fewtrell's theory is correct, my great grandmother might actually be the daughter of the last Count Mordren." He directs this mockingly towards the halfling.
"As genealogical evidence goes, this is pretty flimsy, and if I were to put myself forward as Count Mordren based on this, I would be a laughingstock. Even the fact that I'm thinking about it would be mildly embarrassing, which is why I'm asking all of you not to mention it, please. Now, I normally wouldn't give two bent coppers for the title to some land in a swamp, but it so happens that there are some business opportunities coming up which will be easier to capitalize on if I can call myself a count, so I've asked Fewtrell to look into the matter further, to see if there is any more evidence that might be found, and he's come up with something."
"Some other genealogical records of the time say that the Mordren family had a tradition of recording the births, marriages, and deaths of all the children of the current Count Mordren on a ceremonial funeral urn. When he died himself, his ashes were placed in the urn in the family crypt alongside the ashes of former counts. At first Fewtrell and I thought this wasn't helpful, since the urns would all be lost by now. But it seems that, according to my great grandmother's journal, the Mordren family manor house was actually at the crest of a small hill overlooking the surrounding area. Thus, it's quite possible that the house is still intact and the urn might be found." He leans forward and places his hands on the table.
"This is where you all come in. The swamps are dangerous enough that I can't just send one of my usual errand runners, and I can't spare any guards for the foreseeable future. But this is exactly the sort of task that you adventurers claim to be good at, so I thought I'd give you a try. My offer is this. I'll give 1500 crowns to whoever fetches me that urn. You can divide it amongst yourselves, however many of you there are, as you see fit. I'll provide maps indicating my best guess as to the location of the manor, but then you're on your own."
[sblock=Sense Motive DC 15]Fewtrell doesn't actually look all that excited about this genealogical discussion. In fact, he shows less interest in them than he showed in going over the accounts in the common room.
[sblock=Sense Motive DC 25]Alvar is quite glib, but he is much more excited by the idea of being a count than he wants to let on.[/sblock]
[/sblock]
[/sblock]
Joe nods and waves a bar-rag towards a door in the back of the inn. Alvar stands up and says "If those of you who are interested in hearing the rest of my proposition would please follow me, we can get started." He leads the way into the back room.
[sblock=anyone who follows]
In the back room is a long table, less worn and stained than the one you were just drinking off of. The walls are thick plaster, and when the door closes behind you, you can only hear the noisy common room as a dim murmur.
"I know you all want to the details of exactly what I want you to do, but I'm going to have to give a little background information, a history lesson if you will, in order for it all to make sense." Alvar's voice booms out slightly too loudly for the room. "I'll try to make it quick."
"Two hundred years ago, the Grellgo river -- you all know the Grellgo? It's the big river running north towards Orussus from Lathim and points south. Anyway, two hundred years ago it was a much smaller river, and the lands along its banks were good farmland, not festering swamps. And the owners of that farmland ... Well. Since Orussus is ruled by a mayor and a council, you may have wondered -- I certainly have -- where all these lords and countesses and barons come from. It turns out that they are landowners, or were. They owned farmland. Good farmland." He smiles nastily.
"About a hundred and fifty years ago, some nameless river in the Badlands shifted course and became a tributary of the Grellgo. Overnight, the Grellgo tripled in size, jumped its banks, and flooded most of that good farmland. Family fortunes tracing back generations were wiped out in days. When the river settled into its present course, most of the best farmland had turned into swamplands: the Grellgo fens. Many of the noble families lost everything, and their names are mostly forgotten. A few managed to survive, much diminished, on other holdings: lesser farmlands, trade ships, gold stored elsewhere, and so forth. Those are the ancestors of our current crop of lordlings." His voice drips contempt.
"Now we come to my part in the story. My mother's aunt, Aurelia Higgenbottom, died ten years ago, and in her possessions we found a diary that had belonged to her mother; my great grandmother. The diary records that not long after her marriage to my great grandfather, she received word that her family home was lost in a flood. She goes on for several pages of rather purple prose about how she'll never see her childhood home again, which was painful to read, but was useful in that she described some of the landmarks in detail."
"Naturally, I gave the matter no further thought, but Fewtrell here," he waves towards the halfling, "It seems he makes a hobby out of studying genealogy. By referencing several old maps from before the flood, he has managed to present me a fairly convincing argument that the 'family home' she describes is the manor house of the Mordren family. The Mordrens were counts, and, if Fewtrell isn't mistaken, were among the most successful and respected of the noble families of the era. Their lands were entirely within the flooded lands, and the family was thought to be lost completely. But, if Fewtrell's theory is correct, my great grandmother might actually be the daughter of the last Count Mordren." He directs this mockingly towards the halfling.
"As genealogical evidence goes, this is pretty flimsy, and if I were to put myself forward as Count Mordren based on this, I would be a laughingstock. Even the fact that I'm thinking about it would be mildly embarrassing, which is why I'm asking all of you not to mention it, please. Now, I normally wouldn't give two bent coppers for the title to some land in a swamp, but it so happens that there are some business opportunities coming up which will be easier to capitalize on if I can call myself a count, so I've asked Fewtrell to look into the matter further, to see if there is any more evidence that might be found, and he's come up with something."
"Some other genealogical records of the time say that the Mordren family had a tradition of recording the births, marriages, and deaths of all the children of the current Count Mordren on a ceremonial funeral urn. When he died himself, his ashes were placed in the urn in the family crypt alongside the ashes of former counts. At first Fewtrell and I thought this wasn't helpful, since the urns would all be lost by now. But it seems that, according to my great grandmother's journal, the Mordren family manor house was actually at the crest of a small hill overlooking the surrounding area. Thus, it's quite possible that the house is still intact and the urn might be found." He leans forward and places his hands on the table.
"This is where you all come in. The swamps are dangerous enough that I can't just send one of my usual errand runners, and I can't spare any guards for the foreseeable future. But this is exactly the sort of task that you adventurers claim to be good at, so I thought I'd give you a try. My offer is this. I'll give 1500 crowns to whoever fetches me that urn. You can divide it amongst yourselves, however many of you there are, as you see fit. I'll provide maps indicating my best guess as to the location of the manor, but then you're on your own."
[sblock=Sense Motive DC 15]Fewtrell doesn't actually look all that excited about this genealogical discussion. In fact, he shows less interest in them than he showed in going over the accounts in the common room.
[sblock=Sense Motive DC 25]Alvar is quite glib, but he is much more excited by the idea of being a count than he wants to let on.[/sblock]
[/sblock]
[/sblock]
Soocula Fighter lvl 1
Soocula followed the interesting little party (2 humans, a dwarf, and half-orc) to the private room he stood with his back towards the wall near the door. He listened intently and watched Alvar even while he took pulls from his mug ale."You don't look at all happy your Countship, why the news of where you come from must at least spark some joy in you." Sense Motive = 19
ooc:Couldn't remember my alignment when I posted this, but I know he's good. So I won't pry to much.
Soocula followed the interesting little party (2 humans, a dwarf, and half-orc) to the private room he stood with his back towards the wall near the door. He listened intently and watched Alvar even while he took pulls from his mug ale."You don't look at all happy your Countship, why the news of where you come from must at least spark some joy in you." Sense Motive = 19
ooc:Couldn't remember my alignment when I posted this, but I know he's good. So I won't pry to much.
Trouvere
Explorer
Gildrim follows Thorne into the back room, new mug of ale in hand.[sblock=In the private room]Gildrim listens, making the occasional grunting noise. When Thorne finishes, he rubs a hand through his beard. "Ah dinnae hauld wi' grave robbin' - an' ay yer ain forebeir an' aw - but Ah daur say th' grave is in th' urn, an' nae th' urn itsel'. An' whit's an urn if nae somethin' that can be muived aboot? Ye micht be wantin' tae tak' it tae a noo restin' place wi' mair honoor, sae ye kin sleep at nicht, thocht, Thorne."
He considers. "Och, Ah dinnae like gettin' ma feet wet, an Ah cannae say it's a heroic cause, but Ah hae naethin' else oan mah plate. If we kin airt oot a few mair haunds, Ah'm in."
OOC: take 10 on Sense Motive for a 16?[/sblock]
He considers. "Och, Ah dinnae like gettin' ma feet wet, an Ah cannae say it's a heroic cause, but Ah hae naethin' else oan mah plate. If we kin airt oot a few mair haunds, Ah'm in."
OOC: take 10 on Sense Motive for a 16?[/sblock]
