Sep 6, 2016 11:59 pm
Cyrind'ae had found her way to Marian Town, a crossroads within the Duchy of Harcourt. The whole town is talking about events yesterday where a jailbreak turned into a full blown demon invasion. A few adventurers were on hand to help set things right (with a little help from the local archmage, perhaps). Her pockets and cups runneth over that night, for generosity, gratitude, and goodwill keep the requests for stories, songs, and tales coming deep into the night. The center of action for you is the tavern The Lost Duckling, which was ground zero for the demon incursion. One of their regulars, Buxom Bella, was killed and partially eaten by the foul beasts.
Said adventurers wake up the next morning, with varying degrees of fuzz growing on their tongues. Not actual fuzz, but that metaphorical fuzz that comes from drinking strange fluids served by flirty women. Luigi, the bartender and owner of The Lost Duckling, gave you all rooms to help recover from your stalwart defence of the town. From songs and street dancing, and endless patrons feeding you small baked pies and refilling your tankards, your memory is hazy at best. What you do remember is the gratitude of the towns folk. Some died, and those that survived knew that without your assistance, it would have been much worse.
After a breakfast of the strange fried bread that they love here, along with generous dollops of jam and berries, and, of course, watered wine that does much to ease your troubled brow, the mayor Hayden Eckheart approaches your table.
"Kind sirs," he begins, a local greeting you have become familiar with. "We have prepared letters for the king. We have asked for volunteers to take the high road to Castle Harcourt, but we were hoping that you might accompany them."
An older woman smacks the mayor upside the head. "Tell them the rest, you dolt."
He slouches and tips his knuckle at her, smacking his lips. "Right. Our council held a vote last night, and we would be hoping that you think on settling in Marian Town. When your adventures are over, of course. We'd be happy to help build houses for each of you. It would be our way of thanking you."
Luigi pipes up from behind his polished bar. "And for keeping you close by; your kind is sorely needed."
A glance around the tavern shows you that many nod in agreement with what has been said, and a few others look sullen. Jealous, even.
"You men are fools," the old lady continues, shaking her head in disbelief. "There are signs of trouble. We've not had a messenger for a fortnight from that way, nor caravan folk. And that's not normal."
"It's not unheard of," sighs the mayor. "Though that's why we want, er, people of aptitude to see this done."
Mayor Eckheart continues: "Well, whenever you're ready, we'll do an official call for volunteers to deliver the letters to the king."
Said adventurers wake up the next morning, with varying degrees of fuzz growing on their tongues. Not actual fuzz, but that metaphorical fuzz that comes from drinking strange fluids served by flirty women. Luigi, the bartender and owner of The Lost Duckling, gave you all rooms to help recover from your stalwart defence of the town. From songs and street dancing, and endless patrons feeding you small baked pies and refilling your tankards, your memory is hazy at best. What you do remember is the gratitude of the towns folk. Some died, and those that survived knew that without your assistance, it would have been much worse.
After a breakfast of the strange fried bread that they love here, along with generous dollops of jam and berries, and, of course, watered wine that does much to ease your troubled brow, the mayor Hayden Eckheart approaches your table.
"Kind sirs," he begins, a local greeting you have become familiar with. "We have prepared letters for the king. We have asked for volunteers to take the high road to Castle Harcourt, but we were hoping that you might accompany them."
An older woman smacks the mayor upside the head. "Tell them the rest, you dolt."
He slouches and tips his knuckle at her, smacking his lips. "Right. Our council held a vote last night, and we would be hoping that you think on settling in Marian Town. When your adventures are over, of course. We'd be happy to help build houses for each of you. It would be our way of thanking you."
Luigi pipes up from behind his polished bar. "And for keeping you close by; your kind is sorely needed."
A glance around the tavern shows you that many nod in agreement with what has been said, and a few others look sullen. Jealous, even.
"You men are fools," the old lady continues, shaking her head in disbelief. "There are signs of trouble. We've not had a messenger for a fortnight from that way, nor caravan folk. And that's not normal."
"It's not unheard of," sighs the mayor. "Though that's why we want, er, people of aptitude to see this done."
Mayor Eckheart continues: "Well, whenever you're ready, we'll do an official call for volunteers to deliver the letters to the king."
