Whispers at the Fire
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Word has it a squad of 6 heavily cloaked figures bearing Oscuran heraldry arrive in town along with an Oscuran messenger. The 6 waited stoically outside while the messenger entered the Norwick Barracks.
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_An old dwarven priest comes out of his hole, a mug in one hand and an axe in the other. He wears a quiver of special bolts at his belt, which is supposedly a ward against drow. He grins with broken teeth and seeks out Mord, murmuring to himself.
"Seems this 'ere town 'as 'isself ah li'l drow prollem, heh heh heh.."_
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*Rumors run like wildfire through the town over the recent militia meeting in the great hall. The talk at the in is wild and speculative:
I hear that Colonel Devlin had it out with the new Senior Lieutenant and left town.
I hear a drow appeared in the hall and drove old Mord half mad.
Did ye hear that the lass Vinland is now be head of the entire militia?
The drow are coming and will drown this town in blood.
The old Tomlinson's cow had a two headed calf, not a good sign.
Chancellor Dwin has declared martial law and the streets must be clear by dark or ye will be jailed.
Drow can lighten their skin with magic and look like any other elf.
The new High Arcane advisor is actually a drow in disguise and been planning the destruction of the town for decades.
The drinks flow and speculation goes far into the night
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Jerrick, Benji, and Caelian head back into town just after dawn, with surprising news. For those that have not heard, a Drow attack is imminent they say, and not just that, but a full-out war if rumors are to be believed.
Jerrick says that he and the two others, and the big wolf at his side, just got finished fighting one off. They were unable to kill him, but did verify that it was indeed a Drow.
He suggests to anyone who will listen to stay indoors at night, and mind their step in the woods for traps. Nasty, hard to see traps no less.
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The Cigar smokin halfer orc, known as Arak´Hur, Leader of the Iron Chain Clan aproaches Dwin´s Office with a business brief case under his right arm, he is escolted by twu huge heavily armored and armed , snarling halfers. (The halfers enter Norwick holding no weapon)
He enters, but the two huge halfers stay outside at the door step, one on each side of the door// Dwin, check your PM box please
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a skinny, quiet elf woman informs the guards on duty of a strange encounter in the woods
"Was killing beetles. Good target practice. Met man in robes, with zombie escort. Was attacked. Necromancer cast spells, didn't always work right. Traded arrow and spell. Close, but arrow won. Zombies all in loincloths. Blue loincloths."
apparently satisfied, the elf woman goes off to rest and stitch the new holes blasted through her leather armor
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Ronan hearing the news on one of his occasional visits to the south, is seen looking somewhat confused by it.
Grand Arcane Advisor? Is there a difference between Senior Arcane Advisor…?
Shrugging, Ronan wanders off in search for delicious apples…
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Aramuil is seen to be in good spirits at the news, though he doesn't appear to be particularly boastful or bring it up in conversation unless spoken to on the matter. Nonetheless, the elven mage seems to be very happy, though he insists that he need not be called "Lord Holimion" save in official correspondence.
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Cherry catches up with her beloved and kisses him a rather long time as congratulations. Afterward she might be heard muttering, "Does this mean we get to move out of the Grapevine finally? A fine thing a lord of the realm living in a single room with his wife and three children. Sure we get two sometimes, but Arel'in is going to be needing her own pretty soon. It's just not very much room…and you're not the only mage in this family, luvy, who neds space for research."
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A massive half orc wonders where the mighty realm is. All he can find is a little village…
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Norwick herald D'Cameron announces:
_Hear ye, Hear ye!
Our Grand Chancellor and Benevolent Leader, Lord Dwin Dolvak
has proclaimed that Advisor Arcane Aramuil shall from this day forward be known as "Lord Aramuil, Grand Advisor Arcane of the Mighty Realm of Norwick."It is with Great Honour that the Chancellor has bestowed this title upon Lord Aramuil, who has given selfless service to the Realm for many many years.
Please join us in a festival to celebrate this grand occassion one ten-day from today in the Norwick Fairgrounds.
May the Gods Bless Lords Dolvak and Aramuil!_
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Once more the local farming family, the Greens can be seen with one of their regionally reknowned giant pumpkins by the roadside to the north gate. The children are seen there most, shy and quiet little Coraline and her energetic and boisterous big brother Danny, selling their families harvested fruit.
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Duradin, guarding the city at the time, happens to overhear the interchange, he hears the scurry and conversation without turning towards the pair, merely casting his eyes south and shaking his head slightly, anyone nearby can hear him mutter "…Hins..." In an almost disappointed fashion
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//The following conversation is overheard around the Norwick fire one quiet evening between a young unkempt female hin and a gentlemanly Gnome…
Riami Dabble: ::peers::....are you a guhnomey?
Mordechai: ...
Mordechai: ... Pardon?
Riami Dabble: ...are - you - a - guh - nomey
Riami Dabble: hmm?
Mordechai: No, I am Mordechai ... you are mixing me up with some other gnome named agonomy, perhaps.
Riami Dabble: perhaps...perhaps not...::squinty eye::
Riami Dabble: you look...suspicious
Mordechai: thinks on this a moment
Mordechai: What do you suspect I've done?
Riami Dabble: ...what do you have up you sleeve?
Mordechai: looks down at his sleeve and rolls it up a little bit
Riami Dabble: AHA!
Mordechai: Seems to be an arm
Riami Dabble: ...oh..
Riami Dabble: hmm...
Riami Dabble: ::finger to mouth::...your other sleeve?
Mordechai: rolls the first sleeve back down
Mordechai: I'm fairly certain it's just another arm
Riami Dabble: ...
Riami Dabble: well...perhaps you need something for your sleeve then
Riami Dabble: it will fit your image
Riami Dabble: hmm...what can we put up there?...::looks around::
Mordechai: Something like what, pray tell?
Riami Dabble: Riami knows!
Riami Dabble: STAY!::Riami runs off towards the Inn...returning minutes later::
Mordechai: startles a moment before realizing who it is
Riami Dabble: ::runs up holding something wrapped in a towel::
Mordechai: What is that?
Riami Dabble: ::pulls the towel off....revealing....a roast chicken!::
Riami Dabble: you need a chicken bone!
Mordechai: You ... want me to put that in my sleeve?
Riami Dabble: ..here...::pulls off a leg::...eat this...I'll eat the other
Riami Dabble: mmmhmmm
Riami Dabble: ::nodnod::
Mordechai: But ... it will be dirty...
Riami Dabble: ::hands him the chicken leg::
Riami Dabble: ::stares up at him with her filthy looking face::...so?
Mordechai: takes the leg between two fingers delicately
Riami Dabble: ::grins and chows down!::
Riami Dabble: ::chompchimpchomp...slurpity-smack-slobber!::
Mordechai: the thought of a greasy chicken leg up his sleeve clearly quite disgusts him ... and he stands there looking at her with the other chicken leg still dangling from between two fingers
Riami Dabble: ...::stops....eyeing him..then the leg::
Riami Dabble: you don't like chicken?
Mordechai: his mouth hangs slightly open, completely lost for words it seems
Riami Dabble: ....not going to eat that? ::motions to the succulent chicken leg with gnarled remains of her own::
Mordechai: brings himself out of his confusion and slight disgust long enough to shake his head
Riami Dabble: ..ok....::reaches out and plucks the tender morsel from his fingers::
Riami Dabble: ::chows down!....slurp-chomp-nibble-gnaw!::
Mordechai: his hand hangs where it was, still holding a phantom chicken leg
Riami Dabble: ...::glances to the two chicken bones in her hand....small portions of meat still hanging from them...then to his sleeve::
Riami Dabble: ...
Riami Dabble: ::a slow grin spreads across her face...::
Mordechai: Oh no ... no I do not think this is a good plan
Riami Dabble: ...but they long to be in your sleeeeeve!
Riami Dabble: ::eyes widen in madness::
Mordechai: They long to be pitched into the fire pit!
Mordechai: his hand holding the phantom chicken leg snaps out of it's daze and he points to the fire
Riami Dabble: ...::glance ot the left chicken leg::...Mister Chicken bone...you want the fire or the sleeve?...::deep voice::...AH WANT ME A GUHNOMEY SLEEVE
Riami Dabble: ::glance to the Right chicken leg::....Mister Chicken Bone....Fire or Sleeve?....::deep voice::...AH WANT ME A FIRE
Mordechai: You still haven't explained who this Aganomy fellow is...
Mordechai: But chicken in sleeves is entirely unsanitary
Mordechai: scoots away
Riami Dabble: ::flings the one in the fire and lunges toward the gnome with the greasy tidbit that remains!::
Riami Dabble: HYA!
Mordechai: GUAH! ducks to dodge and flee
Mordechai: in a show of flexibility and speed he didn't know himself capable of, he finds himself across the fire from her without a speck of chicken on hi8m
Riami Dabble: ::flings grease and bits of flesh all about!::
Riami Dabble: ...::moans::....sleeeeeve.....
Riami Dabble: ::advances::
Mordechai: Stay right where you are!
Riami Dabble: the chicken bone calls!
Mordechai: I disagree with your unsanitary chicken practices!
Riami Dabble: ...but...its so good....
Mordechai: Then you put it in your sleeve
Riami Dabble: ...OH!
Riami Dabble: ::drops it down!::
Riami Dabble: ::grins and runs off!::
Riami Dabble: Yipee! Hooray! Uh… yahoo!
Mordechai: makes his disgusted face and shivers
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Duradin, the newest recruit to the Norwick Guard can be seen more often than not patrolling the town, keeping an eye out for anything unusual, recently his demeanor is stoic, though with a perpetual frown, if approached he's less than talkative, though if it's something concerning Norwick he's quick to respond and investigate the claims
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Rando seeing the catatonic Goblin stabs it dead and checks in pockets for anything worthwhile and mutters
" Typical, got nothing on it"
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Dead goblins keep showing up on the barrack door step.. always one at a time.. looking like they were chewed up by some beast. and always when no guard is around. Even more odd.. sometimes they're alive.. slobbered and scared out of their wits like they're about to have a heart attack and so scared they dont' move an inch.
People wonder what is causing this odd.. if seemingly not .. dangerous occurence.
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Dwin reminds his advisers when he hears about the Oscuran queries, that all sales of property in the Realm are governed by the Chancellor and his office, and that any Oscuran interest in purchasing should be directed to the Great Hall.
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Word has it that Oscuran agents are inquiring about closed shops, farms, or anyone wishing to sell either. Not that any offers have been made, but they do seem to be keeping track of what is available and how much people want to sell for.
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_Seems a wagon bearing various goods for Oscura has arrived. Various cheeses, pottery and glasswares are being sold from the wagon by a handful of people bearing the sigil of the Black Lotus. If the wagon isn't emptied they give away what's left for free.
At the end of the day they hand the proceeds over to the ranking Norwickian nearby and leave town.
When asked about their odd behvaior they just smile and say 'it's business'_
