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Rocket your D&D 5E and Level Up: Advanced 5E games into space! Alpha Star Magazine Is Launching... Right Now!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 4866974" data-attributes="member: 16069">If anyone knows how I can insert images into these posts then please contact me, see my attempts above. I know how to import the images as attachments but the 'insert image' for me is proving difficult to understand, I've posted the images at flickr and insert the url but see above for the results- any help much appreciated.Now some more...The Friday Knights in Sellswords of FallcrestPart 19: Misfortunes.“Mawdam Zweb- she know wall, see wall, hear wall...”“Didn't hear us coming.” Kullervo interjects, and gets a look.“Hear mowst things”, Madame Zeb corrects herself, then goes on, “lewt mwe diwine yaw forwtune...”The Friday Knights gawp en masse.“What's she want?” Kullervo asks.“To tell your forwtune, I mean fortune.” Ignaran cuts through the fog.Madame Zeb nods frantically- Cathal still has his longsword drawn, and is pointing it directly at her.In the background Pinky, the surviving Eunuch, goes fishing in a pickle jar for a wrinkled flesh-coloured gherkin, at least that's what it appears be.“What starw swine arwe yew?” Madame Zeb stares hard at... none of the Knights meet her gaze, except... Astaroth, who squints hard at the odd-shaped Tiefling.The moment elongates.“She wants to know what star sign you are?” Ignaran translates.“Trouble.” Astaroth growls and stomps off to find something to bully or smash, both would be better.Flustered Madame Zeb turns to face Cathal, crouches a little and pleads with her eyes for a bite.“Claptrap.” The Warrior of Kord hiccups and stomps off to see what Astaroth is doing.Which just leaves Kullervo and Ignaran.“I'm a Weasel, I mean I was born in the Seventh House, the Weasel- Year of the Artichoke, Second Abandonment, you know...”, Kullervo looks for confirmation, alas neither Madame Zeb nor Ignaran are keeping up with the conversation. “My mother was a Weasel too, although she was born in the Year of the Sodden Frog; my dad... huh, dad- he's a Tadpole, always was- always will be; Year of the Milky Potato... Bastard.” Kullervo pants slightly out of breath- clearly excited.Ignaran tries for words, but the fog in his brain won’t clear, he settles for wordlessly flapping his mouth open and closed. Madame Zeb smiles constantly, the smile of the condemned prisoner having their sentence read out to them in a strange and garbled tongue - not understanding, but with the guillotine plainly in sight. “We... We had an Almanac [1], in the Peterhouse, sorry- that's what we used to call it, the crapper, I used to read it all the time,” Kullervo finishes by way of explanation.Madame Zeb takes her chance and grabs the young Rogue's hand, unfurls his clasped fingers and begins to trace the lines on Kullervo's palm.Which works. Their attentions are grabbed.“Hmmw.” She fabricates.“I cwan swee yew are gowing tow hav aw lwong lwife.”Kullervo blinks hard, what is she saying- he looks to Ignaran for answers, the Druid looks... confused, and yet; “She says you are going to have a very long, I mean tall, wife. That's nice.”Kullervo nods and grins- loving the attention.“What else does it say?” He asks and eagerly offers his palm up for further inspection.“Hmmw.”“Yew tayk afterw yer fawther.” Madame Zeb mumbles and continues to stroke Kullervo's palm.“What?” Ignaran leans in, he didn't catch that.“I shaid yew tayk afterw yer fawther.” She tries again.Kullervo looks at Ignaran.“She says- you're a lot like your dad.” Ignaran parrots.And that's when it happens.Kullervo is suddenly back at home, stood in the kitchen, his mother at the sink crying, again; feet on the stairs- thumping, running, his brothers and sisters- out of reach. His father stood to the right of his mother, holding onto the big kitchen table, tottering- reaching out to grab her.Less than a second later Madame Zeb is clutching her broken nose and Kullervo's knuckles hurt. Cathal and Astaroth are over in a flash, although neither of them are doing anything- witnesses, that's all. There's no more violence.Cathal looks a little disappointed.Ignaran drags the bawling Madame Zeb away, the last Eunuch attempts to cradle his mistress but is kicked away- the Druid and the Tiefling Witch head into the previous chamber, Ignaran staring back at the young Rogue- concerned.“What'd she say?” Cathal finally asks.“Nothing.” Kullervo shrugs and sets about searching the chamber.Discoveries are made, the best of which is a mummified scythe-like weapon seemingly made from the fused bones of something terrible. Other than that there's little else to report- save the skull-topped rod which is stowed away for Ignaran's later perusal. Five minutes later the Druid returns on his own.“I've let her go...”Cathal starts up.“She says that the Beggar King has a throne room of sorts, guarded by a bunch of his Beggar guards, and an assassin- someone called Black Shet, another mercenary.” Ignaran finishes up, leans against a filthy bench and stares hard at Kullervo.“Black Shet.” Cathal plays with the name, thinks hard.“Heard of him... her?” Ignaran asks.“No, probably another down and out looking to make a quick crown. Anyway- onwards.” The Warrior of Kord checks his sword and shield and heads on, there's an untried door over the other side of the makeshift laboratory. He gets half way, then turns back, looks hard at Kullervo, who's watching his feet, silently fuming still.“And you!” Cathal barks, Kullervo looks up; “take it out on Black Shet- whoever they are.”Then he's off, the rag-tag bunch, not talking, following after.[1] “Old Carduggan's Almanac”, Kullervo's father swears by it. For the princely sum of one silver the discerning reader has access to all manner of useful snippets of information, not the least of which is long-range Humanoid Invasion forecast. The well thumbed copy that Kullervo carries in his backpack also includes “21 Recipes for Fire Beetles”, “Spiretop Drakes- minor nuisance or just plain menaces?”, and, “Kobold Love- a romantic comedy.”</blockquote>

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