New Whispers at the Fire
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In an echo of the past, N’Jast once more stood at Norwick’s gate, demanding the return of a traitorous deserter who stole important schematics from them and ran for refuge in Norwick, else Norwick wholly be razed. Armsmaster Iona called their bluff, and Norwick’s forces, as well as a small contingent of adventurers, were able to drive back the waves of assault with no harm to the town or its civilians- though at the cost of the gate itself.
As they retreated, a venomous vow was made- so long as Norwick had what they wanted, N’Jast would be back.
A drunken Gondar is seen after, hiccuping while swaddled in his cloak by a barbarian in the Grapevine inn, with other adventurers grimly sitting about, spitting no good words about N’Jast’s audacity. Reportedly, a shattered mug had to be cleaned from the floor.
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Some strange rumors spread about Spellweaver. Apparently in the lobby a group of adventurers had a lively discussion which ended with one stabbing himself violently in the thigh, bleeding all over the place, while another adventurer then proceeded to fire a divine beam from his helmet into the adventurers bloody wound. There was blood all over the floor, it was a real mess. And why? Well... uh... good question.
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A shaking, familiar Gondar is seen cradling his own head, an eyepatch and bandages around where his left eye should be.
"It was, it was N'Jasti!! The whole operation! They had slaves down there, a battlemage from the Order of Jassa, a general of sorts- The snakes- in the pit, around a contraption of sorts, and a gauntlet- over pits of ravenous, magical snakes--
Th- It burned so badly!!!! I can't, I couldn't- My eye is gone! Cormac's regeneration didn't-- Cursed-- It, it won't grow back with magic-- They must have taken them! I couldn't see I couldn't feel it was just screaming and burning and itburrowedINTOMYSKULL--
Wh- what if it can get worse?"
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The rumors turn sour as a group of scouts find themselves halved, dragging the corpses of their slaughtered squad back to Norwick. Rumors even state that one of the deceased scouts was murdered with a common pickaxe, jammed through his skull. Red Cloaks at the tavern speak of a conversation with the Herald, of a hostile force in the Rawlins that have set up around a dig site. Human forces. On top of which, the earthquakes continue, leading to fearmongering and exaggerated rumors of terrible things.
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A variety of small earthquakes, followed by more mysterious holes popping up in and around Norwick, increase the rumors fluttering about. Though there are a few crackpot conspiracy theories about an earth elemental uprising, for the most part people just blame it on natural earthquakes. Sinkholes and what not. However a few speak of a group of scouts who returned from a venture into the largest discovered hole, somewhere in the woods. They speak of the tools the scouts carried back with them... excavation tools. And so some wonder if, perhaps, below Norwick even now, there is a shady group digging where they shouldn't be. But. Eh. That's just a rumor.
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The day after a huge storm, rumors began to pop up of a hole somewhere in Norwick's jail. Most dismiss the rumors as the talking of drunks getting tossed behind bars for the night by the militia, seeing things in a delirious hungover state. But some wonder if maybe there is some truth to it. If so, where does it lead? Probably nowhere... but what if it led somewhere neat? Like. I don't know. An underground tavern? Or... Rashemen.
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Tremors and little earthquakes have shook Norwick with increasing frequency over the past weeks. Rumour has it Herald D'Cameron was on the verge of issuing a public call for aid from the adventuring community when a group lead by prominent Peltarchian figures marched through the village, confidently declaring they'd deal with it. Although the same group was not seen returning, the earth grew eventually still a short while thereafter. But did they save the day or simply sate some tunnelling horrors appetite?
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While Martouscah Leaffall, a halfling from Peltarch, is a semi regular face around Norwick, She has been spending an extended amount of time in Norwick investigating the recent heatwave.
Most of her time is spent asking folks around the outskirts of town trying to determine the time the temperature began to rise, how far out the disturbance reaches, as well as it's border in order to determine it's epicentre.
After consulting with the guards, she summons a small fire elemental in the hopes that it may shed some light on the current disturbance to the natural climate. The small creature, composed of and wreathed in flame, steps out of the campfire after the summoning, looking about for enemies to set ablaze.
MARTY: "Hello ... um ... I was hoping to ask you a few questions..."
The fire elemental tilts it's head
FIRE ELEMENTAL: (Crackle blaze sizzle) Hissssss s s s
MARTY: Oh y- .. umm ... do you know common?
FIRE ELEMENTAL: (Pop) hissssssss s s s
MARTY: Oh ... okay .... never mind.
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The enticing smell of sweets wafts from stall no 2, now owned by one Caramella Bestefaren. Her trademark gumdrop bags have hit the market, each one a vision of confectionary delight, with frosting-styled stitching and gumdrop buttons in different shapes and sizes. Each one comes with a custom-made tag, shaped much like a gingerbread version of the big-hatted maker herself, with text in the same sugary style. Ontop of that, it's rumoured that each of these candybag delights holds… yes, an actual piece of candy. Caramella also lets it be known that customers may order bags with their choice of label text at no additional cost.
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*Cormac, who'd been in Norwick on business of his own is caught up in the unnatural storm in one way or another. In defiance of the situation he plays warm music in the Grapevine by the hearth and tells blood-stirring tales of his deeds and adventures, and similar (yet lesser tales, surely) of those adventurers that are too trapped in the town. Perhaps between the excitement he brings and Lathander's light, as well as the grace of Chauntea, in a few months there may be some living reminders of the men who'll surely not see another day after the battle that's likely to come.
Rumors may suggest that the echoes of Cormac's threat to bring vengeance down upon 'all' of the vampires still echoes in the deep forest from when he cried out his oath on another bloody field during another bloody time.
Others, that it's merely a show of strength to try and inspire more men and women from Norwick to join the scarlet hooded madman on his doomed 'crusade'.
Perhaps a small number of folk might have by now decided that Cormac Randolph still has designs that fancy himself sat upon the thone of Norwick, and this is his way of showing that he can be an inspiring leader of people should the rumor arise...*
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An unseasonable cold snap has swept over Norwick, causing the Chancellor to order families to bunk together at the Grapevine and the Shrine of Lathander, to conserve firewood and huddle en masse for warmth. Word spreads that a band of adventurers took to the Great Hall to speak with the Chancellor, and were thereafter seen leaving town for the Rawlinswoods. Perhaps the cold is unnatural, and they are seeking a solution?
((Conclusion to take place tomorrow, Tuesday the 27th at 8pm GMT, all welcome!))
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*The farmer, crafter, and priest simply known as Z, offers prayers and other forms of support to the citizens of the town. He will provide whatever he can to those in need.
In addition, he offers free Chauntean blessings, charging of crystals, etc. to adventurers who attempt to go out and face the demon swarm.*
///Even if I'm playing Sam, just hit me up IG if you want some blessings and/or crystals charged before you head out. He is almost always in the Crafters Union hall and can be easily summoned.
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Rumours circulate amongst the farners of a humming, sickening sound coming from the southern sections of the forest at intervals, then vanishing again.
Lumberjacks, miners, and those who regularly travel into the Rawlins seem to be growing increasingly restless and erratic, coming up with stories about new alien overlords, the end of all, or a new light of dawn to save the town from its past sins.
One of them assures to have seen a tree literally walking, unrooted, casually slumbering its way towards the source of the buzzing.
The families of Norwick, generally superstitious, grow increasingly worried as these disturbing events become increasingly common, turning to the temples of Lathander and Chauntea for prayer, in hopes for divine protection from this new threat
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- [DM Serendipity]
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It's said that the Amnish halfling bard, Tom Thistledown, is in town for a series of performances by the fire at the Grapevine Inn. Reportedly, the first performance was a raucous success, with songs ranging from the bawdy and absurd, to the beautiful and melancholy. What new feats of music the small bard will perform in the coming days, the public can only guess at.
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a few days later the old dwarf emerges from the Union Hall headed North with a pair of pink laced slippers over his shoulder
O fine set o' apprentices but none 'er ready fer testin' oi say! If ye need me oi will be practicin' fer me recital at Fish Fort!
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An old bald dwarf with a few strands of ruddy grey hair tied behind his head grunts with effort to maintain a sturdy posture as he walks in fullplate armor. His face is mostly obscured by a thick splay of grey curly hairs jutting in whatever direction they please from his jaw. His dark beady eyes beneath his sagging brow narrow on the Union hall as he approaches through the muddy streets. A moment of hesitation at the door is followed by a slam as he shoves the doors open and steps inside. A rough voice bellows from within...
"CRAFTERS UNION!... ROLL CALL!"
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After a group of adventurers set out to find the missing people, it is said the militia received word that some were sighted leaving the region, with the rumors of unfaithful partners and the like being true, and some were found dead and dumped in the Rawlins from what those who found them call "the clear work of goblinoids." Aside from the gossip about who X or Y could have run away with, life goes on... but some do wonder if it was a coincidence evidence of their fates suddenly reached Norwick after the adventurers set out to find the missing locals.
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There are whispers of a few locals who have up and gone missing from Norwick. Some throw accusations of unfaithful partners fleeing into the night, and bugbears snatching woodworkers and the other unfortunates. The militia doesn't seem particularly concerned, however, stating that usually people turn up eventually.
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The warrior rested, back against the rough stone wall, helmet by his side - his gleaming warsword within reach but resting on the hard floor. A jug of wine resting between his splayed legs. He speaks to his companion after a time as his small fire burns down to little more than glowing embers. Just enough to throw shadows.
"... I don't know why I'm telling you this. Sometimes... I wonder if anyone even listens. Tsk... I know they do. I don't know why I think the way that I think. I used to be so wicked - spiteful - all of the time. Cruel, even. Hmph... still am. I can be anyway."
He laughs to himself and drinks from his wine jug. Raising it to his companion in an odd salute.
"Cruel, like making that mad troll piss herself. I think she leapt to her death. Hrrhh... pretty sure. She didn't even look off the bridge she was guarding, just jumped off the edge into bottomless darkness. That's the kind of fear I see sometimes; in the bones of them that tsk... try to stand in 'my' way. Even -- hmph. Even Seb', you wouldn't know her - how could you? Sebrienne Who-Cracks-The-Sky, I think she might've peed a little too, first time we met. You won't tell her I said so".
He spoke gruffly during those last words, his eyes never leaving those of his companion - deep frowning scowl on his brooding brow. He took a long drink then, two or three gulps of cheap wine. His demeanor softened after taking a breath, he couldn't keep his companion's gaze anymore - couldn't bear it, maybe - and so he looked down at his feet outstretched before him in his lazy slouch; a pair of skulls leering back at him from the toes of his boots.
He finally sighs, and continues.
"...and I'm trying to be better. Hmph... kinder... to people. I know - it's a damned foolish thing - but I'm trying. Even to the half-wit Erilo. Offered him my old ring a while back. He declined. Maybe I'll offer him my old sword, see if a shield won't keep his ugly face out the dirt; maybe he'll stop tripping up over that nasty old spear of his. Ha!"
When the wine is gone, he picks himself up from the floor, slips his longsword back in its scabbard and puts his helmet back on. He looks at the body of the slain Orc that he'd been speaking with; braces the heavy wooden door with his boot, and with a grunt, pulls the blade of his axe out of both of them - the Orc slumping to the ground in a heap afterwards.
"Look, I know we parted on... hmph... well, it could've ended better for you. Just -- thanks -- for listening..."
And with that last line he turns, and laughs darkly - musically - to himself, the horrid deep sound filling the cavern and echoing over the litter of dead bodies that had been left in his wake. His shadow thrown far by the dimming embers of his campfire; his companion's glassy unblinking eyes watching him go....
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Rumbles are felt emanating from Spellweaver Keep. Staff members walking to and from are overheard begrudgingly harping about some of the changes taking place around the keep...
"Yes, exactly, they're training these golems to manage filing the archives. I'd say if they expect that much out of them, they're probably not much smarter than the animated rocks."
