Bob Aberton
First Post
Vemuz,
As you leave the door, it bursts open with a shattering crash, sending burning embers flying everywhere.
An older, more grizzled Quillen Jones bursts in as well. You notice that his left arm is oddly bent and useless, tucked up against his chest; probably a souvenir of the Malpaire Valley campaign. He skids to a stop, watchman's club in one hand, and flings away his now smouldering overcoat and watch cap. None of his men follow him through the burning doorway.
He stares at you for a long moment, his mouth half-open.
"Vemuz Thriceborn...never thought we'd meet again," he says. You notice he begins to raise his club. But he takes another long look at you and shakes his head slightly, lowering the weapon.
"Aye, we watch each other's backs," he agrees, at last.
He turns to the doorway and shouts,
"Looks like the bastards got away, no use in searchin' here anymore. Smith, Carrington, take High Street. Is Willoughby hurt bad? I'll search Block Street with Cony."
You realize in giving his orders to his men, he has conveniently led them away from both the roads leading to the GRACE and also the roads leading away into the forest.
He turns to go, but before he does, he snaps you a smart salute.
"You owe me a drink if we ever meet again, Vemuz."
With that, he turns and strides out the door, cursing his men for their tardiness.
Malachi,
Some of the younger, more vigorous Orcs are all for rampaging now, but an older one, an Orc still strong-looking but whose hair has gone white, steps in.
"We go to pointy-ears," one of them says. "'Less you wish for dha ol' folk an' dha young'uns to die. But one day we show dis town dha wrath of Gruumsh's Chil'ren. Our day be a comin', ah can smell it!"
The Orcs accept you as their obvious leader, and by taking back alleys, you manage to lead them to the edge of the town, right on the bank of the Standish River. A few small rowboats and keg rafts are tied up to the landing stage. The ragged group, forty-odd Orcs, old men and young Orclings and a few vigorous youths, stand silently on the river, waiting for your guidance.
The younger Orcs are eager for the dark forest and murky river ahead of them. The older Orcs, however, those who have grown used to slavery, stand uncertain, suddenly unwilling to leave the dubious comforts of civilization.
The older Orc who quieted his fellows back at the Auction House steps forward to speak to you.
"When Ah was Orcling, Ah live by de River, down in de Wild-Lands - de River deys call' 'Amarzun'. Ah had canoe, could paddle canoe. You want Ah should take de boats? You needs get back t'yar ship, you want I should take de boats up de river an' let de pointy-ears fin' us?"
Nicodemus
The majority of the Orcs go with Malachi.
However, a dozen or so Orcs, healthy and muscular young males for the most part, stay with you. These are the hands that wanted to ship out on the GRACE.
"You from dha ship?" one asks. "We wan' sail wit' you, sail 'way where dha win' takes us and there no Orc-catchers to hunt us. We from the Makole-a-Utu tribe, we live by dha sea befo' we was slaves. We knows dha Blue Lady an’ her ways.”
As you leave the door, it bursts open with a shattering crash, sending burning embers flying everywhere.
An older, more grizzled Quillen Jones bursts in as well. You notice that his left arm is oddly bent and useless, tucked up against his chest; probably a souvenir of the Malpaire Valley campaign. He skids to a stop, watchman's club in one hand, and flings away his now smouldering overcoat and watch cap. None of his men follow him through the burning doorway.
He stares at you for a long moment, his mouth half-open.
"Vemuz Thriceborn...never thought we'd meet again," he says. You notice he begins to raise his club. But he takes another long look at you and shakes his head slightly, lowering the weapon.
"Aye, we watch each other's backs," he agrees, at last.
He turns to the doorway and shouts,
"Looks like the bastards got away, no use in searchin' here anymore. Smith, Carrington, take High Street. Is Willoughby hurt bad? I'll search Block Street with Cony."
You realize in giving his orders to his men, he has conveniently led them away from both the roads leading to the GRACE and also the roads leading away into the forest.
He turns to go, but before he does, he snaps you a smart salute.
"You owe me a drink if we ever meet again, Vemuz."
With that, he turns and strides out the door, cursing his men for their tardiness.
Malachi,
Some of the younger, more vigorous Orcs are all for rampaging now, but an older one, an Orc still strong-looking but whose hair has gone white, steps in.
"We go to pointy-ears," one of them says. "'Less you wish for dha ol' folk an' dha young'uns to die. But one day we show dis town dha wrath of Gruumsh's Chil'ren. Our day be a comin', ah can smell it!"
The Orcs accept you as their obvious leader, and by taking back alleys, you manage to lead them to the edge of the town, right on the bank of the Standish River. A few small rowboats and keg rafts are tied up to the landing stage. The ragged group, forty-odd Orcs, old men and young Orclings and a few vigorous youths, stand silently on the river, waiting for your guidance.
The younger Orcs are eager for the dark forest and murky river ahead of them. The older Orcs, however, those who have grown used to slavery, stand uncertain, suddenly unwilling to leave the dubious comforts of civilization.
The older Orc who quieted his fellows back at the Auction House steps forward to speak to you.
"When Ah was Orcling, Ah live by de River, down in de Wild-Lands - de River deys call' 'Amarzun'. Ah had canoe, could paddle canoe. You want Ah should take de boats? You needs get back t'yar ship, you want I should take de boats up de river an' let de pointy-ears fin' us?"
Nicodemus
The majority of the Orcs go with Malachi.
However, a dozen or so Orcs, healthy and muscular young males for the most part, stay with you. These are the hands that wanted to ship out on the GRACE.
"You from dha ship?" one asks. "We wan' sail wit' you, sail 'way where dha win' takes us and there no Orc-catchers to hunt us. We from the Makole-a-Utu tribe, we live by dha sea befo' we was slaves. We knows dha Blue Lady an’ her ways.”
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