|
 At the heart of the Empire stands the great city of Talabheim - the Eye of the Forest, seat of both Electors and Emperors over the course of its long history. For millenia, the Taalbaston, the vest, impregnable crater wall that surround's Taal's sacred city, has intimidated every opponent, making the very idea of a siege ludicrous. The greatest Dwarf engineers of multiple generations have declared Talabheim unassailable. Our saga opens on the mud-strewn streets of Taalagad, the ramshackle port that slouches between the Talabec River and the northern foot of the crater wall encircling the great city of Talabheim. Despite being the entrance to one of the richest ciites of the Old World, Taalagad is itself a bit of a cesspool. The rulers of the city make a point of discussing how to clean the place up every century or so, but inevitably, any projects undertaken fall to the wayside. "Taalagad has always worked fine just as it is" or some other such sentiment generally serves as the epitaph to such civic endeavors. In the last year, however, change has finally come to Taalagad, and little for the better. To meet Archaron's host in the north, soldiers from all over the Empire march north, by any and all roads, but soon after, the first refugees came, fleeing the horrors of the front for succor in the south. Hundred of desperate citizens, rightfully fearing that their villages are not safe, swelled Taalagad's standing population of loggers, fishermen, and sailors to bursting. A massive camp of over 1,200 fitfully squatting refugees from Hochland sprang up, virtually overnight, around the outskirts of the port. And whispers of a plague have begun.. Chapter One: WELCOME TO TAALAGAD: DON'T STAY LONG  Taalagad is perhaps the largest and most important settlement claimed by the city of Talabheim. It is, in effect, Talabheim's port, and all river trade to the city-state passes through Taalagad, including commodoties passing up and down the Talabec on boat and barge, as well as merchants and goods that seek to utilize the city's ferries to cross the river's breadth as they travel long the Old Foest Road. Given its position on the river, Taalagad has a long history of refugees and shanty towns. During times of war, plague, and famine, unfortunates from as far as Kislev and Ostermark have sought shelter in Taalagad's muddy, rat-infested streets. This migrant population has swollen as peasants from Kislev have sought their fortunes aboard the barges that play their way along the upper Talabec. Many of them arrive in Taalagad and work for a pittance on the city's docks. Currently, the slums of Taalagad are choked with nearly 1,200 refugees from Hochland to the north. As a result, a semi-permanent shanty town has sprung up along Taalagad's northern border, and the city's struggling labor market is flooded with immigrants willing to work for much lower wages. These events have done nothing but frustrate the largely Kislevite labour force that existed in Taalagad up until that time, and tensions between the two groups are high. The sun creeps ever upward above the crowded port town, now that it is just past dawn. Merchants in the fish market bellow out their specials and wares to those passing along, and there is a steady flow of customers to and from The Ten-Tailed Cat, a tavern famous throughout the region for being run by an ex-pit fighter by the name of; all are welcome, and it is a cosmopolitan place, where people of every origin rub elbows, and are able to receive free drinks should their stories entertain the crowds well enough. So our story begins, as many tend to; how you arrived and how long you have been are moot. You, and any companions you have chosen to travel with, have found that entrance into the city of Talabheim is barred, on order of the countess. Even those who typically would find themselves home within the city are being kept out, and rumors run rampant on why. But no matter the reason, to enter takes a writ from the Magistrate Hohenlohe, recently appointed to Taalagad to encourage the flow of refugees away from the the Eye of the Forest. While he is the most obvious way in, there may yet be others, as pirates and smugglers are common to the region. Welcome to Terror in Talabehim! Feel free to make an introductory post to react to the squallor of the city and to tell us how you came to Taalagad. Did you come alone? What did you expect? Feel free to make any knowledge or gossip rolls, and once everyone has checked in we'll get the plot going. Map of Talabheim and Surrounds Taalagad and Wizard's Way
|
#
?
Nov 15, 2015 20:09
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 26, 2024 06:58 |
|
|
sullat posted:
It had been a long voyage upriver from Altdorf; the wind had been against them the entire way, and even the passengers had to take turns at the oars. Tired and sore, Cavendish had spent most of the day tracing the movements of his quarry, only to find that the man had gone into Talabheim just before the gates closed. With darkness closing in, he headed back to the Ten Tailed Cat, where for a few pennies he was sharing a room with half a dozen other travelers. After washing down some thin fish stew with a watered-down ale, he began asking around. "Hey. You know anyone who got a pass into the city? What's the best excuse? How long you reckon the gate will be closed? gossip: 1d100 48 v. gossip of 61 code:sullat fucked around with this message at 16:41 on Mar 13, 2016 |
|
#
?
Nov 15, 2015 23:59
|
|
|
LLSix posted:Boisin Ironfoot Boisin Ironfoot "Stupid fool humans. Stupid fool elf-friends." I grumbled as I rode my mount back across the city. Again. "drat this forest. drat this heat. drat that rune-thrower for sending me here and drat me for a fool for saving the fool human." I was being broiled alive in my plate armor. As soon as I got back to my room I was going to shuck the blasted thing, image be-damned. If I had to wear it much longer I wouldn't be good for anything. The usual channels had not gotten me anywhere. It was hard to think with my scalp broiling under my heavy helmet, but I tried to remember everything I had been told about Magistrate Hohenlohe before setting out. If he would not help me as he should, perhaps the quartermaster could. Armies marched on their stomachs. Especially soft human armies. The same was even more true of their cities, the city might be blocked off, but someone still had to be bringing goods in to the city. CK(Empire) and gossip: 2#1d100 Common Knowledge(Empire) 50 vs 53 - Success! - What do I know about Magistrate Hohenlohe? If I can stretch one roll to a second topic - who is responsible for authorizing shipping supplies into the city? Gossip 62 vs 49 Dropping my combat block here so I can copy it later. pre:WS | BS | S | T | Ag | Int | WP | Fel 74 | 41 | 47 | 60 | 28 | 43 | 46 | 39 A W M FP Armor 4 17/17 3 5/5 5 Weapon: Spear 1d10+5 -10% to enemy dodge chance Lance 1d10+6, fast, Impact, tiring, cavalry Skills: Dodge Blow+10% (38) Parry+10(shield) (84?) Talents: Grudge-born Fury +5% WS vs Orcs, Goblins, and Hobgoblins Strike Mighty Blow Strike to Stun Strike to Injure +1 to critical value
|
|
#
?
Nov 16, 2015 02:52
|
|
|
 Jakob This can't be happening. It was just supposed to take a few hours, all he needed to do was to clear out some refugees who had gotten into a slap fight with each other. Just show up, look intimidating (which was surprisingly easy, Jakob still isn't used to the perks of being a Knight), and then go home. Only he can't go home, because they locked the loving gates. Ok, fine, he didn't exactly go right back home after he finished the job. Yes, he may have had a drink or six. But they can't just lock him out of his own home! That has to be illegal! A more driven Knight would march right down to whoever was in charge around here, draw themselves up to full height, and demand they be let in. But Jakob instead just heads to the only good bar outside the city, the Ten-Tailed Cat, and orders some more drinks. There's bound to be others who are upset at being locked out, and maybe someone has an idea of how to get in that doesn't require too much effort. Guess I'll also test Gossip to find any info I can from some other drunks. Gossip is at +20, so testing at 76. pre:Name: Jakob Player: Astus Race: Halfling XP: 500 Career: Watchman>Sergeant>Knight Physical Characteristics -------------------------- Height: 3'9” Weight: 135 lbs. Hair Color: Ash Blond Eye Color: Light Brown Distinguishing Marks: Ragged ear Origins and Family ------------------------- Number of Siblings: 5, one brother and four sisters Age: 52 Star Sign: Gnuthus the Ox, Sign of Dutiful Service Birthplace: Arable Farm in Ostermark Character Profile Primary : | WS | BS | S | T | AG | INT | WP | FEL | Starting : | 21 | 46 | 19 | 18 | 42 | 34 | 38 | 36 | Advance : | 25 | 15 | 15 | 15 | 15 | 10 | 15 | 20 | Taken : | 25 | 15 | 15 | 15 | 10 | 10 | 10 | 20 | Current : | 46 | 61 | 34 | 33 | 52 | 44 | 48 | 56 | Secondary : | A | W | SB | TB | M | MAG | IP | FP | Starting : | 1 | 9 | 3 | 3 | 4 | 0 | 0 | 4 | Advance : | 2 | 10 | - | - | - | - | - | - | Taken : | 2 | 06 | - | - | - | - | - | - | Current : | 3 | 15 | 3 | 3 | 4 | 0 | 0 | 4 | Skills: Academic Knowledge (Genealogy/Heraldry, Law, Strategy/Tactics) Command Common Knowledge (Halflings, Empire, Tilea) Dodge Blow+10 Follow Trail Gossip+20 Intimidate+10 Perception+10 Ride Search Secret Language (Battle Tongue) Speak Language (Halfling, Riekspiel, Tilean) Trade (Farmer) Talents: Coolheaded Disarm Luck Night Vision Resistance to Chaos Seasoned Traveller Specialist Weapon Group (Cavalry, Sling) Street Fighting Strike Mighty Blow Strike to Stun Trappings: Hand Weapon Lance Morning Star Heavy Armor (Full Plate) Shield Religious Symbol Destrier with Saddle and Harness 29 GC Career Exits: Captain, Initiate, Knight of the Inner Circle, Noble Lord, Vampire Hunter Advances: S +5% T +5% +1 Attack WS +5% Specialist Weapon group (Cavalry) Astus fucked around with this message at 23:40 on Jan 15, 2016 |
|
#
?
Nov 16, 2015 05:27
|
|
|
Aelphas/The Watchman To call Aelphas annoyed would be an understatement. To be locked out of his own home, the very nerve of these guards was enough to turn the elf a slight shade of red. The worse part was he shouldn't even be out here. "Two-Thumbs" was his Night Watch assigned to this wretched port; he had been paid a good sum of money to be Aelphas main contact for all the smugglers out here. When Two-Thumbs hadn't reported in over a week, Aelphas had to come out here himself, just to make sure that a valuable deal didn't get passed up. It was all for naught. Two-Thumbs and his smuggler contact were nowhere to be found. Two-Thumbs better hope something really big happened to make him miss that deal, or Aelphas would have to do something he oh so hated, disciplining his Night Watch. It appeared that Magistrate Hohenlohe was his most likely way in. Aelphas had grown to be a staple of the community during the ten years he was here. Either Hohenlohe was a disgraced noble being appointed to this position, or some up and commer. Either way, a visit from Aelphas of "Aelphas's Art and Antiquities", the dumb humans loved alliteration, along with a promise of a private showing, should be enough to get him back into the city, and away from the poverty and decrepitude he had spent his life escaping. I'm just going to go right up to the plot character. Too bad I don't have any social skills  pre:Name: Aelphas/The Watchman Player: Werix Race: Elf XP: 0/300 Career: Thief>Cat Burglar>Crime Lord Physical Characteristics -------------------------- Height: 5'11” Weight: 140 lbs. Hair Color: Silver Eye Color: Grey Blue Origins and Family ------------------------- Number of Siblings: 3, one brother and two sisters Age: 85 Star Sign: A dumb Human concept Birthplace:City of Altdorf Character Profile Primary : | WS | BS | S | T | AG | INT | WP| FEL| Starting : | 31 | 42 | 26 | 28 | 44 | 37 | 31 | 33 | Advance : | 20 | 20 | 15 | 15 | 20 | 25 | 20 | 30 | Taken : | 10 | 10 | 05 | 05 | 25 | 15 | 10 | 20 | Current : | 41 | 52 | 31 | 33 | 69 | 52 | 41 | 53 | Secondary : | A | W | SB | TB | M | MAG | IP | FP | Starting : | 1 | 10 | 2 | 2 | 5 | 0 | 0 | 3 | Advance : | 1 | 12 | - | - | - | - | - | - | Taken : | 1 | 06 | - | - | - | - | - | - | Current : | 2 | 16 | 2 | 2 | 5 | 0 | 0 | 3 | Skills: Academic Knowledge (art) Common Knowledge (elves) Speak Language (Eltharin, reikspiel) Scale Sheer Surfaces +10 Concealment +10 Disguise Dodge blow Gamble Perception +10 (+20 from excellent vision) Sleight of Hand Search +10 Secret Lang (Thief Tongue) Secret Signs (thief) +10 Silent move +10 Evaluate Gossip Haggle Pick Lock Talents: Specialist weapon group (long bow) Savy Excellent Vision Night Vision Alley Cat Super Numerate Street fighting Trap finder Dealmaker Trappings: Common clothes Boot knife Backpack with gear sword Light armor (leather jerkin) Sack Lockpicks 20 yards of rope Grapling Hook Crossbow Pistol with 10 bolts Best craftsmanship clothing Antitox kit 100 Gc Criminal Organization (The Night Patrol) Career Exits: Advances: +1 attack (free) Academic Knowledge (art) (free) Fel +5 (100) Dealmaker 100 Dodge blow (100) Werix fucked around with this message at 04:29 on Jan 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Nov 16, 2015 05:59
|
|
|
Old Man Wiprecht The old Wiprecht sat in the shantytown's only real tavern, spending his meager savings on ale. He had come to the Talabheim to sell his herbs and post his latest field reports back to the College. The refugee crisis had ruined agricultural studies as all his prized seeds had been stolen. He was planning on to asking new funding from the college after he got to the city, but the gate guards did not let him in. Something about no professor smelling of swamp rear end and wearing soiled patchwork rags In the bar he glanced over the other patrons, trying to find anyone who looked like he didn't belong to the city, but had recently been there. He was looking for obvious smugglers, not perhaps the wisest choice as the best smugglers don't look like smugglers, but beggars can't be choosy. Using Perception to try to listen and see if anyone looks like they're using drunk's whispers to talk about smuggling. Perception Check, Int 58: 1d100 20 pre:Name: Old Man Wiprecht
Player: Sormus
Race: Human
XP: 0
Career: Apprentice Wiz -> Journeyman Wiz -> Master Wizard
Character Profile
--------------------
Primary : | WS | BS | S | T | AG | INT | WP | FEL |
Starting : | 36 | 27 | 34 | 35 | 26 | 33 | 30 | 32 |
Advance : | 10 | 10 | -- | 10 | 15 | 30 | 35 | 15 |
Taken : | -- | -- | -- | -- | 5 | 25 | 15 | 5 |
Current : | 36 | 27 | 34 | 35 | 31 | 58 | 45 | 37 |
Secondary : | A | W | SB | TB | M | MAG | IP | FP |
Starting : | 1 | 12 | 3 | 4 | 4 | -- | 0 | 5 |
Advance : | -- | 9 | -- | -- | -- | 6 | -- | -- |
Taken : | -- | 5 | -- | -- | -- | 6 | -- | -- |
Current : | 1 | 17 | 3 | 4 | 4 | 6 | 0 | 5 |
Skills:
Common Knowledge (the Empire),
Speak Language (Reikspiel),
Academic Knowledge (Magic)+,
Channelling+,
Magical Sense+,
Read/Write+,
Speak Arcane Language (Magick)+,
Speak Language (Classical)
Academic Knowledge (Astronomy),
Common Knowledge (the Wasteland),
Common Knowledge (Bretonnia),
Speak Language (Khazalid),
Speak Language (Dark Tongue),
Charm,
Gossip+,
Perception,
Ride,
Search
Talents:
Savvy,
Coolheaded,
Aethyric Attunement,
Petty Magic (Arcane),
Very Resilient,
Arcane Lore (Shadow),
Dark Magic,
Fast Hand,
Lesser Magic (Silence),
Lesser Magic (Dispel),
Mighty Missile
Trappings:
Quarter Staff
Backpack
Printed Book
Grimoire
Writing Kit
Trade Tools (Apothecary)
2 Magic Items
Spells Ingredients
Glowing Light Drop of lamp oil (+1)
Target: 1 held item,
Duration: 1 hour or until dropped,
Effect: Item glows as lantern
Sounds Tiny bell (+1)
Target: NA,
Duration: Instant,
Effect: Creates phantom noise
Drop Dab of butter (+1)
Target: One creature within 24 yards,
Duration: Instant,
Effect: Target drops whatever it is holding
Marsh Lights Firefly (+1)
Target: NA,
Duration: 1 hour,
Effect: Creates lantern-like, mobile lights within 100 yards
Magic Dart Small dart (+1)
Target: 1 creature within 16 yards,
Duration: Instant,
Effect: Target suffers Dam 3 hit
Sleep Piece of down (+1)
Target: One touched, living creature,
Duration: 1d10 rounds,
Effect: Target falls asleep
Dispel Small silver hammer (+2)
Target: Spell within 12 yards,
Effect: Causes spell to end if you succeed at a Channelling test with -10% for each Mag of target spells caster
Silence Gag (+1)
Target: One character within 24 yards,
Duration: Instant,
Effect: Target can not talk for Mag attribute rounds
Cloak Activity Sketch of your illusory action (+2)
Target: Self,
Duration: 1d10 rounds,
Effect: Perform an act while appearing to do something different
Doppelganger Hairlock from race being impersonated (+1)
Target: Self,
Duration: 10*Mag minutes,
Effect: Take on appearance of any other living humanoid under 3 meters
Eye of the Beholder Monstrous eyeball or Best quality item (+1)
Target: Moderately sized item,
Duration: Mag hours,
Effect: Target appears either worthless or valuable. Appraise check -20% reveals reality
Illusion Crystal prism (+3)
Target: Area under large template within 48 yards,
Duration: Mag rounds+,
Effect: Create nearly perfect illusion, WP-test eachround after duration to maintain it, Int-test to see through illusion
Mindhole Fingernail clippings of target (+1)
Target: One creature within 48 yards,
Duration: Instant,
Effect: Target forgets caster exists unless it succeeds an opposed WP-test
Mockery of Death Corpse shroud buried at least a year (+2)
Target: One touched creature or self,
Duration: Mag days,
Effect: Target appears dead, but retains visual/audio functionality
Shadow Knives Cold-iron forged knife (+3)
Target: Mag attribute creatures within 24 yards,
Duration: Instant,
Effect: Targets suffer a dam 3 hit per missile (non-magical armour does not protect)
Shadowsteed Chip of hoof from a well-travelled horse (+2)
Target: Self or another character,
Duration: Until stopped or dawn,
Effect: Summoned horse to carry target at top speed
Shroud of Invisibility Gossamer Shroud (+2)
Target: Self,
Duration: 1d10 rounds,
Effect: Target is invisible; untargetable for all ranged attacks,
+20WS for attacks; to attack in melee first succeed Perception -20% test
Throttling Garrotte that has been used to strangle (+3)
Target: Anything within 12 yards,
Duration: 1 HA each round,
Effect: Target can no longer breathe and loses 1W each round unless it makes a T-Test
Career Exits: Explorer, Scholar, Wizard Lord
Advances:
FREE Magic +1
FREE Wound +1
100 Magic +1
100 Magic +1
100 Int +5
Sormus fucked around with this message at 20:50 on Nov 16, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 16, 2015 18:00
|
|
|
Snorri Grym Snorri was no stranger to the den of corruption known as the Ten-Tailed Cat, although he hoped his dyed hair and tattooed skin would keep him from being recognised. A long, uneventful voyage up the Talabec had put him in a foul mood and he didn't want to deal with strangers. Approaching the tavernkeeper, he asked plainly, "What's going on in the city?" He knew that if anyone would know, it would be the barman. pre:Name: Snorri Grym Race: Dwarf Career: Pit Fighter > Troll Slayer > Giant Slayer Characteristics Primary : | WS | BS | S | T | AG | IN | WP | FE | Starting : | 44 | 28 | 38 | 44 | 21 | 19 | 34 | 25 | Advance : | 25 | -- | 15 | 15 | 10 | -- | 20 | -- | Taken : | 25 | -- | 5 | 15 | 10 | -- | 10 | -- | Current : | 69 | 28 | 43 | 54 | 31 | 19 | 44 | 25 | Secondary : | A | W | SB | TB | M | MG | IP | FP | Starting : | 1 | 12 | 3 | 3 | 3 | 0 | 0 | 5 | Advance : | 2 | 11 | - | - | - | - | - | - | Taken : | 2 | 6 | - | - | - | - | - | - | Current : | 3 | 18 | 3 | 4 | 3 | 0 | 0 | 5 | Skills: Common Knowledge (Dwarfs) Consume Alcohol Dodge Blow +20 Intimidate +20 Speak Language (Khazalid, Reikspiel) Trade (Smith) Talents: Disarm Dwarfcraft Grudge-borne Fury Hardy Night Vision Quick Draw Resistance to Magic Specialist Weapon Group (Flail, Parrying, Two-handed) Stout-hearted Street Fighting Strike Mighty Blow Strike to Injure Sturdy Very Resilient Very Strong Trappings: Flail Two Great Weapons Knuckle-duster Buckler Light Armour (Leather Jerkin) Medium Armour (Mail Shirt, Leather Jack) One bottle of Poor Craftsmanship Spirits Experience: 500/500 Advances: Weapon Skill (free) Weapon Skill (free) Attack Dodge Blow Intimidate Toughness Wound MaliciousOnion fucked around with this message at 23:16 on Jan 17, 2016 |
|
#
?
Nov 17, 2015 01:35
|
|
|
 Bernhart of the Western Wind, Warrior Priest of Taal & Rhya Bernhart strides into the Ten Tailed Cat. While he wanted to be out in the wilds in search of whatever foulness he hears scratching at the land he was needed in the more civilized areas. Most of his day was spent giving Rhya's blessings to the refugees' domesticated animals and assessing the land surrounding the settlement. He needed to meet with Magistrate Hohenlohe to get into the city; He needed to check in with an other priests in the city, see if anyone else was getting the strange premonitions. Normally getting into and out of the city wasn't a big deal for the priests, but the recent proclamation from the countess applied to them this time around as well strangely enough. Regardless, in the mean time, he's got a few hours to kill. May as well spend some time on the inside of a bottle. pre:Name: Bernhart of the Western Wind Player: DeathSandwich Race: Human XP: 0/300 Career: Initiate -> Priest -> Warrior priest Character Profile Primary : | WS | BS | S | T | AG | INT | WP| FEL| Starting : | 28 | 32 | 24 | 31 | 32 | 26 | 33 | 31 | Advance : | 20 | 15 | 10 | 10 | 15 | 15 | 25 | 15 | Talent : | 05 | 00 | 00 | 00 | 05 | 00 | 00 | 05 | Taken : | 10 | 10 | 05 | 10 | 05 | 10 | 20 | 15 | Current : | 43 | 42 | 29 | 41 | 42 | 36 | 53 | 46 | Secondary : | A | W | SB | TB | M | MAG | IP | FP | Starting : | 1 | 13 | 2 | 4 | 4 | 0 | 0 | 3 | Advance : | 2 | 11 | - | - | 1 | 3 | - | 2 | Taken : | 1 | 06 | - | - | - | 3 | - | - | Current : | 2 | 19 | 2 | 4 | 5 | 3 | 0 | 5 | Skills: Common Knowledge (The Empire) Gossip +10 Speak Language (Reikspiel) +10 Academic Knowledge (Astronomy) Academic Knowledge (Theology)+10 Charm +10 Heal +10 Perception +10 Read/Write +10 Speak Language (Classical) Academic Knowledge (Runes) Channeling Common Knowledge (Talabheim) Common Knowledge (Elves) Magical Sense Swim Speak Arcane Language (Magick) Speak Language (Eltharian) Speak Language (Khazalid) Dodge Blow Outdoor Survival Charm Animal Navigation Concealment Talents: Suave Fleet Footed Lightning Reflexes Public Speaking Warrior Born Armored Caster Petty Magic (divine) Strike to injure Rapid Reload Divine Lore (Taal & Rhya) Specialist Weapon Group (longbow) Orientation Trappings: Religious Symbol Robes Prayer Book Writing Kit Full Leather Armor (+1 armor all) Longbow (+10 arrows) Quarterstaff Career Exits: Advances: Outdoor Survival (Taal & Rhya) Charm Animal (Taal & Rhya) Navigation & Orientation (Taal & Rhya) Concealment (free) Rapid Reload (free) Divine Lore (Taal & Rhya) (100) Specialist Weapon Group (longbow) (100) Dodge Blow (100) Magic Advance (100) Magic Advance (100) DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 01:11 on Jan 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Nov 17, 2015 05:29
|
|
|
Walter Walter cursed his luck. It seemed like a good idea at the time; head closer to the front where his services would be far more lucrative, but he hadn't counted on the refugee flood heading the opposite direction. Still, he reminded himself, there were worse places to end up than Talebheim. Once he got inside the blasted place, anyway. But until then, every crowded shantytown needed healers, and he needed favors and information, and if he was very lucky, a coin or two. He barely needed to lift a finger to hear the rumors of plague. That...could be bad. That could be very bad. He scrutinized his patients and potential patients much more closely, alert for the telltale signs of sickness. He questioned those that came to him too, though he was careful to avoid making the rumors worse with speculation. By the time evening came and he settled in for a well-earned drink or five, his wanderings had given him a great deal to think about. Heal check, Int +10 (65): 1d100 55 Gossip check Fel 49: 1d100 11  pre:Name: Walter Vesten Player: Izzy Race: Halfling XP: 300 Career: Grave Robber --> Student --> Physician Character Profile Primary : | WS | BS | S | T | AG | IN | WP | FL | Starting : | 21 | 42 | 21 | 22 | 43 | 35 | 33 | 39 | Advance : | 5 | 5 | 10 | 10 | 15 | 30 | 20 | 15 | Taken : | 5 | 5 | - | - | 10 | 20 | 10 | 10 | Current : | 26 | 47 | 21 | 22 | 53 | 55 | 43 | 49 | Secondary : | A | W | SB | TB | M | MG | IP | FP| Starting : | 1 | 12 | 2 | 2 | 4 | 0 | 0 | 3 | Advance : | 0 | 8 | - | - | - | - | - | - | Taken : | 0 | 4 | - | - | - | - | - | - | Current : | 1 | 15 | 2 | 2 | 4 | 0 | 0 | 3 | Physician, Scholar Skills: Academic Knowledge (Anatomy) Academic Knowledge (Necromancy) Academic Knowledge (Genealogy/Heraldry) Common Knowledge (Halflings) Consume Alcohol Drive Gossip Haggle Heal Perception +10% Scale Sheer Surface Search Secret Signs (Thief) Silent Move Speak Language (Classical, Halfling) Speak Language (Reikspiel) +10% Trade (Farmer) Talents: Flee! Hardy Linguistics Night Vision Resistence to Disease Resistence to Chaos Specialist Weapon Group (Sling) Savvy Seasoned Traveller Strong-minded Surgery Trappings: Backpack Dagger Healing Draughts (4) Lantern Lamp Oil Sling (3dmg) Spade Textbook (Anatomy) Textbook (Necromancy) Trade tools (medical instruments) Writing Kit 4gc Career Exits: Friar, Guild Master, Spy Advances: Surgery Int +10% Izzy fucked around with this message at 18:28 on Nov 17, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 17, 2015 18:24
|
|
|
Cavendish's question draws the attention of a muscular stevedore sitting at the table adjacent to his, who laughs after wiping the head of his beer from his mouth. "You didn't hear, knife ears? Some of the Hochlanders, not feeling very thankful for the good we're doing them by letting them squat outside one of the Empire's greatest cities, ruined a shipment of furs meant for the Countess herself!" The man shakes his head, picking at his teeth. "So now the Hochlanders, and all them refugees, have got to go. Which means no one goes in or out of the city unless they get the new magistrate's blessing. drat man is built like a bloody orc, I haven't a clue how he got into politics." He takes another swig of his drink before giving Cavendish a hard look. "I don't reckon the gate's gonna open until the war's up, to be honest. They're only lettin' people in by the handful. But who needs it? Ten-Tailed Cat and the Eel have all you need here in Talabheim!" He laughs and turns back to his table, motioning for one of his comrades to repeat part of his story. Outside, the knight Boisinn racks his brain on what little he knows of the magistrates. He learns, fairly easily, that the man is from the infamous Litigant's Guild of Talabheim, and that the man has held the coveted and respected rank of Assuror for decades. The city of Talabheim lives as much on its laws as dwarves do on their grudges, which is something the dwarf can understand, but they could be changed and removed at a whim, or for the right price. As for who might handle shipping, he mostly finds shrugs and differing answers. Taalagad was a port town, first and foremost, and there were numerous docks and warehouses for people to store and trade their goods. Everyone claimed to be official, but it was difficult for the dwarf to determine who it might truly be. He does recall some bit of dwarven legend about the Underroads; surely they ran beneath Talabheim as well, but to access them would be an adventure unto itself, and takes weeks, if not months, to get inside the city and reach the surface again. He pauses in his thoughts as he spies one of his race's infamous Slayers entering the nearby tavern. Meanwhile, Jakob carouses with the good folks of the tavern, and learns of the tale of the Countess' furs, but also a much more insidious reason for the gates being closed. An older man, in a hushed voice, whispers to the Halfling knight about a new disease that has surfaced on the docks of Taalagad. The blame, of course, lies with the refugees and the Hochlanders in particular; even the doctors of the town are blaming them, because where else could it come from? "Cain't say I know much 'bout it m'self.. mostly coughin' fits, an' people who've had it fer awhile have long shiverin' fits. Ain't much of a disease, but I reckon them Hochlanders brought it, bet Ranald m'last coin on that and win." He goes on to speak of the Magistrate, who is the only means of gaining a pass into town at the moment, and who has been assigned to Taaalagad primarily to get the refugees settled elsewhere. A group looking to help the Magistrate in this endeavor would more than likely find themselves on his good side. Nearby, the physician, Walter, can't but overhear the conversation, and contemplates what he's seen in his own patients. He had seen a few people with similar coughs and shivering fits, but he hadn't particularly noticed anything plague-like about the behavior; to the trained eye, it seemed little more than a summer cold, which, admittedly, COULD have been transmitted by the refugees. But a plague? Wiprecht, sticking to himself, tries to listen in for some signs of smuggling. He hears two people speak of pirates and kind people offering passage into the city amongst their cargo, but learns that the man's second cousin tried to do that and ended up being fished out of the bottom of the river. Guards have been posted at every entrance of the city and every official means in is being watched like a hawk. The old wizard knows he could use his magical abilities to get into the city, but if he were detected or they had any sort of magical protection through Wizard's Way, he would be in much, MUCH deeper trouble than any bandit trying to steal through the city sewers. At the bar sits Bernhardt, nursing his drink; he knows the tale of the city, and has seen his forests invaded by the Hochlanders, who hunt without concern or care. Suddenly, the bar goes quiet as Snorri enters; the sight of the stout dwarf covered in tattoos with an orange Mohawk is enough to stun the vast majority of patrons into silence. Sluro, the tavernkeep and ex-pitfighter himself, grins from ear to ear when he sees the slayer. "Well, what's going on is the city's been looking for a champion like yourself!" He laughs, and the laugh seems to clue the tavern in that life can continue as normal, and the normal level of chatter starts back up. Sluro brings up a flagon of ale for the slayer and invites him to sit at the bar. "There's a magistrate lookin' for a guard for a caravan of refugees headed out of the city. I reckon one look at you and he'd let you handle it, my little friend. But no, enough about our horrible city! Tell me of yourself, Slayer! We here at the Ten-Tailed Cat love stories, and I can tell by your scars you must have a million of them." Elsewhere, outside the Eel, where Magistrate Hohenloe is "holding court", the Watchman stands impatiently in a line that weaves back around the block. He had tried to enter alone to see the magistrate, but the man's guards (and the stoicly law-abiding citizens of Talabheim themselves) did not fancy letting a lone elf cut in line. The man in front of him coughs so hard that he farts, and someone in line behind him starts laughing about it. "Did y'hear that, Maude? Coughed so hard he let a bit of Taal out t'breathe!" The man wipes tears from his eyes and sighs. He seems to notice finally that the man before him is dressed well and is, in fact, and elf. "Oi! Yer an elf! Tell me, truly, are ye lot as FANCY as they say?" He tries to suppress a laugh, but doesn't do a very good job of it, and tugs at the elf's fine sleeve. "D'ya know what I mean, elf? I'm askin' if yer FANCY." The man in front of Aelphas turns, looking thoughtful with a finger firmly planted into his nose to the second knuckle. He looks the elf up and down before leaning to address the man behind him. "Of course he's bloody fancy, he's an Ulric-damned elf; d'ya not see how well he's dressed? Bloody nobs." The man gives the Watchman a stink eye before starting to turn back, and the man behind Aelphas brushes against the elf as he moves to keep the farting man's attention, shoving the elf aside slightly. "Naw, naw, yer not gettin' me joke! I'm sayin' he's married ta another he!" This causes a moment of pondering. "Well.. he ain't human, so what's wrong wi' that?" The man behind Aelphas gets a blank look on his face. "Well... t'ain't right, by the gods." "Well, he don't worship OUR gods." "He don't?" The man looks at the elf in confusion. "Naw, he don't. They worship nature gods and gods o' silk an' such. Finer things fer a finer race, amirite?" The man in front of the Watchman elbows him in a friendly way, grinning ear to ear. Behind him, the other man seems to be lost in dazed thought, as if his whole worldview had been drawn into question. "So, wait.. if'n I were an elf.. I could be fancy wi'out bein' judged?" "Oh, aye. Wait, d'ya mean fancy, or FANCY?" The conversation continues for at least another fifteen minutes as the queue inches along, and exists as one of the most ignorant, annoying conversations the elf had heard in his long life. As a note, the gates ARE open, but guarded heavily. John Dyne fucked around with this message at 06:34 on Nov 18, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 18, 2015 06:26
|
|
|
Aelphas/The Watchman Aelphas tries his best to not breathe at all in the line, and when he did, he would breathe only through his mouth, so as to spare himself the stench. Aelphas was familiar with the usual goings on of "holding court", but never had to wait in such a long line before, with such, colorful, company. The elf does his best to ignore the individuals around him, barely able to suppress his rage when the filthy man touched his clothing. Finally bored with the situation, Aelphas decides to have some fun. He turns around to the man behind him, and gives a smile and a slight wink. "Well look at you! You certainly are fancy, of a certain sort!" Aelphas grabs the man's filthy hands, trying his best not to audibly gag at what was likely poo poo under his finger-nails. "When it comes to my maidens, I certainly like them lithe and fragile, but my fancy lads, I like them with big strong hands, and your hands are oh so strong, are they not?" Aelphas winks again, "too bad for you though, I very much am smitten with someone right now, or else I would show you all they fancy ways of the elves when we're all done here!" Aelphas then turns around with a smile on his face. The man in front was right, elves weren't as limited by the backwards and arrogant view of man. Now if the poo poo farmer actually isn't embarrassed and runs away, well at least he'll have learned something.
|
|
#
?
Nov 18, 2015 06:54
|
|
|
Old Man Wiprecht Wiprecht pondered his odds of trying to sneak in, but it seems every way was now blocked because of others had been stupid enough to get caught using them He even thought about just waltzing through the gates under the guise of magic, but that was too risky. It seemed like the only option was the honest one. He tossed few coins on the counter for his drinks and left for the Magistrate's. The wizard arrived to witness a poncy elf and two town idiots arguing about finer points of queueing and Man-Elf relations. "This is an awful weather for an old man and a elf to have to wait in. Wouldn't you bunch of poo poo-heels let me and the Fancy Elf inside, lest I die of pneumonia and everyone here catch his Fanciness. Would be terrible in either case." he muses. "The first outcome is pretty terrible for me, but I am sure there are bad people here that would spread rumours about how an old man got beaten to death by two guards. The second outcome is even worse, you don't want to have to explain a grieving mother why her son is now learning how to dance and writing poetry, do you?" Sormus fucked around with this message at 18:00 on Nov 18, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 18, 2015 17:36
|
|
|
Cavendish Locke, V.I. "Strange that the Countess would want to keep good honest citizens out, too. Especially us elves." With that, Cavendish sidles up to the bar where the dwarf slayer is drinking and politely waits for a moment to speak without interrupting. "Are you trying to get into the city as well, friend? I am hoping to find a way in, and I have a... job that may require a skilled fighter. A dangerous job, to be sure. If you are interested, perhaps we can work together to get into the city?"
|
|
#
?
Nov 18, 2015 21:04
|
|
|
Boisin Ironfoot Thinking of the under-roads, and the Skaven fondness for tunnels a plan started to form in my head, by not one I could survive on my own. I followed the Slayer into the bar and shouldered my way in beside him. "Good to see one of our own kind so far from home. The king sent me here hunting Skaven, and if you help me you will have plenty of opportunities to die well." I grimaced unhappily at the Elf on his other side, but a sergeant without a company couldn't afford to be picky: "your friend there can come if you like. If we're lucky he'll find a good death too. If the magistrate refuses me entry to the city proper, maybe he can get us in." I would prefer to try our luck under the city than trust an elf, but it never hurt to spread a little misinformation before a campaign. I raised a mug of whatever swill the barkeep poured me and offered a toast: "To a good death!" With a little luck a few of the other hardy souls here would be intrigued enough to join as well. LLSix fucked around with this message at 22:27 on Nov 18, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 18, 2015 22:24
|
|
|
"Just" Jakob Well, the "get in without too much effort" plan doesn't look like it'll work now. Of course the city would be paranoid with rumors of the plague going around. But at least he found out the magistrate had a job that needed doing, and Jakob was all about networking to improve his life. "So, all this magistrate fellow needs is someone to help move some refugees around? Doesn't sound too taxing, where do I go to offer my services?" He also makes sure to avoid making eye-contact with the slayer. Today has already been terrible, he didn't need to make it any worse. The one good thing about being locked out of the city gates was that he couldn't be ordered to calm the slayer down if he went into a murderous rage for whatever reason, so at least there's that.
|
|
#
?
Nov 20, 2015 02:15
|
|
|
Bernhart of the Western Wind Berhhart was already a few drinks in by the time the slayer pulled in beside him at the bar. Before he knew it, what was a dwarven drinking partner became a gathering of nonhumans... ...and they were all talking about getting into town. Bernhart, whom by this time is far enough drunk to have no quarrels approaching strange non-humans, turns around in his chair to address his new drinking friends. "I don't know you lot at all, but if you've got a plan to get into town, count me in. I've got business to attend there with the city's priests and I won'd be kept out here to wallow in the bottom of a bottle until Morr comes to claim me.
|
|
#
?
Nov 20, 2015 02:42
|
|
|
Aelphas/The Watchman Aelphas raises his eyebrows as the elderly man approached. Initially he thought he was going to have to playfully flirt with another human poo poo farmer, but the man in front of him was clearly gifted in magic. Humans were typically too short lived to really be trusted with the winds of magic, but at least he would be slightly more respectable than those around him. Aelphas puts a smile on his face, and greets the man. "Now dear sir, there is nothing wrong with a good poem! Just because one is gifted in the literary arts does not make one fancy. Though combined with dance, that surely has all the warning signs!" Aelphas gives a slight bow and does a little twirl. The elf then leans in to the wizard and whispers, "Aelphas, of Aelphas's Arts and Antiques. I live in the crater. Please tell me you have a way in so I don't have to subjugate myself to this lord."
|
|
#
?
Nov 20, 2015 06:37
|
|
|
IronfootAstus posted:"Just" Jakob DeathSandwich posted:Bernhart of the Western Wind LLSix fucked around with this message at 14:37 on Nov 20, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 20, 2015 14:35
|
|
|
Snorri The slayer grimaced as the innkeeper requested a tale. He knew it was a risk when he walked through the door but he'd been hoping to avoid it. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to reveal his past as a pit fighter, as the inn's patronage would be satisfied by tales of his feats as a slayer. Still, this was not why Snorri took up the mantle of slayer. However, before he could even wet his tongue, a damned elf interrupted him, offering him a job. That seemed to open the floodgates. Before he could even consider the elf's offer, another dwarf, a halfling and a godbotherer join the conversation. Snorri lets out a loud groan as the others talk amongst themselves. To Sluro he says, "Sorry, barkeep, I'd be honoured to tell a tale or two in this fine establishment," a statement that draws snorts of derision from the listening crowd, "but it looks like these folk won't let me rest until I'm dead." With that, he downs his watery beer and flips a couple of pennies onto the countertop. "If you're all keen to get yourselves killed, I'm off to talk to this magistrate," he adds, heading for the door.
|
|
#
?
Nov 21, 2015 06:18
|
|
|
Ironfoot The slayer stole my thunder my marching off like that. Now it looked like I was following him. This was not going according to plan, but every good, and by that I mean still living, sergeant learns that nothing ever goes according to plan. Turning to the rest of the bar I swept my arms dramatically wide. Well, as wide as my short stature allowed. "Right. If anyone else is up for something more exciting than sitting on your arses staring at each other all day, you can catch up to us on the road to see the magistrate. If nothing else, watching a magistrate try to tell a Slayer no ought to be a good show!" It was not a good speech, even by the generous standards of the army, and was not likely to convince anyone with half a brain. Fortunately, brains have never been a common or much desired commodity amongst warriors, especially drat fool humans. My piece said I marched out of the bar to go see the magistrate.
|
|
#
?
Nov 21, 2015 18:58
|
|
|
Cavendish Locke, V.I. Going through official channels is probably the best plan. For now. Even though the rumors don't seem to add up. Cavendish checks to make sure that his gear is still with him and strides out after the dwarves. "Charging straight ahead without scouting. A novel plan, and I am excited to be a part of it.'
|
|
#
?
Nov 22, 2015 05:07
|
|
|
Snorri's coins are snatched from the air by the barkeep, who tosses them back to the slayer. "No need, sirrah; I know the start of a drat good story when I see one, I just say you lot make sure to tell me how it goes." Slurro laughs and wipes down the bar, grinning as he watches the group head out. The slayer is followed by both the dwarven and halfing knights, the human priest clad in leathers and furs, a rakish looking elf, and a halfling physician, who had overheard parts of the conversation and figured it would be in the best interests of the community to speak with the magistrate about entrance to Talabheim, and to see to these refugees. The Watchman's remarks to the two peasants seem to make them slightly uncomfortable, save for the one who had been standing behind him. He seems almost in awe at the idea of being fancy and graceful, and for a moment the elf is concerned that the peasant may even try to hug him. Mercifully, the peace is broken as a burly looking dwarf, covered in tattoos and doffed with a bright orange mohawk, moves down the street like a bull; he is flanked by another dwarf and a halfling, both clad in heavy armor, as well as what looks like to be a homeless man, an elven fop, and another halfling. Wiprechet looks over the ragtag group and reaches a similar conclusion to his new elven cohort; their chances of entering the city quickly would be much higher if they blended in with the group of adventurers headed towards the inn. As the slayer and the others pass, Wiprecht and Aelphas fall into step with them, glancing at each other as they realize they both had the same idea. Within a minute of marching, Snorri barges through the front doors of the tavern, which is oddly enough still going about its normal operations. However, to one side sits what looks like a judge's stand, where an immense man resides, holding court over the people before him. He looks up from his paperwork, his eyebrows raising. The man is built like a dwarven steamtank, his shoulders almost as broad as the twin doors that he had entered through. His clothing is loud and garish, much like what any human noble would wear, but he has forgone the large, foppish cap; his hair, cut short and stern, is a fiery red, but turns to a sharp grey at the temple, and his face is ruddy and more fitting of a woodsman than an attorney. He looks Snorri over for a moment and sets his pen down, his gaze moving over the group behind him. He rests his gaze on Bernhardt for a moment longer than the others, and makes a gesture with his hand that the priest recognizes as a sign of Taal, similar to the sign of the hammer. He also spies Jakob, and gives the little knight a broad grin. Several of the militia, who are standing around the dais where the magistrate reside, begin to move towards the gathering of adventurers, but Hohenlohe waves them off with a grunt. When he speaks, his voice is deep and gruff, almost a bellow even when simply speaking at a normal level. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am going to take my hour long break at this time, as I wish to dine with these gentlefolk that have entered the tavern behind you." He motions towards the door, where Snorri and the others are standing, and the long line turns its head almost in unison. "My duties shall return in haste at the 11th hour of the morning. My aides will be by to assign you all numbers, so you will not lose your place in line, should you feel the need to disperse." He stresses all but the word 'feel' in his last statement, and the message is clear to those gathered; the moment they are handed a slip of parchment with a number on it, they are out the door. Hohenlohe moves towards a nearby table, gesturing for the group to join him, and he has a seat, his meal already prepared and before him. He motions to Bernhardt and Jakob to have a seat. "I believe I've seen you out in Taal's forests when I've ventured out to meditate on bits of law, and you, Jakob, I have seen you about Talabheim, but I don't recall to which nobles you have been sworn. Please, sit, and dine with me. It would especially be an honor to share a meal with a priest of our lord Taal." He smiles broadly at them, turning to flag a waitress over to take their orders. He then turns his attention to the remaining six. "But you lot, I am not familiar with any of you. I recognize a slayer when I see one, however, and I count another dwarf amongst you, so I would presume the two, at least, will be honor-bound to any task they would ask me to grant to them. I would treat you all to an early lunch, if you would but tell me who you are, and why you have come to Talabehim; I don't imagine you lot looking to settle in Taalagad, so I presume you came to me to enter the city as swiftly as possible." His meal, a simple one of potatoes, greens, and pork chops, is placed before him, but he waits for Bernhardt to receive his meal and pray over it before digging in. "So, speak, order, and eat, and we will discuss business." He picks up his fork and knife and gestures with the knife for the other to sit, once their tales have been told. If you DO wish to bribe your way in, or otherwise try to convince him of your importance, make sure to make a charm roll.
|
|
#
?
Nov 22, 2015 21:23
|
|
|
Old Man Wiprecht As the Magistrate looks at the cast he can see all of them transform infront of his eyes. He was clearly having a strong vision from his deity. The Slayer Snorri suddenly starts growing elk antlers accompanied with horrible groaning sound. While this is happening the Knight Ironfoot is also growing something, but what is pushing through the seams on his armor is not antlers, but small budding tree branches, as the buds open they release a fresh fragrance of spring flowers. The changes to the two halflings aren't as subtle. To cover for their non-manliness Taal clearly went a step further. The Knight Jakob's whole head turns into that of a bear's and his hands and feet turn into claws. He lets out a mighty roar that shakes the wine in the Magistrate's glass. As for the Doctor Vesten, at this time he had turned into a mighty eagle and was perched on the chandelier, holding in one of his claws a piece of meat from the table, ripping it in pieces with his sharp beak. The Elves transformations were a bit more subtle, but that was merely due to their closer bond with nature and to lesser art of manliness. Aelphas had turned into a mighty oak that's branches were now pushing against the roof of the tavern, while it seemed that a large woodpecker slightly resembling Cavendish was currently poking a hole in it's trunk. Priest Bernhart had grown additional two feet and had become even ripped, his bushy moustache would have been envy of any lesser man. It was clear Taal did not see much to improve here. Old Man Wiprecht just began(?) to smell like wet leaves, dirt and surprisingly vomit, smell most familiar to anyone who has ever had the displeasure of being downwind of a compost heap during harvest festival. http://orokos.com/roll/346316: 4d10 16 http://orokos.com/roll/346321: 1d10 1 http://orokos.com/roll/346326: 5d10 35 [01:52:09] <Dyne> yep, make a note at the end to have everyone make a basic int test
|
|
#
?
Nov 23, 2015 02:21
|
|
|
Aelphas/The Watchman Aelphas breaks away from the queue and follows the dwarves, human, elf, and halfling as they barge into the Inn where court is being held. He looks down initially at the halfling, and blinks his eyes, "Ser Jacob, is that you? It is I Aelphas! It has been such a long time since I last saw you! Tell me how has that painting been treating you, I believe it was Haling slays a Von Carsten? Do not tell me someone of your stature has been locked out of the city too?" Aelphas barely has time to receive his answer before they are in the Inn, being addressed by Hohenlohe. Aelphas gently pushes his way to the front of the group, bowing before the human and trying to put on his best rear end kissing grin, "Good day to you Ser! I am Aelphas, of Aelphas's Arts and Antiques, a rather successful business here in Talabheim! You indicated you already know Ser Jacob, and I will let the rest introduce themselves." The elf then sits down and orders food, as is the human custom. That said, since he doesn't quite trust whatever filth even the best of inns in Taalagad might serve, he orders some stew and bread, not looking forward to food poisoning from undercooked and rotten meat. After the server brings him a aperitif, he tells his story. "Well your honorable Hohenlohe, as indicated, I am from the city of Talabheim, and a rather beloved purveyor of art among the nobility and the judiciary, though they often are one in the same! I came down here to Taalagad to attend to some shipping business, only to find my way barred upon my way back in. This really is not acceptable, to deny entry to a citizen of the city. I understand wanting to keep out the refugees, but I have a business to run! The art world is rather competitive, and I have already missed three showings since I have been out here, and my showings are rather exclusive. I could see about finding time in my schedule to allow you to visit my gallery ser, once I get back into the city..." Okay, so trying to bribe/charm my way in Charm TN of 24: 1d100 30 Int test: Int TN of 47 because sormus is a dick: 1d100 33
|
|
#
?
Nov 23, 2015 02:36
|
|
|
Cavendish Locke, V.I. "Cavendish Locke, Verenean Investigator, at your service. I came to Talabheim on temple business, but once that is concluded, I am available for freelance work, should you need it. Closing the city gates is certainly a reasonable precaution given the refugee crisis, but I am not here to settle down. Would it be possible to obtain a temporary pass into the city?" Although Cavendish had eaten at the last tavern, old sailors never turned down a free meal. He bowed politely to the magistrate and sat. "It has been many decades since i had some of the famous Talabec trout." Charm the magistrate: 1d100 28 v. 26 int roll for sormus: 1d100 46 v. 68
|
|
#
?
Nov 23, 2015 03:42
|
|
|
Sorland looks momentarily stunned, before shaking his head gently and shutting his eyes. After a moment he opens his eyes once more, and squints hard at Wiprecht. "Ah, a wizard, I see. Attempting some illusory shenanigans? I suppose if it's all you know.." The magistrate chuckles, but still seems mildly annoyed. However, once the illusion has completely faded, he sees that Wiprecht is in actuality standing in the corner, both arms against the wall to brace and steady himself as he vomits continuously, his body wracked with convulsions. Hohenlohe's face drops at this sight, and he glances around, seeing everyone else in the tavern seems to have been taken in completely by the illusion. There is more coming from the wizard's gullet than could be humanly possibly for any being to contain. After nearly twenty seconds of non-stop magical puking, Sorland turns his head away from the wizard, his lips puckered. "I... have heard that the use of magic can have its side effects, but that is.. most disturbing." He clears his throat, obviously forcing himself to ignore the sounds of the old man's wretched barfing. He looks between the two elves, and nods slowly. "Ah, yes.. I had not recognized you at a distance, Master Aelphas. It would be a pleasure to attend your gallery; I know how it is by invitation only." He smiles wryly, folding his hands onto the table. He flinches as Wiprecht makes a new, as of yet unheard of sound, before pressing on, disgust flashing over his face for but a moment. "I could, in fact, make sure you lot make your way in, but.. as you know.." Wiprecht's knees buckle, and he only has a moment to gurgle out a call for help before starting anew. Sorland looks down at his food and pushes the plate away momentarily, forcing a smile. "You may.. enjoy the fish if you like, Mr. Locke. But at the moment, I find my appetite to be wanting. As for the rest of you.." He nods towards the remaining adventurers, Snorri in particular. Wiprechet lifts his head and beseeches Shallaya, Sigmar, any god who may be listening to aide him, but it falls on deaf ears as he once again begins painting the wall and floor. It will be most unfortunate when the illusion ends. If you pass your int roll, you get to see Sormus' character suffering from the Tzeentch's Curse he rolled. He will be puking for fifteen rounds straight, which is two and a half minutes of non-stop barfing. Ralphing is Magic! If you fail it, he's just standing nearby and being unassuming. Hohenlohe is still leaning towards helping everyone, so introduce yourselves to him and let's get rollin'. John Dyne fucked around with this message at 06:18 on Nov 23, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 23, 2015 06:15
|
|
|
Ironfoot I am Boison Ironfoot, son of Tholium Ironfoot, son of Thorium Ironfoot. For myself, and for my king, I thank you for your hospitality. King Kragg asked me to come here to warn your king that our sages think you will be attacked by Skaven soon. Personally, I do not know if king Kragg really believes the sages, I think he was just eager to send me and the fool bards who've been following me around ever since the knights I saved knighted me, away. My duty is the same either way. I must gain entrance to the city so I can deliver my warning in person, as my king commanded. charm then int: 2#1d100 50 79 Fellowship of 39 but I only have gossip not charm, so I think I was aiming for a 19. with a 50 that's 3 degrees of failure. I've already RP'd what that looks like by having Kragg say he thinks he's on a fool's errand. Fortunately I am spared having to watch Sormus vomit.
|
|
#
?
Nov 23, 2015 16:08
|
|
|
Walter He'd been paying attention to the conversation floating around the Cat, and noted when the newcomers had left as a group, but he would be damned if he was going to leave without finishing his drink. And so, moments later, the halfling found himself entering just in time for a spectacular display of projectile vomiting. "Shallya's gushing tits! What the gently caress happened to you?" Those more susceptible to illusion are treated to the sight of a Halfling taking a strangely circuitous route to the old man apparently minding his own business. He hops up onto a chair that is well out of the line of fire, so to speak, and fills his pipe with strong-smelling tobacco and herbs. For those unfortunate enough to be able to smell the vomit, the smoke does quite a good job of masking the odor. He watches the show with a mixture of profound irritation and concern. gently caress. Might need to quarantine this poor bugger. Int check (55): 1d100 36 Heal check, Int +10 (65): 1d100 64
|
|
#
?
Nov 23, 2015 17:52
|
|
|
Bernhart Bernhart feels strangely out of place in this place. He was far from accustomed to the fancy dinners of the more noble castes to begin with, but also having to impress and being surrounded by non-humans and a spellcaster who's doing something over there and it's probably better he not look added another degree of stress to the situation. He takes a small sip of wine, careful not to overindulge as he was already fairly buzzed from his time at the tavern, "Magister, you have to understand the precarious situation. The wilds are getting more dangerous even for it's allies like myself. Between those dangers and the cultural rifts in the outskirts I've had to take on bodyguards..." he says waving to the knights and the slayer, "...and travel with others in a similar position..." as he points to the elves and the wizard being strange in the corner. "...in order to keep myself safe." "I'm in a predicament. Maybe it's the refugees, maybe it's something else, but I've been receiving bad omens as of late and I need to get into the city to consult with some of the elder priests. Would it be possible to get a writ of entry for my party to get in?" ----- Putting my priestly charm on the magister. Going to try to bullshit the magister into thinking the player characters didn't just meet 10 minutes ago. Int test: http://orokos.com/roll/346585 78 not happening. Charm +10: Charming the magister : http://orokos.com/roll/346586 24 vs 56 = 4 degrees of success DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 03:09 on Nov 24, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 23, 2015 23:51
|
|
|
"Just" Jakob Any feelings of having made a terrible mistake Jakob had as he walked down the street with the group he could only describe as "ruffians and ne'er-do-wells" vanished the instant the magistrate offered them free food. Ordering a modest (for a halfling) meal, Jakob set into it right away. Sadly, the etiquette training all Knights were to take was scheduled next week. As such, the halfling didn't consider talking with your mouth full to be rude, nor did he take any notice whatsoever at the wizard barfing. "Oh yeah, I've been hired by the Coulnard family, good people they are." A turkey leg disappears. "It's a pretty nice job actually, just look good in armor, occasionally clear the odd crowd of people when they get uppity, and I get plenty of good food and drink." A tankard is drained, some of it spilling due to too much food still in the halfling's gullet. "So you can imagine why I'd like to get back into the city as fast as I can." An extremely loud belch echoes across the tavern. Jakob looks at the magistrate's untouched food. "So, if you're not gonna eat that, do you mind passing it down over here?" Charm test vs Magistrate: 47, tested against 18 due to not having charm, so 3 Degrees of Failure. Int test to notice magical barfing:: 78, hell no. 4 Degrees of Failure.
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2015 05:37
|
|
|
Snorri Snorri rolls his eyes as he listens to the wizard retching behind him. Ignoring the horrible sound, and the food, he speaks directly to the magistrate, "I'm sure you know what I seek. I had planned to simply pass through here, but if you have some sort of trouble I could help with..." The dwarf raises an eyebrow. Intelligence test (TN 29): 1d100 14
|
|
#
?
Dec 2, 2015 23:32
|
|
|
Hohenlohe gives the Halfling knight a wry smile and slides the plate his way, nodding to the priest. "Of course. But those very concerns and omens are why I am here, father. It's been the order of the Countess herself to see that these refugees are resettled, safely away from the gates of Talabheim and the war north of us." He nods towards the slayer, giving him a grin. "And that, in fact, is what I will need help with. There is a group of refugees ready for resettlement, and they will need escort towards Breitblatt, which lies a few miles into the Great Forest, south-west of Taal's Jewel." "The trip will take some time, but I don't believe it'll be of much concern for you lot. The Countess has given me leeway to pay an opening fee of five gold coins per man, at the moment of hiring, with an additional twenty-five gold coins upon completion of the task and return to me." This fee raises the hackles on everyone but the two Halflings; a trip like that would take a week's time at most and would likely follow Old Dwarf Road, a fairly wide and well patrolled road. Snorri, especially, gets the feeling that there's more than meets the eye on this escort. p"Upon your return, I will allow you entry into Talabheim, and we can consider our business concluded." The magistrate takes a sip from his cup, giving everyone but the dwarves and Bernhart a stern look. "But I must warn you. Should you take this job and deceive or rob me in any way, I will see to it that you will be hunted down and flayed, publically." He gives a sinister little smile and chuckles, folding his hands into his lap. "So then. Will you still be wanting that job, friends? If so, we'll have them all gathered at dawn in two day's time. Now, if that will be all...?" He gives everyone a questioning look, obviously expecting everyone to agree with the plan so that he can finish up his business and get back to his duties. Short, quick update. You've got a job on the table and it pays well, but most of you are seasoned enough and have spent enough time travelling to know that they're paying an awful lot of money for what's typically a cake walk. The Halflings, I assumed, wouldn't be as wise to it since they aren't much in the ways of adventurers; Jakob's mostly squatted with a noble family, after all. If you feel your character wouldn't know that, feel free to act as such. I will update Thursday or Friday to move the plot along, and will have the magistrate respond as quickly as I can otherwise. John Dyne fucked around with this message at 03:31 on Dec 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Dec 3, 2015 03:26
|
|
|
Cavendish Locke, V.I. "Pass the tartar sauce, please." Cavendish glanced back at the stricken wizard. "You get used to those sort of things at sea. So this little task is the price of admittance? I suppose my business can wait. I can't speak for the others, naturally, since I hardly know them, but you can count on me to carry out this task. I am curious, though, do you know what is happening in the city? I have heard any number of rumors, but nothing believable. If you have anything you can tell me I will be happy to try and put some of the more alarming rumors to rest.
|
|
#
?
Dec 3, 2015 04:05
|
|
|
The magistrate shrugs his shoulders. "I've been out here for weeks now, Mr. Locke; any finite details of the goings on within the walls of the city are beyond me, but I imagine Talabheim continues as it has for as long as I can remember. The refugees have seen a rise in crime, and whether or not they are the criminals, blame has, expectedly, fallen upon them. And why wouldn't it? They're desperate strangers. Any fool can steal bread and claim he's from Hochland as he flees, and the populace will look to the men and women coming to us in droves." Hohenlohe takes a deep drink from his mug and sets it down, wiping moisture from his upper lip. "As you may have heard, furs from Kislev had come as a gift to Countess Kreiglitz-Untern, to court her favor in the light of the Elector Count's disappearance. Someone, native or no, took those furs, and left many of them damaged and I would dare say, in Elise's eyes at the very least, desecrated. Not in any unholy way, mind you, but some fool had put some of the furs on a few pigs and let them loose to slop in the mud." Despite sounding so dire, there is a twinkle of amusement in the magistrate's eyes. "Suffice to say, that was it for Her Courtship's tolerance of the refugees." He gives another shrug. "I do as I am told, and nothing more. We will relocate the men and women who have been displaced, and we will do it justly and fairly, as far as I am involved."
|
|
#
?
Dec 3, 2015 06:49
|
|
|
Jakob, the soon-to-be very rich halfling It takes a moment for Jakob's brain to stop thinking about food and start thinking about the deal the magistrate offers, but once things finally start clicking he just barely stops himself from spitting out his food. Thirty gold coins?! That would double how much money he has saved up right now. And all that to just move some refugees from one place to another? Becoming a Knight and working for the Nobility was the best idea Jakob has ever had. "Well, I can't speak for the others, but this deal seems perfectly reasonable to me. And it's not like you want us to hurt them or anything, so why not? I'll gladly sign up for the job." The halfling Knight does his best to hide just how enthusiastic he is about this job. He's gonna be rich! ...Well, richer. He still hasn't gotten use to being a Knight yet.
|
|
#
?
Dec 5, 2015 00:33
|
|
|
Aelphas/The Watchman Between the vomiting and the Lord's offer, Aelphas has quite lost his appetite long before the food arrives, and instead opts for another alcoholic drink. Aelphas had become a criminal mastermind exactly so he could avoid having to do dirty work like this. Now he was expected to just go and escort a bunch of refugees just to get back to his home? This was patently ridiculous. He clears his throat, "I find your offer rather disappointing, sir Hohenlohe. To expect members of the community to engage in such work is practically blackmail. I can see that you won't be swayed from your ways, so I suspect I will be aiding in this Humanitarian mission, though it is against my better judgment. If you are set on making an upstanding member of the community like myself do this, can I at least send a message into the city to have some personal effects of my brought out here? I did not exactly come prepared for cavorting in the wilderness." I assume someone like Aelphas would just keep his armor, hand crossbow, ropes and poo poo at home except for when he needed them, so he would need someone to bring them out to him.
|
|
#
?
Dec 8, 2015 00:10
|
|
|
Ironfoot When I think I often tap my toes on the floor. Wearing full armor as I was today, that can be a loud noise for those not used to it, but I long ago learned to tune it out. Or possibly gone slightly deaf from standing too close to organ guns when they were fired. "I accept Magistrate Hohenlohe. My warning would likely be as delayed by any other course of action. You are offering a large sum for such a task. Are you expecting the refugees to run into trouble or for it to follow us? It would be best to know in advance where the greatest risk is coming from so that we can concentrate to meet it."
|
|
#
?
Dec 8, 2015 01:14
|
|
|
Bernhart Bernhart wasn't sure what to make of the situation. For a simple task it seems as though it's going to pay uncommonly well. Judging by the magistrates disposition and the large bounty for the move the nobility has grown weary of the refugees and more than likely wants to rehome them somewhere they don't have to be seen. "I'm familiar with the region, magistrate. The roads are well worn but they keep ne'er-do-wells away from one of Taal's sacred groves. The land makes for good grazing for goats and lamb, I've passed through the area before and blesses some of the land for the farmers. I'll help, but I want my opening fee to go toward the refugees. Rhya blesses those who would feed the needy and these people deserve a hot meal before they get on the road. How many of these refugees are we taking and when are they going to be ready to go?" ----- Navigation roll to work out where he's sending us and to remember geographical facts about the area. http://orokos.com/roll/350239 =13 vs 36 int. 3 Degrees of success assuming it's a +0 modifier, more or less if otherwise.
|
|
#
?
Dec 8, 2015 02:11
|
|
|
Sorland laughs a deep belly-laugh, grinning and shaking his head. He waves his aide over, who scurries over with a book and a pen. "You have it then, priest. Your share to the refugees, and I will follow suit; can't be a good son of Taal if I don't follow in the footsteps of his chosen protectors, eh? That'll be one hundred gold crowns to the refugees, which should come out to abouuut.. one crown per head." He nods, making a note in his book, and makes a flourish with his signature. "There'll be seven sacks of crowns waiting for you lot in two days time, then." The magistrate pushes to his feet and smiles at the group, giving a small sack of coins to his aide and pointing towards the innkeeper; at least the bill has been taken care of. Sorland listens to the Watchman for a moment and nods, taking a note down in his book and tearing it free to hand to one of his guard. Bernhart recalls what he knows of the area, and Breitblatt is a fairly simple little town; it's nothing to the splendor of Talabheim itself, but it is certainly an improvement over the shanty town outside of Taalagad, and even Taalagad itself. It certainly could take a shot in the arm in regards to skilled laborers and educated people, as most of its population are simple hunters, who at best know how to cure meat and hide with ease. The land is blessed by Taal, as is most of the land near his holiest city, and the game is plentiful for those who give grace to Taal and hunt with respect. Two mornings later.. It is dawn, and the street outside of the Eel is cacophonous as over one hundred adults, plus a fair number of children, mill around about a block away from the tavern. Several oxen stand with them, along with wagons loaded with provisions and supplies. One man in particular stands out in the crowd, a muscular looking lad with magnificent mutton-chops and a donkey carrying an anvil, an obvious blacksmith. Bernhart knows he'll do well in Breitblatt. A fair number of wary looking Dogfaces, Talabheim's city watch, have been called in to stand watch over the group and assist in clean up duties afterwards, a task which they are obviously none too keen on. A clerk who has been looking about fitfully seems to perk up when he spies the warrior priest of Taal, and he trots over, excusing himself and trying to avoid eye contact with everyone he brushes into. He greets the assembled adventurers and pushes his glasses back up his nose. "Magistrate Hohenlohe sends his regards, gentlemen; the money has already been dispersed amongst the refugees, and they are very thankful for that, Father Bernhart. Uhm, this is for you lot." He hands over a parcel, which contains the seven satchels of gold for those who didn't surrender their fee, Aelphas' trappings, a map of the region, and a dated letter of passage, signed by Hohenlohe that states its bearers work for Talabheim, and to not obstruct their passage. It strictly notes this does NOT allow entry into the city. One of the Dogfaces wearing the insignia of a sergeant nods to the group, ambling over and hiking up his pants. "Sergeant Arvid, sirs. Wanted to tell yer lot, yer ort ta take Old Dwarf Road north 'round Talabheim, like the magistrate said. Take yer less than half a day longer, and yer'll avoid the greenskins down south of Waldfahrte. Sides, if'n there's trouble, yer might be able ta hail a passin' ship or such along the river." He sniffs and makes a wretched noise in his throat before spitting on the dusty road. A glance at the map or a prod into Bernhart's knowledge of the region shows that the Old Dwarf Road does parallel the Talabec river for a good portion of the way to Breitblatt. When all is gathered and ready, Arvid nods, hefting his polearm again rather than using it to lean against, and the man clears his throat. He bellows out in a voice seasoned by campaigns, catching the ear of every village assembled. "Lissen up, people! These lads will be takin' yer to yer new homes! You mind 'em and keep them kids close! I don't 'spect my men or I will be seeing ANY of yer any time soon, right? Oh, and be sure to thank the good Priest of Taal 'ere for yer financial windfall!" The crowd swells into a cheer for Bernhart; it seems he's certainly won their hearts for the simple little action. Arvid grins and stands aside, nodding to Bernhart and the others. Perhaps a speech is in order? The crowd before the group consists mostly of peasant families and woodsmen, and Bernhart (and any others familiar to the region) recognize some of the families that are segregated from the rest as Hochlanders, mostly from the differences in their clothing.
|
|
#
?
Dec 8, 2015 17:32
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 26, 2024 06:58 |
|
|
Bernhart Bernhart was certainly humbled by the cheers from the peasants. Even though Taal teaches rugged self sufficiency, the good wife Rhya values domestication and the warmth of the hearth and the funds they have received should help secure themselves when they get to their destination. He hopes for the applause to pass so the journey can get underway, but it becomes apparent that the pilgrims want him to make a speech. Bernhart, unused to large congregations, grips his quarterstaff and adjusts the bow slung around his shoulder as he pieces together a brief ministration in his head. He builds his composure and addresses the throng. "Thank you for all your good humors. By the grace of Taal and Rhya you are all beginning your pilgrimage to find a place to call your home and with that your livelihoods. We make for a town rich with nature's bounty and in good need of the skills you bring with you. We will have a journey ahead of us, but you must be as the mountain and weather the hardships set before you. When you get to your destination remember to be good stewards both to your neighbor and to the land itself. Help each other find their homes in your new land for the light of Rhea is the light of your hearth." Bernhart reaches into a sheath on his belt and produces a small boot knife. He sinks the tip of the blade into the flesh of his hand and draws it across his palm and closes the bleeding hand into a fist. "In tribute to Taal and Rhya I give a blood sacrifice. Bless these people so that their journey be unharried by the wilds and they find peace in their new homes." Bernhart makes the rounds, placing a dab of blood on each of the wagons before returning up front with the others. "My preparations are ready, are we waiting for anyone else?" --------- Going to self inflict one wound of damage as a sacrifice to the gods. I'm not sure if I should be invoking divine power/rolling for magic yet as the blessing is basically a superficial morale booster. I can roll for it if you think I should, but I don't think it's really going to affect the outcome one way or another, gods being as fickle as they are  .
|
|
#
?
Dec 8, 2015 21:30
|
|