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<blockquote data-quote="John Quixote" data-source="post: 5000904" data-attributes="member: 694">The burgomaster &quot;harrumphs&quot; and mutters, &quot;Yes, well and good... here we are...&quot;&nbsp; He leaves his desk and ambles over to a side-door, throwing it open.&nbsp; Beyond is a trophy-room of sorts, really more of an armory collection: a fine suit of articulated jousting-plate stands between two painted dummies, each one sporting a long hauberk of chainmail with a matching head-coif.&nbsp; Above a fireplace on the far wall, two hunting rifles are mounted between two ivory powder-horns.&nbsp; Along the other walls hang swords, spears, pikes, halberds, and shields.&nbsp; And filling the room itself, on racks and stands and short pillars, there are axes, picks, flanged maces and flails, all manner of ancient weapons.&nbsp; The room is a veritable museum of medieval violence and death.&quot;I could, um, lend you the armor and a weapon or two,&quot; says Kemp, &quot;although we've no blacksmith in Kleine, so adjusting the suit-armor to fit one of you might be difficult.&quot;&nbsp; He gazes wistfully at the suit of plate armor for a few moments, and then he turns back to the lot of you.&nbsp; &quot;And whatever else you need, I'll see that you get it.&nbsp; Whatever supplies, equipment, provisions you might ask for.&nbsp; Except for animals, that is.&nbsp; I'm afraid that horses and beasts of burden are in rather short supply at the moment.&quot;He gazes over the lot of you, fixing his eyes on each member of the party in turn.&nbsp; He seems to be reading you, judging some quality of your character with the practiced ease of an old politician.&nbsp; &quot;You may, of course, keep whatever you recover in the hills.&nbsp; And, when you return successfully -- as you must, for we're all counting on you -- you'll also be suitably rewarded for your efforts.&nbsp; From the town coffers, of course.&quot;</blockquote>

[QUOTE="John Quixote, post: 5000904, member: 694"] The burgomaster "harrumphs" and mutters, "Yes, well and good... here we are..." He leaves his desk and ambles over to a side-door, throwing it open. Beyond is a trophy-room of sorts, really more of an armory collection: a fine suit of articulated jousting-plate stands between two painted dummies, each one sporting a long hauberk of chainmail with a matching head-coif. Above a fireplace on the far wall, two hunting rifles are mounted between two ivory powder-horns. Along the other walls hang swords, spears, pikes, halberds, and shields. And filling the room itself, on racks and stands and short pillars, there are axes, picks, flanged maces and flails, all manner of ancient weapons. The room is a veritable museum of medieval violence and death. "I could, um, lend you the armor and a weapon or two," says Kemp, "although we've no blacksmith in Kleine, so adjusting the suit-armor to fit one of you might be difficult." He gazes wistfully at the suit of plate armor for a few moments, and then he turns back to the lot of you. "And whatever else you need, I'll see that you get it. Whatever supplies, equipment, provisions you might ask for. Except for animals, that is. I'm afraid that horses and beasts of burden are in rather short supply at the moment." He gazes over the lot of you, fixing his eyes on each member of the party in turn. He seems to be reading you, judging some quality of your character with the practiced ease of an old politician. "You may, of course, keep whatever you recover in the hills. And, when you return successfully -- as you must, for we're all counting on you -- you'll also be suitably rewarded for your efforts. From the town coffers, of course." [/QUOTE]

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