(Casual D&D III) The Man in Black
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Sparky
Registered User
Oliver wanders in a bleak land of torn earth and wasted bodies. Low moans come from nearby and a bony hand reaches out toward Oliver, the rag-clad specter of a man, whose eyes are hollow and wanting. Oliver shrinks back and turns only to face another reaching wretch. Turning again he sees a dark tower of green stone standing at the center of a barren patch of land. Heavy clouds, low and gray, tear as they move slowly past the tall spire. A gauntleted hand clamps down on Oliver's shoulder, heat radiating from the touch.
"Look at the tower," grates a stern voice. Oliver can't move. He raises his eyes to the tower. It isn't stone at all, but copper. Tarnished. He finds that it is not so dire as it first seemed. It is strong and stands resolute in the face of all the stark land around. "There is still purpose. See that you find it." The gauntleted hand gives the old man a shove forward and the vision vanishes as he stumbles forward. A woman reaches as Oliver stumbles, her face more gaunt than one of the fair folk should be, her ragged mantle falls away and she wails as the old man vanishes from her grasp. She gathers her cloak around her, and glares at the tower before returning to idle misery.
*************
Oliver splutters, "Purpose... Yes. I must find..." His eyes snap open and he blinks up at Shavah and his face registers pain and realization. He puts a hand to his head and shifts to sit more comfortably against the tree. "Heironeus. A different healing than --" he breaks off as Fendric strides up, "Pelor." He swallows, bracing for the blaze of healing that sears his wounds shut. When Fendric has finished his prayers and moves on checking the others, Oliver is panting, exhausted. He looks up at Shavah and says quietly for her ears only, "Powerful stuff that, but Heironeus is less of a beating. Or perhaps it's just Fendric." He ponders that for a moment, then winces as he struggles upright answering Raven's question with a growl, "The Geezer is fine." He waves Nurthk off as the young man attempts to help Oliver to his feet.
"Seems the Glade is more defensive than I recall or we're not going to find a warm welcome. Does anyone know of the god Ran? He is called the Father Stag and I seem to recall he is the Guardian of the Glades... or something like that." He looks at Niccolo who has occupied himself poking at the pile of leaves and twigs that made the woodland stag.
OOC: Spot: 20 (modified)
"Look at the tower," grates a stern voice. Oliver can't move. He raises his eyes to the tower. It isn't stone at all, but copper. Tarnished. He finds that it is not so dire as it first seemed. It is strong and stands resolute in the face of all the stark land around. "There is still purpose. See that you find it." The gauntleted hand gives the old man a shove forward and the vision vanishes as he stumbles forward. A woman reaches as Oliver stumbles, her face more gaunt than one of the fair folk should be, her ragged mantle falls away and she wails as the old man vanishes from her grasp. She gathers her cloak around her, and glares at the tower before returning to idle misery.
*************
Oliver splutters, "Purpose... Yes. I must find..." His eyes snap open and he blinks up at Shavah and his face registers pain and realization. He puts a hand to his head and shifts to sit more comfortably against the tree. "Heironeus. A different healing than --" he breaks off as Fendric strides up, "Pelor." He swallows, bracing for the blaze of healing that sears his wounds shut. When Fendric has finished his prayers and moves on checking the others, Oliver is panting, exhausted. He looks up at Shavah and says quietly for her ears only, "Powerful stuff that, but Heironeus is less of a beating. Or perhaps it's just Fendric." He ponders that for a moment, then winces as he struggles upright answering Raven's question with a growl, "The Geezer is fine." He waves Nurthk off as the young man attempts to help Oliver to his feet.
"Seems the Glade is more defensive than I recall or we're not going to find a warm welcome. Does anyone know of the god Ran? He is called the Father Stag and I seem to recall he is the Guardian of the Glades... or something like that." He looks at Niccolo who has occupied himself poking at the pile of leaves and twigs that made the woodland stag.
OOC: Spot: 20 (modified)
Last edited:
dpdx
Explorer
[Fendric - Spot: 8]
[Hiritus - Spot: 18]
As Fendric flits around the group more concerned with their well-being, Hiritus is much more vigilant of their circumstances, and on-going situation. Looking back in the original direction of their former assailants, the paladin climbs aboard Justice one more time and walks her in that direction.
[Hiritus - Spot: 18]
As Fendric flits around the group more concerned with their well-being, Hiritus is much more vigilant of their circumstances, and on-going situation. Looking back in the original direction of their former assailants, the paladin climbs aboard Justice one more time and walks her in that direction.
Sparky
Registered User
Oliver grunts at Nurthk. "Tatlock, boy. You kept your head down. Smart lad." He wanders over to Bastrop, Winkle and his new, and as yet nameless, horse. A critical eye pores over the beasts.
"I'm too old for this," he murmurs to them as he soothes the agitated animals. Each gets a treat from Oliver's bundle and he surreptitiously feeds the other horses and dog. He looks sadly at Nurthk, remembering the fine animal that was his friend and loyal dog. The old man's brow furrows and he shambles over to his pack, gnarled hands, usually steady, fumbling with the pack ties.
He looks up at Fendric. "The Feast of the Sun Thieves..." he looks down at his hands, filled with with brightly colored bundles fished from the pack saddle, "It's early by two nights, we should stil be fasting..." he says mostly to himself. But I wonder, as the dangers that face our band grow, if I will survive even just tomorrow.
He stands, painfully, and makes the rounds to each of the company, saying each name as he hands one and all, even Aerda and Tatlock, one of the bright packages. "It isn't much. But it recalls a time of sacrifice and siege. When the theives of Hedrogura, pardoned by the High Priestess of Pelor," he glances quickly away from Fendric's frank and piercing stare, "Gave their lives to break the siege and free Hedrogura."
He looks off east... far to the east, imagining the smoke and wreckage of the now-fallen city, his home. "The High Priestess held the city together with words of hope and strength, and the promise of an end to the siege. But one day, as she preached to the starving people gathered on the temple steps, the sun darkened. Pelor, it seemed, had turned his face away from Hedrogura's plight. Only the priestess' guard saved her from the panicked riot that followed. The temple itself was under siege, being torn apart by the fearful, hopeless mob, and the Priestess was trapped within. Hedrogura would fall.
"One thief, inspired by the High Priestess' words, or some say by his love for her, girded himself and gathered his closest allies, scoundrels, murderers and cutthoats all. This theif wrote the priestess a letter and had it delievered through the mob surrounding the Temple. By dawn, he promised, with the new day and Pelor's return, she and all of Hedrogura would be free.
"In the night, several of the Warlord's key officers were killed. Without his lieutenants, the Warlord could not maintain order and the sieging army disappeared like mist in the morning sun. The siege was broken. No one ever saw the theives again. No one, it is said, but the High Priestess. Legend holds that she was shadowed by the thief's ghost until her death, more than two decades later.
"Each year, on the anniversary of the breaking, the Priestess visited the city's prisons, gave blessings and pardons. She held a feast and invited all who suffered in the darkness of Hedrogura's dank dungeons out to feel the sun and smell the wind. Over time, the city's criminals adopted the custom of ceasing their activities, some even returning stolen property or leaving unasked-for gifts on strangers' doorsteps, for the duration of the fast that led up to the Priestess' feast. The feast of the Sun Rogues."
Oliver finishes, eyebrows drawn together, "I had these made in Eivanrach. For you. Who I have come to know closely in our trials. As friends. And for those of you I don't know as well," he glances at Aerda and Tatlock, "I thought ahead." He looks at the others, "Pardon an old man his sentimentality. An old thief."
The packages, neatly and carefully wrapped in bright printed paper reveal smallish boxy flutes. Broad and flat, about the width of two fingers, and the length of a hand. When sounded, the flutes have raspy, haunting voices. Each has a sylized engraving on it Hedrogura's distinctive woven style; Fendric's has a blazing sun; Nurthk's a noble dog's head in profile; Raven's a raven clutching arrows; Niccolo's a singing violin; Shavah's a fist and a sword; Hirtius' a shield; Tatlock's and Aerda's have a ring inscribed with a phrase in a difficult script. Oliver translates, "A friend shares meals, memories and misery." He smiles weakly and shrugs, eyes shadowing as he recalls Emmethrach, "Sadly, there are more miseries between us than memorable meals."
"I'm too old for this," he murmurs to them as he soothes the agitated animals. Each gets a treat from Oliver's bundle and he surreptitiously feeds the other horses and dog. He looks sadly at Nurthk, remembering the fine animal that was his friend and loyal dog. The old man's brow furrows and he shambles over to his pack, gnarled hands, usually steady, fumbling with the pack ties.
He looks up at Fendric. "The Feast of the Sun Thieves..." he looks down at his hands, filled with with brightly colored bundles fished from the pack saddle, "It's early by two nights, we should stil be fasting..." he says mostly to himself. But I wonder, as the dangers that face our band grow, if I will survive even just tomorrow.
He stands, painfully, and makes the rounds to each of the company, saying each name as he hands one and all, even Aerda and Tatlock, one of the bright packages. "It isn't much. But it recalls a time of sacrifice and siege. When the theives of Hedrogura, pardoned by the High Priestess of Pelor," he glances quickly away from Fendric's frank and piercing stare, "Gave their lives to break the siege and free Hedrogura."
He looks off east... far to the east, imagining the smoke and wreckage of the now-fallen city, his home. "The High Priestess held the city together with words of hope and strength, and the promise of an end to the siege. But one day, as she preached to the starving people gathered on the temple steps, the sun darkened. Pelor, it seemed, had turned his face away from Hedrogura's plight. Only the priestess' guard saved her from the panicked riot that followed. The temple itself was under siege, being torn apart by the fearful, hopeless mob, and the Priestess was trapped within. Hedrogura would fall.
"One thief, inspired by the High Priestess' words, or some say by his love for her, girded himself and gathered his closest allies, scoundrels, murderers and cutthoats all. This theif wrote the priestess a letter and had it delievered through the mob surrounding the Temple. By dawn, he promised, with the new day and Pelor's return, she and all of Hedrogura would be free.
"In the night, several of the Warlord's key officers were killed. Without his lieutenants, the Warlord could not maintain order and the sieging army disappeared like mist in the morning sun. The siege was broken. No one ever saw the theives again. No one, it is said, but the High Priestess. Legend holds that she was shadowed by the thief's ghost until her death, more than two decades later.
"Each year, on the anniversary of the breaking, the Priestess visited the city's prisons, gave blessings and pardons. She held a feast and invited all who suffered in the darkness of Hedrogura's dank dungeons out to feel the sun and smell the wind. Over time, the city's criminals adopted the custom of ceasing their activities, some even returning stolen property or leaving unasked-for gifts on strangers' doorsteps, for the duration of the fast that led up to the Priestess' feast. The feast of the Sun Rogues."
Oliver finishes, eyebrows drawn together, "I had these made in Eivanrach. For you. Who I have come to know closely in our trials. As friends. And for those of you I don't know as well," he glances at Aerda and Tatlock, "I thought ahead." He looks at the others, "Pardon an old man his sentimentality. An old thief."
The packages, neatly and carefully wrapped in bright printed paper reveal smallish boxy flutes. Broad and flat, about the width of two fingers, and the length of a hand. When sounded, the flutes have raspy, haunting voices. Each has a sylized engraving on it Hedrogura's distinctive woven style; Fendric's has a blazing sun; Nurthk's a noble dog's head in profile; Raven's a raven clutching arrows; Niccolo's a singing violin; Shavah's a fist and a sword; Hirtius' a shield; Tatlock's and Aerda's have a ring inscribed with a phrase in a difficult script. Oliver translates, "A friend shares meals, memories and misery." He smiles weakly and shrugs, eyes shadowing as he recalls Emmethrach, "Sadly, there are more miseries between us than memorable meals."
Last edited:
dpdx
Explorer
Fendric looks thoughtfully at the present Oliver has given him. After a minute of quiet contemplation, Fendric carefully takes the flute from its wrapping, and holding it to his mouth, sounds the note. As the sound wafts through the gathering, a smile comes to his face.
He takes it out of his mouth, and places it back in the wrapping. Carefully placing the wrapped flute in his pack, he turns to face Oliver, his face smiling and lowered as if to remember their reversal of roles so long ago.
"Oliver, I thank you for your steadfast companionship, and your thoughtfulness. The Feast of the Sun Thieves had slipped my mind, and I thank you again for your remembrance. We have had much else to think about since we last saw Hedrogura, May the Light Protect our fair city.
But you do yourself injustice to call yourself an 'old thief,' and of anyone here, you must expect that I also remember a time from which I can dispute that appellation. So if you do not accept the forgiveness that is rightfully yours, on this day of all days, I will spend the rest of it recounting to others those memories I hold dear, in as excruciating detail, fondly begotten, as I am capable. You will have your due, old thief or no; that is what I remember of The Feast of the Sun Thieves, May His Holy Radiance Shine Brightly on our humble custom!"
At this last statement, Fendric's smile can be noticed by all. Hiritus suppresses his own grin, and looking fondly at the old man with the small menagerie, he holds his closed fist over his heart in a silent salute to the once-formidable pit fighter.
To the others assembled, Fendric also speaks.
"You who are not Hedroguran - you are not bound by this custom. Do not let us influence you not to eat, but as our wise old sage has correctly remembered, today, I shall go without."
He takes it out of his mouth, and places it back in the wrapping. Carefully placing the wrapped flute in his pack, he turns to face Oliver, his face smiling and lowered as if to remember their reversal of roles so long ago.
"Oliver, I thank you for your steadfast companionship, and your thoughtfulness. The Feast of the Sun Thieves had slipped my mind, and I thank you again for your remembrance. We have had much else to think about since we last saw Hedrogura, May the Light Protect our fair city.
But you do yourself injustice to call yourself an 'old thief,' and of anyone here, you must expect that I also remember a time from which I can dispute that appellation. So if you do not accept the forgiveness that is rightfully yours, on this day of all days, I will spend the rest of it recounting to others those memories I hold dear, in as excruciating detail, fondly begotten, as I am capable. You will have your due, old thief or no; that is what I remember of The Feast of the Sun Thieves, May His Holy Radiance Shine Brightly on our humble custom!"
At this last statement, Fendric's smile can be noticed by all. Hiritus suppresses his own grin, and looking fondly at the old man with the small menagerie, he holds his closed fist over his heart in a silent salute to the once-formidable pit fighter.
To the others assembled, Fendric also speaks.
"You who are not Hedroguran - you are not bound by this custom. Do not let us influence you not to eat, but as our wise old sage has correctly remembered, today, I shall go without."
Festy_Dog
First Post
Nurthk smiled seeing the dog's head on the box flute.
"Thankyou," he said to Oliver, appreciating the gift.
Fasting for a while wasn't so hard, Nurthk was familiar with toughing it out for a while, and enduring without a bit of food seemed within his ability. That and Oliver's tale was certainly one to remember, an inspiring story to say the least.
"I guess I could fast as well," he noted, and made his way over to where he left the little raven to check on it.
"Thankyou," he said to Oliver, appreciating the gift.
Fasting for a while wasn't so hard, Nurthk was familiar with toughing it out for a while, and enduring without a bit of food seemed within his ability. That and Oliver's tale was certainly one to remember, an inspiring story to say the least.
"I guess I could fast as well," he noted, and made his way over to where he left the little raven to check on it.
"Thank you, old geezer" Raven says. "Glad you didn't die on us there." His hand scrtatches at his bandage around his waist. "Glad I didn't die on us there, too."
"I will not fast today. To fast in the wilds when you can eat is against my way. It robs you of your strength when you might need it. I don't mean disrespect, but you know that. I'll prepare a feast when you have done fasting, and we'll get drunk together when we are in the city again."
"I will not fast today. To fast in the wilds when you can eat is against my way. It robs you of your strength when you might need it. I don't mean disrespect, but you know that. I'll prepare a feast when you have done fasting, and we'll get drunk together when we are in the city again."
Guilt Puppy
First Post
Sparky said:
"Guardian of the Glades is right, I believe... Old elven folklore tells us that each of the old elven nations is guarded by one of the great animal spirits. In most legends they are only symbols, embodying the oldest aspects of Creation... But there are also stories which speak of them as real living beings, sometimes appearing in elemental form -- that was sort of the tip-off to me, the elemental form -- sometimes appearing to defend either their territory, or the natural virtues they embody. And since I can't see how we might have encroached upon the essence of virility, I'm guessing that our encounter was a matter of territory. Either that, or there was outside intervention..." He says, shrugging.
Meanwhile, Hiritus' ride about camp reveals nothing unusual, save for the markings left by battle.
...
Later, as Oliver explains the meaning of his fast and holiday, Shavah watches on with what can best be described as polite skepticism, but manages to confine her feelings to one statement: "We have nothing of that sort of Bethel." Upon receiving her flute, she seems embarrassed to have objected even that much, and tries awkwardly to express a degree of gratitude which might compensate.
Tatlock is far less self-conscious about it. Upon receiving his gift, he sets out immediately to sound a note, finding after a few trials the right angle and sharpness of breath. He smiles at Oliver, satisfied, and proceeds to play that note again, and then again...
Shavah smiles; she turns her back to the boy, and tries to speak over the sharp tootling. "So," she asks, "have our plans changed, or shouldn't we be off? We should reach the elves by day's end, correct?"
She turns a glance toward Aerda, who nods softly in confirmation. His thoughts seem possessed by something, even more than usual; he stares downward as he rolls Oliver's gift lightly in his fingertips...
dpdx
Explorer
Fendric listens intently to the discussion going on, chuckling as Tatlock finds his musical "range." At Shavah's suggestion that they move on, Fendric nods his assent, and moves to gather Vespers and his belongings.
Hiritus brings Justice in for a nibble and a drink before also gathering his things to move on. Looking at Fendric and Oliver to make sure neither are watching, he fishes through his pack for a small piece of jerky, chewing surreptitiously so as not to offend the Hedrogurans.
Hiritus brings Justice in for a nibble and a drink before also gathering his things to move on. Looking at Fendric and Oliver to make sure neither are watching, he fishes through his pack for a small piece of jerky, chewing surreptitiously so as not to offend the Hedrogurans.
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