Whispers at the Fire
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A raven in a nearby tree croaks throatily, and repeatedly.
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Used to the machinations of the "Lord High Protector…::COUGH::", as Frago calls him, the gnome allows the men to carry off the partially assembled mechanism. Or at least try. He smiles as they struggle, curse, beg, and finally ask for some arcane assistance to move the device.
With a wink, Frago claps his hands together, and with a great shout, smites the humanoid form with a bolt of lightning force. With a grinding sound, it slowly rights itself, and staggers like an old drunk toward the barracks.
Reaching the low stone building, it suddenly loses motive power, crashing againsts the roof and sliding down one wall, crumbling into a thousand parts banging and clanging and creating such a commotion that outlying farmers wonder if the well is acting up again.
"All yours boss." Smiles Frago.
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_After about two blinks of an eye the rumors about how Frago got a hold of the Warmachine and the parts, starts to circulate. Among the most longlived rumors are these:
It firmly states that Goblins, in the western Rawlins were planning a siege on Norwick. Thus preparing with several war machines of unknown make.
Some seems to believe thay have somehow trapped a master Gnome and enslaved him to do their vile bidding. Others seem to think there is a connection to the Goblin "assassins" sent about a week ago.
Also the rumor states that it was an old associate of Frago, Bob the menacing Bat, that unraveled the secret of how to control the Machines. Making it possible for a handfull adventurers to take control of the HUGE well made machinery and turn it against the goblins.
Though no talk sirculate of finding the mastermind who made the iron death. Dizzying numbers of up to 10 warmachines were mentioned by some of the guards at the south gates. All ten of them, supposedly battling it out in the Western Rawlins._
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Rando orders his men to take away the golem for 'offical' purposes. it is seen to be carried to his office. the guards tell Frago…
" consider this rental payment for your pitch from the Lord Protector"
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"Trade secret!" Frago bellows joyously, "But if you want some scrap, I'll be sellin' it for a reasonable price!"
((Assuming there is enough iron scrap to transform into about 100 iron ores. As I haven't been very active on the crafting end in a while and don't know the current rate, you can ask one of the crafting DMs what the market rate for iron ore is, then raise it by 10% since Frago, is after all, out to make money.))
As for learning anything about how to operate the golem, there is a small cockpit that is unreachable when standing upright…but it seems really small...definitely too small for standard-sized races. If you poke your nose around too much, the bat will become agitated, which will make Frago agitated, which is a BAD THING_tm_.
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When walking trough the town, and noticing the golem parts, Dentin goes to talk to Frago, asking him where he got the parts, and if they are for sale.
He also spends a fair amount of time studying the mostly-assembled golem.
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A large pile of what appear to be iron golem parts are stacked two stories tall around Frago's wagons. One golem appears to be mostly assembled, though heavilly damaged, and had the oddest little bat flying around it's head, squeeking contentedly.
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_Rumors about a hunt for some demon goblins spread through the nars like a fireball. The rumors firmly states, the demon goblins were master mages, master healers, master sneaks with giant's strength and speed of lightning.
It is stated that the hunt started near Jiyyd, and quickly spread throughout most of the nearby area.
Some rumors say they went to the goblins to the rawlins, while others to the orc stronghold.
The guards of Norwick are some of the ones stating that the hunt indeed took place in the rawlins, and into the old abandoned mine of the deep east. Though they them selves seem to have no first hand knowladge of the demon goblins as they bot were winking at the time the demons supposidly went past them.
Who participated in this seemingly glorious hunt, none know, but the Norwick guards state that the Lord protecter himself were there…._
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_Talk of the fight night festival is about town. Folks talk of food, ale, fun, trades made, bouts of boxing, rounds of armored battle and of a particular archer, Niccah, who took the competition with two rounds of 5 perfect bullseye strikes.
Word has it that Uchi is quite the boxer, standig toe to toe with the rest and falling them all and that Kara was awarded a masterwork weapon in return for her besting the others.
Whispers are made along with slight chuckles as to the two small Tealeaf cousins having teamed up and bested the captain of the guard as well. On that note, the captain is seen walking about for several days with a limp, obviously sore shins and knees._
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_Late at night, three figures are seen leaving town in a heavily armed fashion, one carrying a small bag with no hint as to it's contents. While the group itself is relatively quiet, they head quickly for the Shrine of Kelemvor and disappear within for a candle mark
Several candlemarks after two of the figures have left, a large group of men in legion colours arrive at the shrine of Kelemvor and take up defensive positions in and around the shrine to aid with defense
For what purpose? It is unknown._
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Several of the town guards can be seen sporting various nasty looking cuts and bruises of late. Many seem glum, others grumpy or down-right angry. Rumour has it the poor lads took a terrible beating from a powerful goblin who decided to pay a visit in town. Curiously enough the goblin not only spared the guards lives, but was also considerate enough to pile their unconscious, battered bodies in a neat pile outside Fred's….
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_Approximately three days ago, after the mysterious appearance of an Incubus and then three well dressed strangers, a group of four was seen leaving to help the self proclaimed jergalites cleanse the demon and recover some apparant property.
Sometime later, the group appeared without the women, seeming dejected and heading for spellweaver. Soon after, the skies around the spellweaver tower laboratory darkened and writhed with a red mist, only to fade by morning..
Most odd…_
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The druids Raisa and Wolf were sent by a woman in dark armor to ask a favor of the fey in the glen whether their space could be used for the purposes of some mysterious gathering. The druids did not seem entirely comfortable with the charge given to them.
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Among this group of defeated adventurers a striking young woman with pink hair being led by hand through the south gates by a squat gnome in plate mail. She had the appearance of an abused animal; long faced and slouching, and staring toward the ground as the eyes of others sought to meet her own. Those who knew her looked on in confusion as she was led on through town continually reasured by the gnome against some invisible danger, and speaking nervously about not wanting "him" to find something out. The gnome could only shrug at passersby in response to the young woman's uncharacteristic behavior, slowly coaxing her toward the north gate and the Long Road beyond.
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@8ba20f7e4c=SummonerX:
A large group of adventurers entered Norwick from the easter Rawlins. They looked horribly beaten and had many obvious wounds. They grumble about ghouls and that three certain ones together are considered invincible.
Vittorio was also recently seen mocking a good lot of them, calling them nothing but defeated peasents, unworthy of "hero" status in one of his books.
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A large group of adventurers entered Norwick from the easter Rawlins. They looked horribly beaten and had many obvious wounds. They grumble about ghouls and that three certain ones together are considered invincible.
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A bald man with facial tattoos can be saw out near the "anti-magic blaspheme" staring at it contemplatively for long hours.
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Lucidious is seen making his way to the farie glen armed with a folding stand, a bundle of parchment, canvas and enough wine to last a week. Several days later he returns to the Boarshead looking a bit uncertain, his pack now filled to the brim with emptied bottles and nothing but a few sketches in hand. He spends several hours talking with Misty over another bottle of wine, reviewing the sketches with her at the inn. After a long discussion he seems pleased with one of them. He thanks her profusely before retiring to his room at the Boarshead for the night.
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A fat man in the dark black & gold armour from the shrine of Kelemvor can be found in the boarshead for a day or two, talking to those who are interested to hear of the upcoming Day of the Dead picnic in the Camp, where those who wish can attend, and chat with some of the spirits from the camps past if they choose to return for the day. He also mentions that an archery competition is rumoured to be taking place, as well as several other possible events
//Saturday 10pm ESTish I believe is the intended time, Camp Forums might have better detail
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A large, burly man sat in the guildhall, sharing tales with the forgemaster in between waxing his epic moustache and tossing test firings of iron into the hot coals. Even though it had been many years since his copious (yet well-formed) rump had worn groove in the wooden seat by the cooling bucket, it seemed mated for the smooth wood. With an idle hand he stroked the seat and remembers when he carved it from wood scraps after one of his first guild expeditions, when there were fewer notches in the head of him at-hand hammer, and fewer miles on his tattered boots.
Splashing a cup of dirty water in his face, he resume pumping the bellows while hollering over the sounds of clanging coming from the newest apprentices working on horsehoes and mining picks.
"Ey tells yer, ey be nah sleight fella, bet tis las, she be a big'un. Th' good Laird Moradin, carse his bard wi split ends, did see fit teh gift me wif a goodly tall 'a sex foot an twa fingers in 'eight, but when ey gazed at this lass, ey be lookint up 'er nose, an a meghty fein nose it be, fer that. Tain' many folk what be of tha seze, an most be naught ye'd tarry wi, less yeh be lookin teh do summon harm. But tis 'un, she be strang, an brave, an blessed tee in wha be filling et yer shadah, ifn' yeh be a lassie.
Wee Ginger, tha Spicey hin, sez we teh ga poke hole in eart an fine are, an choppa tree an see wha grow, an we fine stuff, aye…we deh. But it weren' wha we been lookin' fa. We seez gobbles, plenty...them's as sook breed as eat, an they always be eatin' an anything they kin get, an tha even mean Skar's wings, ey pull yer tail not. Sah, we squash gobble, an even un a tem big buggie fellers, wiff th' eyes like church glass.
Ten they sez "Ga in th' cave, see wha we see." ::shakes his shaggy head a moment, sending what few drops remain in his hair flying to spatter on the anvil:: Well, we ga in, an wha we see tain't nat-ural. Thems was bagbars, only they wasn't right clean. Sa darty, ter flesh be hangnin like it were hair. When they touched yeh, flames shot eff an an darn near took me whiskers oof. ::smiles:: Kept me 'elm clamped teight, ey did. Loose me 'stash, be near teh mortal a wound as ey kin suffar. We kilt, er 'least made em lay downs...two, tree, mebbie mar, an we thinks nae be a gud idear bein tha. We leave an trek back towar' Norrick.
We dun geh far when ey sees summin wet in th' grass, an it weren't me, cause I ga behin trees when a lass be presen', like tha tall darky un ey sez yeh of. Gettin a closar look, but ey seez a par a eyes, twin arbs be twinklin at meh, but ey dun tink th' owner be smilin at th' joke. Normal-like, ey figgur tha be th' call teh check how warm me bed be, unner th' covers.
But nah, Ginger bounce abet like un a them sheep dags, 'cept she 'ave less har, an lack a right proper dag tail, but 'er tail be fein enough, if yeh like wee kin. She sez "Less ga check t' odder cave." Sa ey ga...na reason t' let them ga lone, specially since ey be t' only feller wha remember teh bring me tarch.
Well, we see them misguidn' dwarrs ter, a few, an we put em doon faster then May kin put dun a ale wif 'is leff han, which be reit quick, ey add. We be wipin er weapons when we seez teh eyes be plooked like chicken eggs fra a carpse eye...an it weren' me, ey dun take teh fleshy trophy, less ter be a bounty attach. Then this ere blood be writin on th' walls, an thoh ey be a literate sart, it were in tha mumba-jumba tha wrigglers use, an a' no use teh us honest folk. Sa, me 'stash quiver soom, but we still head en, walkin slaw, since tis be th' cave a V...V... yeh know te un...ey nah speakit har name.
Affer spelunkin abet, we fine some are...an it be th' gad stuff, teh...th' glitter a hiron flakes spill fra th' stones, sa me an Ginger an Cyrian pick-pick pick. Then me tummy fell ill. Me 'ands graw clammy. Me sack get tight against me belly, an ey knaw we were in ferret. We poke an 'ole in th' rack, an ey shines me tarch in, an tiz wave a...stench...come et, an durn if me little toe been et by a frog, ey was gripped wif fear worse an any ey had taste in yars. Sorta loss me mein, ey did, an I kin sayyit wif little blush, fer it struck Cyrian teh, an even the tall lass, after a spell. We settle our narves an dig some deepr', an wha would yeh know, but this hand come et and grip at us, an the far, it come even fiercer.
Sah thar waz much screamin' an yellin. An some swards an me 'ammer dun bus'ness. An when it were o'vr, there were some deadlwark'r lay in the dust, an we wasn', an that be a good thing. But tere be suptin odd in the are, burried deep, but ey chip an chip, and slowly make an ole, an Ginger reach her wee fingas in an clench it, an it be a stone, 'bedded in the iron but nae natural...smooth as th' breast a this lass ey met unce in Pelty, aye, she was th' best f....but annyways, this stone 'ad a 'nanatural feels teh it, an ginger hole it up teh me, but ey dun truck wif witchy stoof, sa ey pass it back, an then wha appen....
Thar be this elf appear frae nonce....an ey could rec'nize im, but he were lookin like he tried teh drink TREE Troff unner a table, an die, an then 'ad a ang'oer, an then die 'gain. He wan tah stone. Then some more rustle in th' dark, an ey sees Tolin...aye, that'un ey knows well. Cept Cyrian whisper this Tolin be a bad bus'ness naw, an ey know, ey kin give any feller a good 'eadache wif me hamma, buh when it come teh witchy folk an wrigglers, ey'd as soon let wrigglers deal wif ter own. Ey spent 'alf a yar as a statue of the Easelanner, sa ey dun wait when gives th' change t'run...an we did, plenty quick, an lose none asides.
But this all be much fer me 'ed, an ey need sleep onnit, and ask abet. This elf...Rary...he looks a bit...peeky. An he were talkin a eatin me, which ey take great offence teh, since ey'd like teh keep me meat as long as fresh blood pumps innit. An Tolin, workin fer a deady lookin sart, well things be lookin grim. Next ting teh expect tha Dwarfs swore off ale so many surprise terday. Th' marrow, ey hope some know'n be passed teh me, so ey can reckon wha sides ey be takin.
Oh, an tha Tall un. 'Livia were her name. Ey seen 'er around afore, but yeh dun get teh watch th' muscles flow much until yeh see summon in combat. well, there be t'nother way, but ey be a gentleman, an wait fer th' thard battle afore invitin a lass teh see me collection a stuffed gnome head.
Tha feller o'er thar ::points out Z to the forgemaster:: Keeps an eye onnim. Looks teh have perten'tl. Didn get im teh drags much are et a them caves, but enouf teh let me play wif while ey recount this t' yeh. See yeh on th' marrow, an ey'll buy yeh an ale, an yeh kin tell me who runs this tawn naw, ey be harein fanny tales....
