Scene 1: Welcome to Woodhearth

Feb 19, 2016 5:52 pm
The sun will set in a few hours, in the not-quite-yet-spring air, there lingers a chill of winter. Those from warmer climates most instictivley pull cloaks tighter, or adjust hoods. The party is weary from the long trek. As you come over a rise you finally set eyes on your destination, the village of Woodhearth. Each of you has your own reasons for coming to this village, and now that you are so near you feel like you have truly begun your quest.

The Dark Wood looms close to the village. You cannot help but think of a great predator bearing down on it's intended prey when regarding the woods and the village. You don't know why but it puts you ill at ease. Forests just should not seem avaricious the way this one does.

Woodhearth is something of an anomaly when compared to other small villages in this land that you have seen. One would expect a thriving village, as Woodhearth is said to be, to be sprawling. The surrounding countryside was dotted with homesteads of farmers, but every window you saw was dark. Not a single chimney showed signs of a fire warming the house or preparing the evening meal. The road you travel is wide and well worn by hoof, foot and cart. The ruts left by snow thaw run deep in the hollows between hills. The amount of traffic needed to create such conditions would more likely be found near a large city. The village however is teaming with life. From the top of the hill you can see nearly ten score of people going about their business inside the village. The village is crammed in a shallow valley between two hills. Surrounding the majority of the structures is a wooden palisade, a wall of tree trunks and planks some ten feet high. The wall is intact, completing a full circuit of the town, but signs of construction are evident. You can see that the villagers are expanding the wall. Out side are several sections that are not yet complete, likely waiting for the intervening earth to be prepared. While inside are incomplete portions, likely being taken down and repurpose, now that they are redundant. Several structures, homes and shops are sitting dark and secured in between the new and old construction.

Inside the village there is life though. Abundant and noisy voices drift to your ears on the wind as you approach the gates of the village. The smells also assail your senses when the wind blows in the right direction. You can smell cooking and baking coming from the numerous inns, homes, and shops, but it all pales to the overriding stench of livestock and the unwashed people. Again, malodor of this magnitude would be common in the poor districts of a proper city, not a small village like this. It isn't unbearable of course, but the scale of it is surprising.

As you approach the gate, a bell tolls loudly from the center of town. The gates swing shut abruptly, cutting off the warm glow of Woodhearth and leaving you all in the growing darkness of the evening.

What do you do?
Feb 19, 2016 6:07 pm
Elestren doesn't break stride as the gates swing shut. Her voice is sing-song as she jests, "Ah welcome to the life of a poor troubadour on the open road. Even true talent sees far too many shut gates before very long."
Quote:
Elf: When you enter an important location (your call) you can ask the GM for one fact from the history of that location
Feb 19, 2016 6:35 pm
Quote:
Elf: When you enter an important location (your call) you can ask the GM for one fact from the history of that location

Fact:Legend says that there was once a great Champion of Light called Ulstrum, the Benevolent. His story says that he came from a small, insignificant village. One of his many legacies was that any who ask for succor in his home receive it without hesitation. Many villages in this realm claim to be Ulstrum's birthplace. No one is sure who is correct, but Woodhearth is one of such village.
Feb 19, 2016 7:08 pm
Elestren tells the group an abbreviated version of the Ballad of Ulstrum accompanied by a few quiet strums of her mandolin. She pitches her voice to carry up to the gate guards. "O people of Woodhearth, whose loving arms cradled the great Ulstrum and taught him benevolence, pray grant these weary travelers succor from the cold of night!"
Last edited February 19, 2016 7:09 pm
Feb 19, 2016 7:29 pm
As the gates of Woodhearth close before them Alexander looks behind them, always on the watch for the sultan's men. He listens with interest to Elestren's story and waits for the guards to respond to her inquiry.
OOC:
Discern Realities: What is about to happen?
Last edited February 19, 2016 9:06 pm

Rolls

Discern Realities - (2d6)

(34) = 7

Feb 19, 2016 8:25 pm
Through the gaps in the gate you can see a few shadows moving. Clearly there are guards posted to watch overnight. You hear three disntinct voices speaking is hushed tones. One at least wants to open the gate. The others are unsure. Finally they call out, "Who be ye and what bidiness does ye have coming to town af'er curfew?"

Elestren, it seems you would like to Parley with the gate guards. You are using the legend of Ultrum and the town's pride as leverage. Roll+CHA.

Alexander, would you like to Discern Realities to get a better read on the situation? If so, roll+WIS and ask your questions.
OOC:
bidiness (pronounced bid-i-ness) - is the local dialect's take on the word business
af'er - local dialect for after.
Feb 19, 2016 8:37 pm
"Just some weary travelers, my good man, who missed curfew thanks to the slower pace of a frail female." Elestren throws a limp hand to her forehead and makes as if to swoon from fatigue. "Oh! Oh! I feel faint! Oh great Ulstrum, bless these kind men of the watch who shall honor thy decree and come to the aid of a damsel in distress. Oh!"

Rolls

Parley - (2d6+2)

(61) + 2 = 9

Feb 19, 2016 8:58 pm
Some more hushed whispers then they call back out to you, "We have sent a runner for Magister Bertram. If you will lay down yet weapons, we will let you in and you can speak to him about staying the night. Yer belong'ins will be returned if Magister says so."
Feb 19, 2016 9:55 pm
Naatkinson says:
Discern Realities: What is about to happen?
Alexander looks back down the road while contemplating the guard's request. No one is on the road behind the party. Down in this little valley it is darker than the hour would otherwise make it, but that isn't strange. When you look toward the north, The Dark Wood looms. Something about it is threatening, even to one who has lived in danger for most of their life.

So either the party is going to be disarmed and allowed inside the village wall, or they will be left our in the dark cold night with whatever it is the villagers fear.
Feb 22, 2016 10:48 pm
"Well, what say ye!? Want to come in or stay our there? Ain't got al'night!", the man behind the gate says to you.
Feb 23, 2016 3:48 pm
Elestren surrenders her rapier with a solemn expression and an elaborate bow. Then she takes up her mandolin again and sings the verses from the ballad that tell how Ulstrum befriended the Fey Queen by allowing himself to be transformed into a fox for a fortnight, during which time he cavorted with the forest spirits. All so he could earn the fey's alliance against the Plague Serpent that threatened to swallow the world.

Frolic did they,
For a fortnight and a day,
And when Ulstrum reclaimed man-guise,
Fox ears yet grew,
And his helm did fit ill,
But Ulstra preened fey ears with pride,

And the Fey Court were pleased,
Fair Ulstrum , said they,
Fey-friend forever you shall be!
Last edited February 28, 2016 3:49 pm
Feb 23, 2016 3:55 pm
Alexander reluctantly hands over his father's blade, "I will get this back when I leave. It is irreplaceable," he says.

The hilt of the sword is snake-like, ending at the pommel in a snake's head. And the blade is very high quality, passed down through Alex's family through the generations.
OOC:
I imagine it looking something like this:

http://www.kultofathena.com/images%5C886505_6_l.jpg
Last edited February 23, 2016 4:03 pm
Feb 23, 2016 7:54 pm
"I will gladly surrender my staff for a chance at a nice mug of ale" Brentheli's bone necklace clatters together as he places his staff on the ground in front of the gate.

The fading light gleams off the iridescent (almost ice like) bands that mark the ends of the staff.
Feb 26, 2016 7:19 pm
"I bear no weapons but I do appreciate your honoring the Old Ways of hospitality." Omen calls, showing his empty, scarred hands.
Last edited February 26, 2016 7:20 pm
Feb 27, 2016 7:29 pm
Once your weapons are laid aside, the gate a door is opened in the gate. An ancient looking dwarf and a human of middle years stand before you, The dwarf has a crossbow, loaded and ready, but pointed down and to the side. The human has a boar spear, held by both hands, but his posture is relaxed. Were you interested in assaulting them, they would be easily subdued. The third figure you saw through the gaps is gone, most likely off to retrieve this Magister Bertram that was mentioned.

The two guards indicate they would like you to step aside of the left of the door. You see they want you under a temporary awning, a sheet of canvas tied to the tops of the palisade and a couple sturdy poles dug lightly into the ground. Likely they use it as a way to stay out of the rain when needed. Tonight however the sky is clear and you can see the stars beginning to come out.

When you all move under the covering the human dart out the door and collects your weapons. He brings them in and places the two swords carefully into a canvas sack. then he puts the sack and the quarterstaff on the opposite side of the gate and stands between your group and the weapons. He takes a ridged stance, like a child pretending to be a solider. The dwarf moves back toward the human guard and stands to wait.

You all stand there for several long minutes. Any attempt to converse with the two guards is met with stoic silence or a dismissive 'hrumph' and a glare of warning. keeping their distance you can see people moving around the village. To many people for such a small village. They mill about like fish in a pen, with little-to-no personal space.

Eventually you can see a ripple moving through the crowd. It seems the people are parting to allow a distinguished looking man through to the gate. He wears a long brown coat, fine woolen robes and wide leather belt. He is tall, well over 6 feet, broad of shoulder and seems in good health. He is adorned with gold chains and ornaments and perched on his shoulders is a raven as black as you have ever seen.

http://img00.deviantart.net/276b/i/2014/227/d/c/the_merchant_by_svetoslavpetrov-d7v8mvx.jpg

He immediately begins sizing you up and judging you the moment he lays eyes on you. You get the distinct impression he is calculating exactly what you may be worth to him and he doesn't care that you see him doing it. Now free of the crowd his gait extends into a full stride as he finishes closing the distance to the guard post. Behind him you see a young man with a short sword on his hip struggle to extricate himself from the crowd that quickly closes rank in the magister's wake. Likely the young man is the other guard. This is confirmed when he takes up a position next to the other two men.

"Report, Guardsman Rockbeard?" His voice is a deep baritone. Smoother than one might expect from a country official. Perhaps this man has spent time at court.

"They claim to be simple travelers, magister, sir. But they came to the gate after sunset. The elf there, she invoked the name of Ulstrum, seeking shelter for the night. The lad here insisted we let them stand inside while we fetched your honorable self, as per your orders regarding strangers approaching in the night." the dwarf speaks, indicating the young man when 'the lad' is mentioned.

"They also surrendered their arms readily when asked, sir. No demon..." The young man blurts out, but is quickly silenced by the raised hand of the magister. The boy turns red and looks ashamed for being rebuked.

"Well met travelers, I am Magister Bertram. I...oversee this village as it's duly elected official. May I have the pleasure of receiving your names so as they may be recorded in our ledger? And following that, your reason for visiting our beautiful town of Woodhearth?"

Behind him now you see another man emerge from the the throng. He also stands tall among the people of Woodhearth. He carries himself as a true solider, the long sword at his hip as much a part of him as his own arm. His mode of dress also stands out. His robes are slightly better than the homespun garments most people wear. The striped sleeves of his tunic indicate an extra level of embellishment the common people would not invest the time in creating. A wooden box counters the weight of his sword. He also wears more armor, grieves and couters can be seen and you might have heard the clink of chain-mail, though the din of the village made it hard to be sure.

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/07/37/33/073733590931ce5f8c1ed78708138325.jpg

On his head he wears a black turban, unusual dress for this region. Alexander cannot help but feel he has seen this man before.
Mar 2, 2016 9:42 am
"I am a servant of the elements who has traveled far to your town, in order to explore the Dark." Something tells Omen that this Bertram character would be impressed by the deferential treatment that dwarves in Zannidros prefer. He bows low. "Honorable One, I am called Omen. I am he who thanks you for your generosity and hospitality."
Mar 2, 2016 2:28 pm
Magister Bertram pauses for a moment longer than one might expect, then responds to Omen's greetings.

"Indeed, and I am honored to have your thanks, and to have your company. The Dark? Why would anyone willingly enter such a horrid place?"
Mar 2, 2016 2:41 pm
Alexander lets Omen take the lead in the conversation and sits back and tries to remember where he might know the turbaned man from.

Rolls

Spout Lore - (2d6+2)

(26) + 2 = 10

Mar 2, 2016 3:48 pm
OOC:
Alexander sounds as if you would to Spout Lore about how the man in the turban, roll+INT.
Mar 2, 2016 4:18 pm
Alexander, you know this man. He is the Corazzeri of the Ahsh'hio Clan...another tribe from your realm. You met him years ago when your people were nomads in the desert. The Ahsh'hio Clan is indebted to your people. Each member of the Ahsh'hio must perform an act of service to someone in your clan. Until every living member of the Ahsh'hio has done so, they are honor bound to at least be friends to your people.

What did your people do to earn such an oath? What do you remember about this man?
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