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[D&D 4E] The Souls of Fort Dolor (IC Thread)
Legionnaired
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Registered User regular
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Chapter 1
It's a lazy summer mid-morning in Korburrow, and while there is a general sense of depression about the farming hamlet due to recent events, most residents are happy to enjoy the sun and let their crops grow. For five souls however, there is a growing sense of fear and excitement over their recent appointment to Fort Dolor, now illuminated by Pelor's radiance from the East. The newly met cadre, two gnomes and a half-elf flanked by a gentle-looking but quite combat capable Warforged and a fierce Dwarf, lead their donkeys laden with gear through the streets of Korburrow, wondering how exactly they are going to fill the 6 hour trek through featureless corn fields ahead of them.
As if an answer to prayer for Avandra herself, a circus caravan meets them in the town square, and a short portly Human steps from the lead wagon:
Behold, what wonders within! Come and see what mystery and whimsey come from beyond the seas!
When enough of a crowd is gathered, the funny looking man pulls a rope, and canvas sheets roll up on the four carts behind him. Much to the delight of watching children, acrobats tumble through the throngs and wizards weave frost from their wands through buckets of sweet cream...
Elder Jachobsen hobbles out to the front steps of town hall, and leans bemused on his staff. His wisened eyes scan the crowd, and when he notices the band of would-be-warriors, he gives an inviting smile.
Near the back of the caravan, a burly voice belts:
WHO DARES TRY TO BEST ME IN COMBAT! 50gp TO WHOEVER CAN KNOCK ME FROM MY FEET!
Today is an exciting day in Korburrow.
Chapter 1
It's a lazy summer mid-morning in Korburrow, and while there is a general sense of depression about the farming hamlet due to recent events, most residents are happy to enjoy the sun and let their crops grow. For five souls however, there is a growing sense of fear and excitement over their recent appointment to Fort Dolor, now illuminated by Pelor's radiance from the East. The newly met cadre, two gnomes and a half-elf flanked by a gentle-looking but quite combat capable Warforged and a fierce Dwarf, lead their donkeys laden with gear through the streets of Korburrow, wondering how exactly they are going to fill the 6 hour trek through featureless corn fields ahead of them.
As if an answer to prayer for Avandra herself, a circus caravan meets them in the town square, and a short portly Human steps from the lead wagon:
Behold, what wonders within! Come and see what mystery and whimsey come from beyond the seas!
When enough of a crowd is gathered, the funny looking man pulls a rope, and canvas sheets roll up on the four carts behind him. Much to the delight of watching children, acrobats tumble through the throngs and wizards weave frost from their wands through buckets of sweet cream...
Elder Jachobsen hobbles out to the front steps of town hall, and leans bemused on his staff. His wisened eyes scan the crowd, and when he notices the band of would-be-warriors, he gives an inviting smile.
Near the back of the caravan, a burly voice belts:
WHO DARES TRY TO BEST ME IN COMBAT! 50gp TO WHOEVER CAN KNOCK ME FROM MY FEET!
Today is an exciting day in Korburrow.
There's obviously a couple things here to check out, feel free to do some character development, interaction, monologuing, whatever. Jacob looks available for conversation, and there is also the braggart at the back of the carnival.
Legionnaired on
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I would like to start of the rolling with a Insight check on old Jacobson, are his intentions toward us friendly?
"And you? You seem a little quieter than I remember."
"Oh, don't flatter an old man with such excitement, I'm surely not worthy of it at this age." He lowers himself gingerly to the steps below on his staff, an obsidian relic with a thousand dings and scratches. "And you of all people, teller of tales, should know by now that the favor of fickle fate is seldom a good thing. It's good for you to have a paladin of Erathis in your midst, don't you think?" His eyes, following his hair to grey, follow Zephria and Morbin.
"They don't know what they're getting into, do they? Snake oil salesmen peddling their blue liqueur of the Gods. Good for a cheap parlor trick now and then, I suppose." He turns to Vatis, truly considering her for the first time, looking up into her red hair despite her short gnomish frame. "Captain Hithia tells me of your enthusiasm for the Great Guns. Tell me, what draws you to them? Do you too have a penchant for old, expensive relics?" a wink and a smile soften the accusation in the most diplomatic of fashions.
Ryn had decided to forgo his armor and implement for the... whatever this was... meeting with the big boss? Pronunciation of Terms? Dedication of the group to the graces of whoever was going to support this silly outing. He wore his out on the town clothes. Which were the exact same as his in the house clothes and his on the job clothes and his church clothes and his expecting company clothes. He never feared for himself in this town. He had never tipped anyone off to his "adventuring ways" and had never been forced to use anything but his tongue to defend himself.
Skirting wide around the circus, especially the portly human that was leading it, he made his way to Elder Jachobsen and the other gnome who would be joining him on this job... whatever her name was, V-something, Vari, Veti, something like that.
"Elder Jacob," he says with a slight bow of his head toward the revered Elder and the slight smirk he shares with the few people in the town he genuinely respects. "I see you've met the other trustworthy gnome in Korburrow, eh?"
Edit:
Clearly wanting to change the subject, she asks "Where is this guy? Tell you what, if you lose I will stop any bleeding, if you win I get an ale."
He turns around, surprised to see you two standing right behind him.
"Oy oy oy, which one of you like to trade blows, eh? Place your bets!"
An unseen hand in the nearest wagon drops the outermost canvas, and reveals two tellers writing odds on a board behind them, obviously ready to collect wagers.
Morbin is obviously the favored, and a large line forms behind "THY CHYLLENGER" as the anxious gamblers eye the disciple of Kord like desperate men at a cock fight. An even larger crowd gathers to watch the spectacle. The acrobats have helped corral the mass of farmhands into a sort of stadium, those in front sit, those behind kneel, and stumps have appeared for those sitting further away.
"The two trustworthy Gnomes in Korburrow, eh lad?" Jacob wheezes with a wry smile, "You should have words with the head of the tradesmen's guild on my council, oh ho!"
His mien darkens.
"You two know, certainly, what you're getting into. Why did you volunteer? Fame? Fortune? All the corn in Korburrow?"
Ryn pauses a second, and the small smirk returns to his face. "Though I wouldn't say no to some creamed corn..."
THY FOOLYSH STRONGMYN enters the implied 'ring,' and as if on cue one of the carnies rings a bell, and the fight is on. Intimidated an obviously outclassed, the whelp takes a few feeble steps towards Morbin, barely a few inches taller than the dwarf despite the racial advantage.
Morbin shoots in and grabs his leg, attempting to throw him backwards and win the fight outright. The wiry fellow staggers, almost falls out of the ring, but manages to maintain his composure just in time.
The crowd roars.
The circus goon makes a hasty pass only to be stiff-armed, then battered with elbows and closed hands. Clutching his sides as Morbin attempts to corner him and force him into the crowd, the obviously outclassed half-elf offers what Zephria can see as a clearly rehearsed performance:
Oh ye fates, let your Liquere of Valor give me victory! He holds a blue vial, produced from his cloak, into the air for all to see, then quaffs it. Before Morbin can take advantage of his distracted attention, he has a half-elf on his shoulders, then kicking the back of his legs, then pinning him in submission on the ground.
And the winner is: THY FOOLYSH STONGMYN, with the aid of the LIQUERE OF VALOR!
Before there can be too much of an outcry over the obviously fixed fight, acrobats are taking gambling tickets from the hands of angry onlookers, and replacing them with gold and sample sizes of the same blue liquid. Scores of amazed shoppers crowd the cart to purchase their own liquid strength.
The hold on Morbin's arm loosens, and a surprisingly deep voice close behind him says: "Sorry mate. Part of our shtick. Have a few on us." Morbin feels 5 vials of the stuff in his back pocket, but his opponent is gone by the time he turns around.
Zephria:
15 minutes later, when the coffers in the back of the wagon are full and the supply of their mystic good has been exhausted, the portly herald announces the circus' imminent return on their way back to the far lands. As quickly as they arrived, the caravan is boarded up, the entertainers leave, and Korburrow is sleepy again.
Jacob finds himself now surrounded by the five adventurers as the town square empties. He removes a small spyglass and a letter, entrusting them to Vathis. "Give these to Captain Hithia. During your station at the tower, ensure that you keep watch to the western lands as well as the southern woods. I feel that word of our diminished numbers may have spread, and old enemies may soon surface." Compassionate eyes fall on Zephria. "In such a case, may vengeance not get the better of you."
Turning to her fellow adventurers, she grins and exclaims "Let's get a move on, boys. No reason to stand around here any longer." Addressing Morbin, she can't help but grin a little wider. "Unless you'd like to wrestle me! I'll be sure to go easy on you. No? Well, let's be off then! Nothing to get the feet moving like a bit of a tune!"
Taking her flute from her pack, she waves a hand at the elder, starts playing, and skips off down the road to Fort Dolor.
She settles for a drink from her waterskin, then nods goodbye to elder Jachobsen.
Zephira manages a smile as looks over her new comrades, and falls into step with Vetis's march.
With that, Ryn turns down the next side street and makes his way to his own home. When he gets to his house, he lets himself in and heads to the small chest in the corner of his bedroom where he stores his keepsakes. All the way at the bottom is an oiled leather bag containing both whats left of the supplies he left home with as well as his heirloom leather armor. Kept almost perfectly clean inside the sealed bag, it takes only a moment to restore the armor to the pristine state he had kept it in for the years he had been out in the world. He restores the armor to the sack, grabs the rod that helps him focus his power, and heads back out the front door, locking it tightly. After adjusting the straps of his pack to balance the weight, he sets off through a winding route through the city that he knows will lead him out towards the fort.
Edit: Ryn quietly whistles the tune that the bard was playing, hoping to get it out of his head as he walks the long walk to the fort.
No, best to wait for a more opportune moment.
With that, Vetis started up a much slower, almost somber song, as the walls of Fort Dolor approached.
"You play very well, but I don't think that dirge suits your nature much" says Zephria as she tries not to smirk.
"Heh," Ryn pants. "I caught up. It's been a while since I've been up here, which of you were the ones that said you'd never seen the fort proper?"
While they walk the remaining distance to the fort, Ryn starts tying on the breastplate and other easy-to-get-to pieces of his leather armor, planning to sit down and get it all tightened once the group reaches their destination.