"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book IV - Into the Fire [STORY HOUR COMPLETED - 12/25/06]
Elder-Basilisk
First Post
Yeah, I'm looking forward to actually being able to understand Kazrack again.
nemmerle said:
Noooo! You can't change your name. You're the Fearless Manticore Killers! What name could be better than that? I bet they can't come up with one as half as good.
Manzanita said:
Don't scratch. It'll get infected.
Elder-Basilisk said:
Again? You mean you actually understood Kazrack at one point in time? Wow. Don't know too many people who can claim that.
Elrik_DarkFury
First Post
We really need an update as soon as possible.
Come on Mr. Nemmerle , just a small tiny update, pleeease!!!
_______________
The Wizard
Come on Mr. Nemmerle , just a small tiny update, pleeease!!!
_______________
The Wizard
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Elrik_DarkFury said:
Between life's business and getting bogged down in setting the scene in Nikar whenever I do get around to writing it had been slow going. . . . I will try to finish something this coming weekend since, as of yet, I have no plans and plenty of time.
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #68 (part 1 of ?)
Session #68
Anulem, the 14th of Ter – 565 H.E. of the 4th Age
Kazrack, Ratchis, Martin, Gunthar, Flora, Dorn and Bones each came through the gate, one at a time and stepped to the right. The dwarves looked them up and down as if to make a mental inventory of their weapons and equipment, and a good look at their faces.
The light of the nearly full moon washed over the town giving a clear view of it.
“Fascinating,” Martin murmured.
Nikar was a town of three tiers built into the side of the mountain. The tunnel led out through a gatehouse onto the central tier, which had a gradual curve to the northwest. The lower tier was about thirty feet below on the left, and the upper tier was nearly sixty feet above on the right. A natural wall of jagged rock protected the town from access from above the tunnel on the mountain face, while a severe drop-off protected from below. They could see the road that led to Nikar widened and continued beyond the town.
The central had a handful of tiny tree-lined streets made by white stucco houses with shale roofs. Immediately on the right was an imposing structure. A building surround by fortified walls that was built into the cliff-face and ran all the way up to an impressive round building with a central spire above it that sat on the edge of the upper tier. Narrow towers flanked the building all the way up and decorated galleries were on each level. It among the finest dwarven stonecraft Kazrack had ever seen, and it was clearly a safehouse for the Nauglimir Dwarven Merchant Consortium, and the building above it was the Temple of the Grandfathers. (1)
They could also see a set of stone steps similar to those leading down from the cemetery leading to the upper tier. From the little of what could they see of the lower tier from where they were, it seemed more spread out, with many gardens and smaller scattered building with tin and zinc roofs that glistened in the moonlight.
“Weapons must be kept tied with peace-knots at all times,” the dwarf instructed them. “In fact, there is no reason to wear weapons in town at all, so best keep them and your armor locked away in your inn room, or wherever you might be staying.”
Kazrack nodded. Gunthar rolled his eyes. Bones tapped his bare foot impatiently.
“There are severe penalties for the casting of magics that compel people to do things against their will,” the dwarf looked at Martin. “That includes using charms for business deals and to get a better price in the market, and there is no summoning of any kind without express written permission of the council. Is that all clear?”
Everyone agreed.
Ratchis led the group down a narrow alley that was in the shadow of the cliff that formed the third tier towards the stairs. The town was shutting down for the evening and they could see shopkeepers taking down their signs and turning down their lanterns. Most of the shops on this level looked as if they served as the shopkeepers’ homes as well. They passed a cobbler, a baker a cooper and a general store.
As they climbed the tall, partially open steps to the upper tier, more of the lowest tier became visible. There was a wooden set of steps that went down from the central tier to the lowest, but even in the moonlight they did not look to be well kept. There was a broad set of stone steps on the western side of town that marked the edge of the lowest tier. It seemed like nearly all of the western third of the lowest tier was built partially underground. They could see the lights of many colored lanterns from down there.
“That is the gnomish quarter,” Ratchis said to Martin, noticing the watch-mage had stopped to look. “Halfling live there, too, though. There are mines and public baths down there as well.”
The party noted a dwarven guard checking in on two human guards posted at the top of the steps. They considered the party carefully, and though they did not stop them they were obviously looking to see if their weapon were knotted.
Kazrack nodded to them.
The cottages and buildings of the upper tier were much nicer and more extravagant than those below. Each cottage seemed to have a lot more land around it, and the gardens here were filled with colorful flowers, not with spare roots and herbs. There was a great plaza at the eat end of town, above the tunnel entrance to the town. The muted moonlight of Mind’s Eie (2) shone against the tall peaked council building, with its four tall columns above marble steps. It was one point of the triangle-shaped plaza. The other two were the gray and black stone of the dwarven temple, and the caramel-colored stone and brilliant golden roof of the temple of Bast. There was a fountain in the center of the white-brick plaza.
In fact, most of the upper tier’s buildings were made of white stone and brick, and the flicked of candle and lantern light and the contrast of flowers, ribbons and velvet curtains in this affluent area gave it an almost ghostly glow.
Ratchis led them up the broad front street towards a rectangular two-story inn. Smoke billowed from its chimney and music and revelry could be heard from within.
Martin read the name on the sign aloud, “The Inn of Friendly Flame.” The sign’s wording was carved with fiery letters and decorated with two faux jets of flame shooting out from each side, lined in gold paint.
“This is the nicest inn in town. Get rooms here,” Ratchis said. “I’m going to go see my teachers, Jetta and Narcil.”
“Where’s the whores in this town?” Gunthar asked, putting a hand on Ratchis’ shoulder to stop him. The half-orc turned and pulled away angrily.
“There are none that I know of,” Ratchis sneered. “Be respectful when in this town. The last thing we need is you getting into trouble, or getting us all in trouble.”
“I don’t want to get into trouble, but trouble just seems to find me. It’s kind of a curse,” Gunthar said, actually looking hurt for a moment and then smiling slyly. “The Northrop Curse, but then it is balanced out by the Northrop Blessing.”
He waggled his eyebrows and did a small hip thrust.
“Well, at least you are consistently unpleasant,” Ratchis sighed.
“I love you, too, Snuffles.”
The inn was packed, as one might expect to see in many popular taverns throughout Aquerra on Anulem. (3) The party took a table by the hearth, while Martin the Green saw the inn-keeper about rooms.
The inn-keeper, Huggert, was a portly man, barely five and a half feet tall. Aside from white tufts on the sides, he had a shining bald head, and his wrinkled and scarred chin held a gnarled dusty gray beard. He showed Martin two reasonably priced suites they could rent by the week. The half-dwarf (4) had one of his maid-servants fetch them mutton stew and a pitcher of ale. The two serving maids were built much like Huggert, squat and thick, and with the barest visible scrubby facial hair on their chins.
Back down on the central tier, Ratchis kicked the dust from his books at the mat before a small white-washed cottage with a thatched room covered in pitch. Colorful sleeping flowers, and the first budding vegetables lined either side of the path off the street to the house, visible in the glow of the lit lanterns that lined the walks. The half-orc noticed one of the dwarven town guards eying him.
He knocked on the door with a big ham-fist.
The door opened suddenly.
“You are never early Ro…” The young woman that opened the door stopped and looked up from Ratchis’ chest to his face.
She wore a simple white sleeveless dress that revealed well-toned arms. Her skin was white as alabaster and her nearly blue black and straight; cut at chin length. She had big beautiful blue eyes and sharp handsome features like the statue of a hero or goddess. She was barely five feet seven inches tall.
Ratchis had no idea who this was.
“Uh… hello?” Ratchis said, meekly.
“…Nephthys be praised!” the woman cried, and leaped forward grabbing the ranger in a tight embrace. “You are Ratchis!”
“Um, who are you?” Ratchis choked out. He gently pulled the beautiful woman off of him.
“I’m Mercy!” she said with a smile. Ratchis could now see she wore a necklace of scored and broken chains about her neck, as it had fallen over the collar of her dress when she reached up to hug him. “I am Jetta and Narcil’s daughter. They never told you about me?”
“No.”
“I am being rude, making you stand out here. Come in!”
The cottage had one cozy room. Two lofts provided bed space flanking the comfortable padded chairs making a semi-circle around a fireplace, while another corner served as a kitchen with a small table and three simple wooden chairs surrounding. There was an iron stove there as well. Another held two cramped desks piled with books and papers, above which hung a variety of weapons and pieces of armor. Ratchis found it little changed from when he had stayed here, save for his own muddy footprints on the rug, which Jetta often chided him for affectionately.
“It is so good to finally meet you,” Mercy said, smiling and putting a teakettle on the stove. “My parents told me all about you.”
“Where are Jetta and Narcil?” Ratchis asked.
“They are off on a mission in the Outlands (5), seeking to smash a slaving ring they got wind of working out of there,” Mercy replied, gesturing to a chair. Ratchis could smell something delicious cooking. He noticed the table was set for two. “I would be with them, but I had just returned from a sortie against the Tall Twin River Pirates of Menovia, and needed to rest after that ordeal, and they wanted me to stay behind to act as a balance to the overly-zealous law and order elements in the town’s leadership in their stead.”
“I need to ask something of you,” Ratchis said, haltingly. “I do not mean to be a rude guest, but it strikes me as odd that your parents never told me about you. As much as I hate to do it, I would like for you to consent to allow me to use one of Nephthys’ miracles to read your aura, and determine your intent.”
Ratchis looked down, feeling slightly ashamed, but then looked up at Mercy steadily.
“If you must,” Mercy replied. “I understand it can be hard to trust when you have seen the kinds of things those dedicated to fighting for freedom often have to see, or even seek out.”
Ratchis called to Nephthys and after a moment sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be,” Mercy said. “Now tell me, what brings you back to Nikar, from what mother and father said, I would think you would not be eager to come back.”
“Well, I was eager to see your parents,” Ratchis replied. He suddenly became very aware of his own ragged state and stammered. “But I am mainly here to gain aid and resources with my companions to overcome a great evil that grows in one of the Little Kingdoms.”
“Start from the beginning,” Mercy said.
“Well…”
There was a knock on the door.
“Oh my! I forgot I was having some over to dinner,” Mercy cried and got up and ran to the door, throwing it open. “You are actually on time for once.”
“An error I shall endeavor to never make again,” came a playful tenor from the shadowy doorway. A slight man came in, rail-thin but with a youthful handsome baby-face, he had olive complexion, green eyes and wavy dark brown hair. He wore a long fancy waistcoat, and a ruffled white shirt and tall boots. He pulled off his velvet gloves and walked in.
“I see you have a visitor,” the man said, and stepped over to Ratchis looking him over with a fake smile that widening in lieu of wincing. Ratchis saw the man a silver necklace set with sapphires and a gold lion-shaped pin on his coat. He put out his hand. “I am Roland of Bast.”
Ratchis stood and put out his own hand.
“Ratchis was a student of my parents,” Mercy said.
“Friar Ratchis, is it?” Roland asked, with a tone of recognition in his voice.
“Just Ratchis will do,” the half-orc replied. There was a long awkward moment as they all stood there. Whatever was cooking on the stove gurgled.
“Would you mind terribly if Ratchis joined us?” Mercy said, beginning to set another place, without waiting for an answer. “Ratchis was about to tell me why he his companions are in Nikar and about the great mission they are trying to undertake.”
Roland bowed stiffly. “Any guest of yours is a guest of mine,” Roland replied with forced graciousness. “But I do think we will need an extra bottle of wine for this kind of talk. Allow me to hurry off to the inn and purchase one or two. I shall return momentarily.”
And with that he was gone.
“Is that your betrothed?” Ratchis asked Mercy.
Mercy’s eyes widened, “Uh, no… no… Roland and I have known each other since childhood, though I had not seen him for many years until recently. He is a good man, though a bit fickle.”
Roland was back faster than Ratchis would have though possible. He held up two bottles of the Princeton Vales (6) and smiled.
They sat down to eat and were quiet for a while.
Ratchis looked to Roland.
“Do you live here now? Are you a resident?” Ratchis asked.
“For the moment,” Roland replied. “I have left and returned many times, but honestly, present company excepted, I am bored.”
“Don’t lie, Roland. You know you grew bored of me long ago,” Mercy chided him.
“Well, yes… That’s true,” Roland winked lasciviously at Mercy, and Ratchis frowned. “But right now I am looking to do some good works for the glory of my goddess, Bast. Perhaps there is some aid I can give to your own efforts.”
“I am not sure how much you would like it where we are going. My companions and I face almost certain death.”
“Yes, well… Isn’t that always the case,” Roland replied wryly, taking a long sip of wine.
“Will you take an oath on Bast that what I will tell you now will not leave this room?” Ratchis asked.
Roland made a big show of standing and placing his left hand over his heart. He held his wine glass up t the air with his right. “On my honor as a servant of Bast, goddess of cats, may all manner of felines worry my flesh and rend my eyes from their sockets if I should share any of the secrets I learn from you this day.”
Ratchis instinctively reached up to the make-shift patch covering his own destroyed eye.
“How did you lose your eye, Ratchis?” Marcy asked.
“I did not lose it. It is still there, just useless.”
“Lovely…” Roland said, sitting down and refilling his glass after another long swig.
Ratchis sighed and began to retell the tales of the Fearless Manticore Killers.
After a long night of the meandering tale, interrupted by many questions and clarifications, Mercy invited Ratchis to sleep in his old place in one of the bedlofts, while she took her parents spot. Roland staggered out to return to the temple of Bast where he stayed, after promising to return for dinner again the next night, so that Ratchis might bring the rest of his group over to meet them both.
----------------------------------------------------
Notes:
(1) A temple of the dwarven gods.
(2) Aquerra’s moon is sometimes called “Mind’s Eie” in old documents and in poetry.
(3) Anulem is the only day of the week that common folks ever take off from work, or work only a half-day in the afternoon (making Teflem a popular night for revelry as well).
(4) Half-dwarves are exceedingly rare in Aquerra. Very few live past infancy due to disease and birth defects that are not understood. In addition, they are sterile and are often referred to in a derogatory as ‘mules’.
(5) The Outlands is a several hundred square mile frontier that takes up about a forth of the great island. It is known to be a place of huge monsters and warring and rampaging humanoid tribes, including ogres, trolls and giants. It was immortalized by the circa 500 H.E. bard, Hemmesh, as ‘The Sea of the Land Sharks’. Recently, the Nauglimir Dwarven Merchant Consortium opened a southern road along the coast to by-pass the Outlands and start trade with the towns of the Far Shore League.
(6) The Princeton Vales an area northwest of the Freetown of Princeton on the eastern shore of Derome-Delem known for its fine wines.
Session #68
Anulem, the 14th of Ter – 565 H.E. of the 4th Age
Kazrack, Ratchis, Martin, Gunthar, Flora, Dorn and Bones each came through the gate, one at a time and stepped to the right. The dwarves looked them up and down as if to make a mental inventory of their weapons and equipment, and a good look at their faces.
The light of the nearly full moon washed over the town giving a clear view of it.
“Fascinating,” Martin murmured.
Nikar was a town of three tiers built into the side of the mountain. The tunnel led out through a gatehouse onto the central tier, which had a gradual curve to the northwest. The lower tier was about thirty feet below on the left, and the upper tier was nearly sixty feet above on the right. A natural wall of jagged rock protected the town from access from above the tunnel on the mountain face, while a severe drop-off protected from below. They could see the road that led to Nikar widened and continued beyond the town.
The central had a handful of tiny tree-lined streets made by white stucco houses with shale roofs. Immediately on the right was an imposing structure. A building surround by fortified walls that was built into the cliff-face and ran all the way up to an impressive round building with a central spire above it that sat on the edge of the upper tier. Narrow towers flanked the building all the way up and decorated galleries were on each level. It among the finest dwarven stonecraft Kazrack had ever seen, and it was clearly a safehouse for the Nauglimir Dwarven Merchant Consortium, and the building above it was the Temple of the Grandfathers. (1)
They could also see a set of stone steps similar to those leading down from the cemetery leading to the upper tier. From the little of what could they see of the lower tier from where they were, it seemed more spread out, with many gardens and smaller scattered building with tin and zinc roofs that glistened in the moonlight.
“Weapons must be kept tied with peace-knots at all times,” the dwarf instructed them. “In fact, there is no reason to wear weapons in town at all, so best keep them and your armor locked away in your inn room, or wherever you might be staying.”
Kazrack nodded. Gunthar rolled his eyes. Bones tapped his bare foot impatiently.
“There are severe penalties for the casting of magics that compel people to do things against their will,” the dwarf looked at Martin. “That includes using charms for business deals and to get a better price in the market, and there is no summoning of any kind without express written permission of the council. Is that all clear?”
Everyone agreed.
Ratchis led the group down a narrow alley that was in the shadow of the cliff that formed the third tier towards the stairs. The town was shutting down for the evening and they could see shopkeepers taking down their signs and turning down their lanterns. Most of the shops on this level looked as if they served as the shopkeepers’ homes as well. They passed a cobbler, a baker a cooper and a general store.
As they climbed the tall, partially open steps to the upper tier, more of the lowest tier became visible. There was a wooden set of steps that went down from the central tier to the lowest, but even in the moonlight they did not look to be well kept. There was a broad set of stone steps on the western side of town that marked the edge of the lowest tier. It seemed like nearly all of the western third of the lowest tier was built partially underground. They could see the lights of many colored lanterns from down there.
“That is the gnomish quarter,” Ratchis said to Martin, noticing the watch-mage had stopped to look. “Halfling live there, too, though. There are mines and public baths down there as well.”
The party noted a dwarven guard checking in on two human guards posted at the top of the steps. They considered the party carefully, and though they did not stop them they were obviously looking to see if their weapon were knotted.
Kazrack nodded to them.
The cottages and buildings of the upper tier were much nicer and more extravagant than those below. Each cottage seemed to have a lot more land around it, and the gardens here were filled with colorful flowers, not with spare roots and herbs. There was a great plaza at the eat end of town, above the tunnel entrance to the town. The muted moonlight of Mind’s Eie (2) shone against the tall peaked council building, with its four tall columns above marble steps. It was one point of the triangle-shaped plaza. The other two were the gray and black stone of the dwarven temple, and the caramel-colored stone and brilliant golden roof of the temple of Bast. There was a fountain in the center of the white-brick plaza.
In fact, most of the upper tier’s buildings were made of white stone and brick, and the flicked of candle and lantern light and the contrast of flowers, ribbons and velvet curtains in this affluent area gave it an almost ghostly glow.
Ratchis led them up the broad front street towards a rectangular two-story inn. Smoke billowed from its chimney and music and revelry could be heard from within.
Martin read the name on the sign aloud, “The Inn of Friendly Flame.” The sign’s wording was carved with fiery letters and decorated with two faux jets of flame shooting out from each side, lined in gold paint.
“This is the nicest inn in town. Get rooms here,” Ratchis said. “I’m going to go see my teachers, Jetta and Narcil.”
“Where’s the whores in this town?” Gunthar asked, putting a hand on Ratchis’ shoulder to stop him. The half-orc turned and pulled away angrily.
“There are none that I know of,” Ratchis sneered. “Be respectful when in this town. The last thing we need is you getting into trouble, or getting us all in trouble.”
“I don’t want to get into trouble, but trouble just seems to find me. It’s kind of a curse,” Gunthar said, actually looking hurt for a moment and then smiling slyly. “The Northrop Curse, but then it is balanced out by the Northrop Blessing.”
He waggled his eyebrows and did a small hip thrust.
“Well, at least you are consistently unpleasant,” Ratchis sighed.
“I love you, too, Snuffles.”
The inn was packed, as one might expect to see in many popular taverns throughout Aquerra on Anulem. (3) The party took a table by the hearth, while Martin the Green saw the inn-keeper about rooms.
The inn-keeper, Huggert, was a portly man, barely five and a half feet tall. Aside from white tufts on the sides, he had a shining bald head, and his wrinkled and scarred chin held a gnarled dusty gray beard. He showed Martin two reasonably priced suites they could rent by the week. The half-dwarf (4) had one of his maid-servants fetch them mutton stew and a pitcher of ale. The two serving maids were built much like Huggert, squat and thick, and with the barest visible scrubby facial hair on their chins.
Back down on the central tier, Ratchis kicked the dust from his books at the mat before a small white-washed cottage with a thatched room covered in pitch. Colorful sleeping flowers, and the first budding vegetables lined either side of the path off the street to the house, visible in the glow of the lit lanterns that lined the walks. The half-orc noticed one of the dwarven town guards eying him.
He knocked on the door with a big ham-fist.
The door opened suddenly.
“You are never early Ro…” The young woman that opened the door stopped and looked up from Ratchis’ chest to his face.
She wore a simple white sleeveless dress that revealed well-toned arms. Her skin was white as alabaster and her nearly blue black and straight; cut at chin length. She had big beautiful blue eyes and sharp handsome features like the statue of a hero or goddess. She was barely five feet seven inches tall.
Ratchis had no idea who this was.
“Uh… hello?” Ratchis said, meekly.
“…Nephthys be praised!” the woman cried, and leaped forward grabbing the ranger in a tight embrace. “You are Ratchis!”
“Um, who are you?” Ratchis choked out. He gently pulled the beautiful woman off of him.
“I’m Mercy!” she said with a smile. Ratchis could now see she wore a necklace of scored and broken chains about her neck, as it had fallen over the collar of her dress when she reached up to hug him. “I am Jetta and Narcil’s daughter. They never told you about me?”
“No.”
“I am being rude, making you stand out here. Come in!”
The cottage had one cozy room. Two lofts provided bed space flanking the comfortable padded chairs making a semi-circle around a fireplace, while another corner served as a kitchen with a small table and three simple wooden chairs surrounding. There was an iron stove there as well. Another held two cramped desks piled with books and papers, above which hung a variety of weapons and pieces of armor. Ratchis found it little changed from when he had stayed here, save for his own muddy footprints on the rug, which Jetta often chided him for affectionately.
“It is so good to finally meet you,” Mercy said, smiling and putting a teakettle on the stove. “My parents told me all about you.”
“Where are Jetta and Narcil?” Ratchis asked.
“They are off on a mission in the Outlands (5), seeking to smash a slaving ring they got wind of working out of there,” Mercy replied, gesturing to a chair. Ratchis could smell something delicious cooking. He noticed the table was set for two. “I would be with them, but I had just returned from a sortie against the Tall Twin River Pirates of Menovia, and needed to rest after that ordeal, and they wanted me to stay behind to act as a balance to the overly-zealous law and order elements in the town’s leadership in their stead.”
“I need to ask something of you,” Ratchis said, haltingly. “I do not mean to be a rude guest, but it strikes me as odd that your parents never told me about you. As much as I hate to do it, I would like for you to consent to allow me to use one of Nephthys’ miracles to read your aura, and determine your intent.”
Ratchis looked down, feeling slightly ashamed, but then looked up at Mercy steadily.
“If you must,” Mercy replied. “I understand it can be hard to trust when you have seen the kinds of things those dedicated to fighting for freedom often have to see, or even seek out.”
Ratchis called to Nephthys and after a moment sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be,” Mercy said. “Now tell me, what brings you back to Nikar, from what mother and father said, I would think you would not be eager to come back.”
“Well, I was eager to see your parents,” Ratchis replied. He suddenly became very aware of his own ragged state and stammered. “But I am mainly here to gain aid and resources with my companions to overcome a great evil that grows in one of the Little Kingdoms.”
“Start from the beginning,” Mercy said.
“Well…”
There was a knock on the door.
“Oh my! I forgot I was having some over to dinner,” Mercy cried and got up and ran to the door, throwing it open. “You are actually on time for once.”
“An error I shall endeavor to never make again,” came a playful tenor from the shadowy doorway. A slight man came in, rail-thin but with a youthful handsome baby-face, he had olive complexion, green eyes and wavy dark brown hair. He wore a long fancy waistcoat, and a ruffled white shirt and tall boots. He pulled off his velvet gloves and walked in.
“I see you have a visitor,” the man said, and stepped over to Ratchis looking him over with a fake smile that widening in lieu of wincing. Ratchis saw the man a silver necklace set with sapphires and a gold lion-shaped pin on his coat. He put out his hand. “I am Roland of Bast.”
Ratchis stood and put out his own hand.
“Ratchis was a student of my parents,” Mercy said.
“Friar Ratchis, is it?” Roland asked, with a tone of recognition in his voice.
“Just Ratchis will do,” the half-orc replied. There was a long awkward moment as they all stood there. Whatever was cooking on the stove gurgled.
“Would you mind terribly if Ratchis joined us?” Mercy said, beginning to set another place, without waiting for an answer. “Ratchis was about to tell me why he his companions are in Nikar and about the great mission they are trying to undertake.”
Roland bowed stiffly. “Any guest of yours is a guest of mine,” Roland replied with forced graciousness. “But I do think we will need an extra bottle of wine for this kind of talk. Allow me to hurry off to the inn and purchase one or two. I shall return momentarily.”
And with that he was gone.
“Is that your betrothed?” Ratchis asked Mercy.
Mercy’s eyes widened, “Uh, no… no… Roland and I have known each other since childhood, though I had not seen him for many years until recently. He is a good man, though a bit fickle.”
Roland was back faster than Ratchis would have though possible. He held up two bottles of the Princeton Vales (6) and smiled.
They sat down to eat and were quiet for a while.
Ratchis looked to Roland.
“Do you live here now? Are you a resident?” Ratchis asked.
“For the moment,” Roland replied. “I have left and returned many times, but honestly, present company excepted, I am bored.”
“Don’t lie, Roland. You know you grew bored of me long ago,” Mercy chided him.
“Well, yes… That’s true,” Roland winked lasciviously at Mercy, and Ratchis frowned. “But right now I am looking to do some good works for the glory of my goddess, Bast. Perhaps there is some aid I can give to your own efforts.”
“I am not sure how much you would like it where we are going. My companions and I face almost certain death.”
“Yes, well… Isn’t that always the case,” Roland replied wryly, taking a long sip of wine.
“Will you take an oath on Bast that what I will tell you now will not leave this room?” Ratchis asked.
Roland made a big show of standing and placing his left hand over his heart. He held his wine glass up t the air with his right. “On my honor as a servant of Bast, goddess of cats, may all manner of felines worry my flesh and rend my eyes from their sockets if I should share any of the secrets I learn from you this day.”
Ratchis instinctively reached up to the make-shift patch covering his own destroyed eye.
“How did you lose your eye, Ratchis?” Marcy asked.
“I did not lose it. It is still there, just useless.”
“Lovely…” Roland said, sitting down and refilling his glass after another long swig.
Ratchis sighed and began to retell the tales of the Fearless Manticore Killers.
After a long night of the meandering tale, interrupted by many questions and clarifications, Mercy invited Ratchis to sleep in his old place in one of the bedlofts, while she took her parents spot. Roland staggered out to return to the temple of Bast where he stayed, after promising to return for dinner again the next night, so that Ratchis might bring the rest of his group over to meet them both.
----------------------------------------------------
Notes:
(1) A temple of the dwarven gods.
(2) Aquerra’s moon is sometimes called “Mind’s Eie” in old documents and in poetry.
(3) Anulem is the only day of the week that common folks ever take off from work, or work only a half-day in the afternoon (making Teflem a popular night for revelry as well).
(4) Half-dwarves are exceedingly rare in Aquerra. Very few live past infancy due to disease and birth defects that are not understood. In addition, they are sterile and are often referred to in a derogatory as ‘mules’.
(5) The Outlands is a several hundred square mile frontier that takes up about a forth of the great island. It is known to be a place of huge monsters and warring and rampaging humanoid tribes, including ogres, trolls and giants. It was immortalized by the circa 500 H.E. bard, Hemmesh, as ‘The Sea of the Land Sharks’. Recently, the Nauglimir Dwarven Merchant Consortium opened a southern road along the coast to by-pass the Outlands and start trade with the towns of the Far Shore League.
(6) The Princeton Vales an area northwest of the Freetown of Princeton on the eastern shore of Derome-Delem known for its fine wines.
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Ahhh, that hit the spot. Now back to my writing.
Thank you,
GW
Thank you,
GW
Manzanita
First Post
Psyched to see the new thread open. Making progress on things. And lots of new twists opening up here. Hmmm. I didn't trust old Roland, but your intro says a new PC is introduced, and who would it be other than him? Oh, Mercy herself, I suppose. Both sound like clerics. Your players seem to like clerics.
Happy to see it rolling along. Thanks for the update, Nemmerle.
Happy to see it rolling along. Thanks for the update, Nemmerle.
As the campaign is both exceedingly difficult and many classes limited in some way by house rules or campaign design (no slight intended nemmerle) its IMO a natural choise.
Clerics simply offer the best survival chance in nemmerles game. Fighters/Rogues and their ilk are limited by the low magic approach. A problem that grows worse with increasing levels.
Mages (if Martin is a typical mage) are very limited in the new spell gaining department and find it hard to cope with the frequent very deadly fights.
Playing a character who can fight decently (to cope with many battles) and have its own inherent magic (to comepensate for low magic in general) is just plain good sense.
