The ancient kingdom of Alvernia, sire of a thousand kings, is under attack. The neighboring kingdoms of Yllera and Dalenor have formed an alliance which places their former ally into a fatal envelopment. The coastal land of Yllera reaches out across the seas to foreign allies, offering new trade and land in exchange for support. Dalenor, the gate to the west, is the largest of Alvernia’s neighbors and has gained support of several smaller kingdoms. Desperate for salvation and blind to the progress of its growing threats, Alveria has divided its army between two borders. However, Dalenor boasts an army large enough to overrun the divided Alvernian military, and Yllera’s terrain has proven more deadly to invaders than any military might. Days, weeks, months have passed and Alvernia’s choices are beginning to shrink. To bolster their might, coffers have nearly been drained hiring any mercenary band that could be recruited.
In a desperate gambit, Alvernia has turned its attention to Dalenor. In secret, the eastern front has slowly been diminished. Fires are lit at night for camps of thousands, but manned by hundreds. Empty, covered caravans are sent along supply routes. How long this ruse will last, no one can say. Regardless, your mercenary band has been recruited among dozens of others and guided to the western front. Your band was quickly integrated into the army’s vanguard. Your mission en route to Dalenor is simple: become the tip of Alvernia’s spear and blaze a strategic path into hostile lands.
Placeholder for things to come soon. Please do not delete. Content will be posted within 24 hours.
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Two months prior, the introduction and offer came through by courier. After acceptance, the next letter was a formal contract, scribed by the court of King Raeland, sealed by His own signet. Among standard legal verbage, the following was included:
“…In two weks time, report to the western Alvernian camp. There, you will meet with Commander Tulvus who will instruct you on special assignment. Your reputation for accomplishing great deeds with small numbers is unprecedented. Alvernia is be greatly indebted to your service in this task, and will need your continued support. However, should you take on this contract and fail to arrive, we will take this as a sign of fraud and your company will be labeled enemies of the state.”
You heard the camp from miles off. Alvernia's rolling plains could do nothing to muffle the activity of several thousand men and women gathered at the western camp. At first glance, the camp seemed to stretch to immeasurable lengths in all directions. Fires burned at various locations all day and banners created a sea of color above the heads of this city-like gathering. At the heart of the activity stood a small encampment within a hasty, now-redundant, wooden palisade. As you approach one of the outer camps, a man on horseback rides to you. After seeing your contract papers, he quickly directs you to the center encampment and advises you to keep the papers you have tightly guarded, but ready as a shield.
Approaching the central encampment, a pair of guards stand watch. As you come near, they snap attention, shields forward, spears lowered slightly. Their armor would indicate they are no mere levies. After showing them your paperwork, they wave to an archer behind the wall. A tense minute passes before the gate opens enough to pass through single-file. on the other side of the wall, a much smaller, more uniform camp sits. You can see that most tents bear the same coat of arms, but a few have insignias matching the immediate camps just outside. In the center is a massive structure of canvas capable of seating three dozen with a dozen standards planted out front; a militarized amphitheater where performers recite stratagem and doctrine rather than poetry and romance. A guard at the gate points you to the large tent in the middle. Near the entrance, a surly dwarf in armor is shouting at a pair of similarly dressed dwarves, "I don' care what the bastard claims. I want his out by first light, or I swear by the Great Stone Seat he'll go home through the ground and you two will escort him! Last thing we need is word of drunk and rowdy dwarves in the camp," the pair snap to attention with a brisk salute only to be met by a hand shoving their arms down, "Get those damn things down and your asses through that gate or I'll have two new ass-wipers!"
The pair of younger dwarves quickly scramble away from their superior. Left agitated, the dwarf draws one of several flasks from his hip and takes a large pull before pacing outside the tent to relieve his stress. Outside the main tent stands a pair of heavily armored guards with shield and spears locked over the entrance.
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Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Summary: Orphaned at an early age, Gridolpho was raised on the rough streets of Assentia by an older Halfling member of the Thieves Guild known simply as "Granddad". Gridolpho was his star pupil and he is keenly aware of the fact that he is above-average when it comes to the art of burglary. It's given him an ego when it comes to his own skills. But being a person of short stature surrounded by larger races left Gridolpho with a strong dislike of the other races who he feels look down on him and other Halflings. He constantly refers to the taller races as "Bigjobs" (or, rather, "Feckin' Bigjobs!")
Shortly after he came of age and joined the Guild as a full member, Granddad died under mysterious circumstances. The Guild leaders told him it was "natural causes", but he doesn't buy it for a second. But he also knows he can't take on the Guild...yet.
Gridolpho is brash and loud (overcompensating for his size), but deep down has a good heart. "Take only from those that can afford to gives it. Give to thems that don't has when you can" as Granddad says. Gridolpho usually ends up doing the right thing...eventually.
A consummate thief, Gridolpho doesn't handle downtime well. He is constantly fidgety, keeping his hands busy twiddling one of his daggers, shuffling cards, or (if he's had a drink or two) playing his flute. "Granddad said music was good for the soul. I don't care for that shite, but it does keep the fingers limber and ready for real work." He considers it a point of professional pride that no one really knows how many daggers he has on his person ("Always one more than you think, Bigjob!") or what cards he's holding in his hand ("Ante up and find out!"). Lastly, he has an ever-present metal toothpick in the corner of his mouth. Although that tends to disappear when it looks like he's about to be taken into custody, tucked into a cheek or slipped up a sleeve or down a boot in case he needs to pick his way out of trouble later.
On the job, Gridolpho is quiet, focused, and competent. His faith in his skills and Granddad's training are the closest he comes to religion. He eschews magic and sees "blessings" and "musical inspiration" as a form of cheating. If it can't be done by skill and skill alone, Gridolpho doesn't see it as worth doing. He wears a small, chess-like token carved in the image of a smug, older Halfling on a leather thong around his neck. His nervous fingers tend to go to it when he's talking about Granddad. The Thieves Guild he belongs to used these tokens as representations of their members and Gridolpho kept Granddad's piece after the old coot got "knocked off the board".
Personality Traits: 7' of ego in a 3'3" body. Chip on the shoulder large enough to surf on.
Ideals: For all my bluster, Granddad raised me to do the right thing...eventually. (Good)
Bonds: I will live up to the standard Granddad set and someday make him proud.
Flaws: Chip on his shoulder. Sensitive about his upbringing.
Other Notes: Gridolpho's only apparent weaponry are his rapier (Pokerface) and a single dagger on his belt (Last Call), all his other daggers are concealed about his person via Sleight of Hand. When needed, the daggers appear and disappear with the skill of a trained stage magician.
His accent is hard to place. A true child of the streets he's picked up a bit of cockney urchin, southern drawl, uppercrust received pronunciation, and more. However, whenever he quotes Granddad, the accent is pure Billy Connely.
His Criminal Contact (background feature) in the Alvernian Army is Quartermaster Sergeant Augustus Graves, aka Auggie "Digger" Graves, a fellow disgraced member of the Chessmen Thieves' Guild of Assentia. Gridolpho always has a gambling debt, marker, or IOU to call in to get favors from Digger.
CUBE
Entering the compound, Gridolpho adopts a disinterested attitude. Eschewing his normal twitchy quirks of fiddling a dagger or shuffling cards, he idly flips a copper piece over his knuckles. Seemingly paying attention to nothing, he is none-the-less paying attention to everything as he lets the more "orthodox" members of the Rising Star Company take the lead.
(Yes. You are in the central encampment within the overall western military camp. You can press forward, explore the encampment, go out to the larger camp, whatever you want to do. Being a homebrew campaign, I have details for everything)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
The goliath let go a low growl when he saw the large encampnet. First, days traveling across the plain fields, with only hills that barely deserve that name from time to time. Now, in the middle of all that plain terrain, that large encampment that stinks. He thought that he would get used to it, the stench, the noises of so many people together in the same place, but it doesn’t matter how much time he had spent on cities or how many war camps like that one he had visited with his companions of the Rising Star Company, he hasn’t get used to it. And be dammend if he does.
While Caelyn shows their papers to the guards he whispers to the halfling.
“They seem to be on their nerves... as if expected the rest of the camp to attack them...”
Not in his better mood, he asked their leader with his cavernous voice with that weird accent (think of norwegian accent)
”Hey Cap, perhaps that dwarf could point us where to place our tents. Or better, send us to a scout mission away from... here”
While Caelyn shows their papers to the guards he whispers to the halfling.
“They seem to be on their nerves... as if expected the rest of the camp to attack them...”
<whispered back> "Standard management technique, Grumbles. When things arna lookin' yer way, make sure yer underlin's can't get atcha easy. Weain't exactly there yet, but another couple months? Another hundred leagues marched? Another platoon dead an' gone? A hot Delenorian meal in exchange for yer commander's stripes is a mighty temptin' deal. 3 to 5 says tha's parta why we're here."
OOC - I recommend putting your character speech in bold and also highlighting in in a unique color.
For instance, Gridolpho speaks in Burnt Orange while Granddad's voice is Grayish Blue. Just be careful that you pick something that shows up well against the white background commonly used.
"Poorly washed bodies? Bad food and worse drink? Shite an' whiz? The subtle hint of fear for your life? That ain't stink, Grumbles. That's the smell of the streets!"
Around the interior camp, a multitude of banners can be seen that were apparent outside the pallisade. The ones bearing the various crests are very obviously commanders and captains. The inner camp only shows maybe ten different insignias while the exterior boasts at least thirty.
(Skill checks are always available to use if you want information. Roll and I'll tell if the skill holds any value. If you're not sure which to use, feel free to ask)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"Poorly washed bodies? Bad food and worse drink? Shite an' whiz? The subtle hint of fear for your life? That ain't stink, Grumbles. That's the smell of the streets!"
These smells were pervasive in various combinations and concentrations through the outer camp, but the inner camp is significantly muted in this regard.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Exactly Fingers. And who wants to be in the streets when you have mountains?" the halfling finds a little odd the humor of the big goliath but his mood had been worsen as the days trough the plains went by.
Kyrthas will take a look trying to find some empty space to put their tent.
"Dunno 'bout that, Grumbles. Thar's so many opportunities to be had on the streets. If'n Cap'n Pointy takes too long hob-nobbin' the brass, I might just get distracted and wander off."
The goliath makes a gesture with his hand making clear that he doesn't care of what Gridolpho does if he gets bored. He puts the hood of his cloak over his head, the hood resembling a bear's head, the cloak made from a big bear skin itself, and goes silent waiting for the inevitable bureucracy ends and they can set their own campent.
It becomes readily apparent that space to set up within the inner camp is unlikely. Many banners you seem to recognize from your trip across Alvernia as being those of banner lords under the king. It also seems that the most doorway activity happens around the larger tents. Those rushing about are likely retainers and subordinates to the officers within.
Guards posted at the central tent and pallisade catwalk bear the crest of the king himself, likely household guards. With so many scattered to the posts, it is not unlikely that a contingent follows the ruler as a round-the-clock bodyguard as well.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Y'see, Grumbles. Tha hoi-paloi don' wanna been seen cavorting with the likes'a us. Do'me favor? Keep yer eye peeled for anythin' shiny an' portable. City-cat an' Mountain-goat. We'll get what's ours."
Gridolpho would love to go off and do some investigating, but "don't split the party" and all that.
The area isn't openly hostile and nothing is keeping you in the center camp. As long as you don't go picking fights, there won't be trouble. Army camps are typically full of bored/frustrated grunts, but there are superiors who squash open conflict quick. The only thing you'll miss is the meeting with the one referenced in the letter. Maybe it's significant, maybe some interactions change by not meeting them? I suppose time and choices will tell ;)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Vaike, a large (for a human), hulking figure, covered head to toe in full battle regalia (menacing dark iron armor, with a helmet with only two dark slits with eyes, and a strange blue robe covered with hypnotic eye like patterns that puts off others, making them feel watched) stalks towards the two dwarfs that were being chewed out earlier.
A deep, low bass voice growls out in near perfect dwarfish "What seems to be the problem here, boys?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Quick Character Reference
Name: Perrin, the Horticulturist
Race: Halfling (stout)
Class: Druid (support)
Perrin was from one of the simple villagers living a simple life, more concerned with Mr Humphrey's victory at the village "Largest Pumpkin of Year" contest than with some petty wars of some kings in the far lands. Dedicated to win at any cost, he started reading more books and old scrolls, trying to improve his produce. In desperation he began talking to his plants, and to his suprise they began to talk back! Gradually, Perrin understood that he was not going insane, but rather had awakened a budding druid magic power.
Perrin was consumed by his new abilities, even less interested with the wider world with the taxmen, and recruiters and stupid politics. He went into seclusion deep in the wild lands. Returning back as a fully fledged druid, he was somewhat lost with all the talk of war. Needing some funds to further advance his knowledge and interested to test his powers to help people, Perrin signs up with a mercenary band to earn some coin.
Perrin is a calm easygoing person (Neutral Good), with the temperament of a typical halfling: optimistic, enjoying good food and sleep. In the group, he takes the role of utility and support, with his vast library of spells for almost any situation.
Vaike, a large (for a human), hulking figure, covered head to toe in full battle regalia (menacing dark iron armor, with a helmet with only two dark slits with eyes, and a strange blue robe covered with hypnotic eye like patterns that puts off others, making them feel watched) stalks towards the two dwarfs that were being chewed out earlier.
A deep, low bass voice growls out in near perfect dwarfish "What seems to be the problem here, boys?"
(Roll for Intimidate
28)
One of the dwarves seems to flinch when he sees the menacing figure, "Our capt'n's been at the drink again. We tried to speak for 'im an tell tha commander that he's still steady as bedrock. Problem 'ere is that the commander's not the forgivin' type for things like drunkenness. Says that in the field, soldiers need to be soldierin'." The two dismiss themselves without another word, seemingly eager to get away from the dark figure.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
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The ancient kingdom of Alvernia, sire of a thousand kings, is under attack. The neighboring kingdoms of Yllera and Dalenor have formed an alliance which places their former ally into a fatal envelopment. The coastal land of Yllera reaches out across the seas to foreign allies, offering new trade and land in exchange for support. Dalenor, the gate to the west, is the largest of Alvernia’s neighbors and has gained support of several smaller kingdoms. Desperate for salvation and blind to the progress of its growing threats, Alveria has divided its army between two borders. However, Dalenor boasts an army large enough to overrun the divided Alvernian military, and Yllera’s terrain has proven more deadly to invaders than any military might. Days, weeks, months have passed and Alvernia’s choices are beginning to shrink. To bolster their might, coffers have nearly been drained hiring any mercenary band that could be recruited.
In a desperate gambit, Alvernia has turned its attention to Dalenor. In secret, the eastern front has slowly been diminished. Fires are lit at night for camps of thousands, but manned by hundreds. Empty, covered caravans are sent along supply routes. How long this ruse will last, no one can say. Regardless, your mercenary band has been recruited among dozens of others and guided to the western front. Your band was quickly integrated into the army’s vanguard. Your mission en route to Dalenor is simple: become the tip of Alvernia’s spear and blaze a strategic path into hostile lands.
Placeholder for things to come soon. Please do not delete. Content will be posted within 24 hours.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Two months prior, the introduction and offer came through by courier. After acceptance, the next letter was a formal contract, scribed by the court of King Raeland, sealed by His own signet. Among standard legal verbage, the following was included:
“…In two weks time, report to the western Alvernian camp. There, you will meet with Commander Tulvus who will instruct you on special assignment. Your reputation for accomplishing great deeds with small numbers is unprecedented. Alvernia is be greatly indebted to your service in this task, and will need your continued support. However, should you take on this contract and fail to arrive, we will take this as a sign of fraud and your company will be labeled enemies of the state.”
You heard the camp from miles off. Alvernia's rolling plains could do nothing to muffle the activity of several thousand men and women gathered at the western camp. At first glance, the camp seemed to stretch to immeasurable lengths in all directions. Fires burned at various locations all day and banners created a sea of color above the heads of this city-like gathering. At the heart of the activity stood a small encampment within a hasty, now-redundant, wooden palisade. As you approach one of the outer camps, a man on horseback rides to you. After seeing your contract papers, he quickly directs you to the center encampment and advises you to keep the papers you have tightly guarded, but ready as a shield.
Approaching the central encampment, a pair of guards stand watch. As you come near, they snap attention, shields forward, spears lowered slightly. Their armor would indicate they are no mere levies. After showing them your paperwork, they wave to an archer behind the wall. A tense minute passes before the gate opens enough to pass through single-file. on the other side of the wall, a much smaller, more uniform camp sits. You can see that most tents bear the same coat of arms, but a few have insignias matching the immediate camps just outside. In the center is a massive structure of canvas capable of seating three dozen with a dozen standards planted out front; a militarized amphitheater where performers recite stratagem and doctrine rather than poetry and romance. A guard at the gate points you to the large tent in the middle. Near the entrance, a surly dwarf in armor is shouting at a pair of similarly dressed dwarves, "I don' care what the bastard claims. I want his out by first light, or I swear by the Great Stone Seat he'll go home through the ground and you two will escort him! Last thing we need is word of drunk and rowdy dwarves in the camp," the pair snap to attention with a brisk salute only to be met by a hand shoving their arms down, "Get those damn things down and your asses through that gate or I'll have two new ass-wipers!"
The pair of younger dwarves quickly scramble away from their superior. Left agitated, the dwarf draws one of several flasks from his hip and takes a large pull before pacing outside the tent to relieve his stress. Outside the main tent stands a pair of heavily armored guards with shield and spears locked over the entrance.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Per ShadIn's request:
Gridolpho Nine-Fingers
Race: Halfling (Lightfoot)
Class: Rogue (Thief)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Role: Burglar/Skill Monkey
Summary: Orphaned at an early age, Gridolpho was raised on the rough streets of Assentia by an older Halfling member of the Thieves Guild known simply as "Granddad". Gridolpho was his star pupil and he is keenly aware of the fact that he is above-average when it comes to the art of burglary. It's given him an ego when it comes to his own skills. But being a person of short stature surrounded by larger races left Gridolpho with a strong dislike of the other races who he feels look down on him and other Halflings. He constantly refers to the taller races as "Bigjobs" (or, rather, "Feckin' Bigjobs!")
Shortly after he came of age and joined the Guild as a full member, Granddad died under mysterious circumstances. The Guild leaders told him it was "natural causes", but he doesn't buy it for a second. But he also knows he can't take on the Guild...yet.
Gridolpho is brash and loud (overcompensating for his size), but deep down has a good heart. "Take only from those that can afford to gives it. Give to thems that don't has when you can" as Granddad says. Gridolpho usually ends up doing the right thing...eventually.
A consummate thief, Gridolpho doesn't handle downtime well. He is constantly fidgety, keeping his hands busy twiddling one of his daggers, shuffling cards, or (if he's had a drink or two) playing his flute. "Granddad said music was good for the soul. I don't care for that shite, but it does keep the fingers limber and ready for real work." He considers it a point of professional pride that no one really knows how many daggers he has on his person ("Always one more than you think, Bigjob!") or what cards he's holding in his hand ("Ante up and find out!"). Lastly, he has an ever-present metal toothpick in the corner of his mouth. Although that tends to disappear when it looks like he's about to be taken into custody, tucked into a cheek or slipped up a sleeve or down a boot in case he needs to pick his way out of trouble later.
On the job, Gridolpho is quiet, focused, and competent. His faith in his skills and Granddad's training are the closest he comes to religion. He eschews magic and sees "blessings" and "musical inspiration" as a form of cheating. If it can't be done by skill and skill alone, Gridolpho doesn't see it as worth doing. He wears a small, chess-like token carved in the image of a smug, older Halfling on a leather thong around his neck. His nervous fingers tend to go to it when he's talking about Granddad. The Thieves Guild he belongs to used these tokens as representations of their members and Gridolpho kept Granddad's piece after the old coot got "knocked off the board".
Personality Traits: 7' of ego in a 3'3" body. Chip on the shoulder large enough to surf on.
Ideals: For all my bluster, Granddad raised me to do the right thing...eventually. (Good)
Bonds: I will live up to the standard Granddad set and someday make him proud.
Flaws: Chip on his shoulder. Sensitive about his upbringing.
Other Notes: Gridolpho's only apparent weaponry are his rapier (Pokerface) and a single dagger on his belt (Last Call), all his other daggers are concealed about his person via Sleight of Hand. When needed, the daggers appear and disappear with the skill of a trained stage magician.
His accent is hard to place. A true child of the streets he's picked up a bit of cockney urchin, southern drawl, uppercrust received pronunciation, and more. However, whenever he quotes Granddad, the accent is pure Billy Connely.
His Criminal Contact (background feature) in the Alvernian Army is Quartermaster Sergeant Augustus Graves, aka Auggie "Digger" Graves, a fellow disgraced member of the Chessmen Thieves' Guild of Assentia. Gridolpho always has a gambling debt, marker, or IOU to call in to get favors from Digger.
CUBE
Entering the compound, Gridolpho adopts a disinterested attitude. Eschewing his normal twitchy quirks of fiddling a dagger or shuffling cards, he idly flips a copper piece over his knuckles. Seemingly paying attention to nothing, he is none-the-less paying attention to everything as he lets the more "orthodox" members of the Rising Star Company take the lead.
DCI: 3319125026
OOC: are we starting to explore?
(Yes. You are in the central encampment within the overall western military camp. You can press forward, explore the encampment, go out to the larger camp, whatever you want to do. Being a homebrew campaign, I have details for everything)
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
The goliath let go a low growl when he saw the large encampnet. First, days traveling across the plain fields, with only hills that barely deserve that name from time to time. Now, in the middle of all that plain terrain, that large encampment that stinks. He thought that he would get used to it, the stench, the noises of so many people together in the same place, but it doesn’t matter how much time he had spent on cities or how many war camps like that one he had visited with his companions of the Rising Star Company, he hasn’t get used to it. And be dammend if he does.
While Caelyn shows their papers to the guards he whispers to the halfling.
“They seem to be on their nerves... as if expected the rest of the camp to attack them...”
Not in his better mood, he asked their leader with his cavernous voice with that weird accent (think of norwegian accent)
”Hey Cap, perhaps that dwarf could point us where to place our tents. Or better, send us to a scout mission away from... here”
PbP Character: A few ;)
OOC - I recommend putting your character speech in bold and also highlighting in in a unique color.
For instance, Gridolpho speaks in Burnt Orange while Granddad's voice is Grayish Blue. Just be careful that you pick something that shows up well against the white background commonly used.
CUBE
DCI: 3319125026
"Grumpf. Better out there hunting Delenorians than here and this... stink." he replies back.
Good advices. I used to do it when I post on the PC but when I try to higlight text on the iPad... it usually ends erased /facepalm
PbP Character: A few ;)
"Poorly washed bodies? Bad food and worse drink? Shite an' whiz? The subtle hint of fear for your life? That ain't stink, Grumbles. That's the smell of the streets!"
DCI: 3319125026
Around the interior camp, a multitude of banners can be seen that were apparent outside the pallisade. The ones bearing the various crests are very obviously commanders and captains. The inner camp only shows maybe ten different insignias while the exterior boasts at least thirty.
(Skill checks are always available to use if you want information. Roll and I'll tell if the skill holds any value. If you're not sure which to use, feel free to ask)
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"Exactly Fingers. And who wants to be in the streets when you have mountains?" the halfling finds a little odd the humor of the big goliath but his mood had been worsen as the days trough the plains went by.
Kyrthas will take a look trying to find some empty space to put their tent.
(Perception:
21 )
PbP Character: A few ;)
"Dunno 'bout that, Grumbles. Thar's so many opportunities to be had on the streets. If'n Cap'n Pointy takes too long hob-nobbin' the brass, I might just get distracted and wander off."
DCI: 3319125026
The goliath makes a gesture with his hand making clear that he doesn't care of what Gridolpho does if he gets bored. He puts the hood of his cloak over his head, the hood resembling a bear's head, the cloak made from a big bear skin itself, and goes silent waiting for the inevitable bureucracy ends and they can set their own campent.
PbP Character: A few ;)
It becomes readily apparent that space to set up within the inner camp is unlikely. Many banners you seem to recognize from your trip across Alvernia as being those of banner lords under the king. It also seems that the most doorway activity happens around the larger tents. Those rushing about are likely retainers and subordinates to the officers within.
Guards posted at the central tent and pallisade catwalk bear the crest of the king himself, likely household guards. With so many scattered to the posts, it is not unlikely that a contingent follows the ruler as a round-the-clock bodyguard as well.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Y'see, Grumbles. Tha hoi-paloi don' wanna been seen cavorting with the likes'a us. Do'me favor? Keep yer eye peeled for anythin' shiny an' portable. City-cat an' Mountain-goat. We'll get what's ours."
Gridolpho would love to go off and do some investigating, but "don't split the party" and all that.
CUBE
DCI: 3319125026
The area isn't openly hostile and nothing is keeping you in the center camp. As long as you don't go picking fights, there won't be trouble. Army camps are typically full of bored/frustrated grunts, but there are superiors who squash open conflict quick. The only thing you'll miss is the meeting with the one referenced in the letter. Maybe it's significant, maybe some interactions change by not meeting them? I suppose time and choices will tell ;)
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Vaike, a large (for a human), hulking figure, covered head to toe in full battle regalia (menacing dark iron armor, with a helmet with only two dark slits with eyes, and a strange blue robe covered with hypnotic eye like patterns that puts off others, making them feel watched) stalks towards the two dwarfs that were being chewed out earlier.
A deep, low bass voice growls out in near perfect dwarfish "What seems to be the problem here, boys?"
(Roll for Intimidate
28)
Quick Character Reference
Name: Perrin, the Horticulturist
Race: Halfling (stout)
Class: Druid (support)
Perrin was from one of the simple villagers living a simple life, more concerned with Mr Humphrey's victory at the village "Largest Pumpkin of Year" contest than with some petty wars of some kings in the far lands. Dedicated to win at any cost, he started reading more books and old scrolls, trying to improve his produce. In desperation he began talking to his plants, and to his suprise they began to talk back! Gradually, Perrin understood that he was not going insane, but rather had awakened a budding druid magic power.
Perrin was consumed by his new abilities, even less interested with the wider world with the taxmen, and recruiters and stupid politics. He went into seclusion deep in the wild lands. Returning back as a fully fledged druid, he was somewhat lost with all the talk of war. Needing some funds to further advance his knowledge and interested to test his powers to help people, Perrin signs up with a mercenary band to earn some coin.
Perrin is a calm easygoing person (Neutral Good), with the temperament of a typical halfling: optimistic, enjoying good food and sleep. In the group, he takes the role of utility and support, with his vast library of spells for almost any situation.
Skills: Perrin is great at Animal Handling, Insight, Medicine , and good at Nature and Perception
Out of Combat: Perrin has skill (and gear) in Herbalism, Cooking and Woodcarving
Spells: With 34 ready spells, Perrin has a spell for almost any situation.
History check to see if any banners are recognised: 4
Perrin looks around and shrugs.
Shouldn't we go in? We will not be paid for just standing here.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero