Whispers at the Fire
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Word at the docks is that a passenger keelboat to Peltarch, the River Queen, has sunk with all souls lost. Some say lacedons were involved.
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Unrelated to the recent events, or perhaps in an effort to keep sane, Dwin has been spending time in the Crafting Hall on a project. One day he exits, triumphantly, with a beautifully crafted set of steel plates… obviously a masterpiece creation.
"Fark..if I could only remember who ordered em!"
((this is my way of saying that I forget who i spoke to about MW steel FP… I know I have had a couple conversations, and I'm really sorry that I dont remember who wanted it! I looked through my PMs and it must have been IG/IRC.
please contact me if you were the one I was speaking to, if not, then it will go to the highest bidder... sorry!))
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Some bystanders seem cheered by Dwin's assurances.
Others (mostly boatmen) just wince and cringe a bit. Someone is heard to mutter, "We're on the outs with Auril, and he wants to pick a fight with the Bitch Queen? Kindly gods save us."
One woman, a Captain Dal by name, loudly agrees with Dwin's opinion and advises all listeners to put their faith in Valkur the Mighty for a swift, safe river passage… Umberlee Schmumberlee!
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Rumors circulate Dwin and Telli were speaking at great lengths in dwarven before Telli waddled off towards the Inn with a bit of purpose in her waddle…
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Dwin instructs his harbor-guard to keep an eye on the kin-wench.
The mighty Norwick River aint a part of her wretched Peltarch harbor… she flows as strong as the realm, and coins seem to bubble to her surface!
Fear not, merchants and boats-men! This Mercy.... she's a few flames short of a forge is all... tis better not to make eye contact or heed any attention to her words... trust me!
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Adding to the wealth of religiosity in a cold climate, what with the watery Icelace having reached down the throat of the Rawlinswood, doughty dwarven priestess of Umberlee, replete with fish skin, skeletons and driftwood, has been making her presence felt a bit more regularly in Norwick. Proclaiming the Sea Queen's sovereignty over the whole web of rocky waterways used by riverboats and merchants, the howling pyratical hound exhorts wise Norwickians to placate the Bitch Queen if they dare to enter the tributaries of her domain, lest they find themselves wrecked and ruined, their plans in tatters, for failing to please her. At least, that is the translation in common of the more colourful, cuss strewn cackling speech which Mercy inflicts on locals or merchants using the Riverboat…
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_Local farmers and hunters can be heard to gossip about the unusual run of sudden cold snaps, not at all normal for this time of year. Snow clouds forming after clear skies, icy winds that seem to sweep in without warning, and animals found dead and frozen in the morning.
Some suggest that an offering ought to be made to placate Auril. Others advise seeking Chauntea's protection. Still others think it's nothing people need to be bothering any gods over._
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The Supreme Chancellor, Dwin Dolvak, is seen at the fire one day holding a spectacular looking large axe. The detail on the axe is mind-boggling, and its silver blade reflects the morning sunlight with a bright orange glare that could be mistaken for fire.
"This be Luck-Bringer. She's always brought me the luck of Vergadain, so I want to repay her with some proper attention. I'm willin' to pay good coin to have one o you wigglers enchant my silver-babe here with some magicks. Any takers? Any ideas?
I'm acceptin any ideas and proposals fer this… My ears, and soon my coin purse, are open."
((PM me if you have any interest, ideas, etc))
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@22486d98bd=Clan:
_Rumor has it that the Chancellor himself beat some Peltarch elf senseless at the town center recently.
Reports are varied, but some say that the elf approached the Chancellor with complaints about the Militia Commander and something about a jailed paladin.
Others say that Dwin was insulted after something to do with an omelet and broken eggs, but most agree that the stories have been confused in some way._
Devlin laughs hysterically when he hears the story, and only comments… "What a waste of perfectly good eggs!"
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Early one morning, Danika was seen helping Mord in through the south gates and up the hill into Norwick. Both were covered in a great deal of blood. Though Danika appeared hurt the most, Mord seemed unusually weak as his trembling hands gripped his bow for support as a walking stick. The younger woman insistently dragged the military advisor to the infirmary, where the two remained for some time. Both had the look of having seen something troubling and unresolved out in the woods.
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_Rumor has it that the Chancellor himself beat some Peltarch elf senseless at the town center recently.
Reports are varied, but some say that the elf approached the Chancellor with complaints about the Militia Commander and something about a jailed paladin.
Others say that Dwin was insulted after something to do with an omelet and broken eggs, but most agree that the stories have been confused in some way._
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Word around town is that the Elf, who's name nobody can pronounce, was a real contender during the Fight Night archery contest - this wouldn't be an interesting story, except for the fact that he was competing with a crossbow - and in the likeness of that Gnomish Ludo fellow. As far as anyone has said, all but his first and second last shots were direct bullseyes! And was only knocked out of the tourney by Yana, who scored three Bullseyes in a row - beating the other Elf with the funny name by 'a' point.
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A dwarven voice replies that a crusade usually ends in suicide and says no more.
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Word starts trickling trough Peltarch, and then down the pass to Norwick, that a gathering is being called in the Lucky Ferret Inn in Peltarch soon, where everyone who wants to join… well, some call it a crusade, some call it a battle, others call it suicide... is invited to discuss battle plans. Whatever it may be, the cause seem to be the capture of the fort Ormpur from the undead.
((Meeting is planned next Sunday, August 30 to start around 3 PM GMT))
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_Foilir can be seen speaking privately with each Gold Cloak as well as the dwarven guards from the hold. The conversations are respectful and polite, with the armored dwarf handing over their rations, as well as boosting their morale.
The dark armored dwarf also takes note of any concerns they have and nodes pensively, attentively taking their names and ranks and committing them to his indelible memory.
After a short conversation with each, he makes his way to the next group._
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This month's fight night passed fairly uneventfully. As the wind blew from the west, townsfolk who passed by the south gate remarked on the rank odor coming from the Norwick jail. A few merchants and non-farming folk held their noses and commented on what could possibly cause such a stench. After a short time, guardsman Probie was seen with mop and bucket outside the barracks.
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_A group of three came through Norwick. The group consisted of a white-haired Peltarchian senator and two defenders, whom were heavily armored and one was wearing a… helmet. The three looked set on something, and left Norwick, heading south. They returned sometime later, looking battered and bruised, though fine nontheless.
Whatever could these Peltarch officials be doing around Norwick?_
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Tregan has been seen at the southern most gate in Norwick all through out the entire night, keeping a very keen eye out for undead and drow.
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The elven Scout Elilian is seen walking towards the barracks with her two little children. Elilian seems to be paranoid, keeping her children quite close to her. Often she is seen glancing at the sky with a slightly worried look on her face.
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The south gate was attacked by shadows, lead by a greater shadowy creature. The group of adventurers of many sorts was able to stop the attack. After the attack, a half-orc, known as Sgruud can be heard boasting by the fire how his mighty swing of enchanted sword was a final nail in to the coffin of the biggest of the shadow creatures.
