Rhun's Greyhawk OMEGA Campaign (ToEE) - Continued

[InVinoVeritas]

[sblock=DM/Vaseda]
"Here, I will loan you the funds for an extra spell or two, should you like them," Ciaran offers Vaseda.
[/sblock]

 

[renau1g]

[sblock=DM/Ciaran]
"Ah, my thanks, but for now, I feel I am happy with my spells, this will be my first practical application of my theoretical knowledge and despite going over the tactical opportunities and contingencies in my head I would like to see how these ones play out for real before adding any more complexity to the mix" Vaseda replies
[/sblock]

 

[Voadam]

Sir Merrick surrenders his glaive to be blessed and enchanted and spends some time in reflection at the chapel.

 

[InVinoVeritas]

[sblock=DM/Vaseda]
"Very well, then. I will add these spells to my spellbook and head back out. Thank you, Lord, for your generosity."
[/sblock]

 

[Rhun]

The several days you have spent in Hommlet have been pleasant. You've had some time to rest and recover, purchase additional equipment, add spells to your books, and even enchant some of your weapons. You've even gotten to better know some of the village folk as you have gone about your daily business. But mostly, the days have been filled with waiting. Still, the village of Hommlet is not such a bad place to while away the pleasant autumn days, and the villagers are surely glad of your coin.

Sir Merrick and Aeron have both spent some time at the Church of St. Cuthbert, studying the teachings, meditating, reflecting, and praying. Both the acolyte Calmert and the Canon Terjon (A quiet, withdrawn and overweight man) have proven to be quite wise and insightful in your discussions with them. While the religion differs from Aeron's own, the teachings of St. Cuthbert and Pelor seem to have more in common than they have different. And Merrick finds many of St. Cuthbert's tenants to be refreshing: things like "evil which cannot be removed must be eliminated," "lawful correction lies in a stout billet," and "preach quietly, but have a large cudgel handy." Both the cleric and the knight feel more relaxed and enlightened than they had just a few days before when they had returned to the village.

And Merrick and Zirat have found much time to spar; a large clearing behind the Wench, down near the river, and obscured by thick hedgerows has provided them an ideal spot to exercise and train. They even found a few others to test their skill against. The jovial and tipsy Elmo, son of a local farmer, has proven to be a skilled fighter. While a bit slow in speech, his skill with the axe matches that of Merrick and Zirat during practices, and he has proven a fine drinking companion at night. He even introduced the two to Keln the Brewer and family; after the introduction, they were introduced to the brewer's special vintage, and were not so early to rise the next morning.

Deren has spent the last few days keeping to himself. He has been withdrawn, saying little, eating and drinking little, and spending most of the time alone in his room. It is apparent that something is weighing heavily upon him, but what that is he has refused to say.

And Ciaran and Vaseda have spent much of their time in Burne's library, studying old tomes and books. And they've shared a few drinks at the inn with a travelling wizard by the name of Spugnois, who is also staying at the inn. The three have had many lively discussions on such topics as arcane magics and the planes of existence; the man's knowledge is quite impressive, even if his claims to the extent of his own power is not.

Certainly, you've all met others as well. One can hardly spend a week at the Wench, and not at least make some association with the local farmers and craftsmen of the town, who sometimes like to end their day of work with a pint of brew.

Peaceful and pleasant indeed. But as the days pass, you can't help but feel like you are being watched from time to time. None of you ever actually see anyone paying anymore attention to you then they should, and no attacks materialize, but the feeling remains. For the most part, Hommlet is exactly what it appears: quaint and peaceful.

 

[Rhun]

Finally, the night before you are set to return to the Temple of Elemental Evil, you all gather at the Inn of the Welcome Wench for dinner.


Sign of the Welcome Wench:



You have all gathered at your usual table in the Wench's taproom, a large circular hardwood table surrounded by eight armchairs, nearest the hearth and furthest from the door. Ostler has again outdone himself, serving you an incredible meal: a salad of bitter greens tossed with pinenuts and a cream dressing, hot oatbread baked with bits of apple and nuts, buttery garlic potatoes, and honey-baked pheasant. It is a delicious and filling. As you finish supper, you relax into your chairs to enjoy a few pints of ale and each others' company for a couple of hours before bedtime rolls around.

Deren finishes his mug, and sets it down loudly, drawing your attention. "My friends, I have something to tell you," says the halfling, his voice quiet, and carrying a tone of sorrow with it. "I've given this much thought, and well...there is no easy way of saying this: I must take my leave of you. While it has been an honor to fight by your side, I can no longer risk my life for this cause. Shoon's death, our close call with the ogres and trolls, and the other vile things that I have seen over the last several weeks have convinced me that if we are to continue in the face of such unstoppable evil, we will surely all die." Deren shakes his head, and offers you a sad smile. "It has taken me some time to realize this, but I now know that I value my life too much to throw it away on this fool's errand." He sighs heavily, and looks down, staring at the tabletop as he continues."I have done many bad things in my life, and made many bad choices. I've tried to help you, thinking it a way to right those wrongs. But I'm afraid I must find my redemption elsewhere." With that, he stands, and bids a warm farewell to each of you, steadfastly ignoring any arguments that you make in an attempt to convince him to stay. He merely shakes his head at such arguments, and says "I must do what I must do." Finally, the goodbyes are said, and the halfling heads to his room to retire for the night, before leaving Hommlet on the morrow. He turns one last time at the stairs to offer you all a sincere wave, and then he disappears into the shadows of the stairwell.

 

[Rhun]

It is maybe an hour since Deren has taken his leave of you, perhaps an hour past sundown. Late, but not late enough for bed. The taproom is somewhat quiet. A few locals are sitting at the bar, chatting to Ostler about the upcoming harvest. A pair of merchants and their caravan guards are eating a meal at one of the tables. But beyond that, it is simply Zirat, Merrick, Aeron, Ciaran and Vaseda in the taproom, sitting at their table near the fire, mugs in hand. While you are certainly enjoying each other’s company, the news of Deren’s departure has cast a somber pall over you all. Still, you know that on the morrow you could face death or worse, and so you might as well take your pleasure where you can find it.

Alice, the pretty blonde haired waif of a serving girl, stops by the table to check on your drinks. She bats her eyelashes at Zirat. ”Another round for the mighty gladiator?” she asks, flirting with the warrior.

A moment later, the door of the place swings open, letting in a cool autumn breeze. A dwarf enters the place, kicking mud from his boots.

 

[Rhun]

[sblock=For Mark Chance/Bellus Mughandle]
It has been a long journey to Hommlet in search of Mick Silverblade. Some Five days to Dyvers from Greyhawk City, and another twelve (or was it thirteen?) to Hommlet, part of which was through the dark woods of the Gnarley Forest, and some through the rugged Kron Hills. Still, the way has been fairly easy, by road and track, though the long days of marching are more than Bellus is used to. The autumn weather hasn’t exactly been cooperative either, being cool and wet, and the dirt roads have been wet mud much of the time. Bellus’ muscles are sore, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he begins passing the outlying farms and orchards of Hommlet around sundown. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to sleep on the ground, in the shelter of a tree or such again tonight. A few miles further down the road and the buildings of Hommlet proper begin to sprout up to the sides of the road like stalks of corn, ready to harvest. At the center of the village Bellus finds a beckoning sight: The Inn of the Welcome Wench. The sign out front of the buxom wench holding flagons of overflowing ale calls to him, and moments later the dwarf finds himself opening the door into the taproom, and kicking the mud off his boots.

The taproom is large, with a high ceiling, supported by natural tree trunk pillars, dark with smoke and age. A fire burns merrily in a massive stone fireplace at the back of the place. Rough hewn tables and chairs fill the place, though few of them are taken this night. A chubby man stands behind the bar, wiping glasses and talking with a few farmers. A couple of merchants and their guards eat supper at one table. And a blonde serving wench is talking to another group of folk, who have the look of adventurers and mercenaries to them. Four humans and an elf, all male; Bellus’ practiced eye sums them up quickly…two appear to be warriors of some sort, while one of the humans and the elf appear to be arcane casters, and the last human a cleric, perhaps? Yes, that was certainly the symbol of Pelor proudly displayed around the man’s neck…
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[Mark Chance]

Bellus drags feet to the nearest open seat and plops down, heedless of who -- if anyone -- might be sitting nearby. His pack hits the floor about the same time his backside hits the seat. He rolls his heavy head and shoulders, loosening the kinks from his muscles. A platinum coin is fished from a pouch. Bellus taps it loudly on the tabletop.

 

[CanadienneBacon]

Aeron turns his head at the tapping of the platinum coin and surveys the dwarf tapping it. Summoning Alice with a quick eye and a wave, Aeron gestures to the dwarf. "Ostler may have a hearty time paying change in recompense for a platinum piece, but I believe yonder dwarf grows impatient of finding drink and meat." When Alice bounces from Aeron's table to that of the dwarf to take the traveler's request, Aeron nods his head at the dwarf. In rare good humor--brought on, perhaps by a week's rest and several noteworthy meals--Aeron returns his attention to his own table and wanly smiles at his friends. "For a small town, Hommlet certainly gets more than its seeming share of foreign custom. Behold, a dwarf!"