Kulan: Knightfall's Heroes of Carnell Game [IC]

[Knightfall]

Halmar had just closed his eyes, when something caught his attention behind the bar. Having long been on edge when it came to civilization, the barbarian will walk over to the bar, trying to look as if he wants to pet the old dog.

He glances behind the bar as he crouches to scratch the top of the dog's head.

As you nonchalantly peer over the bar you come to realize that the metal reflecting the fire light is a well polished shield hanging on the wall as a decoration. The shield is a simple round buckler and it does not hang alone. The enitre wall behind the bar is decorated with old, worn shields, breastplates, and even a few swords and axes.

The armor and weapons look like they haven't been used in a long time but they could be used in a pinch, you guess.

A cursory glance around the rest of the inn uncovers that the other walls are also decorated with old battle gear including old banners, war horns, and even a horse's bridle.

 

[Knightfall]

“No, we took the road,” Sheyla answers swiftly, then looks for a seat, as they were likely to stay for a while and wait for the woman Rosie and the constable.

The elven cleric removes her cloak and hangs it somewhere near to dry, and she puts her backpack down near her chosen seat.

"Ahh," Timmins replies. "I see."

He coughs again and then drinks from an old mug. The smell of tea fills your nostrils. You notice an old kettle sitting near the fire with steam rising from the spout. Timmins watches you out of the corner of his eye and then asks, "Tea?"

 

[Knightfall]

Reneg glances at the horse which gives him a pained expression before shivering slightly. "It'll do," Reneg says. "Broo would prefer to be out of the rain."

Reneg brings Broo to the barn and, after taking very good care of the horse, returns to the inn.

While returning to the inn, you notice a deep puddle on the ground that appears to be slick with some sort of reddish bile. Just then, lightning flashes.

 

[Voda Vosa]

The travel has been tough. Really tough. No, seriously, it was tougher than anything Quinn had met before.
As he walks with nothing but a pair of sandals, the mud and water slips through his toes, and his already wet clothes cool even more, when a gust of wind plays him a trick.
warped in this black and golden cape, he spots the warm lights of the inn in the distance. A short run would be a nice idea. Running was something Quinn never had difficulty with. Running on troubles, running out of money, running out of luck ... and many more not worth describing.
Now the tall and muscular man stands like a weeping tower in the entrance of the inn, not recognizing the person next to the horse, nor seeing the reddish pudding next to him.
"Warm warm warm dry dry dry" was saying his mind.
Suddenly he had a flashback, as he opened the door and the light inside the building blinded him momentary.
The sound of the pit's bars raising, and the roar of the crowds, came to him when the bright sunlight of the arenas blinded him. He sees himself, rushing inside the battle arena, wielding his chains and his net, protected only by a golden helmet. The dust raises under his bare feet, and the hot air dries any single drop of swept.
On the other side of the arena, his opponent enters the arena from his pit, and when the landlord gave the signal, the glorious battle started!
But these weren't his lands, this was an inn, not an arena, not a coliseum. Then... Why was he in the middle of the place, spinning his chain ready to enter the fray, tightening his teeth and searching his net on his left side?
Quinn had entered the inn... Rushing in would better describe the situation. He had rush into the common room, chain already in his hand, and with hostile intentions. But after an awkward pair of seconds, Quinn realized where he was. He lowers the chain and tide it to the right side of his belt. With surprised eyes, as one who had seen ghosts, he watches the reactions of everyone inside the building.

 

[Blackrat]

Lorien takes the last free seat arranged infront the fireplace next to Timmins and drops his backpack on the floor. Tales you say? Well, I suppose there's a few places I've been to that could make a fine tale for cold evening. He stretches his legs straight and looks at the teapot. He hadn't actually had anything at all to drink for the past two days. He didn't need to thanks to the ring he had acquired from a bored old wizard as a gift. But he did like to eat and drink just for the feeling and taste now and then. Ah, if you insist. He finally answers to Timmins.

He turns to regard the rumble coming from the door. Quinn, my friend, calm down. There's no ring of death here. Lorien had already been wondering where the gladiator was. He was supposed to meet them on the road. I'm sorry for our companion. His mind is not always in the same place with his body. Lorien remarks to Timmins.

 

[renau1g]

Halmar will drop the false pretenses, and stare unabashedly at the collection of antiquated (at least by his reckoning) gear. The barbarian will inspect one of the axes more closely and, if they're not bolted to the wall, take it off the wall, blowing any dust from its head.

Halmar ignores the dramatic entrance of their companion, Quinn, shaking his head and wondering why they ever agreed to let him accompany them.

 

[Voda Vosa]

"... One must be ready to face death at any time." he states simply. Walking next to Lorien, he finds a seat, nods to his iliterate friend and to the old Timmin sitting next to the fire. "That is the worst storm I have the luck to be in. I'm freezing to death. I can assure you if there wasn't money in the middle I would met you on the road before. I hope I don't get ill, too much cold for a person like me, who lived in warmer climates." He says, as he takes his cape out, and squeeze it. The golden armor of Quinn shines with the fireplace flames. The gladiator leaves his most wet clothes drying next to the fire and gets confortable in his seat, making the furniture creak.

 

[Dog Moon]

Can I tell what the reddish bile is or where it might have come from? If it seems interesting, I'll investigate. If not, Reneg is going to return to the others.

 

[Knightfall]

Lorien takes the last free seat arranged infront the fireplace next to Timmins and drops his backpack on the floor. Tales you say? Well, I suppose there's a few places I've been to that could make a fine tale for cold evening. He stretches his legs straight and looks at the teapot. He hadn't actually had anything at all to drink for the past two days. He didn't need to thanks to the ring he had acquired from a bored old wizard as a gift. But he did like to eat and drink just for the feeling and taste now and then. Ah, if you insist. He finally answers to Timmins.

Timmins nods and reachs for the kettle just as Quinn bursts through the door with his chain twirling...

<snip> . . . . Suddenly he had a flashback, as he opened the door and the light inside the building blinded him momentary.
The sound of the pit's bars raising, and the roar of the crowds, came to him when the bright sunlight of the arenas blinded him. He sees himself, rushing inside the battle arena, wielding his chains and his net, protected only by a golden helmet. The dust raises under his bare feet, and the hot air dries any single drop of swept.
On the other side of the arena, his opponent enters the arena from his pit, and when the landlord gave the signal, the glorious battle started!
But these weren't his lands, this was an inn, not an arena, not a coliseum. Then... Why was he in the middle of the place, spinning his chain ready to enter the fray, tightening his teeth and searching his net on his left side?
Quinn had entered the inn... Rushing in would better describe the situation. He had rush into the common room, chain already in his hand, and with hostile intentions. But after an awkward pair of seconds, Quinn realized where he was. He lowers the chain and tide it to the right side of his belt. With surprised eyes, as one who had seen ghosts, he watches the reactions of everyone inside the building.

Timmins is startled and pulls his hand back from the kettle. He quickly looks to the door with a sharp, drawn-in breath and then turns to Lorien with a look of concern.

Old Wilber wakes with a snort. "Timmins... who are these people? What's this all about?" The man seems a bit shaken but Quinn's arrival. His hands are shaking and he regards Quinn and the others with some fear in his eyes.

[Quinn] turns to regard the rumble coming from the door. Quinn, my friend, calm down. There's no ring of death here. Lorien had already been wondering where the gladiator was. He was supposed to meet them on the road. I'm sorry for our companion. His mind is not always in the same place with his body. Lorien remarks to Timmins.

"Calm yourself, Wilber. Lorien and his friends are guests in town. They seem like decent enough folk. They're here to see the sheriff and Rosie. Go back to sleep."

After Wilber calms down a bit, Timmins turns to Lorien and nods toward Quinn. "I think your friend needs a good sleep and some quiet time. He seems a little on edge."

"... One must be ready to face death at any time." he states simply. Walking next to Lorien, he finds a seat, nods to his iliterate friend and to the old Timmin sitting next to the fire. "That is the worst storm I have the luck to be in. I'm freezing to death. I can assure you if there wasn't money in the middle I would met you on the road before. I hope I don't get ill, too much cold for a person like me, who lived in warmer climates." He says, as he takes his cape out, and squeeze it. The golden armor of Quinn shines with the fireplace flames. The gladiator leaves his most wet clothes drying next to the fire and gets confortable in his seat, making the furniture creak.

He looks towards Quinn as the big man sits down. "Don't be making a rukus here in Rosie's home, eh? I might be old but I'm wiry. War is commonplace in the Strandlands, and I've fought a lot of battles in my time. I'm sure you'd be a tough opponent, but I doubt you friends here would back you up in a fight with an old man past his prime. Now, if you sit and behave yourself, I just might tell you a war story or two and perhaps teach you some of what I've learned during forty years of war. Eh?"

Timmins seems a little bigger sitting in his seat and you notice that a fine sword now sits upon his lap. It wasn't there a moment ago.

 

[Knightfall]

Halmar will drop the false pretenses, and stare unabashedly at the collection of antiquated (at least by his reckoning) gear. The barbarian will inspect one of the axes more closely and, if they're not bolted to the wall, take it off the wall, blowing any dust from its head.

Halmar ignores the dramatic entrance of their companion, Quinn, shaking his head and wondering why they ever agreed to let him accompany them.

The weapon you choose isn't bolted to the wall and it comes off its supports easily. The weapon is razor sharp and has no signs of dust on it. It doesn't have any etchings on it metal head, but its haft is carved with a simple grace. It is a fine weapon. It has obviously been well cared for and you find it strange that such a weapon would be used merely as an ornament.

A plaque on the wall under where it rested reads, "Drakk's Heart."

You understand that this is not just an inn, but a tribute to fallen warriors from a time long past. There is history here and the ghosts of the dead.

Timmins says to Lorien "I see you friend has an appreciation for fine martial gear."

He speaks to Halmar. "You, what's your name? Please be very careful with that axe. Bronzethegn, the town's smithy, worked very hard to restore the weapons, shields & armor, and other things that you see around here. They are a part of the history of the Strandlands and Carnell & Gurnard's Head, in particular. He and Rosie would be very upset if anything in here was... damaged."

Timmins didn't seem to be telling you to put it back but he does keep one eye on you. "If you like, I can tell you more about it? Perhaps if you made a fair offer to Bronzethegn, he might let you buy it. You'll have to impess him, however."


OOC: You determine that the weapon is of masterwork quality.