The Distinguished Citizens of Gladenrach

[Guilt Puppy]

Jaros/Kurita:

"'ey!"

A sharply called voice interrupts one of your regular sparring sessions... Following the gaze of the young Acolytes of the Staff surrounding, you turn to see a very large half-orc, no, a regular-sized half-ogre making his way through the gates. The ends of a spiked chain trail at his feet, raking through the dirty of the entryway...

He claps.

"Good fightin', that's. I hear' this were a good place to practice knockin'."

He unties the loop which attaches his chain to his belt, and adjusts the straps which hold his breastplate to his chest.

"Whaddya say? Wanna have a round?"

R.U.:

Another late night at the absinthe hall -- so late now it has too be well after noon the next day. Through the mist of discussions, art magic and politics all mixed together, you can barely make out the voice of a dirty-faced, dark-haired young woman, a newcomer:

"Listen up!" she calls, reaching in a dark black bag with a leather-gloved hand. "Tonight we'll be having drinks on me, in celebration of me! We all agreed?"

She pulls her hand from the bag, tossing forth a sprinkle of silver and gold. As the young hands of the bar collect the coins from beneath their chairs, a general cheer erupts in her favor.

"Good then," she says, climbing onto and then hopping across tables toward the bar. "Let's get started." The bartender, old Deddi, seems unimpressed as always.

Pharos:

"Father Pharos?"

It's Brother Jeale's voice, interrupting your preparations for Midday Praise for the third day in a row... Not that there's been much to praise, as overcast as it's been lately.

"Father Pharos!"

You can hear him jogging down the stairs now: Always in such a hurry, he is.

"Father Pharos," he repeats as he enters your chamber. "You should -- there are some visitors hear. Paying tithe. I think you should hear their story."

 

[rangerjohn]

Double post.

 

[rangerjohn]

Pharos:

"Father Pharos?"

It's Brother Jeale's voice, interrupting your preparations for Midday Praise for the third day in a row... Not that there's been much to praise, as overcast as it's been lately.

"Father Pharos!"

You can hear him jogging down the stairs now: Always in such a hurry, he is.

"Father Pharos," he repeats as he enters your chamber. "You should -- there are some visitors hear. Paying tithe. I think you should hear their story."

"Calm yourself brother, all in its time." Pharos says as he rises from his prayers. ~Ah youth!~ "Now take me to these vistors."

 

[DarkMaster]

Jaros/Kurita:

R.U.:

Another late night at the absinthe hall -- so late now it has too be well after noon the next day. Through the mist of discussions, art magic and politics all mixed together, you can barely make out the voice of a dirty-faced, dark-haired young woman, a newcomer:

"Listen up!" she calls, reaching in a dark black bag with a leather-gloved hand. "Tonight we'll be having drinks on me, in celebration of me! We all agreed?"

She pulls her hand from the bag, tossing forth a sprinkle of silver and gold. As the young hands of the bar collect the coins from beneath their chairs, a general cheer erupts in her favor.

"Good then," she says, climbing onto and then hopping across tables toward the bar. "Let's get started." The bartender, old Deddi, seems unimpressed as always.

Always happy to take advantage of a free drink R.U, rushes to the bar, and shouts "let's all have a good one, let's celebrate in honour of ..." looking at the newcommer bluffing a 'very friendly manner', "can I have the pleasure of knowing your name". Trying to subtely detect anything on her that could provide me more clue on her identity and motives.

 

[Voadam]

Jaros/Kurita:

"'ey!"

A sharply called voice interrupts one of your regular sparring sessions... Following the gaze of the young Acolytes of the Staff surrounding, you turn to see a very large half-orc, no, a regular-sized half-ogre making his way through the gates. The ends of a spiked chain trail at his feet, raking through the dirty of the entryway...

He claps.

"Good fightin', that's. I hear' this were a good place to practice knockin'."

He unties the loop which attaches his chain to his belt, and adjusts the straps which hold his breastplate to his chest.

"Whaddya say? Wanna have a round?"

Jaros pulls up his practice foil and draws back from his sparring partner.

"If the good sensei Kurita is willing, I'd be more than happy to meet your challenge. What is your pleasure, fighting against blade, a staff master, or perhaps both? Of course this is his dojo and his perogative to grant or deny your challenge. But as he says to his students, adaptability to dealing with different fighting styles is key to mastery of the staff path."

<I will assume Jaros is sparring with a blunted practice foil that does subdual damage instead of with his magical silver rapier.>

<Jaros will use his local knowledge +7 to see if he knows of this half-ogre, any heraldry on the breast plate?>

 

[Guilt Puppy]

Pharos:

Jeale takes you upstairs, apologizing too much to provide any useful information about these visitors.

They have been let back into the dining room for privacy: A young man with a wiry chin who bears the sign of Kord on his plate; and an elf of indeterminate age dressed in monk's attire, who sits drinking tea seeming distant.

"Greetings, Father, ah, Pharos, is it?" He offers a hand to be shaken: It flexes with more youthful energy than his defeated posture suggests. "My name is Kantor Breck, and my companion," he gestures to the elf, "is named Iajo of... ah..." He laughs uncomfortably. "Of something I can't pronounce."

"E'yensphar," the elf adds, unsmiling. There is a sense of pride to the word, and a definite sense of history: He says it as simply as breathing.

"We've come to pay a tithe," Kantor says, quickly resuming his more somber tone. He pulls a small bag from beneath the plate on his chest, and pours from it slowly one very large ruby: Almost the size of a fist, and such a deep reddish-purple that gold would seem gaudy in its presence. "We would like your temple to have this."

He holds it out in an open palm, waiting for you to take the gemstone.

R.U:

"My name?" the young woman responds. "Ceola. How 'bout you?"

As for subtlty, she seems without it. The layer of dust which covers her clothing suggests she's been through a deal of travel recently, and her throat bears the whiteness of a recent magical healing...

Jaros:

The half-ogre does not appear to be a local, and his breastplate is unadorned.

"Blade 'r staff's good, so long as it ain't spells." He frowns and shakes his head. "I hate magic."

It doesn't seem that he has a suitable practice weapon, although he promises to take care not to injure.

 

[DarkMaster]

R.U:

"My name?" the young woman responds. "Ceola. How 'bout you?"

As for subtlty, she seems without it. The layer of dust which covers her clothing suggests she's been through a deal of travel recently, and her throat bears the whiteness of a recent magical healing...

Getting up on the counter of the bar.
"let's celebrate in honour of Ceola, Let's celebrate her glory.
Old Deddy cheer up, it's a great day today and we will all be celebrating, Let's enjoy this night like it's our last one...."

R.U uses his charisma to warm up the crowd (diplomacy skill +11 with bluff)

 

[Zerth]

A Guardpost outside the city / Joseph

"Whoa, old buddy, this is where we stop," Joseph said to his loyal steed, Thorq, before dismounting on the rocky ground. A wooden watchtower stood before him on top of a small hill. Joseph, as a captain in the the local rangers was making a routine check. The area around Gladenrach was not one of the safest places you could imagine and the rangers constantly scouted the surrounding region with great care. The daily routine wasn't entirely to Joseph's liking, but at least he didn't have to stay in the city, where he always felt somehow out of place.

He grabbed a hold on the ladder and started climbing up to the lookout platform. As he reached the top, the currently stationed guard, an archer from the rangers, jumped up to give him a report. Joseph listened to the guard while gazing the grand view, that opened in front of him from the great height of the watchtower. Looking at the distant lands he couldn't help thinking about his days as an adventurer. Sometimes he just missed them so badly.

 

[Voadam]

Jaros:

The half-ogre does not appear to be a local, and his breastplate is unadorned.

"Blade 'r staff's good, so long as it ain't spells." He frowns and shakes his head. "I hate magic."

It doesn't seem that he has a suitable practice weapon, although he promises to take care not to injure.

"Very well goodman, en garde!"

Jaros draws his foil into a quick professional salute then slowly circles the half-ogre maintaining a safe distance to evaluate him.

"A quick word of friendly advice, goodman. Don't let your chain drag in the dirt, the spikes can not only be dirtied, but also be blunted and catch on protuberances." Jaros gestures with his foil to the trailing end of the chain behind the half-ogre <feint +15 bluff check>.

 

[rangerjohn]

Pharos:

Jeale takes you upstairs, apologizing too much to provide any useful information about these visitors.

They have been let back into the dining room for privacy: A young man with a wiry chin who bears the sign of Kord on his plate; and an elf of indeterminate age dressed in monk's attire, who sits drinking tea seeming distant.

"Greetings, Father, ah, Pharos, is it?" He offers a hand to be shaken: It flexes with more youthful energy than his defeated posture suggests. "My name is Kantor Breck, and my companion," he gestures to the elf, "is named Iajo of... ah..." He laughs uncomfortably. "Of something I can't pronounce."

"E'yensphar," the elf adds, unsmiling. There is a sense of pride to the word, and a definite sense of history: He says it as simply as breathing.

"We've come to pay a tithe," Kantor says, quickly resuming his more somber tone. He pulls a small bag from beneath the plate on his chest, and pours from it slowly one very large ruby: Almost the size of a fist, and such a deep reddish-purple that gold would seem gaudy in its presence. "We would like your temple to have this."

He holds it out in an open palm, waiting for you to take the gemstone.

QUOTE]

"Yes, thats right, Pharos of Pelor at your service." As he introduces himself Pharos tries to get a read on the man [untrained sense motive], this seems to be a very unusual sitiutation. It is a very large tithe and the man appears devoted to Kord. "May I ask why you chose to honor Pelor in this fashion? It appears you are devoted to Kord and this is quite a large donation."