New Heroes Arise IC

[Pyrex]

"I be doing just fine." Beric responds while looking the stranger up and down.

"What're ye doin in these parts? If'n ye don't mind me say'n so ye look to be a bit lost."

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

"Oh, thoroughly," says the man agreeably. "It's the rain. I don't much like being wet. It throws me off." He blows some smoke politely outside. "I was heading towards Hilgarn. How far off am I?" He casts prestidigitation and begins drying himself.

 

[doghead]

Hoegor looks up and looks the strangers over, but says nothing at this point. Lets see what they have to say.

ooc: I have no idea. Is that where we came from?

 

[Pyrex]

"Hilgarn be a solid day's travel that way." Beric replies, pointing downhill. "Ye did a right good job of gettin' lost t' miss it by this much."

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

The man shrugs. "Perhaps. What are you lot doing all the way out here, if I may ask?"

 

[doghead]

"Camping.

"You're welcome to share this roof. But if you hear a rumbling coming from below, I'd run unless you want to meet the troll.

Hoegor idly pokes the fire as he watches to see what the responce is.

 

[Thels]

Deirdre frowns upon the barbarian's joke. Can't he act serious upon first meeting someone?

Looking at the newcomer with her silvercolored eyes, she introduces herself: "I'm Deirdre Silvereyes, daughter to Bevier Silvereyes. I'm a paladin in the services of Heironeous. And how may we address you, traveller?"

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

"Ah. Terribly sorry. How absent-minded of me." With a dazzling grin at Deirdre, he bows, the little bit of flame in his left hand tracing circles in the air as he flourishes. "You can call me Cel." He points to the man standing silently by the horses. "And this is my faithful manservant Geoff. Say hello to the nice people, Geoff."

"Hello," says the man in a slow, gruff voice.

There is a pause in the conversation, and then Cel says in a politely questioning voice, "So... what was this about a troll?"

 

[doghead]

"He sits in a room at the bottom of those stairs with naught but a locked door between him and, ...well, us.

"Fancy a dance with him?"

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

"I somehow doubt he knows the proper forms," says Cel casually sitting down on anything convenient, "And I hate getting my toes stepped on." A beat. "Is he guarding something worth having?"