(Casual D&D III) The Man in Black

[Guilt Puppy]

Hiritus detects no trace of evil in the young man.

"What's your business with us, Tat?" he asks, straight to the point.

"Business?" he says, shaking his head. "I don' know much about that... It's just, y'know, you ever have one 'f those feelin's in your gut about something? Like, you just know what to do...?"

He paws the floor and looks hard at you, brow pinched in heavy confusion, as though waiting for you to complete his thought.

 

[DrZombie]

"Business?" he says, shaking his head. "I don' know much about that... It's just, y'know, you ever have one 'f those feelin's in your gut about something? Like, you just know what to do...?"

"Well yes, I know just what you mean, except that it usually involves quite a few pints of beer, and usually ends up with either a slap in the face or a convenient haystack. But I guess that's not what you mean, now is it?" Raven says, in a nice display of good bailiff-bad bailiff.

 

[Festy_Dog]

Raven's playing it nice, which leaves me to keep playing bad. Heh, I can get used to this.

Nurthk looks unimpressed with Tat's answer.

"So you have no idea why you came looking for us, you just came looking for us? There's a reason for everything, lad. For example, I wouldn't just punch you in the jaw on a whim, you'd have to make me pretty mad first. Surely you'd have a reason for seeking us out like this. Speak up boy, how far did you travel on this whim of yours?" he says, and his brow furrows in suspicion.

 

[dpdx]

Fendric, who by now has faced at Hiritus' behest to look upon the red-headed human, furrows his brow in concern to match Tatlock's.

"Hello - I am Brother Fendric of the Temple of Pelor in Hedrogura, and this is Brother Hiritus of the Temple in Bethel. Yes, it's best to tell us what you know, young man. Might you remember where you traveled from to get here? Perhaps you were ensorcelled - perhaps someone could detect for an aura around Mr. Tatlock?

In any case, as my Brother points out, someone spoke of you earlier, if indeed you are the same man, for you match his description. They said you would be a danger to us, if you possessed a certain ring; then, later, they said you were a danger no more, that you had rejected this ring. Do you remember anything about that?

If you think back, are there spots in your memory that you cannot account for? Perhaps you were in Bethel before you arrived in Eivanrach?

If you could answer any of my questions, it would help us to know why you are here, and what it is you have to tell us. Come, let us find a table, and see if we can't discover the truth together."

 

[Guilt Puppy]

Tat shrinks and stutters at Raven and Nurthk's interrogation; at Fendric's mention of the ring, though, his face lights with recognition, and a sort of relief...

"Yeah! I found a ring, but I threw it away... It made me feel all woozy..." He hops gently from foot to foot, eyes downcast. "Like too much cider."

He sits, calmly, at Fendric's suggestion, then begins his tale.

"I've never been to Bethel -- I heard those folk are no good," he says. Shavah, standing aside, bites her lip, but smiles all the same. "I came here from Bierstrach, for days and nights... What happened, what happened was I was out on nightwatch, and I hear this noise -- this big, rumblin' noise comin' through the trees out behind Morrey's shed. And I ran to see what it was, and there he was, a, a real orc, running about out there, and he looked crazy and mean. I was scared, so I slinged a stone at him, so I could scare him away, you know? But I nailed him right on the side of his head, and he fell right down."

He pauses for a moment, in recollection. "It was bloody."

"So then," he continues, "it was right about then that I got this feelin'... Just this real gut feeling, you know? Like I just knew what I had to do... My Uncle Pohl always said when I got a feeling like that, I should do like it, 'cause it ain't good for no man to question his calling. And what it was, was, what I was supposed to do, was go out, I just knew I was supposed to go out and find... and find..."

He pauses for a moment, then seems to recite: "Two Priests of Good Pelor who were travellin' with two little folk, and an orc-man, and an Eastern man, and a Lady of Heirony all." He nods his head, seeming sure he got it right. "Out here in Eivanrach."

"I found the ring around then, too," he says. "The orc had been wearin' it, and it looked shiny and nice so I put it on. It didn't seem dangerous or anything, but then I felt funny, for hours I felt funny and couldn't figure out why, then finally I figured out it's this ring, it's this ring... So I just threw it into some grass "

He cocks his head. "Was that right of me?"

 

[dpdx]

Fendric listens appreciatively to Tat as he relays his tale. "Well, Mr. Tatlock, you do seem to have acted appropriately in discarding of that ring, although another may collect it if you discarded it in a place where it could be found, May the Light Blind Them if they do. Still, you could not have known what the ring was making you do, and so that problem is for us, and for the next creature to find it.

For myself, I am interested in a detail or two of your story: you said that the notion came to you to find us in Eivanrach, and so you did - was that before or after you put on the ring? And when you put it on, do you remember anything else about how you felt, other than 'funny?'

In any case, I believe Kester should be informed. Aerda, might you still have that key?"

 

[Guilt Puppy]

Tat thinks hard. "After, I'd say... After. Maybe after. Almost for sure."

Regarding how the ring 'felt': "I don't know what the word is for that... I was just all muddy thinkin', and I couldn't sleep, even though I got real tired, and I couldn't eat neither... Wasn't so bad if I kept my feet movin', but all the time else there was just this antsy aching feeling, like somebody was ringin' bells in my bones."

He frowns, apparently embarrassed and dissatisfied with his own answer. "I don't know what to call it but that. I never felt sick like that before."

(OOC: There's a new Industrial Revolution a-brewing... Strategic wargaming in Greyhawk, is the gyst of it, and there are still numerous factions available, if you're interested in playing.)

 

[Festy_Dog]

Nurthk stands back, letting Fendric do the talking, but remaining vigilant all the same.

Hate to think it but it would appear that having Kester along may be a wise decision, as much as I'm hesitant to trust him.

 

[dpdx]

Fendric reads the expression on Tatlock's face as one of embarrassment.

"Worry not - it takes a man of unusual inner strength to resist the dark magic of that ring. Better men than all of us, indeed, among the best there ever have been in this Realm, have fallen under its sway. But you rejected it - you are therefore, Mr. Tatlock, stronger than anyone in at least that measure. Even if you cannot lift horses over your head, an iron will is a boon indeed.

I would add that had you fallen under its sway, Mr. Tatlock, well... you owe your life to that strength, as it happens. Those who wear the ring are dominated by it - with no regard to their personal safety, they are flung by its owner into... fatal danger, May Pelor Protect Us All.

But here you are, alive, because of it. Be Happy!

So if you had nothing else to tell us, then?"

Hiritus, standing behind Fendric, takes the moment to interject:

"You killed an orc with a sling bullet?"

 

[Sparky]

Oliver bustles in from outside in a flurry of sniffling and bluster. His brows are drawn down and his eyes blaze. Maybe it's fever coming on with his malaise. Maybe not.

"High-way robbers! Brigands!" He grumbles raspily, stomping his boots at the tavern door. He is startled into stillness momentarily by a strong sense of homecoming on returning to the tavern and seeing the faces of his companions. Faugh. He shrugs off his bulky wraps and cloaks, coughs doubling his over and bringing tears and stars to his eyes. Terrible thing to be old and frail. He looks with envy at Hirtius, Nurthk, Shavah, Niccolo... Fendric... Aerda. He glowers at Raven. This one, he's beginning to understand.

He stalks over, "By the way you're all gathered, gape-mouthed, around this tousle-headed, hay-seed farmboy, I gather this is the red-haired Herald of Certain Doom."

Something has gotten into Oliver. The gelding and Bastrop seem to have gotten on fine. Wonder how the filly will settle in - she got fire that one. Thinking about the horses - rather their tack - sets Oliver's teeth on edge again.