Searcion stares into the darkness briefly, without expression. He then looks at the rolled up parchment, then at the elf and giant. "I would assume that the next best step that we can take is in the direction of the town hall." He stares behind him toward the elaborately designed building. "That is of course, only if Warren is right about all of this." Searcion stands there searching hard for an answer, glaring blankly at a space between his companions. He appears to not be completely sure about all of this.
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The Western Reaches: Voyage to Stonekeep [Closed]
- Thread starter Blackroot
- Start date
Aogiri
First Post
After a moment of staring after him she blinks and nods in agreement and turns to face town hall as well. She decides it best not to mention her frightening encounter with her new companions, it would only make them weary. She looked to each of them, then decided to press foreward, with any luck they would follow.
Blind Azathoth
Explorer
I have a very bad feeling about this, Amarok sighs internally, as he glances down at the bottle in his hands before placing it in his pack. He does not speak such thoughts aloud, however, and instead merely follows his new companions, silent and pensive.
Blind Azathoth, meanwhile, looks at the date. "Late? Bah! I post exactly when I mean to!"
Blind Azathoth, meanwhile, looks at the date. "Late? Bah! I post exactly when I mean to!"
Blackroot
First Post
The late morning rays of the sun beat down upon the village, stronger now than before as you turn to leave the opening of the sunless alley. The cobblestone roads and unpaved streets are teeming with dozens of merchants, prowling the illuminated streets near you and calling out the names of their wares. You notice that nearly every merchant wears a simple sash, rust-orange in color. Across a large paved area of town where a multitude of merchants have now situated themselves lies the building assumed to be Town Hall.
The buildings that line the main stretch of town are decorated in a fashion that is alien to you; ornate festooning in wood and brass and copper is laid across the expanses of the homes. The homes are in few ways extravagant, but it would seem that each holds its own façade.
Carts carrying various sellables pass through the main roads take up most of the space for travel, until they enter the courtyard before the Town hall, where they are met by the gobs of other carts delivering parcels and packages to their soon-to-be owners. You cross these carts and are now standing not too far off from the large, bizarre building.
The large wood and stone complex is of an older design when compared to the rest of the village. It is three stories tall with large square, gabled towers jutting out of its body in irregular locations, in fact, the building as a whole looks like a large amalgamation of other, random buildings. It's interesting, yet hard on the eyes. Two large, rounded wooden doors mark the entrance to the building. The doors are situated upon a stone porch that is built above ground-level. To one side of the building, on an angled wall, is an opened portcullis from which people and horses exit. Other folk, whom you believe to be bureaucratic clerks, pour in and out of the building carrying large documents and rolls of parchment to others sections of the town. At least a dozen hitching posts are lined up in the front of the building; four are occupied by vehicles ranging from a mule-drawn cart to a large Carriage pulled by four mahogany stallions.
A strange new feeling comes over you; this is the first time in a while that no one has taken notice of you. The multitude of goings on around you have left any potential observers little time to do so. The most prejudice that you have experienced is a few double-takes followed by a widened eye or a quizzical stare. As you walk up the steps leading to the front doors, you see a golden placard emblazoned with…
Underneath which is scratched, “Phineus Blackroot, Auxiliary Mayor”. The door has been left ajar from the comings and goings of clerks, a cacophony can be heard from within.
The buildings that line the main stretch of town are decorated in a fashion that is alien to you; ornate festooning in wood and brass and copper is laid across the expanses of the homes. The homes are in few ways extravagant, but it would seem that each holds its own façade.
Carts carrying various sellables pass through the main roads take up most of the space for travel, until they enter the courtyard before the Town hall, where they are met by the gobs of other carts delivering parcels and packages to their soon-to-be owners. You cross these carts and are now standing not too far off from the large, bizarre building.
The large wood and stone complex is of an older design when compared to the rest of the village. It is three stories tall with large square, gabled towers jutting out of its body in irregular locations, in fact, the building as a whole looks like a large amalgamation of other, random buildings. It's interesting, yet hard on the eyes. Two large, rounded wooden doors mark the entrance to the building. The doors are situated upon a stone porch that is built above ground-level. To one side of the building, on an angled wall, is an opened portcullis from which people and horses exit. Other folk, whom you believe to be bureaucratic clerks, pour in and out of the building carrying large documents and rolls of parchment to others sections of the town. At least a dozen hitching posts are lined up in the front of the building; four are occupied by vehicles ranging from a mule-drawn cart to a large Carriage pulled by four mahogany stallions.
A strange new feeling comes over you; this is the first time in a while that no one has taken notice of you. The multitude of goings on around you have left any potential observers little time to do so. The most prejudice that you have experienced is a few double-takes followed by a widened eye or a quizzical stare. As you walk up the steps leading to the front doors, you see a golden placard emblazoned with…
CLYDE FLAGSTONE: MAYOR EXTRORDINAIRE
Underneath which is scratched, “Phineus Blackroot, Auxiliary Mayor”. The door has been left ajar from the comings and goings of clerks, a cacophony can be heard from within.
Blackroot
First Post
Pushing the large wooden doors aside, you step into the cool and humid antechamber of the building. The cool marble floors are decorated with largely geometric and occasionally organic shapes. Citizens hurriedly walk from room to room carrying large scrolls of paper and parchment; it would seem that the hustle and bustle of the city is most concentrated within these walls. Down the long hallway that lies directly past the large semicircular room you are in now, you can see people pass to and fro through the open doorways spaced down the hallway. Two openings to the left side of the room lead into other rooms filled with both people and walls lines with bookshelves. To your right there is a long hallway that stretches far into the back of the building.
Your eyes glance throughout the room and soon you notice the small signs hanging above your heads. You can only read… “Council Room: Up Ahead”, before a voice calls out to you.
“Excuse me Sirs, and Ma’am. You’ve been standing in the doorway now for at least 3 minutes. You’re blocking the flow… If there’s something you need, I can probably help you with it.” A small woman sits behind a desk pushed into a corner of the room, situated to the right of you, her spectacles clinging onto the tip of her nose. Her grey and brown hair is pulled to the back of her head, seemily to keep her age-worn and wrinkled face from sagging too much in the front. She doesn’t look completely human, but if she was, you’d expect her to be somewhere in her mid-fifties. She wears a white collared shirt and brown surcoat, strangely enough.
Your eyes glance throughout the room and soon you notice the small signs hanging above your heads. You can only read… “Council Room: Up Ahead”, before a voice calls out to you.
“Excuse me Sirs, and Ma’am. You’ve been standing in the doorway now for at least 3 minutes. You’re blocking the flow… If there’s something you need, I can probably help you with it.” A small woman sits behind a desk pushed into a corner of the room, situated to the right of you, her spectacles clinging onto the tip of her nose. Her grey and brown hair is pulled to the back of her head, seemily to keep her age-worn and wrinkled face from sagging too much in the front. She doesn’t look completely human, but if she was, you’d expect her to be somewhere in her mid-fifties. She wears a white collared shirt and brown surcoat, strangely enough.
Blackroot
First Post
"That's rich. Blackroot's booked up until early midwinter." The woman picks up a small locket from her bosom and looks inside, probably contains a mirror. She closes the small case and drops it back onto her chest. "Of course, if you'd like to come back next season, I can probably fit you in one morning." A snyde grin spreads across her face. "Oh and do step off the welcome mat."
Blackroot
First Post
The cold recesses of space have cradled its child for far too long now. The oblong, crystalline projectile ignites as it hits the outermost layer of the planet's atmosphere, minutes pass and the pin-point of light begins to grow larger and larger, brighter and brighter. Two hollows in the face of the meteorite catch more drag and glow brighter, giving the heavenly body eerily glowing eyes. The meteorite is not a purely evil force; it does not aim for the lowly planet out of anger, fear, or hatred-- it's merely out for revenge. In it's final moments, the immolated stone screams to itself in the only way one knows how, "This is for all the broken promises Rupert!" and then there was fire, then nothing.
Blackroot
First Post
"I should think not, Mirabelle!", a voice calls out from the darkness. Only inches away from the surface of the ocean, the chariot of armageddon sits, boiling the briney wash. "I'm not letting you succumb to your emotions again, bitch!", Rupert shouts as he swats the burning mess with a rolled up newspaper. "Back to the kitchen where you belong-- woman.", he shouts as Mirabelle dissapears into the dark excess of space, only to follow her glowing tail to their Astral abode, where Mirabelle later sees the error of her ways and goes back to the life of a gentle housewife, occupying herself with whatever chores Rupert has set aside for her.
As it would appear, the world has been brought from the brink of destruction to its former halcyon by a solitary figure, shrouded in mystery and misogyny.
As it would appear, the world has been brought from the brink of destruction to its former halcyon by a solitary figure, shrouded in mystery and misogyny.
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