Maidhc O Casain
Na Bith Mo Riocht Tá!
Domhani Bairdéir 01
This is the In-Game thread for the HERO System game: Domhani Bairdéir.
This is the In-Game thread for the HERO System game: Domhani Bairdéir.
Last edited:
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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
Domhani Bairdéir 01
- Thread starter Maidhc O Casain
- Start date
Maidhc O Casain
Na Bith Mo Riocht Tá!
Arrival at the Wickshine's Last Inn
OOC: Welcome to the game! This post was a little harder to do than I thought -- it seemed like a good idea at first to introduce each of you to the inn one at a time, but in practice I'm not sure how it worked out. It's a little artificial, I know, but the spoilers are posted in the order of arrival at the Wickshine's Last Inn (or the Wick, as it's known hereabouts). I'll leave it to you to describe yourselves more fully (depending on your location in the inn, of course) and we'll just wing it until things start to flow a little bit!
For Scath only:
[sblock]About a month ago, Midge decided to venture out of Máthair’s court and take a firsthand look at the changes she’s been working on the world. He’s covertly visited several of the countries she’s incorporated into her kingdom, and the results are very much to Scáth’s liking. The subsumed countries are becoming prosperous, the populace are living and working well together, and the Queen’s Warders, her agents inside the country who work to keep the peace and enforce the Queen’s rule, are almost universally liked and accepted.
Ráth Diamhair is the most recent addition to the kingdom, and the last one Midge decided to visit. The conquest of this large mountain province was only completed about two weeks ago, and chaos is still the general state of affairs. The Warders are working hard to restore order, and are generally well received, but there are still pockets of resistance throughout the country.
The wealth of human emotion here means that Midge is very well fed – he doesn’t really have to keep things stirred up, they’re staying that way on their own. Adding that to the fascinating physical events playing themselves out every day makes this the most interesting place for Midge to be right now, so he’s stayed on for a while.
He’s taken up residence in the attic of a large in close to the northeast border of Ráth Diamhair, and makes daily forays into the countryside from there. Additionally, the steady stream of customers (on whom he eavesdrops shamelessly) keeps him informed of local events.
Here’s what he knows:
The Wickshine’s Last Inn is a large establishment run by Abel and Dorothea Still. It stands in the middle of a large apple orchard, the trees of which are apparently healthy, but bear no blossoms (they should be in full bloom at this time of year). There are several buildings in the area, but their fallen-in roofs and broken doors and windows make it clear no one has lived in or used them for many years. About 50 yards from the Inn are two small pens where Abel keeps a small flock of sheep and a small herd of pigs. A third pen stands in a state of disuse (Midge has learned that the Stills’ milk cow died several months ago and they haven’t had the opportunity to purchase a second one).
There’s a courtyard surrounded by a very low fence attached to the front of the Inn, with a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable.
Staff
In addition to Abel and Dorothea, the staff consist of Usta and Jinny Fingle and Aved Kidly. Usta and Jinny are sisters (aged 12 and 11), have pale skin, blue eyes, and thick blonde hair. Usta is more talkative than Jinny, but neither talks much unless directly addressed. They often argue about which of them will marry Aved when they grow up. They work in the common room as serving lasses (they are too young to properly be called Wenches).
Aved is a big 12 year old with brown hair and eyes. The size of his hands and feet indicate that he’ll grow up to be a very big man. He is shy at first, but quickly warms to anyone who bothers to take the time to talk with him. He works in the stables and takes care of basic chores around the Inn.
Guests
Kurdy Deel is an elderly tinker who travels Ráth Diamhair performing minor repairs and metalwork. He stays here for a couple of days about four times a year. He’s a bit of a curmudgeon, and rarely stops complaining even if it’s only to himself or to his mule. His clothing is rough and patched, and he never takes off his cap (the flaps of which are always down over his ears) when in company. His ears have often suffered frostbite and have been eaten down to nubs, which is an embarrassment to him according to gossip amongst the staff, and his teeth are stained quite green (which does not embarrass him at all). He’s been at the Wick for two days, and is planning on moving on tomorrow.
Marten L’Gentsia is a traveling scholar on his way to the library at Tearmann. He got stopped at the border, and decided to wait at the Wick until he can get through. He is dressed expensively but not ostentatiously, and seems friendly enough. He’s of medium height and slight build, with black hair and blue eyes. This is his first night here, so you’ve not been able to ferret out much about him.
Also here for the first time tonight is Eadon Marsh, a hard bitten mercenary who seems very comfortable with the weapons he’s wearing (longsword and dirk, and heavy leather traveling clothes). He’s gruff and doesn’t seem too much interested in small talk, though you have heard him mention that he’s “between employers.”
Red haired and freckle faced, Ditmore and Exter Shury are regular visitors at the Inn – they stop here for about a week, twice a year. They are traders in exotic glassware, and appear to do very well at it. They dress flamboyantly, though their clothes do appear somewhat travel worn. They often entertain other visitors with stories of their exploits, but are attentive to the stories of their fellows as well and are free with their money – they often buy ale for other guests in return for a good story.
Illé Sorden is a father traveling to retrieve the remains of his son, a soldier killed in the recent fighting. He plans to return the body to his home village to be buried next to his deceased wife. He wears plain dark clothes appropriate to one in mourning, and has little to say to his fellow lodgers – his stark features and hard gray eyes indicate one consumed by grief. He has thinning jet black hair, but rarely takes off his low crowned, wide brimmed hat that casts a shadow over his pinched lips and hollow cheeks.
Last but not least is Josiah Two-Coins, a self-proclaimed servant of Figh, the God of Fate (also Nature, the Seasons, Travelers, and Time) and itinerant priest. He wears brown, threadbare robes of burlap tied at the waist and in need of a good cleaning. He’s skinny as a rail, with brown hair and mismatched eyes – the left is brown and the right blue. For a holy man, Josiah speaks rarely of the divine, and often of the quality of the Wick’s ale, the hardships of the road, and the difficulty of receiving ‘alms’ in these days of ‘godless iniquity.’ He’s been here for 4 days, and doesn’t seem inclined to leave anytime soon.[/sblock]
For Béar Only:
[sblock]Béar is traveling his beloved country, ferreting out pockets of resistance and ‘dealing’ with them – either by convincing them of the error of their ways or by taking them out of the picture. He’s been on the road for his new Queen for about two weeks.
One evening, Béar’s day looks set to end miserably – the mother of all thunderstorms seems to be blowing in from the northwest – when he spies the lit windows of a large building up the road. On closer approach, he finds that the building is the Wickshine’s Last Inn, a large inn with walls of half timber and plaster, built on a foundation of field stones and wooden planking. In front of the inn is a courtyard surrounded by a low fence and containing a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable. There’s a young lad putting the finishing touches on the stable for the evening, making sure all the doors and windows are well secured against the coming storm.
The land surrounding the inn contains many apple trees, healthy to all appearances except for the fact that they have no blossoms. There are several buildings in the surrounding area as well, but their collapsed roofs and broken doors, and empty windows indicate they’ve not been used for many years. About 50 yards away from the inn are three pens: one contains a small flock of sheep, one a small herd of pigs, and the last stands empty.
Entering the inn, Béar finds a well lit common room with 7 guests already occupying most of the tables: a large man, obviously a warrior type, is at a table with a spare man dressed in the black of mourning and wearing a hat with a large brim overshadowing his face; two flamboyantly dressed red-heads who look to be closely related (probably brothers) are listening in rapt astonishment to a well dressed youth as he holds forth on a subject you’re unable to hear from the door, and two older men are at a third table hunched over their ales. As you enter, one of the older men looks up and shouts, “Shut the door – were you born in a barn?”
OOC: Bill, for the sake of getting everyone together I'm going to assume that you sit down and order a meal, planning on getting a room after you eat. Let me know if this disagrees with you, please.[/sblock]
For Cerallos and Athelstan Only:
[sblock]Cerallos has tracked the last remaining bandit across the border into Ráth Diamhair, a country only taken by Queen Máthair about two weeks ago. The chaos remaining in the country is incredible, and though he’s determined that his quarry managed to cross the border out of the country to the east (and into a swamp that lies across the border between Ráth Diamhair and Clún) he himself has been unable to pass the border guards.
However, as he tried to cross the border going East, he met with Athelstan traveling west from Clún and struck up a conversation (feel free to e-mail/call each other, or post spoilers, to give whatever details of your characters you wish to share), quickly determining that neither would be able to cross into the next country for a while. With a major thunderstorm in the offing, the pair decided that their best bet was an inn Cerallos saw back up the road about 3 miles. Thunder is growing steadily closer as they approach the inn:
The Wickshine’s Last Inn is a large building with walls of half timber and plaster, built on a foundation of field stones and wooden planking. In front of the inn is a courtyard surrounded by a low fence and containing a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable. There’s a young lad putting the finishing touches on the stable for the evening, making sure all the doors and windows are well secured against the coming storm.
The land surrounding the inn contains many apple trees, healthy to all appearances except for the fact that they have no blossoms. There are several buildings in the surrounding area as well, but their collapsed roofs and broken doors, and empty windows indicate they’ve not been used for many years. About 50 yards away from the inn are three pens: one contains a small flock of sheep, one a small herd of pigs, and the last stands empty.
Entering the inn, the two find a well lit common room with 8 guests already occupying most of the tables: a large man, obviously a warrior type, is at a table with a spare man dressed in the black of mourning and wearing a hat with a large brim overshadowing his face; two flamboyantly dressed red-heads who look to be closely related (probably brothers) are listening in rapt astonishment to a well dressed youth as he holds forth on a subject you’re unable to hear from the door, and two older men are at a third table hunched over their ales. In a corner at a table by himself is a very large man wearing leathers and wolfing down an oversized plate of food. There’s a great mace leaning against the wall next to him. He doesn’t even look up as you come in.[/sblock]
For Gavril Only:
[sblock]At the termination of his last employment (teaching the young son of a Tearmani merchant the fine art of swordplay), Gavril received a strong recommendation from his employer to a fellow merchant in the (as yet) unconquered province of Ráth Diamhair. Though he was a bit leery of taking a post in a country on which the Queen had had her eye, the money offered was a strong incentive and the recommended merchant was said to have a daughter of better than average appearance. . .
Whatever his hopes were, the reality of the situation was not nearly so attractive. Shortly after he entered the province, but before he could make it to the town in which his new client resided, Queen Máthair began her bid to take the province. Gavril managed to keep his head down and avoid notice most of the time, but when the dust cleared he found himself without prospect of employment and unable to leave the country – the borders were closed to outgoing traffic until the Queen’s Warders were able to stabilize the situation. With no prospective employment and no idea of how long he’d have to stay in country, Gavril decided to lower his standards somewhat and begin instructing anyone willing to pay with a nights lodging and a warm meal.
One evening, just as the first drops of what promises to be a very large thunderstorm begin pattering to the ground around him, Gavril finds himself approaching an inn that appeared with fortuitous timing.
The Wickshine’s Last Inn is a large building with walls of half timber and plaster, built on a foundation of field stones and wooden planking. In front of the inn is a courtyard surrounded by a low fence and containing a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable. There’s a young lad putting the finishing touches on the stable for the evening, making sure all the doors and windows are well secured against the coming storm. Gavril just manages to catch the lad, who gives his name as Aved Kidly, and convinces him to stable the animals before the storm hits fully.
The land surrounding the inn contains many apple trees, healthy to all appearances except for the fact that they have no blossoms. There are several buildings in the surrounding area as well, but their collapsed roofs and broken doors, and empty windows indicate they’ve not been used for many years. About 50 yards away from the inn are three pens: one contains a small flock of sheep, one a small herd of pigs, and the last stands empty.
Entering the inn, Gavril finds a well lit common room with 10 guests already occupying most of the tables: a large man, obviously a warrior type, is at a table with a spare man dressed in the black of mourning and wearing a hat with a large brim overshadowing his face; two flamboyantly dressed red-heads who look to be closely related (probably brothers) are listening in rapt astonishment to a well dressed youth as he holds forth on a subject you’re unable to hear from the door, and two older men are at a third table hunched over their ales; in a corner at a table by himself is a very large man wearing leathers and wolfing down an oversized plate of food. There’s a great mace leaning against the wall next to him. He doesn’t even look up as he comes in. Also seated in the room is pair who look to have made it in just before Gavril – a man in a hooded cloak (who, curiously, is wearing the hood up and shadowing his face) and one in a cape. Both are obviously travelers. The caped one has some strange sigils painted upon his face. Both look up curiously as Gavril enters with his body servant.
OOC: Scott, I’ve forgotten your DNPC’s name. Could you work an introduction into your post somewhere?[/sblock]
For Deasaigh Only:
[sblock]Deasaigh’s been looking for a way out of this Gods Forsaken Country every since he completed his job and all hell broke loose. So far, he’s been unable to find a place to cross the border that’s not watched by the Queen’s Warders.
His last attempt, at the border between Ráth Diamhair and Clún, proved fruitless just a few hours ago. To put the cap on this day of bad luck, as he’s traveling back to an inn he remembers seeing a few miles back the thunderstorm that’s been threatening for most of the afternoon decides to let loose when he’s still got about half a mile to go. Finally, soaked to the skin and thoroughly miserable, Deasaigh sees the lights of the inn and comes to his destination.
The Wickshine’s Last Inn is a large building with walls of half timber and plaster, built on a foundation of field stones and wooden planking. In front of the inn is a courtyard surrounded by a low fence and containing a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable.
The land surrounding the inn contains many apple trees, healthy to all appearances except for the fact that they have no blossoms. There are several buildings in the surrounding area as well, but their collapsed roofs and broken doors, and empty windows indicate they’ve not been used for many years. About 50 yards away from the inn are three pens: one contains a small flock of sheep, one a small herd of pigs, and the last stands empty.
Entering the inn, Deasaigh finds a well lit common room with 12 guests already occupying most of the tables: a large man, obviously a warrior type, is at a table with a spare man dressed in the black of mourning and wearing a hat with a large brim overshadowing his face; two flamboyantly dressed red-heads who look to be closely related (probably brothers) are listening in rapt astonishment to a well dressed youth as he holds forth on a subject you’re unable to hear from the door, and two older men are at a third table hunched over their ales; in a corner at a table by himself is a very large man wearing leathers and wolfing down an oversized plate of food. There’s a great mace leaning against the wall next to him. He doesn’t even look up as he comes in. Also seated in the room is pair who look to have made it in just before Gavril – a man in a hooded cloak (who, curiously, is wearing the hood up and shadowing his face) and one in a cape. Both are obviously travelers. The caped one has some strange sigils painted upon his face. Finally, there’s a somewhat foppish looking fellow sitting with an old man that looks like he’s trying to decide whether to take another bite of soup or just let the years have their way with him and die on the spot.[/sblock]
OOC: Welcome to the game! This post was a little harder to do than I thought -- it seemed like a good idea at first to introduce each of you to the inn one at a time, but in practice I'm not sure how it worked out. It's a little artificial, I know, but the spoilers are posted in the order of arrival at the Wickshine's Last Inn (or the Wick, as it's known hereabouts). I'll leave it to you to describe yourselves more fully (depending on your location in the inn, of course) and we'll just wing it until things start to flow a little bit!
For Scath only:
[sblock]About a month ago, Midge decided to venture out of Máthair’s court and take a firsthand look at the changes she’s been working on the world. He’s covertly visited several of the countries she’s incorporated into her kingdom, and the results are very much to Scáth’s liking. The subsumed countries are becoming prosperous, the populace are living and working well together, and the Queen’s Warders, her agents inside the country who work to keep the peace and enforce the Queen’s rule, are almost universally liked and accepted.
Ráth Diamhair is the most recent addition to the kingdom, and the last one Midge decided to visit. The conquest of this large mountain province was only completed about two weeks ago, and chaos is still the general state of affairs. The Warders are working hard to restore order, and are generally well received, but there are still pockets of resistance throughout the country.
The wealth of human emotion here means that Midge is very well fed – he doesn’t really have to keep things stirred up, they’re staying that way on their own. Adding that to the fascinating physical events playing themselves out every day makes this the most interesting place for Midge to be right now, so he’s stayed on for a while.
He’s taken up residence in the attic of a large in close to the northeast border of Ráth Diamhair, and makes daily forays into the countryside from there. Additionally, the steady stream of customers (on whom he eavesdrops shamelessly) keeps him informed of local events.
Here’s what he knows:
The Wickshine’s Last Inn is a large establishment run by Abel and Dorothea Still. It stands in the middle of a large apple orchard, the trees of which are apparently healthy, but bear no blossoms (they should be in full bloom at this time of year). There are several buildings in the area, but their fallen-in roofs and broken doors and windows make it clear no one has lived in or used them for many years. About 50 yards from the Inn are two small pens where Abel keeps a small flock of sheep and a small herd of pigs. A third pen stands in a state of disuse (Midge has learned that the Stills’ milk cow died several months ago and they haven’t had the opportunity to purchase a second one).
There’s a courtyard surrounded by a very low fence attached to the front of the Inn, with a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable.
Staff
In addition to Abel and Dorothea, the staff consist of Usta and Jinny Fingle and Aved Kidly. Usta and Jinny are sisters (aged 12 and 11), have pale skin, blue eyes, and thick blonde hair. Usta is more talkative than Jinny, but neither talks much unless directly addressed. They often argue about which of them will marry Aved when they grow up. They work in the common room as serving lasses (they are too young to properly be called Wenches).
Aved is a big 12 year old with brown hair and eyes. The size of his hands and feet indicate that he’ll grow up to be a very big man. He is shy at first, but quickly warms to anyone who bothers to take the time to talk with him. He works in the stables and takes care of basic chores around the Inn.
Guests
Kurdy Deel is an elderly tinker who travels Ráth Diamhair performing minor repairs and metalwork. He stays here for a couple of days about four times a year. He’s a bit of a curmudgeon, and rarely stops complaining even if it’s only to himself or to his mule. His clothing is rough and patched, and he never takes off his cap (the flaps of which are always down over his ears) when in company. His ears have often suffered frostbite and have been eaten down to nubs, which is an embarrassment to him according to gossip amongst the staff, and his teeth are stained quite green (which does not embarrass him at all). He’s been at the Wick for two days, and is planning on moving on tomorrow.
Marten L’Gentsia is a traveling scholar on his way to the library at Tearmann. He got stopped at the border, and decided to wait at the Wick until he can get through. He is dressed expensively but not ostentatiously, and seems friendly enough. He’s of medium height and slight build, with black hair and blue eyes. This is his first night here, so you’ve not been able to ferret out much about him.
Also here for the first time tonight is Eadon Marsh, a hard bitten mercenary who seems very comfortable with the weapons he’s wearing (longsword and dirk, and heavy leather traveling clothes). He’s gruff and doesn’t seem too much interested in small talk, though you have heard him mention that he’s “between employers.”
Red haired and freckle faced, Ditmore and Exter Shury are regular visitors at the Inn – they stop here for about a week, twice a year. They are traders in exotic glassware, and appear to do very well at it. They dress flamboyantly, though their clothes do appear somewhat travel worn. They often entertain other visitors with stories of their exploits, but are attentive to the stories of their fellows as well and are free with their money – they often buy ale for other guests in return for a good story.
Illé Sorden is a father traveling to retrieve the remains of his son, a soldier killed in the recent fighting. He plans to return the body to his home village to be buried next to his deceased wife. He wears plain dark clothes appropriate to one in mourning, and has little to say to his fellow lodgers – his stark features and hard gray eyes indicate one consumed by grief. He has thinning jet black hair, but rarely takes off his low crowned, wide brimmed hat that casts a shadow over his pinched lips and hollow cheeks.
Last but not least is Josiah Two-Coins, a self-proclaimed servant of Figh, the God of Fate (also Nature, the Seasons, Travelers, and Time) and itinerant priest. He wears brown, threadbare robes of burlap tied at the waist and in need of a good cleaning. He’s skinny as a rail, with brown hair and mismatched eyes – the left is brown and the right blue. For a holy man, Josiah speaks rarely of the divine, and often of the quality of the Wick’s ale, the hardships of the road, and the difficulty of receiving ‘alms’ in these days of ‘godless iniquity.’ He’s been here for 4 days, and doesn’t seem inclined to leave anytime soon.[/sblock]
For Béar Only:
[sblock]Béar is traveling his beloved country, ferreting out pockets of resistance and ‘dealing’ with them – either by convincing them of the error of their ways or by taking them out of the picture. He’s been on the road for his new Queen for about two weeks.
One evening, Béar’s day looks set to end miserably – the mother of all thunderstorms seems to be blowing in from the northwest – when he spies the lit windows of a large building up the road. On closer approach, he finds that the building is the Wickshine’s Last Inn, a large inn with walls of half timber and plaster, built on a foundation of field stones and wooden planking. In front of the inn is a courtyard surrounded by a low fence and containing a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable. There’s a young lad putting the finishing touches on the stable for the evening, making sure all the doors and windows are well secured against the coming storm.
The land surrounding the inn contains many apple trees, healthy to all appearances except for the fact that they have no blossoms. There are several buildings in the surrounding area as well, but their collapsed roofs and broken doors, and empty windows indicate they’ve not been used for many years. About 50 yards away from the inn are three pens: one contains a small flock of sheep, one a small herd of pigs, and the last stands empty.
Entering the inn, Béar finds a well lit common room with 7 guests already occupying most of the tables: a large man, obviously a warrior type, is at a table with a spare man dressed in the black of mourning and wearing a hat with a large brim overshadowing his face; two flamboyantly dressed red-heads who look to be closely related (probably brothers) are listening in rapt astonishment to a well dressed youth as he holds forth on a subject you’re unable to hear from the door, and two older men are at a third table hunched over their ales. As you enter, one of the older men looks up and shouts, “Shut the door – were you born in a barn?”
OOC: Bill, for the sake of getting everyone together I'm going to assume that you sit down and order a meal, planning on getting a room after you eat. Let me know if this disagrees with you, please.[/sblock]
For Cerallos and Athelstan Only:
[sblock]Cerallos has tracked the last remaining bandit across the border into Ráth Diamhair, a country only taken by Queen Máthair about two weeks ago. The chaos remaining in the country is incredible, and though he’s determined that his quarry managed to cross the border out of the country to the east (and into a swamp that lies across the border between Ráth Diamhair and Clún) he himself has been unable to pass the border guards.
However, as he tried to cross the border going East, he met with Athelstan traveling west from Clún and struck up a conversation (feel free to e-mail/call each other, or post spoilers, to give whatever details of your characters you wish to share), quickly determining that neither would be able to cross into the next country for a while. With a major thunderstorm in the offing, the pair decided that their best bet was an inn Cerallos saw back up the road about 3 miles. Thunder is growing steadily closer as they approach the inn:
The Wickshine’s Last Inn is a large building with walls of half timber and plaster, built on a foundation of field stones and wooden planking. In front of the inn is a courtyard surrounded by a low fence and containing a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable. There’s a young lad putting the finishing touches on the stable for the evening, making sure all the doors and windows are well secured against the coming storm.
The land surrounding the inn contains many apple trees, healthy to all appearances except for the fact that they have no blossoms. There are several buildings in the surrounding area as well, but their collapsed roofs and broken doors, and empty windows indicate they’ve not been used for many years. About 50 yards away from the inn are three pens: one contains a small flock of sheep, one a small herd of pigs, and the last stands empty.
Entering the inn, the two find a well lit common room with 8 guests already occupying most of the tables: a large man, obviously a warrior type, is at a table with a spare man dressed in the black of mourning and wearing a hat with a large brim overshadowing his face; two flamboyantly dressed red-heads who look to be closely related (probably brothers) are listening in rapt astonishment to a well dressed youth as he holds forth on a subject you’re unable to hear from the door, and two older men are at a third table hunched over their ales. In a corner at a table by himself is a very large man wearing leathers and wolfing down an oversized plate of food. There’s a great mace leaning against the wall next to him. He doesn’t even look up as you come in.[/sblock]
For Gavril Only:
[sblock]At the termination of his last employment (teaching the young son of a Tearmani merchant the fine art of swordplay), Gavril received a strong recommendation from his employer to a fellow merchant in the (as yet) unconquered province of Ráth Diamhair. Though he was a bit leery of taking a post in a country on which the Queen had had her eye, the money offered was a strong incentive and the recommended merchant was said to have a daughter of better than average appearance. . .
Whatever his hopes were, the reality of the situation was not nearly so attractive. Shortly after he entered the province, but before he could make it to the town in which his new client resided, Queen Máthair began her bid to take the province. Gavril managed to keep his head down and avoid notice most of the time, but when the dust cleared he found himself without prospect of employment and unable to leave the country – the borders were closed to outgoing traffic until the Queen’s Warders were able to stabilize the situation. With no prospective employment and no idea of how long he’d have to stay in country, Gavril decided to lower his standards somewhat and begin instructing anyone willing to pay with a nights lodging and a warm meal.
One evening, just as the first drops of what promises to be a very large thunderstorm begin pattering to the ground around him, Gavril finds himself approaching an inn that appeared with fortuitous timing.
The Wickshine’s Last Inn is a large building with walls of half timber and plaster, built on a foundation of field stones and wooden planking. In front of the inn is a courtyard surrounded by a low fence and containing a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable. There’s a young lad putting the finishing touches on the stable for the evening, making sure all the doors and windows are well secured against the coming storm. Gavril just manages to catch the lad, who gives his name as Aved Kidly, and convinces him to stable the animals before the storm hits fully.
The land surrounding the inn contains many apple trees, healthy to all appearances except for the fact that they have no blossoms. There are several buildings in the surrounding area as well, but their collapsed roofs and broken doors, and empty windows indicate they’ve not been used for many years. About 50 yards away from the inn are three pens: one contains a small flock of sheep, one a small herd of pigs, and the last stands empty.
Entering the inn, Gavril finds a well lit common room with 10 guests already occupying most of the tables: a large man, obviously a warrior type, is at a table with a spare man dressed in the black of mourning and wearing a hat with a large brim overshadowing his face; two flamboyantly dressed red-heads who look to be closely related (probably brothers) are listening in rapt astonishment to a well dressed youth as he holds forth on a subject you’re unable to hear from the door, and two older men are at a third table hunched over their ales; in a corner at a table by himself is a very large man wearing leathers and wolfing down an oversized plate of food. There’s a great mace leaning against the wall next to him. He doesn’t even look up as he comes in. Also seated in the room is pair who look to have made it in just before Gavril – a man in a hooded cloak (who, curiously, is wearing the hood up and shadowing his face) and one in a cape. Both are obviously travelers. The caped one has some strange sigils painted upon his face. Both look up curiously as Gavril enters with his body servant.
OOC: Scott, I’ve forgotten your DNPC’s name. Could you work an introduction into your post somewhere?[/sblock]
For Deasaigh Only:
[sblock]Deasaigh’s been looking for a way out of this Gods Forsaken Country every since he completed his job and all hell broke loose. So far, he’s been unable to find a place to cross the border that’s not watched by the Queen’s Warders.
His last attempt, at the border between Ráth Diamhair and Clún, proved fruitless just a few hours ago. To put the cap on this day of bad luck, as he’s traveling back to an inn he remembers seeing a few miles back the thunderstorm that’s been threatening for most of the afternoon decides to let loose when he’s still got about half a mile to go. Finally, soaked to the skin and thoroughly miserable, Deasaigh sees the lights of the inn and comes to his destination.
The Wickshine’s Last Inn is a large building with walls of half timber and plaster, built on a foundation of field stones and wooden planking. In front of the inn is a courtyard surrounded by a low fence and containing a well, a small chicken coop, and a well appointed stable.
The land surrounding the inn contains many apple trees, healthy to all appearances except for the fact that they have no blossoms. There are several buildings in the surrounding area as well, but their collapsed roofs and broken doors, and empty windows indicate they’ve not been used for many years. About 50 yards away from the inn are three pens: one contains a small flock of sheep, one a small herd of pigs, and the last stands empty.
Entering the inn, Deasaigh finds a well lit common room with 12 guests already occupying most of the tables: a large man, obviously a warrior type, is at a table with a spare man dressed in the black of mourning and wearing a hat with a large brim overshadowing his face; two flamboyantly dressed red-heads who look to be closely related (probably brothers) are listening in rapt astonishment to a well dressed youth as he holds forth on a subject you’re unable to hear from the door, and two older men are at a third table hunched over their ales; in a corner at a table by himself is a very large man wearing leathers and wolfing down an oversized plate of food. There’s a great mace leaning against the wall next to him. He doesn’t even look up as he comes in. Also seated in the room is pair who look to have made it in just before Gavril – a man in a hooded cloak (who, curiously, is wearing the hood up and shadowing his face) and one in a cape. Both are obviously travelers. The caped one has some strange sigils painted upon his face. Finally, there’s a somewhat foppish looking fellow sitting with an old man that looks like he’s trying to decide whether to take another bite of soup or just let the years have their way with him and die on the spot.[/sblock]
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Scotley
Hero
Gavril Lorant
A handsome young man steps boldly into 'Wickshine’s Last Inn' as if he owns the place. He leans heavily on a cane, but manages to remove a heavy traveling cloak and shake it vigorously though only a couple of drops of rain appear to have landed on it. He also removes a large buff colored hat pinned with a huge purple plum of some exotic bird. He tosses both causually to a thin elderly man in simple but neat clothes. Using the cane and walking stiffly the young man surveys the room. His blonde hair is neatly pinned and he wears a short sharply pointed beard and neatly oiled handlebar mustache. His sircoat is a bright blue the same color as his eye, while the gold flur-de-lis pattern matches his hair. There is some sort of leather armor beneth. His high soft riding boots have been recently polished though they are now dusty. A sword and dagger hang at his belt. He removes a pair of gloves and tucks them into his belt next to the well worn hilt of his sword. As he scans the room an expression of disappointment crosses his face. Perhaps he was expecting someone to be here? The older man wrestles the cloak and hat onto hook and the younger man guestures to a table near the fire. "Diddious, warm yourself by the fire and get something to eat before you attend to my bags. You really must take better care of yourself. You look ready to faint after only six hours in the saddle." The man seats himself streching his game leg out with a slight grimace. They order some food he causually observes the other patrons of the room. Soon the stable boy brings in an impressive collection of baggage. The bags are of fine make, but well used. An odd assortment of gear protrudes from the pile including a variety of swords, a crossbow, a polo mallet, a hunting horn, sevaral hats and a lute. The older man tips the lad.
A handsome young man steps boldly into 'Wickshine’s Last Inn' as if he owns the place. He leans heavily on a cane, but manages to remove a heavy traveling cloak and shake it vigorously though only a couple of drops of rain appear to have landed on it. He also removes a large buff colored hat pinned with a huge purple plum of some exotic bird. He tosses both causually to a thin elderly man in simple but neat clothes. Using the cane and walking stiffly the young man surveys the room. His blonde hair is neatly pinned and he wears a short sharply pointed beard and neatly oiled handlebar mustache. His sircoat is a bright blue the same color as his eye, while the gold flur-de-lis pattern matches his hair. There is some sort of leather armor beneth. His high soft riding boots have been recently polished though they are now dusty. A sword and dagger hang at his belt. He removes a pair of gloves and tucks them into his belt next to the well worn hilt of his sword. As he scans the room an expression of disappointment crosses his face. Perhaps he was expecting someone to be here? The older man wrestles the cloak and hat onto hook and the younger man guestures to a table near the fire. "Diddious, warm yourself by the fire and get something to eat before you attend to my bags. You really must take better care of yourself. You look ready to faint after only six hours in the saddle." The man seats himself streching his game leg out with a slight grimace. They order some food he causually observes the other patrons of the room. Soon the stable boy brings in an impressive collection of baggage. The bags are of fine make, but well used. An odd assortment of gear protrudes from the pile including a variety of swords, a crossbow, a polo mallet, a hunting horn, sevaral hats and a lute. The older man tips the lad.
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Maidhc O Casain
Na Bith Mo Riocht Tá!
Gathering at the Wick
OOC: The monetary system throughout the different realms will be the standard 100 Copper=10 Silver=1 Gold Piece. The units will be named differently depending on which kingdom you are in. Throughout Domhani (your current island kingdom comprised of all of the realms within the ambitions of Queen Mathair) the designations are Farthing (CP), Penny (SP), and Noble (GP).
IC: A young girl approaches Gavril and quietly asks what he wishes to eat and drink. She looks to be 11 or 12 years old, with the pale skin, fair hair, and blue eyes of a lowlander, and is obviously impressed by his lordly manner.
OOC: The monetary system throughout the different realms will be the standard 100 Copper=10 Silver=1 Gold Piece. The units will be named differently depending on which kingdom you are in. Throughout Domhani (your current island kingdom comprised of all of the realms within the ambitions of Queen Mathair) the designations are Farthing (CP), Penny (SP), and Noble (GP).
IC: A young girl approaches Gavril and quietly asks what he wishes to eat and drink. She looks to be 11 or 12 years old, with the pale skin, fair hair, and blue eyes of a lowlander, and is obviously impressed by his lordly manner.
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Scotley
Hero
Gavril
Gavril appraises the girl for a moment before he answers, "Something warming to ward off the chill of the rain, a stew or perhaps a roast with gravy?" Turning to his companion, "Does that suit you Diddious?" Then back to the girl, "and a glass of wine, if you have something to match the food for me and ale for my old companion."
Gavril appraises the girl for a moment before he answers, "Something warming to ward off the chill of the rain, a stew or perhaps a roast with gravy?" Turning to his companion, "Does that suit you Diddious?" Then back to the girl, "and a glass of wine, if you have something to match the food for me and ale for my old companion."
Maidhc O Casain
Na Bith Mo Riocht Tá!
Gathering at the Wick
The lass bows slightly as she backs away, eventually turning and exiting to what's apparantly the kitchen. She returns in short order with a nicely turned haunch of lamb and a bowl of leek soup for both Gavril and Diddius. For Gavril there is a slightly above average glass of red wine, and a mug of pale ale for Diddius. "If there's anything else you require, just let me know, sir!"
The lass bows slightly as she backs away, eventually turning and exiting to what's apparantly the kitchen. She returns in short order with a nicely turned haunch of lamb and a bowl of leek soup for both Gavril and Diddius. For Gavril there is a slightly above average glass of red wine, and a mug of pale ale for Diddius. "If there's anything else you require, just let me know, sir!"
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Maidhc O Casain
Na Bith Mo Riocht Tá!
Gathering at the Wick
OOC: For the sake of the storyline, why don't those of you already at the Inn when Gavril arrives (that's everyone except Deasaigh) start working your way into the posting with reactions to the others present, and I'll cue Deasaigh when he arrives so he can post a proper entrance. It's just now full dark outside, and the thunderstorm has arrived in earnest.
OOC: For the sake of the storyline, why don't those of you already at the Inn when Gavril arrives (that's everyone except Deasaigh) start working your way into the posting with reactions to the others present, and I'll cue Deasaigh when he arrives so he can post a proper entrance. It's just now full dark outside, and the thunderstorm has arrived in earnest.
arkansasdave
First Post
for DM
[sblock] test
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[sblock] test
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Maidhc O Casain
Na Bith Mo Riocht Tá!
Gathering at the Wick
For Béar:
[sblock]Works like a charm -- don't forget to put your character name in the Title area! Feel free to post some actions for Béar and get in on the fun! Cool Avatar, BTW![/sblock]
For Béar:
[sblock]Works like a charm -- don't forget to put your character name in the Title area! Feel free to post some actions for Béar and get in on the fun! Cool Avatar, BTW![/sblock]
arkansasdave
First Post
Béar
Béar looks up from his demolished meal to catch the barmaid's eye. When she returns to remove his plate, he requests a bottle of decent wine. Béar sips from his glass and watches the lightning light up the sky. All the time trying to overhear the random conversations throughout the room.
Béar Éagrolls 3d6, getting [5,5,5] = (15) to whatever 'listen' skill that would apply to.
OOC: I'm having a hard time going from color to white.
Béar looks up from his demolished meal to catch the barmaid's eye. When she returns to remove his plate, he requests a bottle of decent wine. Béar sips from his glass and watches the lightning light up the sky. All the time trying to overhear the random conversations throughout the room.
Béar Éagrolls 3d6, getting [5,5,5] = (15) to whatever 'listen' skill that would apply to.
OOC: I'm having a hard time going from color to white.
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