The trees of the forest suddenly give way to a large, bare clearing dominated by a weed-choked temple. Its peaked roof, festooned with demonic gargoyles, is largely intact, although its windowless walls are cracked and crumbling. The main entrance to the temple, two mammoth, ironbound doors, yawn open, exposing nothing but darkness beyond. Although obviously abandoned and in disrepair, the structure exudes a quiet malevolence made all the more haunting by the waning light of the afternoon as the forest presses in against it. Ashbrooke was founded just a hundred short years ago by the followers of Lanathder, the Morninglord, who sacked the former temple of the Cult of the Dragon that now lay in ruins. Ashbrooke was the surname of the high paladin of the Morninglord who has since passed from this plane into the next to better serve his Lord.
We find our party, weary from a day's travel, coming into Ashbrooke seeking rest and refreshment at the local inn the Rising Dawn. It's a ramshackle stone building that looks like it was built from stone pilfered from the temple ruins and upon closer inspection even the dim-witted can see that's exactly what was done. Dotted throughout the bustling forest crossroads that Ashbrooke has become are structures built from the bones of the Cult of the Dragon temple! The town looks relatively large with a centralized market nearly shutting down for the late afternoon as the party enters it from the road.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Kensha stops at the sight, placing one steel shod end of his polished oaken quarterstaff on the ground. To western eyes he appears strangely dressed in a long, mantled, soft leather duster with green trim, to which a soft leather cowl had been sewn. Beneath he wears a loose, light brown tunic and loose, darker brown trousers similar to a karategi, with a vest of green and brown. On a long brown belt is tied about his waist, and a strange short sword in a wooden sheath has been struck through the belt.
He is silent for a few moments as he takes in the buildings and the inhabitants. A shiver runs down his spine at the sight of the temple, and his grip tightens on his quarterstaff. "Dragons," he mutters under his breath.
As the party makes its way to the Inn, he continues to look around. On entering the Inn, he steps to the side of the door, once again observing the patrons and allowing the others to enter.
Mulligan's eyes scan the desolate temple and make notes of specific imagery such as the weeds growing in the cracks, the silent grim sentinels upon the roof, the huge but rusted doors which stood ajar... His demeanor betrayed no real interest in the structure but he was always mentally taking note of images or turns of phrase or bits of a tune which he could save and incorporate later into his works. Mulligan McGee had a habit of turning everything into something else - a story or a song or even just a comedic rhyme. To him nothing was real until it was somehow memorialized by him...
Mulligan wore a typical green travelers cloak that could protect him from the elements when need be or easily tossed over one shoulder and out of the way when not. The lining was fitted with a few concealed pockets but most wouldn't notice that even if they did look. His clothes were typical for a traveler except perhaps for the colorful and loose, yet muted shirt he wore. It was flashy without being boisterous. If one looked carefully one would see the breastplate he wore as armor but it was artfully covered but a leather patchwork jerkin with many pockets. His flutes seemingly had their own scabbard type holders upon this so as to always be close at hand. Also casually conveniently located was his rapier upon his hip and several daggers partially concealed upon him.
Upon approaching The Rising Dawn his facade did break and a smile came upon his face. An inn! "Civilization at last!" he says just above a whisper.
"Come all, let us drink, relax and recover!" he says with delight in his voice as he picks up the pace approaching the establishment. It had been too long since they relaxed and drank and left the dust of the road fall off their boots. Then again, for Mulligan, any time spent outside of an inn or tavern was too much time spent outside of an inn or tavern. Mulligan didn't burst through the door and demand attention but rather slipped in quietly and made his way to the bar. Places like these all had their own temperament and personality and should be studied first, then carefully won over...
"Ale for myself... And whatever my companions want," Mulligan says to whoever is serving such libations at this establishment and places a couple of gold down. "We're very thirsty."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
Ammus peered into the town, noting the design of each building in the area. Immediately his eyes caught the gutted temple, the weeds growing from the cracks, and the neglected path leading to the structure. "Fascinating. They've started using the temple stones to maintain their buildings. One would think they'd respect such an old structure, especially one as important as this was," he spoke, to no one in particular. As a habit of his, he analyzed every part of any town he encountered, as though out of fear or awe. Perhaps he never felt safe in civilization unless he knew its inner workings.
Behind him, a green wyvern-looking creature flew, maintaining proximity to the ranger as though bound by an invisible cord. As they neared the inn, Ammus gestured to his shiny companion, who perched on it's master's shouder.
The tired dragonborn shook his hood down and groaned as he sank into his seat. "Just an ale for me, my friend. And some water for my companion," he requested, nodding to the creature on his shoulder.
"Water, for me," Kensha asks in a polite voice. Calmly, he removes his pack and places it over the back of a chair, slides the quarterstaff between it and the chair, then removes his coat, folds once, then rolls it up and clips it to his pack beneath his blankets. Finally he removes the short sword & scabbard from his belt, lays it on the table and sits. When the water arrives, he removes a pouch of sprinkles a pinch of finely ground nettle and mint into the water.
[@DM: What kind of townsfolk and tavern patrons are we dealing with? Humans? Humanoid? Monsterous (Bugbears, Orcs, etc.)? Also, what general knowledge do we have regarding the Cult of the Dragon.]
Kensha sips his restorative drink and slips close to a meditative state, trying to drown out the general noise and bring some calm to himself. The Temple fills him with a subtle sense of dread, and as he scans the taverns patrons slowly, he looks for signs of unusual agitation, even as he calms his own. [OOC: I feel a disturbance in the Force]
"How long shall we stay in this town? I question the wisdom of those who would make their home, not only near such a place, but more so to use its very stones."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
The trees of the forest suddenly give way to a large, bare clearing dominated by a weed-choked temple. Its peaked roof, festooned with demonic gargoyles, is largely intact, although its windowless walls are cracked and crumbling. The main entrance to the temple, two mammoth, ironbound doors, yawn open, exposing nothing but darkness beyond. Although obviously abandoned and in disrepair, the structure exudes a quiet malevolence made all the more haunting by the waning light of the afternoon as the forest presses in against it. Ashbrooke was founded just a hundred short years ago by the followers of Lanathder, the Morninglord, who sacked the former temple of the Cult of the Dragon that now lay in ruins. Ashbrooke was the surname of the high paladin of the Morninglord who has since passed from this plane into the next to better serve his Lord.
We find our party, weary from a day's travel, coming into Ashbrooke seeking rest and refreshment at the local inn the Rising Dawn. It's a ramshackle stone building that looks like it was built from stone pilfered from the temple ruins and upon closer inspection even the dim-witted can see that's exactly what was done. Dotted throughout the bustling forest crossroads that Ashbrooke has become are structures built from the bones of the Cult of the Dragon temple! The town looks relatively large with a centralized market nearly shutting down for the late afternoon as the party enters it from the road.
Kensha stops at the sight, placing one steel shod end of his polished oaken quarterstaff on the ground. To western eyes he appears strangely dressed in a long, mantled, soft leather duster with green trim, to which a soft leather cowl had been sewn. Beneath he wears a loose, light brown tunic and loose, darker brown trousers similar to a karategi, with a vest of green and brown. On a long brown belt is tied about his waist, and a strange short sword in a wooden sheath has been struck through the belt.
He is silent for a few moments as he takes in the buildings and the inhabitants. A shiver runs down his spine at the sight of the temple, and his grip tightens on his quarterstaff. "Dragons," he mutters under his breath.
As the party makes its way to the Inn, he continues to look around. On entering the Inn, he steps to the side of the door, once again observing the patrons and allowing the others to enter.
Perception in the streets: 10
Perception in Inn: 8
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
Mulligan's eyes scan the desolate temple and make notes of specific imagery such as the weeds growing in the cracks, the silent grim sentinels upon the roof, the huge but rusted doors which stood ajar... His demeanor betrayed no real interest in the structure but he was always mentally taking note of images or turns of phrase or bits of a tune which he could save and incorporate later into his works. Mulligan McGee had a habit of turning everything into something else - a story or a song or even just a comedic rhyme. To him nothing was real until it was somehow memorialized by him...
Mulligan wore a typical green travelers cloak that could protect him from the elements when need be or easily tossed over one shoulder and out of the way when not. The lining was fitted with a few concealed pockets but most wouldn't notice that even if they did look. His clothes were typical for a traveler except perhaps for the colorful and loose, yet muted shirt he wore. It was flashy without being boisterous. If one looked carefully one would see the breastplate he wore as armor but it was artfully covered but a leather patchwork jerkin with many pockets. His flutes seemingly had their own scabbard type holders upon this so as to always be close at hand. Also casually conveniently located was his rapier upon his hip and several daggers partially concealed upon him.
Upon approaching The Rising Dawn his facade did break and a smile came upon his face. An inn! "Civilization at last!" he says just above a whisper.
"Come all, let us drink, relax and recover!" he says with delight in his voice as he picks up the pace approaching the establishment. It had been too long since they relaxed and drank and left the dust of the road fall off their boots. Then again, for Mulligan, any time spent outside of an inn or tavern was too much time spent outside of an inn or tavern. Mulligan didn't burst through the door and demand attention but rather slipped in quietly and made his way to the bar. Places like these all had their own temperament and personality and should be studied first, then carefully won over...
"Ale for myself... And whatever my companions want," Mulligan says to whoever is serving such libations at this establishment and places a couple of gold down. "We're very thirsty."
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
Ammus peered into the town, noting the design of each building in the area. Immediately his eyes caught the gutted temple, the weeds growing from the cracks, and the neglected path leading to the structure. "Fascinating. They've started using the temple stones to maintain their buildings. One would think they'd respect such an old structure, especially one as important as this was," he spoke, to no one in particular. As a habit of his, he analyzed every part of any town he encountered, as though out of fear or awe. Perhaps he never felt safe in civilization unless he knew its inner workings.
Behind him, a green wyvern-looking creature flew, maintaining proximity to the ranger as though bound by an invisible cord. As they neared the inn, Ammus gestured to his shiny companion, who perched on it's master's shouder.
The tired dragonborn shook his hood down and groaned as he sank into his seat. "Just an ale for me, my friend. And some water for my companion," he requested, nodding to the creature on his shoulder.
I am the head of comms of the "oops, i accidently destroyed someone's brain" cult here is our terms and conditions
*smacks table* DRAGONS
Genius is merely insanity channeled correctly
"Water, for me," Kensha asks in a polite voice. Calmly, he removes his pack and places it over the back of a chair, slides the quarterstaff between it and the chair, then removes his coat, folds once, then rolls it up and clips it to his pack beneath his blankets. Finally he removes the short sword & scabbard from his belt, lays it on the table and sits. When the water arrives, he removes a pouch of sprinkles a pinch of finely ground nettle and mint into the water.
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
[@DM: What kind of townsfolk and tavern patrons are we dealing with? Humans? Humanoid? Monsterous (Bugbears, Orcs, etc.)? Also, what general knowledge do we have regarding the Cult of the Dragon.]
Kensha sips his restorative drink and slips close to a meditative state, trying to drown out the general noise and bring some calm to himself. The Temple fills him with a subtle sense of dread, and as he scans the taverns patrons slowly, he looks for signs of unusual agitation, even as he calms his own. [OOC: I feel a disturbance in the Force]
"How long shall we stay in this town? I question the wisdom of those who would make their home, not only near such a place, but more so to use its very stones."
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG