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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 4747312" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>The Friday Knights in Sellswords of Fallcrest</p><p></p><p>Chapter 2: Getting wet.</p><p></p><p>Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder, Kullervo spins around and straight into the bearded and bristling face of Cathal.</p><p>“Well, Thief?” Cathal growls and sucks on a tuft of beard.</p><p>Kullervo shakes his head- he can't do it, doesn't know how, he'd learn though.</p><p>The warrior, Cathal, half-stomps, half-squelches back to the third of the companions- a slight man, Ignaran the Druid , to deliver the bad news. A strange place for a Druid to be- Fallcrest. Ignaran Kullervo knows from his previous life, the Druid lives a little outside of Phsant, in the woods up near Spinney Hill [1]. Kullervo had met him once or twice in the village, at a festival or on a market day, another time he'd been to his father's farm- he was a good man, or so they said, until this morning Kullervo had never said one word to him. </p><p></p><p>Ignaran and Cathal moved forward at a crouch, it was getting late, they'd left the Blue Moon Inn [2] at midnight and the threesome had been crouched in the rain before the gate for a little over fifteen minutes now. Ignaran reached out and put his hand on Kullervo's shoulder, gripped tight to the farmboy’s leather jerkin and squeezed, he smiled, winked and then pointedly stared at the wall to the left of the forboding gate- soon Cathal and Kullervo were grinning too.</p><p></p><p>Less than two minutes later the three were on the roof of the building, and beyond the gate, pressed against the incline of the slates, there was indeed a light ahead, on another roof, on the other side of the alley- or so it seemed from where they lay; and noises too- someone was definitely there, and unless they passed the time by talking to themselves [4], they weren't alone.</p><p></p><p>The trio were soaked, nowhere to hide from the rain up here- Kullervo remembered back to his arrival in Fallcrest, it'd damn near killed him, getting in.</p><p></p><p>After wandering around much of the south wall of Fallcrest he'd eventually come to the conclusion that there was no way in, solid stone walls- thirty feet high in places, a smattering of guards their odd looks- on sighting him, often leading to flurries of activity and wild pointing, he’d tried to keep out of sight- there really was no way in. </p><p></p><p>Except for the river- the raging Nentir River, rapids all the way down from the Falls. You'd have to be a lunatic to go in there [5], doubly so because a man would have to swim up-river, you'd have to be pretty desp... Kullervo cut the melodrama and dived in.</p><p></p><p>It took him a little under thirty minutes to swim the two hundred yards or so needed to a spot on the bank where he could at last drag himself out of the maelstrom, escape the force of the torrent. He'd rested once or twice on his journey, although rested may have been over-selling it a little. What he had done, when his arms were frozen, numb from cold and exertion, was to drag himself up onto some of the bigger rocks in the stream, sprawl there for as long as he dared, before pushing back off into the surge and spray.</p><p></p><p>And it was thus he'd arrived in Fallcrest. First impressions- it stank. Of fires, of food, of animals packed too tightly, of people packed too tightly [6]; and yet there were few people about. Kullervo, to be on the safe side, had decided that it would be best if he found somewhere to rest, he didn't want to be seen, a young man emerging sodden from the river, a lunatic people would think, more than likely they’d be right. He smiled thinly to himself, and scurried on into a deserted street..</p><p></p><p>The houses either side were empty shells, broken ruins- a lasting reminder of the conflict that had come to Fallcrest a century past [7], although Kullervo did not know this, could only guess. He found a place with a roof, or else the majority of its roof- and collapsed there, clinging to the floor, his head still spinning, his arms and legs freezing and yet inside on fire. He slept. Badly.</p><p></p><p>He dreamt of death, a crushing force, pushing all the air out of him- he slept for most of two days and one night, it was Ignaran that found him, weak and fevered and almost unable to move.</p><p></p><p>[1] At the foot of Spinney Hill is The Spinney, a dense copse of trees rather than a woods, often found to contain the desiccated corpses of travellers and wandering farmers’ sons and daughters, also home to quite a collection of poisonous spiders.</p><p></p><p>[2] The Blue Moon Inn, or Alehouse, to give it its full title, proprietor Par Winnomer, a flake; the place actually survives, scratch that- thrives, because of the good work of the Halfling Alemaster Kemara “Hollow-Legs” Brownbottle. Hollow Legs, at night, fights crime in the city [3], travelling under the nom de guerre, “The Brownbottle”. Most people who frequent the Inn and/or live in the locale know this- it's made all the more obvious by the Brownbottle's crime-fighting costume, which consists solely of a wide-brimmed hat with lots of fruit on. Other than that the Bottle travels naked as the day she was born</p><p></p><p>[3] Actually what the Brownbottle does is stagger around till four in the morning swigging from a bottle and singing songs that would make sailors blush. However she keeps the burglars away.</p><p></p><p>[4] Talking to yourself - voted the third favourite pastime by residents of the Fallcrest Secure Mental Institution, proprietors Burke & Hare; interestingly basket weaving was placed second, while the age-old favourite random slayings came first, again. Swimming in the Nentir River placed only seventh this year- mainly, it has to be said, due to its popularity; most people only try it once.</p><p></p><p>[5] See [4].</p><p></p><p>[6] The Fallcrest full time Gnome and some-time Philosopher- Gilbert O' O, once wrote “the smell of excrement is the smell of humanity”, his neighbours agreed wholeheartedly.</p><p></p><p>[7] Fallcrest has suffered for centuries from invaders, the common adage, “points of light”, a description of the dotted enclaves of humanity within the region, is more true of Fallcrest than many of the other cities- the points of light in question are more often than not fires.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 4747312, member: 16069"] The Friday Knights in Sellswords of Fallcrest Chapter 2: Getting wet. Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder, Kullervo spins around and straight into the bearded and bristling face of Cathal. “Well, Thief?” Cathal growls and sucks on a tuft of beard. Kullervo shakes his head- he can't do it, doesn't know how, he'd learn though. The warrior, Cathal, half-stomps, half-squelches back to the third of the companions- a slight man, Ignaran the Druid , to deliver the bad news. A strange place for a Druid to be- Fallcrest. Ignaran Kullervo knows from his previous life, the Druid lives a little outside of Phsant, in the woods up near Spinney Hill [1]. Kullervo had met him once or twice in the village, at a festival or on a market day, another time he'd been to his father's farm- he was a good man, or so they said, until this morning Kullervo had never said one word to him. Ignaran and Cathal moved forward at a crouch, it was getting late, they'd left the Blue Moon Inn [2] at midnight and the threesome had been crouched in the rain before the gate for a little over fifteen minutes now. Ignaran reached out and put his hand on Kullervo's shoulder, gripped tight to the farmboy’s leather jerkin and squeezed, he smiled, winked and then pointedly stared at the wall to the left of the forboding gate- soon Cathal and Kullervo were grinning too. Less than two minutes later the three were on the roof of the building, and beyond the gate, pressed against the incline of the slates, there was indeed a light ahead, on another roof, on the other side of the alley- or so it seemed from where they lay; and noises too- someone was definitely there, and unless they passed the time by talking to themselves [4], they weren't alone. The trio were soaked, nowhere to hide from the rain up here- Kullervo remembered back to his arrival in Fallcrest, it'd damn near killed him, getting in. After wandering around much of the south wall of Fallcrest he'd eventually come to the conclusion that there was no way in, solid stone walls- thirty feet high in places, a smattering of guards their odd looks- on sighting him, often leading to flurries of activity and wild pointing, he’d tried to keep out of sight- there really was no way in. Except for the river- the raging Nentir River, rapids all the way down from the Falls. You'd have to be a lunatic to go in there [5], doubly so because a man would have to swim up-river, you'd have to be pretty desp... Kullervo cut the melodrama and dived in. It took him a little under thirty minutes to swim the two hundred yards or so needed to a spot on the bank where he could at last drag himself out of the maelstrom, escape the force of the torrent. He'd rested once or twice on his journey, although rested may have been over-selling it a little. What he had done, when his arms were frozen, numb from cold and exertion, was to drag himself up onto some of the bigger rocks in the stream, sprawl there for as long as he dared, before pushing back off into the surge and spray. And it was thus he'd arrived in Fallcrest. First impressions- it stank. Of fires, of food, of animals packed too tightly, of people packed too tightly [6]; and yet there were few people about. Kullervo, to be on the safe side, had decided that it would be best if he found somewhere to rest, he didn't want to be seen, a young man emerging sodden from the river, a lunatic people would think, more than likely they’d be right. He smiled thinly to himself, and scurried on into a deserted street.. The houses either side were empty shells, broken ruins- a lasting reminder of the conflict that had come to Fallcrest a century past [7], although Kullervo did not know this, could only guess. He found a place with a roof, or else the majority of its roof- and collapsed there, clinging to the floor, his head still spinning, his arms and legs freezing and yet inside on fire. He slept. Badly. He dreamt of death, a crushing force, pushing all the air out of him- he slept for most of two days and one night, it was Ignaran that found him, weak and fevered and almost unable to move. [1] At the foot of Spinney Hill is The Spinney, a dense copse of trees rather than a woods, often found to contain the desiccated corpses of travellers and wandering farmers’ sons and daughters, also home to quite a collection of poisonous spiders. [2] The Blue Moon Inn, or Alehouse, to give it its full title, proprietor Par Winnomer, a flake; the place actually survives, scratch that- thrives, because of the good work of the Halfling Alemaster Kemara “Hollow-Legs” Brownbottle. Hollow Legs, at night, fights crime in the city [3], travelling under the nom de guerre, “The Brownbottle”. Most people who frequent the Inn and/or live in the locale know this- it's made all the more obvious by the Brownbottle's crime-fighting costume, which consists solely of a wide-brimmed hat with lots of fruit on. Other than that the Bottle travels naked as the day she was born [3] Actually what the Brownbottle does is stagger around till four in the morning swigging from a bottle and singing songs that would make sailors blush. However she keeps the burglars away. [4] Talking to yourself - voted the third favourite pastime by residents of the Fallcrest Secure Mental Institution, proprietors Burke & Hare; interestingly basket weaving was placed second, while the age-old favourite random slayings came first, again. Swimming in the Nentir River placed only seventh this year- mainly, it has to be said, due to its popularity; most people only try it once. [5] See [4]. [6] The Fallcrest full time Gnome and some-time Philosopher- Gilbert O' O, once wrote “the smell of excrement is the smell of humanity”, his neighbours agreed wholeheartedly. [7] Fallcrest has suffered for centuries from invaders, the common adage, “points of light”, a description of the dotted enclaves of humanity within the region, is more true of Fallcrest than many of the other cities- the points of light in question are more often than not fires. [/QUOTE]
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