(IC) Dog Days of Doom!

OOC
RG


Chapter 1

There is barely a breeze as the procession slowly creeps along the main road from Carysburgh to Erin Tor.

It has been five days since a star dislodged itself from the heavens and seemed to grow in size, day by day, in the sky. Whispers of dark prophesies.

It has been three days since the Solstice and the death of His Most Holy, the Radiant Servant, Levenshire. On the Pelor's Holiest Day as the Levenshire performed his god's most important rites of the year and, while at the altar, he suddenly clutched his chest and fell to the ground. His head, hitting the altar, left a bloody stain upon the perfectly white Altar Cloth.

As the blood pooled on the ground around the altar, the sky darkened as the comet blotted out the sun.

In those three days, the days have been dark as the comet approaches. Rumours of dark rites and death cults have spread. Powerful adventurers have been sent out by the churches and the King while people quietly wonder what disaster awaits.

As is tradition, a procession for the dead was sent out to bring Cardinal Levenshire to Erin Tor to be interred. A long line of funeral carts, palanquins and mourners walk in the wake of the Cardinal's guard.

In less than an hour, you will arrive at Erin Tor and its great Temple fortress, where the light of Pelor and the Magic of Wee Jas protect the mighty crypt within. Outside, in the Downs surrounding, the town are the burial grounds where the commoners bury their dead in the many crypts and graveyards, protected as they bask in Pelor's holy light.

Despite the unnatural, shadowy 'dusk' caused by the comet, the stifling heat of the summer makes the procession long and arduous.

You are among the people either along the road, watching the long line of pilgrims and mourners as they pass or part of the procession itself as it makes its way on the final leg of its journey.

To start, feel free to introduce your character and why they might be along the road or in the procession.

Also, to make some connections. Whoever posts can make up how they know the person who posted just ahead of them. Maybe you once adventured together or you stole something from them or you got them arrested - Whatever! Or as simple as meeting in a bar and having some drinks together. We will assume that things got worked out in the end and you can (mostly) trust the other person.
 
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Benny was wondering about, looking for a good mark. His belly was full, and he had a few coins in his pocket, but you never knew when hard times would hit. The boy was slender, too many days in the past where he slept on an empty stomach, and just shy of five feet.

He had a few polished pebbles in his hands, and would engage with anyone who would meet his gaze "A stone blessed by his most holy Levenshire sir, only one silver as a token of respect for the radiant servant?". Eventually, he'd find a buyer, but he was looking for fat purses. Periodically, he would close his eyes to see what Max was seeing, flying high above the crowd. Benny knew Max didn't approve of this, but money had to come in somehow.

Benny
AC 14
Spell Save DC 13
HP/HP 10/10
Passive Perception (PP): 13
HD/HD; 1/1
 
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Caer Droea AC16 HP 12/12 HD 1/1 PP15 SSdc13 2/2 HM 2/2 HW 1/1 Teleport 2/2

Caer Droea had left the Garroting Deep more than 13 moons ago, and in his wanderings had gradually become able to lessen his zeal. He was able to begrudgingly respect the boundaries demarcating where the true wilderness ended, and was not overly troubled by the civilized folk that learned to keep to themselves. In short, he was able to tell the difference between the tolerable and the terminable.

Caer found himself in the vicinity of Erin Tor when the sky blazed and the night fell; such was a good portent, for shadows were the mark of the raven. Several days later, he heard the sound of many people, herding together like fat cattle, walking toward Erin Tor, and emerged from the copse that he had slept in to see what the wails and the clackety-clack of wagon wheels might portend. Caer saw the procession of wagons and people heading to the city, many clothed in the garb of mourning.

His curiosity piqued, Caer joined the procession, using his keen senses to observe what was going on. He soon observed a young human selling polished stones. Caer watched the lad carefully, noting that the boy's eyes were scanning the crowd and he seemed to approach the most well-dressed and rich people to sell his pebbles.

What a clever lad. Would be a shame for him to be caught before he separates these fools from their metal.

Caer approached the boy and put his arm on his shoulder. I am Caer Droea. Your stones are gifts from nature, and more valuable than the metal you seek. It is best to appreciate those gifts. Caer showed the lad some of the multi-colored and fire-hardened nuts and acorns that Caer used for his sling. See?

Caer then lowered his head to the lad's ear and whispered into it. I approve of what you are doing, but do not wish to see you suffer for it. Nature will provide.

Caer pulls out a few pieces of mastic resin and gives them to the boy. This will fill the belly as well, and is better than their coin.

OOC:
Mastic resin value of 3gp given to Benny. Edited character sheet to reflect.
 

Benny considered the stranger. He wasn't the kind of folk he normally delt with in the city. Most either ignored him or wanted something from him. But this one seemed caring, and to regard him as a person rather than an annoyance. Benny was not used to this.

After telepathically sharing what the man said, the boy was eager to get his mentor's opinion. What do you think of him, Maximilian? he telepathically asked. The celestial pondered the question, and laconically telepathically replied He's clearly not from here and perhaps has something to teach you young one. Let me come and see with my own eyes..

Moments later a strangely colored winged cat landed on the boy's shoulder and inspected the stranger. The boy accepted the offer, brought it closer to the cat and both smelled the mastic resin. Excited, he said "This smells wonderful, thank you sir! I'm Benny and this is Maximilan", he said, pointing at the cat. "I don't have much to offer, but I can give you some polished stones. They're not really blessed, but I think you knew that, but they sure look nice. Here, take this one, it's my favorite".

Maximilian spoke in a low tone. "Greetings stranger. It seems you're also drawn to this lad. What brings you here?"

Benny was very surprised, and it showed. "Golly! Max never talks to other people! You must be special!"
 

Anson Willoughby lives a quiet life, now, mostly keeping to himself. Safer that way, he tells himself. The omens have been clear, however, and something prodigious is happening to the world. And so he has left his mountainside home, followed the river down to to the valley and along to the village, where he has caught up with the funeral procession. The sky has dimmed, though there are no clouds, and it is clear to Anson that this is not something from which to hide.

Others are thinking the same thing, he observes. In the crowd, he recognizes the face of Caer Droea, another wilderness dweller, whose path he had crossed more, amongst the druids of Garroting Deep, soon after Danai had left him. Droea speaks with a child -- surely not his own? -- and Anson approaches.

"Well met, fellow traveller," he speaks as he approaches the pair. "We meet again when the stars do fall. Let there be some good for us in this encounter." He turns to the child. His empty hands appear from within the yellow cloak that he wears, parting the heavy cloth and revealing the scabbard at his hip that holds both a sword and a flute, holstered on top. "My name is Anson. I hope I am not interrupting."
 

Caer Droea AC16 HP 12/12 HD 1/1 PP15 SSdc13 2/2 HM 2/2 HW 1/1 Teleport 2/2

Caer took the small polished pebble from Benny and listened to his words as he carefully studied the stone's color in the twilight. Ah. Do not sell your talents shorts. Bringing out the beauty of nature is certainly holy in my eyes. Thank you, Benny, for the generous gift of your work. Caer gave the slightest of smiles as he pocketed the stone.

When the cat-like creature landed on Benny's shoulder and spoke, Caer remained placid as always. Maximillian. A noble name for a noble beast. Well met.

It was then that Caer heard a familiar deep voice from behind him. It has been too long since he saw this fellow wanderer. He felt a kinship to him, as there was a melancholy that always clung to him like the Raven's shadow. After Anson introduced himself, Caer interjected. Benny and Maximillian, this is my ... friend ... Anson. And yes, the stars may fall, but the shadows are no enemy to us.

Caer spends a few seconds in quiet contemplation. Perhaps there is more that we can learn about these events in the town? Benny, Maximillian... you are welcome to accompany us. I do believe that Anson once played a haunting melody on his flute that stilled the furtive deer of the Garroting Deep, and perchance he might grace us with a song as we walk?
 

Benny was getting really excited. All these people, obviously not from the city, talking to him like he was important! Benny straightened up and shook Anson's hand with eagerness.

He nodded at the offer to accompany them and hoped that the new stranger would play his flute. He loved music!
 

"Aye, that I can," Anson agrees, flattered that his flelow outdoorsman remembers. He does not draw forth his instrument right away. The procession still has far to travel.

The observant notice that he has slowed his gait slightly, so that his pace will match the melody he soon plays. When he draws the flute and holds it to his lips, there is a moment before he exhales. The song that comes forth is not his finest song, nor the specific one that Caer had requested (that is a song for twilight, but a simple melody to a 4/4 time that fits the procession. Some listeners will know the words, and may sing along.

When the winds are blowing, blowing,
leaves climb to the sky.
Soon it will be snowing, snowing,
and the larks will fly.

They'll fly away, love, fly away
They will not come back home today
Our fondness for them growing, growing,
when the larks will fly
.


OOC: Assuming advantage for combining skill and tool, the song rolls a 16 [for my ref only]. Not submlime success, but surely competent enough for the occasion.
 

Marshal Stratus

Striding a full head taller than the tallest man in the procession, Marshal Stratus scanned the crowd for troublemakers. He'd taken the (temporary) job as a walking guard - able to leave and return from the procession proper, doing crowd control and security. It was a simple job, but he missed the excitement of the Eagle Calvary, swooping from peak to peak, hunting crag cats. But he'd never quite belonged with the Cloud Giants of the Tropo-Spire. Then again, since descending to the lands of the smaller folk, he hadn't felt like he belonged here, either.

Through the crowd he heard a familiar voice, and gazing above their heads, he saw the familiar face of Anson, who had led him on a four-day journey through the mountains. At the time it had been the furthest Stratus had walked, having spent more time on eagle-back when travelling great distances. But he'd travelled extensively since. How long had it been? Two? Three years?

He caught Anson's eye and, with his big hands, signed a greeting above the crowd.
 

His song had been completed, and there were appreciative nods from some of the listeners, when Anson say a blue-skinned man standing above the crowd, waving. He recognized him instantly, but forgot his name until he approached. He had guided the goliath once, he knew, and he had a title... Marshall, that was it. The name escaped him for the moment, but he returned the wave politely.

Is everyone in the world responding to the death of the Most Holy? Certainly, Anson had not seen so many people in one place for some time. "It's good to see you, Marshal" he says honestly as the goliath approaches.
 

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