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(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 2401901" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p><strong>The Harvest Festival of 271 AF- Day One</strong></p><p></p><p>The sun climbs to the top of the sky. The summer heat increases. Sweat pours from the brows of simple farmers as they mill about through the various merchant stalls. Smoke rises from the green fire barrel in front of the large tent that the alchemist has set up. People gawk at the Cookers’ goat show. A beautiful girl named Cara Reed plays and sings, gathering a crowd of onlookers and admirers. Even the apprentices of Xastys the Sorceress, whose tower rises just outside of the town proper, have come out. As the first day of the festival moves on, the fun and celebration are just beginning. Drinks flow freely; at one point one of the Garden family’s servants passes out free bouquets to several of the townsfolk.</p><p></p><p>Dahlia wanders over to the alchemist’s tent, peering within. A pair of individuals are already in there, speaking to the merchant.</p><p></p><p>“Tho what do you have, fine thir?” the first- who we have already met as Cedric- asks.</p><p></p><p>“Why, many things, my lord,” the alchemist replies. He introduces himself as Braze, a merchant from Kamenda-</p><p></p><p>“Hey, we’re in Kamenda,” Cedric’s squire, Goer, interrupts.</p><p></p><p>“Kamenda City,” the alchemist explains. Smoothly, he resumes his sales pitch. From sleeping powder to stimulant root to impotence cures, he’s got it all.</p><p></p><p>“Well, thir,” Cedric says, “I am the thon of the local lord, and it ith cuthtomary in our landth for traveling merchantth to offer thome refrethment to the ruling family when they come to vithit, perhapth a thimple drink.”</p><p></p><p>“Ah, certainly, my lord, certainly,” Braze replies, and soon Cedric has a drink in his hands. He sighs in contentment. Braze also gives him a little something for his father- some of his impotence cure. Not that Cedric’s father is impotent, of course, but with all the stresses of the duties of lordship, and fatigue and such... well. One never knows.</p><p></p><p>Dahlia, having nowhere near the necessary amount of money to buy any of Braze’s wares, wanders back out into the crowd. The halfling girls are still setting up their large... whatever it is... at one end of the field. Dahlia stares intently at it for some time, but then shrugs, unable to quite fathom it. </p><p></p><p>Near the halflings, Jorgen, self-appointed watchman of Whitewater, nervously calls out to one of them, “Hi! What are you building?”</p><p></p><p>“You’ll see,” one of the lasses replies. “We should be ready to perform tomorrow night.”</p><p></p><p>“What kind of performance?” Jorgen asks.</p><p></p><p>“You’ll see,” the halfling replies.</p><p></p><p>Cedric, too, stops by the halfling area. He stares at their bizarre construction, then cries out, “Hello, thtrange halflingth! I am Thedic, thon of the lord of thith area! I thee that you have come to our fethtival- what ith it you are doing?” </p><p></p><p>“Greetings, my lord!” One of the three halflings walks over to him. “We are halfling entertainers, the Amazing Longleap Sisters. We are setting up a performance area so that we may provide sport and spectacle for your folk- and yourself, of course.”</p><p></p><p>“Hmph!” Cedric glares at her suspiciously. “You aren’t from around here, I take it?”</p><p></p><p>“No, my lord, we travel far and wide.”</p><p></p><p>“And where are you from originally? Tydon, perhapth?” Cedric leans in accusingly.</p><p></p><p>“No, my lord, we come originally from further to the northeast, in the plains.”</p><p></p><p>“Hmph!” Cedric harrumphs again.</p><p></p><p>”Ah, perhaps you could appease my lord’s suspicion with a drink,” suggests Goer. Soon, Cedric has another beverage in hand, and all’s well again. </p><p></p><p>Early in the afternoon, as the structure starts to become more complete, the halflings stop working on it long enough to erect a high curtain around it, obfuscating the rest of their construction. At one point Cara wanders by and looks it over, on one level admiring the halflings’ showmanship but on another level rather pissed off about the competition.</p><p></p><p>At noon, there is a little excitement as a brief scuffle breaks out between one of the Cooker bully-boys, Tom Breaker, and Drew Garden. It is over in a moment, though, with no lasting harm done. Jorgen scolds them both, but nothing further is necessary. Interestingly, Drew Garden is one of the Gardens who want nothing to do with the feud between them and the Cookers. Tom certainly must have done something to provoke him.</p><p></p><p>As evening rolls in, there are a number of folk from out of town present. Most of them are from another community, but a few either live alone (Dahlia) or are more migratory. A group of outcast mixed-blood individuals lives like this, traveling the general region of Whitewater, Cotton Hill and the foothills leading into the mountains that rise to the west. One of these, the product of rape and abandonment, is a half-orc named Cur Sed Seed. He is inspecting Bevin Tanner’s wares thoroughly- the man has a few nice pieces of work, especially that wolf fur cloak!- when he catches a glimpse of another half-orc walking through the crowd, this one armed and armored. Really, nobody here is armed and armored. <em>Nobody.</em></p><p></p><p>Cur turns to pay a little more attention to this new fellow, and realizes that he recognizes him. </p><p></p><p>“Tumenore,” Cur whispers to himself.</p><p></p><p>Tumenore the Bandit-Hunter, and he isn’t alone: he has a bunch of armed men with him. The crowd is clearing space around them; men with swords are not anything to be trifled with. Yet at the same time, his name is going around the crowd like a whisper on the waves: <em>Tumenore... Tumenore... Tumenore.</em> It’s the sound of excitement, adoration mixed with fear. Quite a few of these folks have heard of Tumenore and his band before. They are known for bringing rough justice to bandits. The common folk like them; Cur Sed Seed does not. Not one bit. Tumenore and his folk are sometimes a little <em>too</em> resolute in their pursuit of outlaws. There have been times when they have raided the outcasts’ camps and taken members of the band away, claiming they were bandits or brigands. Was it true? Cur isn’t totally certain that it wasn’t, but... he is also very far from sure that it was. He frowns. Half-orc or not, he doesn’t like having that fellow here. It bodes ill.</p><p></p><p>Jorgen, Cedric and Goer approach the leader of the armed band that has just joined the festival. “Thir, I mutht demand that you tell me who you are,” Cedric cries.</p><p></p><p>“Of course, my lord, we mean no harm,” the half-orc replies. “My name is Tumenore. Perhaps you have heard of me?”</p><p></p><p>Cedric studies him. “Indeed not. It theemth a common name, with no notable houthe attatthed to it.”</p><p></p><p>“Notable... ah, I am not high-born, my lord, but your common folk know of me. I hunt bandits. With your permission, of course, we shall simply keep our eyes open for any sign of bandits that might hide here at the festival, concealing themselves among the good folk of your town.”</p><p></p><p>“Ah, I thee, I thee... Well, we thertainly don’t want and banditth hiding amongtht our populath. By all meanth, keep your eyeth open, and report any funny buthineth to me or my father at onthe!”</p><p></p><p>“Of course,” Tumenore agrees easily. </p><p></p><p>“Now, of courthe, it ith cuthtomary for visiting guethtth to buy the local knight and hith family thome refrethments at a time like thith...”</p><p></p><p>“Of course,” Tumenore repeats, and he presses a few coins into Cedric’s hand. “Here, my lord. I am unfamiliar with the local drinks- this way you can procure what you most desire.” </p><p></p><p>“With your permission, we shall set up a tent over there.” The half-orc gestures to a clear area near the edge of the festival. At Cedric’s nod, he strides away, calling for his men to begin setting up.</p><p></p><p>Staring after him, Cedric thinks, <em>I’d best tell father about that one.</em> He closes his hand around his drinking money. </p><p></p><p>By dark the bandit hunters have set up their area and several of them, having doffed their armor and most of their weapons, begin mingling. Jorgen groans inwardly. <em>Now I’ll have to watch them and the halfings!</em></p><p></p><p>Night draws a curtain of stars across the sky, and soon enough the only people still out are the last of the traveling merchants, cooking late meals and sipping off of wineskins or ale tankards. Everyone is tired but happy. The first day of the festival was a smashing success. Most of the merchants did very well; only Bryan Boatwright has had little luck, and that might change if he gets just one good real boat building job out of the festival. </p><p></p><p>As she washes her face before bed, Cara Reed thinks about the morrow. <em>Tomorrow’s the contest day!</em> She is very excited. There are a number of contests, any number of which will be fun to watch, but only one of which she <em>really</em> cares about. Sure, she’s going to enter the sausage-eating contest too, but the one she <em>really</em> wants to win is the Prettiest Girl contest.</p><p></p><p><em>I </em>am<em> the prettiest!</em> she tells herself desperately as she falls into sleep.</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> Festival day two! We meet another pc or two! And the contests- from Prettiest Girl to the Chicken-Plucking Contest!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 2401901, member: 1210"] [b]The Harvest Festival of 271 AF- Day One[/b] The sun climbs to the top of the sky. The summer heat increases. Sweat pours from the brows of simple farmers as they mill about through the various merchant stalls. Smoke rises from the green fire barrel in front of the large tent that the alchemist has set up. People gawk at the Cookers’ goat show. A beautiful girl named Cara Reed plays and sings, gathering a crowd of onlookers and admirers. Even the apprentices of Xastys the Sorceress, whose tower rises just outside of the town proper, have come out. As the first day of the festival moves on, the fun and celebration are just beginning. Drinks flow freely; at one point one of the Garden family’s servants passes out free bouquets to several of the townsfolk. Dahlia wanders over to the alchemist’s tent, peering within. A pair of individuals are already in there, speaking to the merchant. “Tho what do you have, fine thir?” the first- who we have already met as Cedric- asks. “Why, many things, my lord,” the alchemist replies. He introduces himself as Braze, a merchant from Kamenda- “Hey, we’re in Kamenda,” Cedric’s squire, Goer, interrupts. “Kamenda City,” the alchemist explains. Smoothly, he resumes his sales pitch. From sleeping powder to stimulant root to impotence cures, he’s got it all. “Well, thir,” Cedric says, “I am the thon of the local lord, and it ith cuthtomary in our landth for traveling merchantth to offer thome refrethment to the ruling family when they come to vithit, perhapth a thimple drink.” “Ah, certainly, my lord, certainly,” Braze replies, and soon Cedric has a drink in his hands. He sighs in contentment. Braze also gives him a little something for his father- some of his impotence cure. Not that Cedric’s father is impotent, of course, but with all the stresses of the duties of lordship, and fatigue and such... well. One never knows. Dahlia, having nowhere near the necessary amount of money to buy any of Braze’s wares, wanders back out into the crowd. The halfling girls are still setting up their large... whatever it is... at one end of the field. Dahlia stares intently at it for some time, but then shrugs, unable to quite fathom it. Near the halflings, Jorgen, self-appointed watchman of Whitewater, nervously calls out to one of them, “Hi! What are you building?” “You’ll see,” one of the lasses replies. “We should be ready to perform tomorrow night.” “What kind of performance?” Jorgen asks. “You’ll see,” the halfling replies. Cedric, too, stops by the halfling area. He stares at their bizarre construction, then cries out, “Hello, thtrange halflingth! I am Thedic, thon of the lord of thith area! I thee that you have come to our fethtival- what ith it you are doing?” “Greetings, my lord!” One of the three halflings walks over to him. “We are halfling entertainers, the Amazing Longleap Sisters. We are setting up a performance area so that we may provide sport and spectacle for your folk- and yourself, of course.” “Hmph!” Cedric glares at her suspiciously. “You aren’t from around here, I take it?” “No, my lord, we travel far and wide.” “And where are you from originally? Tydon, perhapth?” Cedric leans in accusingly. “No, my lord, we come originally from further to the northeast, in the plains.” “Hmph!” Cedric harrumphs again. ”Ah, perhaps you could appease my lord’s suspicion with a drink,” suggests Goer. Soon, Cedric has another beverage in hand, and all’s well again. Early in the afternoon, as the structure starts to become more complete, the halflings stop working on it long enough to erect a high curtain around it, obfuscating the rest of their construction. At one point Cara wanders by and looks it over, on one level admiring the halflings’ showmanship but on another level rather pissed off about the competition. At noon, there is a little excitement as a brief scuffle breaks out between one of the Cooker bully-boys, Tom Breaker, and Drew Garden. It is over in a moment, though, with no lasting harm done. Jorgen scolds them both, but nothing further is necessary. Interestingly, Drew Garden is one of the Gardens who want nothing to do with the feud between them and the Cookers. Tom certainly must have done something to provoke him. As evening rolls in, there are a number of folk from out of town present. Most of them are from another community, but a few either live alone (Dahlia) or are more migratory. A group of outcast mixed-blood individuals lives like this, traveling the general region of Whitewater, Cotton Hill and the foothills leading into the mountains that rise to the west. One of these, the product of rape and abandonment, is a half-orc named Cur Sed Seed. He is inspecting Bevin Tanner’s wares thoroughly- the man has a few nice pieces of work, especially that wolf fur cloak!- when he catches a glimpse of another half-orc walking through the crowd, this one armed and armored. Really, nobody here is armed and armored. [i]Nobody.[/i] Cur turns to pay a little more attention to this new fellow, and realizes that he recognizes him. “Tumenore,” Cur whispers to himself. Tumenore the Bandit-Hunter, and he isn’t alone: he has a bunch of armed men with him. The crowd is clearing space around them; men with swords are not anything to be trifled with. Yet at the same time, his name is going around the crowd like a whisper on the waves: [i]Tumenore... Tumenore... Tumenore.[/i] It’s the sound of excitement, adoration mixed with fear. Quite a few of these folks have heard of Tumenore and his band before. They are known for bringing rough justice to bandits. The common folk like them; Cur Sed Seed does not. Not one bit. Tumenore and his folk are sometimes a little [i]too[/i] resolute in their pursuit of outlaws. There have been times when they have raided the outcasts’ camps and taken members of the band away, claiming they were bandits or brigands. Was it true? Cur isn’t totally certain that it wasn’t, but... he is also very far from sure that it was. He frowns. Half-orc or not, he doesn’t like having that fellow here. It bodes ill. Jorgen, Cedric and Goer approach the leader of the armed band that has just joined the festival. “Thir, I mutht demand that you tell me who you are,” Cedric cries. “Of course, my lord, we mean no harm,” the half-orc replies. “My name is Tumenore. Perhaps you have heard of me?” Cedric studies him. “Indeed not. It theemth a common name, with no notable houthe attatthed to it.” “Notable... ah, I am not high-born, my lord, but your common folk know of me. I hunt bandits. With your permission, of course, we shall simply keep our eyes open for any sign of bandits that might hide here at the festival, concealing themselves among the good folk of your town.” “Ah, I thee, I thee... Well, we thertainly don’t want and banditth hiding amongtht our populath. By all meanth, keep your eyeth open, and report any funny buthineth to me or my father at onthe!” “Of course,” Tumenore agrees easily. “Now, of courthe, it ith cuthtomary for visiting guethtth to buy the local knight and hith family thome refrethments at a time like thith...” “Of course,” Tumenore repeats, and he presses a few coins into Cedric’s hand. “Here, my lord. I am unfamiliar with the local drinks- this way you can procure what you most desire.” “With your permission, we shall set up a tent over there.” The half-orc gestures to a clear area near the edge of the festival. At Cedric’s nod, he strides away, calling for his men to begin setting up. Staring after him, Cedric thinks, [i]I’d best tell father about that one.[/i] He closes his hand around his drinking money. By dark the bandit hunters have set up their area and several of them, having doffed their armor and most of their weapons, begin mingling. Jorgen groans inwardly. [i]Now I’ll have to watch them and the halfings![/i] Night draws a curtain of stars across the sky, and soon enough the only people still out are the last of the traveling merchants, cooking late meals and sipping off of wineskins or ale tankards. Everyone is tired but happy. The first day of the festival was a smashing success. Most of the merchants did very well; only Bryan Boatwright has had little luck, and that might change if he gets just one good real boat building job out of the festival. As she washes her face before bed, Cara Reed thinks about the morrow. [i]Tomorrow’s the contest day![/i] She is very excited. There are a number of contests, any number of which will be fun to watch, but only one of which she [i]really[/i] cares about. Sure, she’s going to enter the sausage-eating contest too, but the one she [i]really[/i] wants to win is the Prettiest Girl contest. [i]I [/i]am[i] the prettiest![/i] she tells herself desperately as she falls into sleep. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] Festival day two! We meet another pc or two! And the contests- from Prettiest Girl to the Chicken-Plucking Contest! [/QUOTE]
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