Having discovered the site "Role Playing on Line," I started a game. The original group grew to eleven players, necessitating my breaking the group down into two: Group A and Group B.
I let them play together for a time, then broke them up when they reached their destination.
Seh Bast'yon – Elven Archivist from Celene (Uses Arcane Magic rather than Clerical)
Flipplestick – Gnome Illusionist
Talyn Wydern – Ranger from the Silverwood (Duchy of Ulek)
Arim Shash – Suel, Cleric of Pelor
Harak – Dwarf, Barbarian
Tedit – Halfling, Rogue from the Bandit Kingdoms
Irzu Tarr – Elven Cleric of Corellon Larethian
Zipheron (NPC, Ur-flan, Gestalt character Wizard/Druid more than 2nd level)
The Players Group B (2nd level)
Robb – Attloi, Rogue
Vivacite – Cleric of Kord
Brotter Stonebreaker – Dwarf Crusader/Incarnate
Altavan – Druid servant of Pelor
Flipplestick – Gnome, Illusionist
Wasp – Grugach, (Wild Elf) Scout
The two Groups separate upon reaching their destination.
The Action:
GM: You find yourself seated at a table with your companions in the Coronet & Cabbage Inn in the sleepy little town of Kingsholm. You and your companions are enjoying a meal of roast mutton, steamed vegetables, warm bread with butter, Wickler cheese – from the Yeomanry – and ale or wine, per your individual preference.
At another table, close to yours, sits a dark robed, hooded figure, a Wizard perhaps. He had traveled here in the same caravan you had been hired to guard, but you were never certain if he was one of the merchants, or another guard, like yourself.
What little you know of him you learned from the Wagon Master, or from your own observations, for he spoke little. His name is Zipheron, and he's a Flan hailing from the Duchy of Tenh. He rode here upon one of the wagons and traveled with a raven and a wolf for companions. Even now the raven is perched upon his table, eating bits of bread and cheese that the Wizard gives it. He was a fair hand at hunting; you had watched him bring in several deer and rabbits during the journey. More information than this would be speculation on your part.
It's an hour past sunset and you're tired. It's the end of a long day, the last day of a long trip, all the way from Jurnre, the County's capital city. You arrived in Kingsholm only two hours before sunset. Once having gotten the caravan settled in and safely tucked away, you and your friends came to the Inn for food and rest. As you enjoy your meal, the Innkeeper, Ian Turbrand, approaches your table with two others, a woman and a dwarf.
"Forgive the intrusion, dear guest, but an urgent matter has come up!" he breathlessly spits out. "Are you mercenaries?" he continues, glaring at you with dark eyes as though challenging you to deny it. "Are you adventurers? We have need of brave and capable folk, right now! And we will pay you well!"
He indicates the uniformed and armored woman beside him. "Mia, captain of the guard, says that we have trouble up at the old cemetery! We need your help and we need it now! Will you aid us?"
It is easy to discern that the three people standing before you -- man, woman and dwarf -- are frightened. The Innkeeper had spoken in a loud voice and you notice that the room has grown quiet, whereas it had been noisy beforehand. You look around and see that everyone's attention is focused on you and your companions.
You turn your head and look in the direction of Zipheron, but he simply sits and feeds his raven as though unaware of -- or indifferent to -- the developing situation.
Looking up from his mug, Robb says; "I'll gladly help if the town has the coin."
Talyn straightens up at the words of Adventure and Treasure. In an excited tone he says, "Count me in. If there's funny business going on, we will flush it out." If there was an opportunity to haggle for more money, Talyn's exuberance might have blown it.
Brotter smiled, turning to look at those requesting aid. "Aye, if you think we could be of use, my hammer is at your service. Moradin be with us." He spoke, punching his shield with his gauntlet.
A shrill voice sounds from somewhere under the table. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm scared to death of ghosts." It's the Gnome, Flipplestick. There's a short pause before a piercing giggle erupts from below, "Get it? Scared to death?"
Robb ponders the proposal, eventually he looks up and nods "Count me in; I'm sure it is nothing more than small folk paranoia."
GM: "In addition to owning this establishment, I am also a Counselor of Kingsholm," Ian adds. "The Counsel is prepared to pay 50 gold pieces each to anyone who will investigate this matter and find out what has happened!"
Vivacite puts down his tankard after a long swig and wipes the spillage on his forearm. He pays a respectful nod to both the dwarf and Mia. "I was out of work the moment I walked into the tavern. Fortune is favoring you, master dwarf. For 50 gold I will walk through your cemetery. What is it you want me to find?"
Zipheron hardly held the monopoly on being enigmatic in so far as the troupe was concerned. No less mysterious, but surprisingly far more personable (surprising indeed given his readily apparent heritage), the elf – whom all gathered had come to know as 'Bastion' – was an incessant stream of self-contradictions and unanswered questions.
To all appearances, he was an experienced adventurer and hardened warrior. Young, energetic, and well-armed; A lean muscular physique combined with an abnormally hale constitution, and uncanny Elven grace lent him a subtle and unspoken edge with anyone who might take his measure. That his weapons are an atypical, and seemingly uncivilized, pairing is just another unexplained oddity. Many were the theories. Perhaps he'd spent time in savage lands, where Spear and Knife were the norm... or perhaps he'd forsworn Sword and Axe as some religious vow. Another theory was that he'd chosen such weapons as a challenge to himself, so as to lend modicum fairness to his enemies.
Such notions were put aside in short order, as Bastions insatiable curiosity and unending questions soon dispelled the words Experienced and Hardened from anyone's description of Bastion. Few if any would lend him credence as anything more than adequately trained at best with his weapons of choice, but one whose mind was clearly his strongest and unrivaled asset. Answers regarding inquiries into his past or training were always deftly re-directed or dodged politely, often with an accompanying grin that silently promised one day he might be more forthcoming and they'd be in for a treat.
That his mouth is full with bread thickly coated with both butter and cheese, is the obvious reason that others beat him to the punch in asking questions of the Captain of the Guard. He can but struggle to chew faster, and nod in sage-like agreement to the questions of first coin, and then of precisely what it is they're to be on the look-out for in this cemetery. When finally he does down his food, and gasp a breath of air, his questions follow in quick succession:
"Indeed; to what nature or shape has this prescribed trouble thus far presented itself as?" The Councilman, Ian, was rather vague in his statement after all. Despite the trio's urgency, Bastion is far from the sort to rush into anything without stopping to ask a question or three. "Rabid beasts? Goblin insurgents? Kobold saboteurs? Fire Breathing Dragons? Virulent Dire Rats? Restless Undead?" He ticks off any number of obvious things which might be the source of the issues.
"Further, to what justification should we look to in understanding that which makes strangers a more appealing investigator than the Captain of the Guard herself?
"While the coin is certainly a welcome offer... it would behoove social decorum to at the very least offer a professional nod to one already upon the payroll for such activities." And with that he does nod to Captain Mia.
GM: Ian and his companions display obvious relief at the party's willingness to help.
"Well," Ian begins, "The trouble is that one of our prominent families, a father, mother and daughter, went to the cemetery day before last in order to bury a family member. They have not returned."
"The family's servants reported them missing this morning," Mia continues. "I sent two of my Sentinels to investigate, but they haven't returned either." She looks pointedly at Bastion. "I take my duties as Captain of the Guard seriously, but my men are not nearly as experienced in battle as you, I think. We live in a peaceful community."
"Captain Mia does a fine job," interjected the dwarf. "I am Gran Stoutbrace, town Counselor and owner of the General Store. As I said, Captain Mia does a fine job, but she only has nine permanent members of the Guard and two of them are now missing."
"To raise more men would require me to call out the town militia," Mia explained. "And while our numbers would grow, the quality would certainly fall. If two of my Sentinels have fallen to whatever lurks in the cemetery, then you can be assured that even more militia would fall."
"All too true!" cried Ian. "Your battle scars, the dents in your armor, all tell us that you good people would be far more able to deal with whatever terror now haunts our cemetery, then would our poor militia!"
"We have talked it over, Ian and I," Stoutbrace added. "We are the wealthiest merchants in Kingsholm. The town Council has approved of paying 50 gold pieces to each of you to investigate this matter, but we will go even further. Five times further!"
"Yes!" echoed Ian. "We will pay each of you a total of 300 gold pieces, if you will rid us of whatever foulness now lurks in our cemetery!"
"Find our missing citizens," said Mia. "Return them to us, if still alive, and kill whatever unholiness you find there."
"Bah!" hacks out a dwarf in the corner. "Burying dead folks. Pure foolishness, I say. Ya ought to burn them on a ceremonial pyre, with items of their accomplishments. Let their souls go free to rejoin the Wheel of Life, not tied down to rot in the dirt." The rough-clad dwarf interrupts his diatribe to take another long drink of ale.
Vivacite quickly drains his tankard of ale and stands up, grabbing his pack. "I will need a room. Wake me an hour before sunrise and we will go to your cemetery," he says as he stands and waits to be shown to a place to sleep.
GM: Mia looks sternly at Harak. "Does this mean that you will not aid us, Master Dwarf?"
"A room?" ask Ian, incredulous. "Our people have been missing for days! Will you not go now?"
"Surely brave warriors -- such as yourselves -- are not scared of the dark?" ask Stoutbrace.
Bastion does a soft double-take when Vivacite rises with intent to sleep before setting forth. There was certain logic to preferring to be full rested before a venture like this, as well as having daylight as an ally in investigating cemeteries... but then there was the sense of urgency in the request for aid. The townsfolk had specified needing their collective aid now.
"Please don't allow my colleagues desire for respite to imply we're not sensitive to your urgent request. As you say, we are but recently off the road, some of use worse for wear than others. Please, sit. Allow those of us who need rest to take it... I've more questions which might expedite our investigations, and if we set out at first light we'll have the dawn on our side." Bastion suggests diplomatically, relying on his logic and limited need for rejuvenatory Reverie as compared to humans and their sleep, to invite further discourse. Even if helpful information wasn't forthcoming, the townsfolk would no doubt feel better having a constructive way of passing the time.
"Tell me of this Cemetery? Is it dedicated to, or presided over by, any religions of note? When was it founded, and are their patrons of import or infamy interred within worse gravesites require any customs or courtesies beyond the norm? Has there ever been trouble there before? Desecrations, Looters, Restless Dead, Hauntings, or the like?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure I will," offers Harak. "Soon as I've finished m'drink. Got to keep priorities straight!" He takes another gulp.
GM: The representatives of the town are calmed by Bastion's words.
"Thank you, kind sir," says Ian. "We are most distressed by this business and are anxious for the safe return of our citizens, if that is at all possible."
"The longer it takes to discover the truth of this mystery, the less the likelihood of that happening," said Mia.
"Now let's not think like that!" urged Stoutbrace. "Let us sit and we will supply these good people with whatever information they might need."
The three of them pull up stools, so as to join you at your table.
"As to the cemetery being dedicated to a specific Deity, no," Ian informs you. "Our community is comprised of several different races. We have humans, dwarves, halflings and gnomes living here."
"There are even a couple of elves buried in the cemetery," added Stoutbrace. "So the cemetery contains the remains of former worshipers of several gods."
"As for trouble," Mia speaks. "We've never had trouble in the cemetery. Quite the opposite, actually. Local legends about the graveyard are positive ones. Talk of protective spirits and eternal rest."
"All true," Ian agrees. "At most, we have some wolves and other creatures living to the north, but the high fence and patrols keep them out of the area."
"My Sentinels patrol the graveyard every couple of days," Mia offered. "And the town's folk go there regularly to maintain the grounds. In fact, my men patrolled the graveyard the very day that the Yurlings went there to bury Gunar."
"All true," said Stoutbrace. "That is why this has taken us so sudden-like!"
Vivacite frowns at the innkeeper and Stoutbrace. "Mind your manners, whelps. Everyone at this table kills things for a living; you would be wise to remember that before you speak insults. I would also point out that you need our help because you are unable, unfit, or too fearful to do it yourself. I would add that I have been sitting here for many hours, drinking ale, eating lamb, roasted potatoes, greens, bread. If this business was so urgent why did you wait for the sun to set before telling us? Why did you wait many hours before rushing over to our table to enlist our help? You may have cost your citizen their lives if a matter of a few hours is so important."
Vivacite moves his shoulders to set his armor more comfortably, and takes a deep breath to slow his tempo. "However, if it suits you for us to go now, I don't mind. If the rest of my friends are keen to go, I will too. Someone else will have to carry the lantern though. I need both hands to swing this," he says as he taps the pommel of the two-handed sword on his back.
Bastion's eyes blink slowly closed, lids heavy in effort to demonstrate silent disagreement with Vivacite's words. Within his mind's eye, a silent sigh and regret at his political efforts being dashed so quickly settle firmly into place.
Bastion could hear his uncles condescending description of such humans, those who thought themselves beyond all reproach or question merely because they could swing their swords harder and faster than their peers. That Vivacite had just demonstrated himself as such a man left Bastion feeling the sting of bitter disappointment, more so for the embodiment of his uncles prejudices made manifest than the seeds of dislike forming. In truth, Bastion was not yet ready to allow this turn of events and words to define their relationship. He held hope than no matter how irrevocably the human might have just damaged his lines of inquiry... that he was a better man than the stereotype attributed to humans by Bastion's uncle.
GM: Mia slowly stands a hard look in her eyes. "I am Mia Desarna, Captain of the Guard and representative of His Noble Mercy, Lewenn, Count Palatine of Ulek and appointed by him. I heard no insult given, except for yours. I was unaware that those sworn to Kord's service were so rude and arrogant. I was told that Kord's servants were sworn to aid those in need, not verbally abuse them and sneer at their request. Perhaps your service is not needed after all."
"Perhaps we have approached the wrong people for aid," Ian stood. "We, sir, are the 'rulers' of this town, if you wish to view it that way. We will seek elsewhere for whatever aid we may need, or handle the matter ourselves, be assured of that! And as for you, you would do well to be gone in the morning. As for a bed, sleep under one of your wagons. You are not welcome here."
"You have heard the Mayor," said Mia. "Begone with the sunrise, or face arrest."
"The Count shall hear of this!" cried Gran Stoutbrace. "If you are not departed in the morning, a Writ of Outlawry shall be issued against you! You will find that warrant valid in all of the Ulek States and the Kingdom of Keoland as well!"
Ian turns to Mia, "How many militia can we muster?"
"Seventy-five," Mia informs the Mayor.
"Roust them out," Ian tells her. "Our 'guest' may need to be shown the way out of town the morning."
"Yes, sir." Mia turns to depart and carry out Ian's instructions.
The Innkeeper had spoken in a loud voice and you notice that the room has grown quiet, whereas it had been noisome beforehand. You look around and see that everyone's attention is focused on you and your companions.
I don't think this words means what you think it means, Vizzini.
Quote:
Vivacite frowns at the innkeeper and Stoutbrace. "Mind your manners, whelps. Everyone at this table kills things for a living; you would be wise to remember that before you speak insults. I would also point out that you need our help because you are unable, unfit, or too fearful to do it yourself. I would add that I have been sitting here for many hours, drinking ale, eating lamb, roasted potatoes, greens, bread. If this business was so urgent why did you wait for the sun to set before telling us? Why did you wait many hours before rushing over to our table to enlist our help? You may have cost your citizen their lives if a matter of a few hours is so important."
This seemed to come out of the blue. I'm not sure why Vivacite thought he and his friends had been insulted.
Sounds good, though! Glad to see you've got a campaign (or two) off and running, Mystic.
Just because the Dictionary says that "noisome" doesn't mean "noisy," doesn't make it true!
Vivacite and Brotter were under the impression that Gran Stoutbrace said they were "afraid of the dark." So? You don't trade insults with "the powers that be." I had to help clean this mess up, or forfeit the game.
Vivacite was supposed to be a Cleric of Heironeous at this time. I allowed him to change to Kord when he realized that Clerics of Heironeous aren't really supposed to "trade insults" with people.
He wants to be the type that is "free" to snub others. It's going to get him into trouble, Brotter too. I told the entire group; "Never think that my Mayors and City Councilmen are going to be intimidated by you people. Not going to happen."
I imagine that, some time during the course of the game, Writs of Outlawry will be issued against these people.
Brotter's shouting for 21st Century "Freedom" in a Medieval World of Absolute Monarchy. Stupid.
Seh Bast'yon – Elven Archivist from Celene (Uses Arcane Magic rather than Clerical)
Flipplestick – Gnome Illusionist
Talyn Wydern – Ranger from the Silverwood (Duchy of Ulek)
Arim Shash – Suel, Cleric of Pelor
Harak – Dwarf, Barbarian
Tedit – Halfling, Rogue from the Bandit Kingdoms
Irzu Tarr – Elven Cleric of Corellon Larethian
Zipheron (NPC, Ur-flan, Gestalt character Wizard/Druid more than 2nd level)
The Players Group B (2nd level)
Robb – Attloi, Rogue
Vivacite – Cleric of Kord
Brotter Stonebreaker – Dwarf Crusader/Incarnate
Altavan – Druid servant of Pelor
Flipplestick – Gnome, Illusionist
Wasp – Grugach, (Wild Elf) Scout
The two Groups separate upon reaching their destination.
The Action:
"Well, there goes our next job. I guess we can get that sleep after all, eh Vivacite?" Fipplestick twirps from below the table.
[Private to GM: Fipplestick casts Disguise Self while seated (hoping that no one can see him do so since he's below table level.) He disguises himself as a zombie, and then jumps up on the table to scare everyone.
Robb rises holding his hands up in a calming manner. "Mia, Mia, Mai there is no need for the militia to be called. I'm sure the good Sir Vivacite has had too much to drink and has become a little head strong. To make matter worst he does follow a strict vow of celibacy and has no means to release the fury that builds in him while he fights the forces of evil, making him more aggressive than the average man and not able to think strait. I'm sure what he meant to say was that he needs a few hours to rest and ease away the effects of the ale. I'm almost positive that if you will allow us to have 3 hours to prepare we will be a much better fighting force and will be able to rid your town of this horror without any more loss of life."
GM: Suddenly, to everyone's surprise and utter dismay, a small, three foot tall zombie leaps onto the table top! The local patrons presently in the tavern scream in horror and run for the door! Some even dive out of the windows!
Everyone needs to roll a Will Save. The sudden chaos grants a -4 to all Will Saves.
Brotter cleared his throat. "I think the lad has had a little too much drink, milords. Names Brotter, of the Stonebreaker clan. I think we all have been deep in the cups, if you will offer the lad some time to rest and recuperate. I am sure a sincere apology would be forthcoming once he has sobered up." He spoke, he was about to continue, but suddenly he was interrupted by the appearance of the short zombie.
Talyn steels himself mentally and immediately pops up out of his chain, knocking it over. He takes his eyes from the zombie on the table to scan the room, out the door and windows.
Turning back towards the table he Quick Draws his beautifully crafted Composite Longbow, notching an arrow.
Robb Draws his sword and points it at the zombie.
"This is why my people never leave Celene," Bastion mumbles to himself. "All this over a fear of the dark? Only a fool isn't afraid of the dark. Especially so that which lives beyond it." His voice is low, more than likely masked by the diplomatic overtures of his much more eloquent colleagues.
Seeing some action at last, Harak drops his drink, snatches up his weapons, and surges to his feet.
GM: The small zombie is on the table, flaying it arms about and emitting a cackling laugh.
Private to Talyn: Making your Will Save, you see the Gnome Illusionist Flipplestick dancing about on the table and realize that it is just an illusion. You may shout out what you see as a "Free Action," before anyone acts, if you so desire.
Ian Trubrand and Gran Stoutbrace cry out in terror and hold their hands in front of them as if to ward off the Undead creature.
Mia Desarna cries out, "Joramy preserve us!" and draws her short sword, stabbing at the apparition upon the table. Excited and off balance, her sword misses the zombie.
The miniature zombie's features begin to melt away. As the monstrosity's wounds begin to heal and its skin returns to a more normal tone, a familiar giggle pierces through the commotion. Soon, it's Flipplestick who is standing on the middle of the table, dancing a little jig.
"You should have seen the looks on your faces!" Flipplestick says, laughing uncontrollably, "I thought we were going to the cemetery . . . I just wanted to fit in!"
Flipplestick glances down at the table and then quickly stoops to pick up a piece of bread. "Oh good . . . I couldn't reach this from my seat."
"It's an illusion, a phantasm!! Beware! Something is afoot." Talyn draws back his arrow readying to lose it at the 1st sign of attack. "IS SOMEONE IN THIS INN SCREWING AROUND?"
GM: The local patrons are completely oblivious to the action around the table, still concerned with vacating the premises, through door or window! Their voices continuing to cry out in fright and terror.
As the illusion dissipates and the form of the little Gnome begins to be revealed, the looks on the faces of Ian, Gran and Mia begin to turn from horror and revulsion, to shock and incredulity. And though their mouths open and close, each remains too stupefied to speak.
Bastion pushes back from the table, calmly crossing arms across his chest and glaring at Flipplestick. He enjoyed a good prank better than most Elves, almost as well as a gnome even... "There's a time and a place, and frankly you've missed that here and now satisfies neither." Bastion sighs heavily, wondering if mundane words even existed to keep these two from a night in jail... Or escorted roughly to the borders. Never mind the impediment to a timely investigation.
"On that note, perhaps we should just press forwards with the investigation and allow adrenaline to sober them up? Perhaps our mission's success and time will serve to mitigate this... this..." Bastion is wordless, unable to think of a word in common to describe his embarrassment for the behavior of his colleagues.
"Fiasco." The voice is that of Zipheron, (GM) who continues to feed his raven in the most nonchalant manner. "I believe the word you are looking for is 'fiasco,' my young elven friend."
The mysterious, dark robed wizard chuckles.
Flipplestick grins and winks at the townsfolk. "See, look! One zombie down! We'll figure out what's wrong in your graveyard, don't worry." He winks again and hops off the table, still chewing his bread.
Watching the commotion that is happening around him, Altavan nods in agreement to the offer of 50 pieces of gold and starts to finish his meal in order to start searching for the missing family. Bending an ear to listen to the to the townsmen talk about the graveyard and it being taken care of by the locals, his eyes pop out at the harsh words from Vivacite. He finishes his meal even quicker at the mention of the town guard but panics at the zombie on the table and heads for the nearest door along with the rest of the other patrons. As he goes past the figure dancing on the table, Altavan trips over a chair and falls to the floor, still scrambling to get out.
Talyn slowly releases his held breath and relaxes the drawn arrow. "Are you kidding me? I thought you were possessed. Dancing around like that, I was ready to pin you to the ground.
Talyn hates being in town, walls confine and roofs press down. "You folks work out the details. I'll be outside getting some air."
GM: "What?" cries Ian Trubrand, "What is this? Why, this is . . . this is . . . outrageous! You think this funny?" He demands of the Gnome. "We come to you for aid, for your help in finding our friends and fellow citizens that have gone missing in our cemetery! You, yourselves, bring up the subject of vile, unholy things that should be long dead and now . . . this!? You pretend to be the Living Dead -- at present our most dreaded concern -- and you think it funny!? You frighten us nearly out of our skins, cause chaos among our citizenry, thus causing destruction to my property, and you think it a joke!?"
"I shall call out the militia for a certainty!" cried Mia Desarna. "The jail will be full this night!"
"I shall head for the Pigeon House!" cried Gran Stoutbrace. He stabs his finger in the direction of Flipplestick. "The Count shall hear of this! We'll not tolerate your kind in the County!" He turned to Vivacite. "Nor shall we easily forget your insults! We see the kind of people you are now!"
The town's Councilmen are angry in the extreme, their agitation evident to one and all.
Flipplestick reaches his hand under his hat and scratches his head. "I guess they didn't get the joke." he pipes.
Vivacite almost doubles over in laughter at Flipplestick's almost successful attempt to diffuse the tension. He does recover though, soon enough to wave away Stoutbrace's further threats, still trying to end his chuckling. "Calm down, Master Stoutly. We have been tasting dust for miles beyond count and we were looking forward to a night on the piss and some revelry and you charge us firstly with a quest, and now with disturbing the peace. Go away and leave us alone, we will see to your missing citizen at my companions' earliest convenience, providing we are not behind bars," he finishes with an intake of breath to replenish his supply, before leaning over and slapping the gnome on his back. "Perfect timing as always Flipple," he says, barely containing his mirth.
Brotter pauses, watching the situation dissolve into madness. "I am not amused, but neither am I going to help you arrest innocent people. You wish to crush the freedom of people who have not harmed you, and I shall intervene. What laws has these two broken? Have they personally destroyed anything, or caused direct bodily harm? Aye, the gnome was quite foolish, and he should have to pay for the damage, but we have not sworn our undying loyalty to this town, nor this mission. I desire to help for the good of all the innocent, but if I find those too venial and selfish running this town, and ponder if perhaps the cause of this corruption is not contained within the graveyard. How do we know that whatever behind this situation is within the graveyard, and not working within the town? If you begin to run out of town all who do not conform to your ideals, you become little more than tyrants and robber barons. Refuse to sell to these two, refuse service, aye that is within your desires and rights. Refuse them their choices, and you will meet a bitter end." He spoke, standing up to his fellow dwarf, the inn owner, and the captain of the guard. A blue gleam appears in his eyes, looking deep into their eyes.
Brotter was done. "By Moradin's beard, if this is the state of the lands, perhaps I should go live with the orcs, maybe their reasoning would be better. I am done with ye. Touch me, and I will respond with force, and I do not make threats idly. Warrior and gnome, if ye have had enough I think it is time to go. Leave some money for your daft actions gnome and let us be gone." He spoke, cracking his neck as he pulled out a gold piece, slamming it on the table. Lifting his bag and shield, his hand on the hilt of his hammer, he moves towards the entrance. As he passes by the city guard captain and counsel-man, he speaks parting words. "May yer earth rot and forges grow cold. May all the souls of those you have condemned haunt yer actions from this day forward. I will have none of ye!" He spoke, marching off into the distance.
O.O.G. – Some of our intrepid heroes seem to dig the hole deeper, while others seem intent on letting others work out the problem. Still others have no idea of the gravity of the situation. Include in this a Dwarf who believes that 'Disturbing the Peace,' 'Destruction of Private Property' and 'Inciting a Riot' aren't punishable crimes! Could this become "Guilt by Association? _________________ Mystic's web page: http://melkot.com/mysticscholar/index.html
Mystic's blog page: http://mysticscholar.blogspot.com/
Looks like your band of heros are about to become number one on the chart of infamy. A dwarven crusader of Moradin behaving in this matter? The party best be careful that they not be ringing the bells in the morn.
Looks like some people in your party are hoping for a TPK.
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