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Post by The Innkeeper on Jun 24, 2017 21:00:09 GMT
You've been traveling along the High Road for days. At the height of the summer, even the usually colder Savage Regions have a climate warm enough to make one sweaty after a long day of walking. Luckily, a cold northern wind occasionally brings some fresh relief. As evening approaches, you spot a wooden signpost next to a trail that heads north into the hills. Nailed to the post are three arrow-shaped signs. The two marked "Waterdeep" and "Daggerford" follow the High Road but point in opposite directions. The third, marked "Nightstone," beckons you to follow the trail. If memory serves, Nightstone is roughly ten miles up the trail.
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Post by Orirdrik Grimsunder on Jun 25, 2017 19:53:11 GMT
Orirdrik stode down the center of the old dirt road. He barely glanced at the signs as he strode towards Nightstone. The pounding of his thick boots, as he strode between the wagon ruts worn into the road, was barely audible over the sounds his chain armor made with every step. His thick blond bead was tied into two long beards, and his helm cover his closely cropped hair. He had a worn battle axe on the right side of his belt, and a hand axe upon the other. There was a pack slung below the shield upon his back. He talked to his god as he walked in his native tongue, but to any who watched he would appear to just be talking to himself.
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Post by Alain on Jun 25, 2017 20:16:16 GMT
Alain was leaning against a conveniently tall rock by the side of the fork, strumming her lute and humming something sad. Her light pack was resting on the ground and her travel cloak was partly hiding the rapier and dagger on her sides. At the sight of another traveller, she lightened up.
"Greetings," said Alain in the common tongue once the dwarf was close enough, and the music faded. Pointy ears poked out between strands sunkissed brown hair, but the woman was obviously too tall to be a pureblood elf. "Do you happen to know the way to the nearest tavern?" she inquired.
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Post by Orirdrik Grimsunder on Jun 25, 2017 20:22:42 GMT
Orirdrik stopped, and looked around slowly to make sure she was talking to him, and also to make sure no one was sneaking up to try and rob him. The dwarf licked his lips, and grunted. He pointed down the road toward Nightstone. He spoke and his voice was a deep bass that was pitched to carry across a battlefield. "That way. Most likely. Not exactly sure. Lost my fucking map." Then he bowed politely and turned to walk down that trail.
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Post by Alain on Jun 25, 2017 20:38:44 GMT
Alain pulled a single questioning F sharp on a string and with slight regret, thought back to a not too distant past when she'd owned some maps. All of those she'd left in "Lady Wyndham's" chest due to her abrupt departure from court. Sighing, she reached down to pick up her backpack.
She caught up with the dwarf a short while later. "I'll take your 'most likely' over 'this other road doesn't seem to ever end'," she said conversationally, looking at her fellow traveller.
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Post by Orirdrik Grimsunder on Jun 25, 2017 20:47:13 GMT
Orirdrik snorted as he plodded loudly down the road. He did not look at her but he did reply. "That is wise of you." He mutters a couple of words in Dwarvish, "Even if you weren't invited." He hooked his thumbs behind his belt as he walked, "What is your name lass?"
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Post by Baron Aestrovico Ludocristo on Jun 25, 2017 21:32:21 GMT
"You see, that's the illusion of death. Nothing ever ends. The materials of our bodies become food for the worms. Our souls are siphoned into whatever patron we have knowingly or unknowingly channeled. And thanks to the wonders of modern necromancy, not even those processes are definite. We live in a time, Ser Eredin, where consequences are utterly meaningless! No heaven, no hell... These are but scientifically understood metabolic processes for the universe! And, looking at our lives that way, as microscppic fauna in an unfathomable creature's gut, well... What value are our life choices truly? What scholar lectures on the consequences of this flea's dreams and goals? Who truly cares? So why should we, cognizant of our insignificance, dwell upon our actions. Especially when we know indisputably that the great cosmic organism we reside in will inevitably be consumed by the alpha predator of reality itself... A Great Old One, if you will! Our lives are meaningless, beyond even wasting words on even defining the word 'meaningless'! So, having impressed upon you, my loyal retainer, my closest friend, my sole ally in this petri dish of an existence... Must we, again, stay in one more podunk inn instead of splurging on proper accommodations? I'm all for metaphorical fleas of the spirit... But the last bed I slept in was waking nightmare! And the whores..."
Aestro was still bitching about the last town, and likely would continue to do so until they reached the next one. In which case a new sermon on the cosmic principles of hedonism would be written, edited, rehearsed, and then finally delivered to an unconverted congregation of one.
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Post by Faelyn on Jun 26, 2017 0:02:57 GMT
Enjoying her light lunch in the sunshine, Fae popped a grape in to her mouth and ate it. She leaned back on the flat stone nearby and began to play a slow tune on her flute.
The road had been long but the weather today was very nice. She smiled at the thought of finally being on her own and if Selûne was kind, her journey would go very smoothly. As she played, the oncoming banter in the distance was ignored. Usually people passed her by, why should this person or persons be any different.
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Post by Alain on Jun 26, 2017 1:27:16 GMT
Orirdrik snorted as he plodded loudly down the road. He did not look at her but he did reply. "That is wise of you." He mutters a couple of words in Dwarvish, "Even if you weren't invited." He hooked his thumbs behind his belt as he walked, "What is your name lass?" "Must be one hell of a tavern," she commented with a hint of a smile. "Alain," she then added, looking again at the road ahead. "And yours, master dwarf?"
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Post by Orirdrik Grimsunder on Jun 26, 2017 1:38:55 GMT
"Invited? Must be one hell of a tavern," she commented with a hint of a smile. "Alain," she then added, looking again at the road ahead. "And yours, master dwarf?" "I am called Orirdrik of Clan Grimsunder. I am an alaghor of Clangeddin Silverbeard. He is the Father of Battle The Lord of Twin Axes. The Goblinbane and the Giantkiller." He smiled fiercely, his voice ringing out in pride. "And how are ye today?"
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Post by Alain on Jun 26, 2017 1:47:11 GMT
"It's been a long day," said Alain, having nodded at Oridrik's introduction. "You walk with purpose, yet you don't know where you're going?" she asked.
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Post by Orirdrik Grimsunder on Jun 26, 2017 1:58:07 GMT
"I don't need to know. My father is guiding me." Orirdrik raised a hand to touch his heart. Under his chain mail he could feel the symbol of Clangeddin pressing against his flesh. "His guidance has never failed me once. Soon I will worship him in the only manner he craves." He looked over to the tall woman. "And what guides you down this trail?"
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Post by Sir Eredin Caranthir on Jun 26, 2017 2:32:48 GMT
"You see, that's the illusion of death. Nothing ever ends. The materials of our bodies become food for the worms. Our souls are siphoned into whatever patron we have knowingly or unknowingly channeled. And thanks to the wonders of modern necromancy, not even those processes are definite. We live in a time, Ser Eredin, where consequences are utterly meaningless! No heaven, no hell... These are but scientifically understood metabolic processes for the universe! And, looking at our lives that way, as microscppic fauna in an unfathomable creature's gut, well... What value are our life choices truly? What scholar lectures on the consequences of this flea's dreams and goals? Who truly cares? So why should we, cognizant of our insignificance, dwell upon our actions. Especially when we know indisputably that the great cosmic organism we reside in will inevitably be consumed by the alpha predator of reality itself... A Great Old One, if you will! Our lives are meaningless, beyond even wasting words on even defining the word 'meaningless'! So, having impressed upon you, my loyal retainer, my closest friend, my sole ally in this petri dish of an existence... Must we, again, stay in one more podunk inn instead of splurging on proper accommodations? I'm all for metaphorical fleas of the spirit... But the last bed I slept in was waking nightmare! And the whores..." Aestro was still bitching about the last town, and likely would continue to do so until they reached the next one. In which case a new sermon on the cosmic principles of hedonism would be written, edited, rehearsed, and then finally delivered to an unconverted congregation of one. Sir Eredin's heavy armored boots trudged along the high rode, clanging against the cobblestones, as if the former knight of the realm was trying in earnest to drown out the sound of his companion's incessant chatter. He had not enjoyed a moment of silence since Baldur's Gate. He was not paid enough for this, the promise of "dangerous men" hunting the warlock the only thing keeping him in his service. For all the warlock's talk that there was no hell, Eredin certainly felt like he was being subjected to one. "Yes, it was disappointing to say the least," he replied mechanically, noting the pause in the diatribe, though he failed to see how the sub-par accommodations were his fault and not that of his employer. He was not referring to the beds or whores, of course, but the fact that when he had inquired as to the location of the greatest warrior in the last village, he had been directed to a former soldier who had long ago put down his sword to become a farmer with a hoe. He had slain the man without so much as a feint or parry, leaving disappointed, the peasant useless save for his ability to water his crops one last time. "The food could have been worse."
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Post by Faelyn on Jun 26, 2017 2:39:26 GMT
Now the clanging, she thought the chatter was bad enough. Must be some armorclad oaf walking hard like a warhorse. Faelyn played a little louder, as she continued to rest on the stone.
"People should learn to appreciate what's around them and shut up", she thought to herself.
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Post by Baron Aestrovico Ludocristo on Jun 26, 2017 4:02:48 GMT
Now the clanging, she thought the chatter was bad enough. Must be some armorclad oaf walking hard like a warhorse. Faelyn played a little louder, as she continued to rest on the stone. "People should learn to appreciate what's around them and shut up", she thought to herself. Aestro stopped as they came close to the musician. "Ah, a fellow traveler. Elven. Homo sylviens, I think. Wood variant. I have some of that in my lineage, I believe. Not my mother, she was pure High Elf. Papa took her in a raid, I believe. Perhaps we should... Make nice. Mingle. She might be a bard. Bards are the best lovers, I have heard. Also, directions. Excuse me, madame!" The man was wearing what seemed to have once been extremely expensive clothes that were now dirty from the road. "Excuse me. Admire your playing. Truly. Angelic! I am the Baron Aestrovico Ludocristo da Malebolge, with da being old Thayan for 'of'. But Malebolge is a long way from here, so you may call me Aestro. Indeed, all my friends do. And speaking of friends, this is my valet... No, that's not right. My man? No, of course not. Goodness me, Sir Eredin, I can't call you my gentleman's gentleman... My retainer! Madame, this is my retainer, Sir Elendin! You will like him, I am sure!"
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Last Edit: 15 by 15: 15