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The Heroes of Winterhaven - updated 8th June - Ryam Plays Dice
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<blockquote data-quote="Mathew_Freeman" data-source="post: 4524420" data-attributes="member: 1846"><p><strong>Worries in Winterhaven</strong></p><p></p><p>Again, this write-up is from crater:</p><p></p><p>“And so I leapt through the window into the maidens bedroom, leaving the warden with nothing but a basketfull of parsnips and a look of surprise!” The farmers and the fishmonger roared with laughter as the halfling finished his story. From over the top of his tankard he espied the gloomy figure of Sabbat Fau entering the busy inn. Aran nudged Elwanen, who had been growing restless. Elwanen looked up and nodded across the room to the warlock.</p><p></p><p>“I’m going to talk to the prisoner.” stated Elwanen, stepping back over the bench and making his way purposefully toward the door. Folk got out of his way.</p><p></p><p>“Well, we merry folk are diverted with ales and tales,” continued the halfling to his audience “but elsewhere fellows duck and dart with anxious glances. Why so grim jolly townsfolk?”</p><p></p><p>The group hunched closer as the townsfolk exchanged anxious glances. “My goat won’t milk, and the youngun’s crying all day with hunger though we feed him corn and suet aplenty!” confessed the first farmer, lowering his mug.</p><p></p><p>“Why only this morning I saw two crows perched on my gable, a bad sign if ever there was one!” warned the other farmer, poking the air with his pipe for emphasis.</p><p></p><p>“No matter how much I scrub, I cant get the smell of trout off my hands!” offered the fishmonger. There was an uncomfortable silence.</p><p></p><p>At length, there came a voice from the end of the table. “I dreamt of shadow.” whispered Elian the Old from beneath his cowl. “I dreamt of the darkest night that pursued me across the fields where the cows lay down and died as it passed over them.” The farmers and the fishmonger clutched their tankards and pipes with whitening knuckles. Aran raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “It followed me through the town where babies screamed.” The two farmers looked at each other with pallened faces. “And when I fell finally it came upon me…”</p><p></p><p>”...And?” ushered the awestruck fishmonger.</p><p></p><p>”...And I woke up. I couldnt get back to sleep, not even after a mug of nutmeg wiffin. Strange how I never dream of flying. Things are not right my friend, and even the crows know it!”</p><p>_____________________________________</p><p></p><p>The red haired tiefling watched as the remaining townsfolk hurried homewards. One of them was a spy.</p><p></p><p>An old woman appeared in the light of an upstairs window. She reeled in her washing and beat the frost out of it, each garment sending a light flurry of flakes into the evening, before closing the shutters and fixing the bolt.</p><p></p><p>Des pulled his cloak about him. Down in the square a young boy darted along with a bundle of twigs in his arms, glancing quickly at the strange priest before turning a corner. Across the street a flowergirl stepped cautiously from the shadows clutching her basket to her chest. With a backwards look, she opened a door and stepped inside. Nearby, low muttering could be heard from within the blacksmiths workshop.</p><p></p><p>Des thought to himself “Tis indeed curious. I normally have a sense for such things (an insight which has served me well in my calling) and yet I can glean nothing of note from this nights to-ings and fro-ings (for I would (if I may) describe them so).”</p><p></p><p><span style="color: orange">Next update: Conversations in Winterhaven, and Aran, once more, spins a tale in Wrafton's Inn.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mathew_Freeman, post: 4524420, member: 1846"] [b]Worries in Winterhaven[/b] Again, this write-up is from crater: “And so I leapt through the window into the maidens bedroom, leaving the warden with nothing but a basketfull of parsnips and a look of surprise!” The farmers and the fishmonger roared with laughter as the halfling finished his story. From over the top of his tankard he espied the gloomy figure of Sabbat Fau entering the busy inn. Aran nudged Elwanen, who had been growing restless. Elwanen looked up and nodded across the room to the warlock. “I’m going to talk to the prisoner.” stated Elwanen, stepping back over the bench and making his way purposefully toward the door. Folk got out of his way. “Well, we merry folk are diverted with ales and tales,” continued the halfling to his audience “but elsewhere fellows duck and dart with anxious glances. Why so grim jolly townsfolk?” The group hunched closer as the townsfolk exchanged anxious glances. “My goat won’t milk, and the youngun’s crying all day with hunger though we feed him corn and suet aplenty!” confessed the first farmer, lowering his mug. “Why only this morning I saw two crows perched on my gable, a bad sign if ever there was one!” warned the other farmer, poking the air with his pipe for emphasis. “No matter how much I scrub, I cant get the smell of trout off my hands!” offered the fishmonger. There was an uncomfortable silence. At length, there came a voice from the end of the table. “I dreamt of shadow.” whispered Elian the Old from beneath his cowl. “I dreamt of the darkest night that pursued me across the fields where the cows lay down and died as it passed over them.” The farmers and the fishmonger clutched their tankards and pipes with whitening knuckles. Aran raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “It followed me through the town where babies screamed.” The two farmers looked at each other with pallened faces. “And when I fell finally it came upon me…” ”...And?” ushered the awestruck fishmonger. ”...And I woke up. I couldnt get back to sleep, not even after a mug of nutmeg wiffin. Strange how I never dream of flying. Things are not right my friend, and even the crows know it!” _____________________________________ The red haired tiefling watched as the remaining townsfolk hurried homewards. One of them was a spy. An old woman appeared in the light of an upstairs window. She reeled in her washing and beat the frost out of it, each garment sending a light flurry of flakes into the evening, before closing the shutters and fixing the bolt. Des pulled his cloak about him. Down in the square a young boy darted along with a bundle of twigs in his arms, glancing quickly at the strange priest before turning a corner. Across the street a flowergirl stepped cautiously from the shadows clutching her basket to her chest. With a backwards look, she opened a door and stepped inside. Nearby, low muttering could be heard from within the blacksmiths workshop. Des thought to himself “Tis indeed curious. I normally have a sense for such things (an insight which has served me well in my calling) and yet I can glean nothing of note from this nights to-ings and fro-ings (for I would (if I may) describe them so).” [color=orange]Next update: Conversations in Winterhaven, and Aran, once more, spins a tale in Wrafton's Inn.[/color] [/QUOTE]
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