Hunters Needed in the Western Heartlands (IC Thread)
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hippocrachus
First Post
Albion flashed a worried grin at Ulrich. The giant man may have seen through the lie, but he hadn't called his bluff openly. Commendable.
He'll expect me to come clean, no doubt. Albion thought about the monk while the albino elf made it clear to everyone that he wasn't sociable.
Albion shared Khondar's distaste in Ulrich's usage of the Dwarven proverb. The rogue had learned the language of the crafty folk some time ago while still an apprentice. With a dagger in his hand, Albion felt Ulrich meant him specifically. He did his best not to get offended.
A man could start a brawl trying to make peace with Dwarven euphemisms... Albion slipped his dagger back in its sheath, made room for the albino at the table, and raised his mug to Riley's toast with a smile.
"New beginnings and prosperity."
He'll expect me to come clean, no doubt. Albion thought about the monk while the albino elf made it clear to everyone that he wasn't sociable.
Albion shared Khondar's distaste in Ulrich's usage of the Dwarven proverb. The rogue had learned the language of the crafty folk some time ago while still an apprentice. With a dagger in his hand, Albion felt Ulrich meant him specifically. He did his best not to get offended.
A man could start a brawl trying to make peace with Dwarven euphemisms... Albion slipped his dagger back in its sheath, made room for the albino at the table, and raised his mug to Riley's toast with a smile.
"New beginnings and prosperity."
hippocrachus
First Post
Albion nursed the dregs of his drink for a little time after the toast was made. He waited until dusk was well underway before pleasantly excusing himself from the table and promising to meet the others in the morning. There were a few things he wanted to do before going on sabatical in the boonies.
New beginnings and prosperity... he thought as he wandered down the darkening street looking for an apothecary's sign hanging above a shop door.
New beginnings and prosperity... he thought as he wandered down the darkening street looking for an apothecary's sign hanging above a shop door.
Last edited:
industrygothica
Adventurer
Riley also excused himself after several hours. The room started to spin as he stood, but he kept himself straight long enough to say a proper farewell and shake hands with any who would allow it.
He stumbled a bit as he climbed the steps to his room above, but managed to make it inside and secure the door before he collapsed on the pile of warm blankets. He put his hand to his head and laughed to himself, elated at the thought of adventure. He knew he had drank too much, and that a wizard with a dull mind was a worthless one indeed, but he so wanted the night to be a good one, and it seemed that the more ale that flowed, the more relazed everyone became. The tension was thick at first, but Riley was confident that any issues had all but worked themselves out.
He produced his spellbook and began perusing its pages. Wolves, he thought to himself. What do I have that's good for wolves?
He stumbled a bit as he climbed the steps to his room above, but managed to make it inside and secure the door before he collapsed on the pile of warm blankets. He put his hand to his head and laughed to himself, elated at the thought of adventure. He knew he had drank too much, and that a wizard with a dull mind was a worthless one indeed, but he so wanted the night to be a good one, and it seemed that the more ale that flowed, the more relazed everyone became. The tension was thick at first, but Riley was confident that any issues had all but worked themselves out.
He produced his spellbook and began perusing its pages. Wolves, he thought to himself. What do I have that's good for wolves?
The night passed quietly for everyone, and too quicklyfor those that continued to drink well into the night, and true to his word Sven Mortenson of Aulbesmil arrived to greet those who would answer his call. The quartet of men who sat on the far side of the bar spoke with Sven first and with a nod of his head and a shake from his mammoth hand, the quartet filed out of the bar and into the early morning air.
Walking towards the table where you once again took residence, the large man's eyes hardened as they rested upon the albino elf at the table.
"It seems you found one true hunter in Daggersford merchant. Let us hope his skills bring you success."
Forcing his gaze away from Shadowleaf, he fixed his stare upon the rest of you.
"Those men that left know the way to Aublesmil and will get word to Constable Ghini that we are coming behind them. They have traveled together before and did not need me to guide them. I hope you take no offense that I have given them leave to press on before we take our leave."
<assuming there is none>
"If your mounts are nearby let us gather them and be off. The sooner we return, the sooner the town can begin the harvest."
Walking towards the table where you once again took residence, the large man's eyes hardened as they rested upon the albino elf at the table.
"It seems you found one true hunter in Daggersford merchant. Let us hope his skills bring you success."
Forcing his gaze away from Shadowleaf, he fixed his stare upon the rest of you.
"Those men that left know the way to Aublesmil and will get word to Constable Ghini that we are coming behind them. They have traveled together before and did not need me to guide them. I hope you take no offense that I have given them leave to press on before we take our leave."
<assuming there is none>
"If your mounts are nearby let us gather them and be off. The sooner we return, the sooner the town can begin the harvest."
hippocrachus
First Post
~ The Night Before ~
Albion walked until he came to a sign advertising The Twisted Root. The cautious rogue hung around outside, studying the few late-night strollers and making sure no one suspicious followed him or would see him enter. The front window of the apothecary’s boasted the telltale sign of a speakeasy: a white rose in an empty wine bottle.
Albion entered with a dignified grin and his hair parted differently than it was only a moment before.
"Good evening…" He looked around the front of the store for the shopkeeper and found a middle-aged halfling woman taking measurements of a fine blue powder and weighing them with an elaborate set of gold scales. "Hello, my name is Barnoby Winchester. I just opened a delicatessen on the other side of town…" He waited for the diminutive woman to acknowledge him for a moment before he realized she was waiting to hear what he wanted of her. "I’ve found my new shop plagued with mice and I was hoping I could find a humane means of catching the little rascals in your wares." Albion aimed a hopeful smile around the scales to once again try and catch her eye.
"You’ll have to do better than that, Mr. Winchester." She said the name like it was a toddler sticking its finger in a candle flame. "That was cute though. This town is too small for me not to have noticed a new deli. What do you want?"
Albion coughed into his hand and tried to think of a different approach, but his train of thought was lost to the impatient halfling’s interruption.
"Look, I don’t care what your name is, son. Who you are or where you’re from doesn’t concern me. I know how to do business." She eyed him critically over the rim of her polished bifocals.
"I don’t have a lot of coin; I need something relatively cheap if not potent. Something to make my job easier, if you know what I mean." He smoothed his hair over, completely abandoning false pretenses. "Whattya got?"
"What will you give me?" She hopped down from a standbox behind the counter and waited for Albion to place his coin purse where she could see it. She sneered at the petty contents and went to the storeroom, leaving the rogue to wait in silence. When she came back, she placed a tiny vial of copperish liquid on the countertop and secreted Albion’s gold into her well-tailored dress.
"Oil of Taggit. It’ll put your ‘mice’ to sleep as soon as it will a grown man. It’s to be ingested if you want it to have the desired effects." She glared at him until he slipped the vial into his pocket. "I’m giving you a special discount, Mr. Winchester, because my late husband’s name was Barnoby. I’m even going to pass on a bit of wisdom in case those pesky mice trouble you again. The Taggit plant grows in the woods around these parts. A reddish green leaf like poison ivy; don’t confuse the two. The oil is expensive, hard to come by, and illegal to carry. I trust you know discretion?"
"My middle name is secret," he said with an exaggerated wink.
"Cute. You’re cute. Do you want to know how to make it or not?" She waited for his nod. "Harvest the leaf, mash it into a pulp, and bottle it for a day. After a day, you’ll add a pinch of sugar and a splash of water to give it a pleasant taste and the right consistency. If your mice get a belly ache, you did it wrong."
Albion stared open-mouthed for a moment. "Thank you, but why are you telling me this…?"
"Because I don’t want to see you in my store again. Is that clear? If you get caught with that, you forget where you got it, see? It’s bad for business if scattered brained neophytes go babbling inconsiderate things about the Twisted Root."
"Right. Of course. Good evening." Albion didn’t ask her name before he left. Shady business was better left in the dark.
~ Morning ~
Albion came down to the commonroom from his cheap chambers in the inn at a decent hour. Albion was never one to sleep longer than he had to, but he was never chinsy when it came to rest either.
New beginnings and prosperity, he thought once again and fingered a small vial-shaped bump concealed in his shirts. You have to spend a little to earn a lot...
Albion joined his companions from the night before and had a relatively quick and quiet meal. When Sven came over to the table sometime later and addressed him, Albion looked at the albino with a cocked eyebrow.
Great, now he's my responsibility.
Albion waited for the others to leave before doing so himself.
Albion walked until he came to a sign advertising The Twisted Root. The cautious rogue hung around outside, studying the few late-night strollers and making sure no one suspicious followed him or would see him enter. The front window of the apothecary’s boasted the telltale sign of a speakeasy: a white rose in an empty wine bottle.
Albion entered with a dignified grin and his hair parted differently than it was only a moment before.
"Good evening…" He looked around the front of the store for the shopkeeper and found a middle-aged halfling woman taking measurements of a fine blue powder and weighing them with an elaborate set of gold scales. "Hello, my name is Barnoby Winchester. I just opened a delicatessen on the other side of town…" He waited for the diminutive woman to acknowledge him for a moment before he realized she was waiting to hear what he wanted of her. "I’ve found my new shop plagued with mice and I was hoping I could find a humane means of catching the little rascals in your wares." Albion aimed a hopeful smile around the scales to once again try and catch her eye.
"You’ll have to do better than that, Mr. Winchester." She said the name like it was a toddler sticking its finger in a candle flame. "That was cute though. This town is too small for me not to have noticed a new deli. What do you want?"
Albion coughed into his hand and tried to think of a different approach, but his train of thought was lost to the impatient halfling’s interruption.
"Look, I don’t care what your name is, son. Who you are or where you’re from doesn’t concern me. I know how to do business." She eyed him critically over the rim of her polished bifocals.
"I don’t have a lot of coin; I need something relatively cheap if not potent. Something to make my job easier, if you know what I mean." He smoothed his hair over, completely abandoning false pretenses. "Whattya got?"
"What will you give me?" She hopped down from a standbox behind the counter and waited for Albion to place his coin purse where she could see it. She sneered at the petty contents and went to the storeroom, leaving the rogue to wait in silence. When she came back, she placed a tiny vial of copperish liquid on the countertop and secreted Albion’s gold into her well-tailored dress.
"Oil of Taggit. It’ll put your ‘mice’ to sleep as soon as it will a grown man. It’s to be ingested if you want it to have the desired effects." She glared at him until he slipped the vial into his pocket. "I’m giving you a special discount, Mr. Winchester, because my late husband’s name was Barnoby. I’m even going to pass on a bit of wisdom in case those pesky mice trouble you again. The Taggit plant grows in the woods around these parts. A reddish green leaf like poison ivy; don’t confuse the two. The oil is expensive, hard to come by, and illegal to carry. I trust you know discretion?"
"My middle name is secret," he said with an exaggerated wink.
"Cute. You’re cute. Do you want to know how to make it or not?" She waited for his nod. "Harvest the leaf, mash it into a pulp, and bottle it for a day. After a day, you’ll add a pinch of sugar and a splash of water to give it a pleasant taste and the right consistency. If your mice get a belly ache, you did it wrong."
Albion stared open-mouthed for a moment. "Thank you, but why are you telling me this…?"
"Because I don’t want to see you in my store again. Is that clear? If you get caught with that, you forget where you got it, see? It’s bad for business if scattered brained neophytes go babbling inconsiderate things about the Twisted Root."
"Right. Of course. Good evening." Albion didn’t ask her name before he left. Shady business was better left in the dark.
~ Morning ~
Albion came down to the commonroom from his cheap chambers in the inn at a decent hour. Albion was never one to sleep longer than he had to, but he was never chinsy when it came to rest either.
New beginnings and prosperity, he thought once again and fingered a small vial-shaped bump concealed in his shirts. You have to spend a little to earn a lot...
Albion joined his companions from the night before and had a relatively quick and quiet meal. When Sven came over to the table sometime later and addressed him, Albion looked at the albino with a cocked eyebrow.
Great, now he's my responsibility.
Albion waited for the others to leave before doing so himself.
Last edited:
industrygothica
Adventurer
Riley didn't say much as Sven made his speach. He was still suffering the fading remnants of a light hangover, and really only wanted to close his eyes and hide behind those blue tinted lenses, which were doing nothing to keep the bright morning sun from searing straight through to his brain.
When Sven was finished with his spiel, Riley did as instructed and gathered his things and followed him out, ready for adventure dispite the low groaning in his stomach.
When Sven was finished with his spiel, Riley did as instructed and gathered his things and followed him out, ready for adventure dispite the low groaning in his stomach.
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