Andrew D. Gable
First Post
Langan stands at the platform and casts his eyes over the village. "Ahh, the land of my ancestors," he says. "Perhaps we'd better start here," he says as he starts off down one of the streets towards a pub. The men walk into the pub, inhabited by a number of folk draining their mugs of ale greedily. A thin mutton-chopped fellow, who introduces himself as Hugh Jenkins, the manager of this establishment, greets the party.
"Good day to you, my good man," says Langan. "My name is Edward Langan, and these men are my companions. Could you perchance direct me to the Kelly estate?"
"Aye," says Jenkins. "Up the road there just a ways. Related to the Kellys, are ye?"
"Yes. My uncle, John Kelly, who I believe spent a good deal of time here, died in London a few days ago." Jenkins expresses his condolences, and then asks, "So, you're Mary's son, then, I take it?"
"No. Doubtless you know what became of my aunt. No, I am the child of the elder sister, Bridget."
Jenkins nods. In the corner sits an old man, nursing his watery ale, watching the party intently.
Make some Sense Motive checks. Two checks, but both DC 13.
"Good day to you, my good man," says Langan. "My name is Edward Langan, and these men are my companions. Could you perchance direct me to the Kelly estate?"
"Aye," says Jenkins. "Up the road there just a ways. Related to the Kellys, are ye?"
"Yes. My uncle, John Kelly, who I believe spent a good deal of time here, died in London a few days ago." Jenkins expresses his condolences, and then asks, "So, you're Mary's son, then, I take it?"
"No. Doubtless you know what became of my aunt. No, I am the child of the elder sister, Bridget."
Jenkins nods. In the corner sits an old man, nursing his watery ale, watching the party intently.
Make some Sense Motive checks. Two checks, but both DC 13.