An easy two and a half days' ride north of Waterdeep, nestled in the foothills of the Southern Sword Mountains and just south of the Westwood, lies the small, seemingly simple hamlet of Amphail. The numerous homesteads that dot the surrounding countryside might have one think the place nothing more than a rural trading post and gathering place for the local farmers, but the silver saddles oft worn by many of the region's numerous horses would quickly lay bare that notion for the misconception that it is.
For all that Amphail is indeed a farming settlement, it also serves as a popular haven and retreat for the noble families of Waterdeep, either for conducting private family affairs or for sending off their more rambunctious youths in hopes of exhausting some of their more...destructive...tendencies in a place well away from polite society. And thus it just so happens that for almost every commoner's steading in the region there is also a small (by noble standards) villa or lodge that serves one such noble family or another.
One such structure, situated to the northeast of the village proper so as to nestle among the thickening eaves of the wood, has been undergoing a revival of sorts. After years of neglect and practical abandonment by its noble owners in favor of newer, more comfortable lodging, the old Westhorn Hall found itself bequeathed to Jhessana Roaringhorn by her great-uncle Tylandar, and the young noblewoman immediately began efforts to revive the aging structure for new, grander purpose. The process was agonizingly slow at first, as Jhessana's dream had little support in its early days, but over time a number of kindred souls found their way to her based on rumor and word of mouth, and now the dream is finally coming to fruition. Westhorn Hall has found a new name, and a new identity.
It now stands as Stormhaven, Home to the Knights of Thunder.
As it currently stands, Stormhaven's past as a rural retreat for the Roaringhorn family means it has sufficient rooms for the Knights of Thunder's current rather limited roster, so each of you presently has your own bedroom within the guildhall, some of you on the lower floor, some on the upper. (I'll allow each of you to describe the basic appearance and general location of your room, bearing in mind that the Knights are rather limited in resources for the time being so none of you will have anything fancy...yet.)
In the early morning hours, on the 20th day since your arrival at Stormhaven, you each hear a now-familiar knock on the door of your designated bedroom.
Edgar will prop open his door and say "hello" to whomever knocks or stops to look in,
His room is on the second floor, just to the left.
A couple parchments lay open on the floor around his bed. Corners being held down with whatever could be found. As edgar sits at the foot of his bed taking notes on another piece of parchment while studying the floor papers.
Edgar is a pale'ish man of mid 20's. His hair is dirty blond. And his eyes look to b a bit sunken in from multiple nights of this same exercise.
There is a lustrous black dagger balanced on its tip on the dresser, with a set of leather armor preped for wear next to it. His boots have been used as corner anchors for the papers.
Hildigrim looks up from his reading. In what anyone over four feet would assume would be an incredibly uncomfortable position, the under-three-feet-tall halfling is squatting on the provided desk chair, his knees against the edge of the desk and his elbows on either side of the large book. Where his cheeks were resting on his palms, two small patches of red are appearing now that he has straightened up some. "Ah —" he says, standing on the chair to reach and grab the bookmark he had tossed above the book, "just a minute." He marks his place and closes the book carefully. Hopping down from the chair, his bare feet slapping the wood, he pulls at the hem of his vest and walks to the door. He reaches up and turns the knob, stepping back to open the door. "Good morning," he says before even looking into the hall.
Edgar, as continue to look over the papers arrayed before you after pushing open the door with your foot, it takes you a moment to realize that no one responded to your "Hello."
Glancing over at the door, there is no one there, but you DO see a number of the books you borrowed from the small library downstairs suddenly pick themselves up off of the nightstand.
That's when it dawns on you. This must be one the Unseen Servants used by Erulisse, Stormhaven's caretaker. You recall that she regularly uses them to carry messages around the guildhall...as well as to rouse people awake in the mornings.
Hildigrim, you are likewise met with silence and a seemingly empty hallway, though a stirring of air passes by you briefly as if entering the room. A moment later, the stirring exits the way it came, apparently having found nothing in urgent need of cleaning in your well-kept quarters.
Hildigrim sighs at the unnecessary intrusion. "Good morning to you, too, Erulisse" he huffs. "It's a good thing I'm an earlier riser." Pulling at his vest again, he leaves his room and closes the door behind him. Hildi's room is on the first floor, as close to the library as he could get. But he heads in the direction of the kitchen this morning, his stomach's growls beginning to turn insistent.
Gimmur Arnskull snores through the first rap on the downstairs door as far from other living quarters as he could find. He snores through the second rap as well, but the unseen servant finally hammers the door loud enough to resemble distant thunder, and the dwarf snorts awake!
"Bedlam and biscuits! What are ya wakin' me for??" the dwarf roars, pitch-black hair flying all around as he clumps towards the door. Thick-knuckled hands grab the door and throw it open. "Don't you know it's bad luck to disturb an..."' his voice trails off as he peers out into the empty hallway, confusion apparent on his open and expressive face. Not empty for long, though, as a couple of the Knights of Thunder approach, as Gimmur's quarters are on the way to the kitchen.
"Aye, and what's all the rumpus about so early of a mornin'?"
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Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
On the second floor, in what probably once was storeroom, with ceilings high enough to be comfortable for the giant furry beast that snores loudly. With a snort and a start, and a loud thud as he swings he feet off the two beds he has pushed next to each other, Phillandros stands up and attempts to stretch his arms above his head. The motion dislodges a few pidgeons whom were trying to roost in the rafters, and he shuffles towards the door. He cracks it open and peers OVER the top of the door in to the hallway beyond and begins to scratch various patches of the shaggy brown fur covering his 8 foot tall frame and yawning.
"Hello?" his baritone voice rumbles out.
His room is sparse, and the windows are boarded over, as he prefers it darker. Because of his size, none of the normal furniture works well enough for him, so most of his belongings are just strategically piled upon the floor with a few furs as well. A large maul rests near the door on its head, with a helmet perched on the end of the handle. Next to it may have once been a chair (or several of them) that have been reassembled in to a rudimentary armor stand for his chainmail.
He is far from his old home in Skullport, but he reminds himself that he's here for a reason. He also likes being among the living as well so he will serve his time as a member of the Knights of Thunder.
Hildigrim: As you make your way through the building this morning, everything is peacefully calm and quiet. You pass a number of rooms on your way to the kitchen, including Jhessana's and as you pass by you note her door has been left ajar and the room vacant, which is slightly unusual for this time of morning as she would normally be in there tinkering on her own firearms.
The smell of bacon, eggs, and fresh-baked bread greets you before you even enter the kitchen proper, and upon coming to the doorway you see the tall, lithe figure of Erulisse Harken busy at work with her breakfast preparations.
Erulisse herself is handling a large, cast-iron skillet over the stove, from which an insistent sizzling can be heard. Meanwhile a knife and cutting board on the nearby counter can be seen slicing into a loaf of steaming hot bread of their own accord, a ladle is lazily stirring a large pot over a separate cookfire, and the shrill whistle of a tea kettle is heard for only the briefest moment before the kettle lifts itself from the stovetop mere inches away from Erulisse's face, which wavers not one whit in her focus on her task.
Phillandros: When you look out into the hallway, you actually see something there. It appears to be a small, neatly folded piece of parchment, floating in midair as though held out for you in the hand of an invisible person.
Gimmur:(OOC: Just a heads up, but both the kitchen and the attached dining room are rather high traffic areas in Stormhaven, so having a room near there isn't exactly all that isolated.)
OOC: Just a heads-up, but since this is the Forgotten Realms, the calendar is divided into "Tendays" rather than weeks. As you can probably guess, one tenday is ten days long. You've all basically been with the Knights for the Forgotten Realms' equivalent of two weeks.
Also, just on a housekeeping note, I'd personally prefer if each of you could pick a color to represent your character's actual spoken words. As an example:
Edgar while walking to the kitchen nods to Gimmur.
"Morning gimmur, im heading to breakfast and also pick back up one of the books i didnt finish last night from the magic help whom took it."
Edgar wears a slightly sleep deprived look on his face but still looks rather cheerful.
"Its been almost three weeks, wonder what is on the roster for today" edgar states excitedly.
"Ho, Edgar! Good morning to ya... Did the house steal another book from under your nose??" He guffaws good-naturedly. There's nothing but joy and amusement in that laugh, and he gives Edgar a hearty armclasp of friendship.
"Gosh yes! Am I curious? You better believe it! M-O-O-N - that spells curious and that's what I am!" He follows along beside Edgar, still in his nightshirt and leaving his door standing open.
OOC: I just meant isolated from other sleepers... He knows he snores and doesn't want to disturb other sleepers, so he would pick somewhere high-traffic that other people might not want to sleep near
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
On the upper floor at the end of one corridor Vayn opens the door to the unseen servant and then ignores it, knowing that it is doing its job and will soon leave anyway.
He moves back through the sparsely furnished room, and looks out of the window looking for any signs of activity outside. He then goes to the bed and takes the sword belt holding his rapier and one of his daggers from the corner post and secures it in place leaving the blade within easy reach, taking a look at himself in the small mirror he sees a young man of slightly above average height, lithe and quick of movement, rather than heavily muscled. His long black hair is tied in a ponytail and the well tanned skin of his Tethyrian heritage is obvious.
Leaving the armour and other weapons on the back of his chair he heads out to seek some breakfast stopping only at the small table where a bottle of whisky and a single glass rest. The bottle is still sealed with wax and the glass unused. Vayn flips the glass over and exits the room.
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Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
OOC: Okay, my apologies, Aramalian. I misunderstood exactly what you meant. If Gimmur intentionally wants a bedroom in a high traffic area, then near the kitchen is indeed a good place.
Phillandros: You hear no response from the unseen servant as you shut your door, but this isn't unusual as you've never actually heard any of them speak. Unfolding the parchment, you quickly realize that it is apparently a note, written in a beautifully flowing cursive script.
Breakfast will be ready at seven bells, so feel free to come down when you're ready.
Also, I wanted to let you know that I've finally received word from one of the local carpenters, and he informs me that he'll be able to begin construction on a larger-scaled outbuilding here on the the grounds on the 8th of Elient.
On the first floor furthest to the left, but close enough to the back entry leading outside is a room by which none have ever heard anything come out of it. Still, and in much the same theme, the knocker is given hardly even a second to wait before the door quietly opens revealing everyone's favorite little Panther kid, already fully dressed and at full attention.
Beyond him is a rather austere room, for in spite anyone's insistence -- including that of his master via a letter -- Night had made a point either removing or only installing all but the bare minimum of furnishings. That meant the simple, if albeit so far, unused bed in the far corner, neatly made like always, full-body mirror off to the side, a water basin on a peddlestle near that, and... that's it really. The only thing otherwise to stand out is the black bear skinned rug facing the door. His windows are devoid of curtains as well.
The rest of his gear sans armor either rests packed up in a backpack beside the bed or atop it; including a carefully folded cape. Though not as well known as some noble families, those that do can recognize the craggy form of a bear upon the cape can tell it belongs to the Bleakstone Family.
Seeing nothing, but having long since gotten used to the invisible servants (after accidently attempting to slay one within the first week), Night steadfastly bars the door with his body from entry. That said, it would not be the first time one has slipped past his sleight figure. Regardless of how things pan out this time around, the scent of food wafting down the all is enough for the barefooted youth to waver, and eventually go padding down the hall at the promise of food.
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When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
After reading the note, he crumples it up and tosses it in the corner of the room. With one big meaty claw he runs it through his matted fur so he's more 'presentable' then wanders down to the dining room, following the scent of freshly prepared breakfast.
Hildigrim climbs into his taller-than-usual dining chair and smiles at Erulisse. "Pleasant morning to you," he says politely. He runs a hand through his short brown hair and looks around the kitchen. "I've explained previously that I don't require the assistance of your invisible domestician. I am perfectly adept at keeping my quarters clean."
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An easy two and a half days' ride north of Waterdeep, nestled in the foothills of the Southern Sword Mountains and just south of the Westwood, lies the small, seemingly simple hamlet of Amphail. The numerous homesteads that dot the surrounding countryside might have one think the place nothing more than a rural trading post and gathering place for the local farmers, but the silver saddles oft worn by many of the region's numerous horses would quickly lay bare that notion for the misconception that it is.
For all that Amphail is indeed a farming settlement, it also serves as a popular haven and retreat for the noble families of Waterdeep, either for conducting private family affairs or for sending off their more rambunctious youths in hopes of exhausting some of their more...destructive...tendencies in a place well away from polite society. And thus it just so happens that for almost every commoner's steading in the region there is also a small (by noble standards) villa or lodge that serves one such noble family or another.
One such structure, situated to the northeast of the village proper so as to nestle among the thickening eaves of the wood, has been undergoing a revival of sorts. After years of neglect and practical abandonment by its noble owners in favor of newer, more comfortable lodging, the old Westhorn Hall found itself bequeathed to Jhessana Roaringhorn by her great-uncle Tylandar, and the young noblewoman immediately began efforts to revive the aging structure for new, grander purpose. The process was agonizingly slow at first, as Jhessana's dream had little support in its early days, but over time a number of kindred souls found their way to her based on rumor and word of mouth, and now the dream is finally coming to fruition. Westhorn Hall has found a new name, and a new identity.
It now stands as Stormhaven, Home to the Knights of Thunder.
As it currently stands, Stormhaven's past as a rural retreat for the Roaringhorn family means it has sufficient rooms for the Knights of Thunder's current rather limited roster, so each of you presently has your own bedroom within the guildhall, some of you on the lower floor, some on the upper. (I'll allow each of you to describe the basic appearance and general location of your room, bearing in mind that the Knights are rather limited in resources for the time being so none of you will have anything fancy...yet.)
In the early morning hours, on the 20th day since your arrival at Stormhaven, you each hear a now-familiar knock on the door of your designated bedroom.
Edgar will prop open his door and say "hello" to whomever knocks or stops to look in,
His room is on the second floor, just to the left.
A couple parchments lay open on the floor around his bed. Corners being held down with whatever could be found. As edgar sits at the foot of his bed taking notes on another piece of parchment while studying the floor papers.
Edgar is a pale'ish man of mid 20's. His hair is dirty blond. And his eyes look to b a bit sunken in from multiple nights of this same exercise.
There is a lustrous black dagger balanced on its tip on the dresser, with a set of leather armor preped for wear next to it. His boots have been used as corner anchors for the papers.
Hildigrim looks up from his reading. In what anyone over four feet would assume would be an incredibly uncomfortable position, the under-three-feet-tall halfling is squatting on the provided desk chair, his knees against the edge of the desk and his elbows on either side of the large book. Where his cheeks were resting on his palms, two small patches of red are appearing now that he has straightened up some. "Ah —" he says, standing on the chair to reach and grab the bookmark he had tossed above the book, "just a minute." He marks his place and closes the book carefully. Hopping down from the chair, his bare feet slapping the wood, he pulls at the hem of his vest and walks to the door. He reaches up and turns the knob, stepping back to open the door. "Good morning," he says before even looking into the hall.
Edgar, as continue to look over the papers arrayed before you after pushing open the door with your foot, it takes you a moment to realize that no one responded to your "Hello."
Glancing over at the door, there is no one there, but you DO see a number of the books you borrowed from the small library downstairs suddenly pick themselves up off of the nightstand.
That's when it dawns on you. This must be one the Unseen Servants used by Erulisse, Stormhaven's caretaker. You recall that she regularly uses them to carry messages around the guildhall...as well as to rouse people awake in the mornings.
Hildigrim, you are likewise met with silence and a seemingly empty hallway, though a stirring of air passes by you briefly as if entering the room. A moment later, the stirring exits the way it came, apparently having found nothing in urgent need of cleaning in your well-kept quarters.
Hildigrim sighs at the unnecessary intrusion. "Good morning to you, too, Erulisse" he huffs. "It's a good thing I'm an earlier riser." Pulling at his vest again, he leaves his room and closes the door behind him. Hildi's room is on the first floor, as close to the library as he could get. But he heads in the direction of the kitchen this morning, his stomach's growls beginning to turn insistent.
Gimmur Arnskull snores through the first rap on the downstairs door as far from other living quarters as he could find. He snores through the second rap as well, but the unseen servant finally hammers the door loud enough to resemble distant thunder, and the dwarf snorts awake!
"Bedlam and biscuits! What are ya wakin' me for??" the dwarf roars, pitch-black hair flying all around as he clumps towards the door. Thick-knuckled hands grab the door and throw it open. "Don't you know it's bad luck to disturb an..."' his voice trails off as he peers out into the empty hallway, confusion apparent on his open and expressive face. Not empty for long, though, as a couple of the Knights of Thunder approach, as Gimmur's quarters are on the way to the kitchen.
"Aye, and what's all the rumpus about so early of a mornin'?"
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
On the second floor, in what probably once was storeroom, with ceilings high enough to be comfortable for the giant furry beast that snores loudly. With a snort and a start, and a loud thud as he swings he feet off the two beds he has pushed next to each other, Phillandros stands up and attempts to stretch his arms above his head. The motion dislodges a few pidgeons whom were trying to roost in the rafters, and he shuffles towards the door. He cracks it open and peers OVER the top of the door in to the hallway beyond and begins to scratch various patches of the shaggy brown fur covering his 8 foot tall frame and yawning.
"Hello?" his baritone voice rumbles out.
His room is sparse, and the windows are boarded over, as he prefers it darker. Because of his size, none of the normal furniture works well enough for him, so most of his belongings are just strategically piled upon the floor with a few furs as well. A large maul rests near the door on its head, with a helmet perched on the end of the handle. Next to it may have once been a chair (or several of them) that have been reassembled in to a rudimentary armor stand for his chainmail.
He is far from his old home in Skullport, but he reminds himself that he's here for a reason. He also likes being among the living as well so he will serve his time as a member of the Knights of Thunder.
Skameros - Bugbear Barbarian - Out of the Abyss - By Kerrec
Follow your Arrow where it Points - Tabaxi Monk - Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus (by Pokepaladdy)
Citron Pumpkinfoam - Fairy Monk - Project Point: Team Longsword
Hildigrim: As you make your way through the building this morning, everything is peacefully calm and quiet. You pass a number of rooms on your way to the kitchen, including Jhessana's and as you pass by you note her door has been left ajar and the room vacant, which is slightly unusual for this time of morning as she would normally be in there tinkering on her own firearms.
The smell of bacon, eggs, and fresh-baked bread greets you before you even enter the kitchen proper, and upon coming to the doorway you see the tall, lithe figure of Erulisse Harken busy at work with her breakfast preparations.
Erulisse herself is handling a large, cast-iron skillet over the stove, from which an insistent sizzling can be heard. Meanwhile a knife and cutting board on the nearby counter can be seen slicing into a loaf of steaming hot bread of their own accord, a ladle is lazily stirring a large pot over a separate cookfire, and the shrill whistle of a tea kettle is heard for only the briefest moment before the kettle lifts itself from the stovetop mere inches away from Erulisse's face, which wavers not one whit in her focus on her task.
Edgar while walking to the kitchen nods to Gimmur.
"Morning gimmur, im heading to breakfast and also pick back up one of the books i didnt finish last night from the magic help whom took it."
Edgar wears a slightly sleep deprived look on his face but still looks rather cheerful.
"Its been almost three weeks, wonder what is on the roster for today" edgar states excitedly.
Phillandros: When you look out into the hallway, you actually see something there. It appears to be a small, neatly folded piece of parchment, floating in midair as though held out for you in the hand of an invisible person.
Gimmur: (OOC: Just a heads up, but both the kitchen and the attached dining room are rather high traffic areas in Stormhaven, so having a room near there isn't exactly all that isolated.)
OOC: Just a heads-up, but since this is the Forgotten Realms, the calendar is divided into "Tendays" rather than weeks. As you can probably guess, one tenday is ten days long. You've all basically been with the Knights for the Forgotten Realms' equivalent of two weeks.
Also, just on a housekeeping note, I'd personally prefer if each of you could pick a color to represent your character's actual spoken words. As an example:
"Ho, Edgar! Good morning to ya... Did the house steal another book from under your nose??" He guffaws good-naturedly. There's nothing but joy and amusement in that laugh, and he gives Edgar a hearty armclasp of friendship.
"Gosh yes! Am I curious? You better believe it! M-O-O-N - that spells curious and that's what I am!" He follows along beside Edgar, still in his nightshirt and leaving his door standing open.
OOC: I just meant isolated from other sleepers... He knows he snores and doesn't want to disturb other sleepers, so he would pick somewhere high-traffic that other people might not want to sleep near
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
On the upper floor at the end of one corridor Vayn opens the door to the unseen servant and then ignores it, knowing that it is doing its job and will soon leave anyway.
He moves back through the sparsely furnished room, and looks out of the window looking for any signs of activity outside. He then goes to the bed and takes the sword belt holding his rapier and one of his daggers from the corner post and secures it in place leaving the blade within easy reach, taking a look at himself in the small mirror he sees a young man of slightly above average height, lithe and quick of movement, rather than heavily muscled. His long black hair is tied in a ponytail and the well tanned skin of his Tethyrian heritage is obvious.
Leaving the armour and other weapons on the back of his chair he heads out to seek some breakfast stopping only at the small table where a bottle of whisky and a single glass rest. The bottle is still sealed with wax and the glass unused. Vayn flips the glass over and exits the room.
Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
Lyreis - Level 6 Elf Fighter - Eberron: Omega
DM - Dzenda: The Cracks - DM - Dzenda: Whispered Tales
Phillandros will reach out and take the proffered folded parchment.
"Tell Erulisse I will be down shortly...." and he'll close the door and inspect the parchment.
Skameros - Bugbear Barbarian - Out of the Abyss - By Kerrec
Follow your Arrow where it Points - Tabaxi Monk - Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus (by Pokepaladdy)
Citron Pumpkinfoam - Fairy Monk - Project Point: Team Longsword
OOC: Okay, my apologies, Aramalian. I misunderstood exactly what you meant. If Gimmur intentionally wants a bedroom in a high traffic area, then near the kitchen is indeed a good place.
Phillandros: You hear no response from the unseen servant as you shut your door, but this isn't unusual as you've never actually heard any of them speak. Unfolding the parchment, you quickly realize that it is apparently a note, written in a beautifully flowing cursive script.
You are aware that today is the 6th of Elient.
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
After reading the note, he crumples it up and tosses it in the corner of the room. With one big meaty claw he runs it through his matted fur so he's more 'presentable' then wanders down to the dining room, following the scent of freshly prepared breakfast.
Skameros - Bugbear Barbarian - Out of the Abyss - By Kerrec
Follow your Arrow where it Points - Tabaxi Monk - Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus (by Pokepaladdy)
Citron Pumpkinfoam - Fairy Monk - Project Point: Team Longsword
Hildigrim climbs into his taller-than-usual dining chair and smiles at Erulisse. "Pleasant morning to you," he says politely. He runs a hand through his short brown hair and looks around the kitchen. "I've explained previously that I don't require the assistance of your invisible domestician. I am perfectly adept at keeping my quarters clean."