Jarik
First Post
OOC: This being the Chronicles of my Gameing Group in the Homebrew World of Langton. Beginning at level 1 the PCs, Rellen Horatio Marn Paladin of Heronious, Sorriel Larkstongue, a Bard, Kleethorpes the Magnificent, a venerable Wizard, and Moan Moriden a Rogue.
The PCs have become at least passingly aquainted upon the long sea trip between Kilmar and the Northerly Island of Berrick.
This post will likely be edited due to the late hour of posting, and my resultant addled state.
Beginner's Luck
Rellen Horatio Marn, Paladin of Heronious, stared out over the vast expanse of ocean before him. He was not entirely sure what had compelled him to buy passage aboard the Rapier Wit, he needed time to think, time to collect himself. The Paladin cut a proud figure, even in his despondency, tall, broad shouldered, and leanly muscular, with a powerful chin soft blue eyes and a mane of sandy blond hair. He stood at the prow of the Rapier Wit, watching as the sunset beneath the horizon his head bowed in disarmingly sincere prayer.
“Gods look at him, ready for a bleedin' ball.” Moan remarked nudging his companion and nodding towards the Paladin. The same could not be said for Moan, a small balding fellow dressed in the same set of feculant leathers which had adorned his pudgy frame upon boarding the Rapier Wit three weeks previously in Kilmar, a fact of which his companion was acutely aware.
“Nothing wrong with personal hygiene Moan, you might want to take a leaf out of the God botherer's book. There's a reason I am standing down wind of you.”
“Pah! Just you wait Sorriel luv, get a few years under that belt of yours and you'll come to appreciate a manly wreak like mine.”
“And on that day Moan I ask that you find a Cleric to restore my sanity, or at very least my nasal faculties.”
“Ha, I'll restore your faculties alright you strumpet.”
“Do you even know what you mean by that remark?”
“Nah, but I bet ya five shiners I'll have fun findin' out.”
“Don't count on it.” Sorriel found herself drawn to the Paladin, Rellen, he was polite to a fault, witty – when he was not paying too much attention to his tongue – and immaculately handsome. He also had a capacity for the dramatic which she could not fail to appreciate, there was a song in Rellen Horatio Marn, and she would be the one to sing it.
“You realize you're staring at him again, don't go all Bard on me again Sorriel luv. Why waste your god given potential as a thief?”
“You can't steal a song Moan.”
“Well no you've got me there, but I can steal gold, and gold can pay for a whole mess of songs.”
“You Moan, are beyond redemption.”
The little man grinned proudly, “Dang straight!”
Sorriel chuckled despite herself, she had come to find Moan's malodorous presence something of a comfort during the seemingly endless voyage, and he did at least appreciate her songs whilst leering at her. “Well I am going to hit the hammock – that's not an invitation – try not to get into too much trouble okay.”
“Pah, even a man of my ingenuity is hard pressed to find fun on this tub full of dullards.”
“I didn't hear a yes there Moan.” Sorriel said exasperatedly.
The thief grinned broadly.
“Honestly I don't know why I bother, have a good night Moan.” So saying Sorriel made her way below decks, taking a last lingering glance at the Paladin's melancholy vigil.
Moonlight now danced across the water as the Rapier Wit cut its way through the gentile waves. The night watch hurried to their positions, and Captain Smillov emerged from his cabin to survey the decks from beneath the brim of his jauntily positioned wide brimmed hat. Rellen clutched his cloak around him, thankful of the protection it afforded him from the chill of the northern winds and absent mindedly kissed the cool silver of his holy symbol.
“Bet that's not what you'd want to be kissin' if you weren't a celebrate, hey fancy pants.”
The Rellen turned, and smiled down at the poor unfortunate fellow, reminding himself that kindness and patience were due those who Heronious had seen fit to challenge int his life. “I am not chaste Master Moriden, I merely give myself up to a greater and more fulfilling purpose.”
“Pah, I'd rather full fill a nice...” Moan had no idea where the Paladin had managed to discover his last name, it had been more than a decade since he had heard it spoken and its use irked him greatly.
“Not long now before we reach Berick, by midday the Captain tells me!” Rellen interrupted hurriedly, feeling the heat in his cheeks.
“Now come on Paladin, your not supposed to lie – am I right?”
“Indeed for my code prohibits the uttering of an intentional falsehood....”
“S' lovely, s' lovely. Anyway, so can you honestly tell me you've never entertained the thought of entertaining that fine filly of a Bard with your holy sword?” Moan managed to accompany this sentence with a lear which would have made a Succubus blush.
Rellen looked profoundly shocked, “My Sword Sir does the work of Heronious! I would never permit it to be used for anything so cheap and base as entertainment!”
Moan sighed, innuendo had proven ineffective against the Paladin before, it seemed the young lad had lead a rather sheltered life. Still subtlety was not the be all and end all of his extensive repertoire, “Okay, what do you think of Sorriel then Captain Clean?”
“You realize Master Moriden that I would be more than happy to give you some of my soap... As for Miss Larkstongue, why of course she is lovely, and I pray daily for her safety alongside your own, that of the crew, and the gracious Captain.
“Pah! But d' you like her like a man likes a woman?”
“I respect and admire all of ....”
“Pah, Paladin's!” Moan muttered storming away, and stamping down below deck.
Rellen's eyes glimmered for a moment, and he bit his lip stifling an snig ger, which would have been highly undignified.
Besides Sorriel's hammock the Wizard Kleethorpes starred intently at the yellowed pages of his spell book, lamenting – not for the first time – its meager contents. At his age most respectable Mages were capable of feats of mind boggling power, not so Kleethorpes the Magnificent. Of course he could never regret Marrying Lily, they had been blessed with forty wonderful years together, nearly a dozen offspring, and a veritable legion of Grandchildren. However, he could never remain content in the role of doddering Grandfather, and his hazily remembered arcane trainings had seemed the perfect escape. He recalled his former Master, the Wizard Hoon telling him that travel and exposure to danger provided a route to swifter magical advancement; that and a whim had seen him buy passage aboard the Rapier Wit.
The PCs have become at least passingly aquainted upon the long sea trip between Kilmar and the Northerly Island of Berrick.
This post will likely be edited due to the late hour of posting, and my resultant addled state.
Beginner's Luck
Rellen Horatio Marn, Paladin of Heronious, stared out over the vast expanse of ocean before him. He was not entirely sure what had compelled him to buy passage aboard the Rapier Wit, he needed time to think, time to collect himself. The Paladin cut a proud figure, even in his despondency, tall, broad shouldered, and leanly muscular, with a powerful chin soft blue eyes and a mane of sandy blond hair. He stood at the prow of the Rapier Wit, watching as the sunset beneath the horizon his head bowed in disarmingly sincere prayer.
“Gods look at him, ready for a bleedin' ball.” Moan remarked nudging his companion and nodding towards the Paladin. The same could not be said for Moan, a small balding fellow dressed in the same set of feculant leathers which had adorned his pudgy frame upon boarding the Rapier Wit three weeks previously in Kilmar, a fact of which his companion was acutely aware.
“Nothing wrong with personal hygiene Moan, you might want to take a leaf out of the God botherer's book. There's a reason I am standing down wind of you.”
“Pah! Just you wait Sorriel luv, get a few years under that belt of yours and you'll come to appreciate a manly wreak like mine.”
“And on that day Moan I ask that you find a Cleric to restore my sanity, or at very least my nasal faculties.”
“Ha, I'll restore your faculties alright you strumpet.”
“Do you even know what you mean by that remark?”
“Nah, but I bet ya five shiners I'll have fun findin' out.”
“Don't count on it.” Sorriel found herself drawn to the Paladin, Rellen, he was polite to a fault, witty – when he was not paying too much attention to his tongue – and immaculately handsome. He also had a capacity for the dramatic which she could not fail to appreciate, there was a song in Rellen Horatio Marn, and she would be the one to sing it.
“You realize you're staring at him again, don't go all Bard on me again Sorriel luv. Why waste your god given potential as a thief?”
“You can't steal a song Moan.”
“Well no you've got me there, but I can steal gold, and gold can pay for a whole mess of songs.”
“You Moan, are beyond redemption.”
The little man grinned proudly, “Dang straight!”
Sorriel chuckled despite herself, she had come to find Moan's malodorous presence something of a comfort during the seemingly endless voyage, and he did at least appreciate her songs whilst leering at her. “Well I am going to hit the hammock – that's not an invitation – try not to get into too much trouble okay.”
“Pah, even a man of my ingenuity is hard pressed to find fun on this tub full of dullards.”
“I didn't hear a yes there Moan.” Sorriel said exasperatedly.
The thief grinned broadly.
“Honestly I don't know why I bother, have a good night Moan.” So saying Sorriel made her way below decks, taking a last lingering glance at the Paladin's melancholy vigil.
Moonlight now danced across the water as the Rapier Wit cut its way through the gentile waves. The night watch hurried to their positions, and Captain Smillov emerged from his cabin to survey the decks from beneath the brim of his jauntily positioned wide brimmed hat. Rellen clutched his cloak around him, thankful of the protection it afforded him from the chill of the northern winds and absent mindedly kissed the cool silver of his holy symbol.
“Bet that's not what you'd want to be kissin' if you weren't a celebrate, hey fancy pants.”
The Rellen turned, and smiled down at the poor unfortunate fellow, reminding himself that kindness and patience were due those who Heronious had seen fit to challenge int his life. “I am not chaste Master Moriden, I merely give myself up to a greater and more fulfilling purpose.”
“Pah, I'd rather full fill a nice...” Moan had no idea where the Paladin had managed to discover his last name, it had been more than a decade since he had heard it spoken and its use irked him greatly.
“Not long now before we reach Berick, by midday the Captain tells me!” Rellen interrupted hurriedly, feeling the heat in his cheeks.
“Now come on Paladin, your not supposed to lie – am I right?”
“Indeed for my code prohibits the uttering of an intentional falsehood....”
“S' lovely, s' lovely. Anyway, so can you honestly tell me you've never entertained the thought of entertaining that fine filly of a Bard with your holy sword?” Moan managed to accompany this sentence with a lear which would have made a Succubus blush.
Rellen looked profoundly shocked, “My Sword Sir does the work of Heronious! I would never permit it to be used for anything so cheap and base as entertainment!”
Moan sighed, innuendo had proven ineffective against the Paladin before, it seemed the young lad had lead a rather sheltered life. Still subtlety was not the be all and end all of his extensive repertoire, “Okay, what do you think of Sorriel then Captain Clean?”
“You realize Master Moriden that I would be more than happy to give you some of my soap... As for Miss Larkstongue, why of course she is lovely, and I pray daily for her safety alongside your own, that of the crew, and the gracious Captain.
“Pah! But d' you like her like a man likes a woman?”
“I respect and admire all of ....”
“Pah, Paladin's!” Moan muttered storming away, and stamping down below deck.
Rellen's eyes glimmered for a moment, and he bit his lip stifling an snig ger, which would have been highly undignified.
Besides Sorriel's hammock the Wizard Kleethorpes starred intently at the yellowed pages of his spell book, lamenting – not for the first time – its meager contents. At his age most respectable Mages were capable of feats of mind boggling power, not so Kleethorpes the Magnificent. Of course he could never regret Marrying Lily, they had been blessed with forty wonderful years together, nearly a dozen offspring, and a veritable legion of Grandchildren. However, he could never remain content in the role of doddering Grandfather, and his hazily remembered arcane trainings had seemed the perfect escape. He recalled his former Master, the Wizard Hoon telling him that travel and exposure to danger provided a route to swifter magical advancement; that and a whim had seen him buy passage aboard the Rapier Wit.
