(Casual D&D V) The Tourne


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The evening before...
Oliver chuckles at Xiao's dismay. "You're right, it would be much more modest to go about in your smallclothes."

The two spend the evening trading tall tales and playing tunes.

A thrill goes through Oliver as he reads the note informing him of and inviting him to dinner in the evening. He examines the note closely and decides--whether it is genuine or not--to take the invitation.

He is trying to decide how best to let the others know of the dinner when Weir's knock came again. Seems Koehl has solved that one for me. Oliver gave Weir his approval to show the attendant to the house. He writes out a quick note...

Fellow Doves,

Join me at the Farlund this evening for dinner.


...and gives it to the attendant with thanks and a tip.

"And now we wait, Xiao. You know... I think I saw a... yes, here it is." The older man pulls a wooden case from a shelf and opens it to reveal a finely carved Knights set. "Care to pass the time in a game?"

OOC: Couldn't remember 'chess' was called.

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Xiao shakes his head.

"Xiao would like to look around estate. Perhaps town also. Maybe we can learn something about strange castle and Sir Vaustus."

Assuming Oliver agrees, Xiao collects up his meagre possessions in readiness to leave.


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"Youth," Oliver mutters. With a grunt the white-haired man levers his old bones out of the chair. He sighs and looks wistfully at the comfortable arm chair, "Why don't you show me that tea shop."


Xiao grins widely. "Hot tea is most enthusiastic. Xiao has good brew ideas. Mr Oliver will not regret decision."

Once outside, Xiao looks around, picks the most promising direction and sets off.

[sblock=Intentions]OK, just hoping to have a look around and see what can be found out. If the estate doesn't look promising, the town will be next stop.

Could we get a brief SitRep in the ooc thread?[/sblock]

Guilt Puppy

First Post
There aren't many folks around the estate to inquire with, but around the city they are plenty. Opinions of Vaustus are generally positive, particularly among older folk, who recall the corruption of his predecessors and speak for his firm integrity. Criticisms tend to come from Crestmen, who feel that he has become too submissive to King Tjaden, and that he has failed as an empire-builder, entering into diplomatic relations with the Free Cities, Andon, and Malita.


By evening, the Fellowship has been assembled at the gates of the Farlund. A large escort of knights enters the estate from what seems to be a separate entrance; first two lines of horsemen who march in formation to create a path of sorts to the dining, followed by six iron war-carriages. It is unclear where Sir Vaustus might sit among this lot, but then that seems to be the point.

(Not sure what SitRep means, but I'll try to give a recap of stuffs in the OOC thread.)


Xiao does his best not to fidget. He tries to clear his mind and slow his breathing, but the tighter he squeezes, the more his thoughts keep slipping from his control. So much has happened in the time since he left his homeland. Now it seems like this enterprise, which at first he just sort of fell into but over time came to think of as his own, is about to end.

It is slightly embarrassing, he a monk of the seventh order acting like a kid with ants under his robes. Once more the monk takes a deep breath. But this time he is determined to hold it until he is once more in possession of his senses.


First Post
"You act like a boy going on his first hunting trip" He says to Xaio, but it is ok, even Puck is unable to hide his joy. Puck is across Cray's soldiers, chasing a flay around, almost oblivious to anything else. Cray smiles and turns back as the carriages go by. A little to much, I think, where we come from my Cheif has four warriors to defend him, not greats metal wagons with many soldiers.


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Oliver steps forward with the others. Expectant. His palms itch for the hilts of his daggers and he's counted the men a half-dozen times before the carts come to a stop. Counted them, taken measure of their awareness and any likely lines of sight they have - or don't. He smoothes the front of his tunic and notices a sharp-eyed guard take sudden interest in him - he wisely keeps his hands clearly visible as they wait.

Oliver looks sidelong at the rest of the company, they are in various states, eager, anxious, tense... but Fendric... Fendric is calm. Through it all, Fendric's calm has been nigh inflappable.

The wagons creak to a halt.

Well, here we are.


After holding his tongue for what seemed a near fatal amount of time to him, Fendric threw a look at his companion, who was pacing back and forth across the salon of House Koehl with a furrowed brow.

"Brother, May the Radiant Light Comfort and Warm You, what troubles you so?"

Hiritus came to a halt at the window, spun on his heel, and answered matter-of-factly.

"Sir Arrich. His aura. It's troubled me, ever since our visit to the castle. I can't tell if he's just garden-variety graft-and-whoring, do-what-you-feel-you-must evil, or if he's a thrall. And the servants; it's a wonder anyone survives the night there."

"A thrall, you say, my dear Brother? That seems... an odd conclusion. To whom?"

"I wish I knew. The whole room... stank of it! Fendric, we've fought and killed... ones that were more in the Light than... these!"

"I should be glad we were able to extricate ourselves, then. Is it difficult, Brother?"

"Is it - Is what, difficult?"

"Is it difficult... to live with the immediate knowledge of one's goodness or evil, any one you meet? What about someone like Oliver, May the Warmth of Pelor's Love Invigorate-? "

"-Oliver? He's not evil. Sneaky and hard-done-by, but not evil. Weren't you telling me you tended his wounds at the Arena in Hedrogura? Besides, most people go through their lives with some taint. Our land is ravaged, we live in the midst of war, and life is hard.

But not Arrich, and absolutely not his servants there in the room. The one on the piano; evil apparently can't carry a tune.

"Nor can I. Lack of musicianship knows no moral alignment."

This unveiling of universal truth was interrupted by a series of knocks on the entrance arch to the salon. A boy's head, tousled and black, appeared from one side of it.

"Sirs, begging your pardons, but you've been invited to the Farlund for dinner. Your man, Oliver has sent it."

For all of Fendric's serene exterior, Hiritus' full dress uniform rattled against the longsword belted to his left hip. The noise kept time to the bumps in the road on the ride over, as its owner sat ramrod straight, eyes forward.

Fendric leaned toward the paladin. "Brother, I did not mean to unsettle you or to speak out of turn about Oliver. I shall apologize for my imbecilic suspicion, forthwith."

Hiritus chuckled distractedly. "I should have rode Justice over."

"Are you expecting conflict tonight, at dinner?"

"Expecting, no, Brother. Preparing for, always."

Fendric felt at the medallion at his neck, as if by reflex. The grooves it wore into his chest felt like experience.

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