Hox will head to the meeting place with the tiny machination upon his head, "Hox found what he need." Hox says proudly as the crab whirs atop his head.
After spending some time poring over the goggles and testing them out, Fargim learns that they are [Tooltip Not Found].
Meeting at the edge of the city, you set off toward the area near Pork on the Fork tavern, where Bartle indicated the kobold cave lies nearby.
OOC: Goggles of Night have been added to Fargim's inventory. Now is a good opportunity for some free roleplaying and conversation with each other while we begin our travels.
New social situations have never been one of Therien's strengths. The elf can readily decipher a complicated and archaic text but, ironically, cannot unravel the mystery of engaging in casual, polite, normal conversation with someone he does not know.
"Both intriguing and curious are the tales of Hruggek and Grankhul,"remarks Therien to the bugbear. "I've often wondered, Gruun, if the bugbear fervor can truly be split between the two. Do you not find one more agreeable than the other?"
"Correct, Fargim. I am Therien Moorshadow, a wizard."
More than pleased to discuss his favorite subject with someone who seemingly will understand the finer points of magic, Therien continues, "Far and accurately, you say? Excellent. Yes, that is an excellent choice of words for describing our journey through the demesne of the arcane, Fargim. Far because the road to mastery that stretches before us is unequivocally long. Accurate because we must tirelessly pursue the precision so integral to expressing ourselves through the suffusion of magic."
Therien continues his flowery but dull commentary on the world of magic for a few more minutes, wholly unaware that no one is listening to him. Eventually, the elf runs out of words. When he does so, he asks, "Claiming to be a giant, Fargim...is that some sort of psychological experiment?"
"What? Oh.. psychologic experiment? I don't think I have that. Do you know what dwarfism is? It's when people don't grow up all the way. I have that. My mom and dad are giants, but I didn't grow up all the way, so they left me. A clan found me and that's where I grew up. Until orcs killed most of them and then we chased and killed the orcs. Me and Hox and a few others. It was very exciting and very dangerous and in the end I threw a dagger right into the face of the orc chieftain!"
"Right. I understand what a territory is. Do you belong to a clan in the demesne you come from? I think it's very important to belong to a clan." Fargim is quite proud to have learned a new word and Therien gained a tiny bit of respect in his eyes.
OOC: Fargim knows, but I don't remember - how long is the travel to the inn?
Fargim replies, "Yes, I've worked with Hox. He's quite deadly in the right place. Doesn't talk too much though. He might have a family somewhere in the mountains, but I'm not sure."
"I'm sure he has a clan somewhere, just not here. We kind of were in the same clan for a while, but that was more like a temporary thing."
"I can probably throw a book really far and accurately as well. Would you like me to try? Do you have a book?"
A mist has settled into the area near the Pork on the Fork tavern, making the search for the cave a little difficult. After traveling for almost a full day, your conversation is broken by the sound of arguing in the trees ahead.
The arguing is in a strange language, and can be easily heard up ahead through dark thickets. Two drow elves can be seen in the middle of their tiff through the trees.
Everyone can make out one name being spoken in Common - "Roscoe Goodprice". Fargim understands the language being spoken and can make out more of the conversation.
For Fargim:
The drow are speaking in Undercommon. They are arguing about how they have lost Roscoe Goodprice's "delivery", and they consider it to have been "the big score".
The sight of the drow immediately creates mixed feelings within Therien. Dark elves have been, thus far in Therien's life, something only heard of in stories. So, quite naturally, he wishes to interact with them, learn from them, and understand their strange and un-elflike desire to dwell underground. Those same stories, however, have contained many examples of drow treachery. So, Therien is uncertain of the wisdom of starting any sort of dialogue with the two who are arguing with one another.
In his left hand, Therien loosely grips his arcane focus--a twelve-sided crystal--and readies himself for any potential complications.
Fargim assumes everyone understands the conversation and just listens for a bit. Then looks at the others with a questioning look as if to say, "Now what?"
Sorry guys I had Drill this weekend and forgot to put out a warning beforehand.
Answering Therien's question: "I did not grow up in a bugbear clan and do not follow those gods. I was raised within a bear den and spent my childhood learning to hunt with my claws and teeth. It was a roaming Druid that eventually found me and "Civilized" me so to speak."
The drow's heads snap your way as they clearly catch a piece of the conversation. One leaps into the bushes nearby, and the other rushes to don a cloak and draw a pair of rusty longswords.
The "lone" drow assumes a placid face and walks towards you, suddenly stopping about 10 feet away. He bows clumsily. "Hail, and well met. I am Drizzt Do'Urden."
"Greetings, Drizzt. I am Therien Moorshadow, and these are my friends," replies Therien. "It seems we four have stumbled inadvertently into your business."
With a slight bow of his head, Therien then says in elvish, "Forgive the intrusion."
Hox will head to the meeting place with the tiny machination upon his head, "Hox found what he need." Hox says proudly as the crab whirs atop his head.
OOC: Inventories have been updated.
Fargim: Two-Person Tent, 10x Dagger and Potion of Healing added, 72 gold pieces and 9x Torch removed.
Gruun: Chain (10 feet) and 2x Grappling Hook added, 19 gold pieces removed.
After spending some time poring over the goggles and testing them out, Fargim learns that they are [Tooltip Not Found].
Meeting at the edge of the city, you set off toward the area near Pork on the Fork tavern, where Bartle indicated the kobold cave lies nearby.
OOC: Goggles of Night have been added to Fargim's inventory. Now is a good opportunity for some free roleplaying and conversation with each other while we begin our travels.
See my profile for all my PbP threads!
New social situations have never been one of Therien's strengths. The elf can readily decipher a complicated and archaic text but, ironically, cannot unravel the mystery of engaging in casual, polite, normal conversation with someone he does not know.
"Both intriguing and curious are the tales of Hruggek and Grankhul," remarks Therien to the bugbear. "I've often wondered, Gruun, if the bugbear fervor can truly be split between the two. Do you not find one more agreeable than the other?"
Fargim will get straight to the point, "So these goggles.. they don't do anything. Anyone want them?" (OOC: they give you darkvision)
"Your name was Therien? You use magic? What can you do? I use magic as well, I can throw things really far and accurately."
"Correct, Fargim. I am Therien Moorshadow, a wizard."
More than pleased to discuss his favorite subject with someone who seemingly will understand the finer points of magic, Therien continues, "Far and accurately, you say? Excellent. Yes, that is an excellent choice of words for describing our journey through the demesne of the arcane, Fargim. Far because the road to mastery that stretches before us is unequivocally long. Accurate because we must tirelessly pursue the precision so integral to expressing ourselves through the suffusion of magic."
Therien continues his flowery but dull commentary on the world of magic for a few more minutes, wholly unaware that no one is listening to him. Eventually, the elf runs out of words. When he does so, he asks, "Claiming to be a giant, Fargim...is that some sort of psychological experiment?"
"What? Oh.. psychologic experiment? I don't think I have that. Do you know what dwarfism is? It's when people don't grow up all the way. I have that. My mom and dad are giants, but I didn't grow up all the way, so they left me. A clan found me and that's where I grew up. Until orcs killed most of them and then we chased and killed the orcs. Me and Hox and a few others. It was very exciting and very dangerous and in the end I threw a dagger right into the face of the orc chieftain!"
"What's a demesne?"
"Dwarfism," repeats Therien. "Certainly something I must research. Gnomism seems a more appropriate term in my estimation, however."
After a pause: "A demesne is a territory, a land, or a world. Not necessarily a literal one, of course."
"Right. I understand what a territory is. Do you belong to a clan in the demesne you come from? I think it's very important to belong to a clan." Fargim is quite proud to have learned a new word and Therien gained a tiny bit of respect in his eyes.
OOC: Fargim knows, but I don't remember - how long is the travel to the inn?
"No...no clan," answers Therien. "Not sure how well I would've fit in with a clan, Fargim. Books seem more agreeable anyway."
"You've worked with Hox?" asks Therien. "Not as flighty as he seems then?"
Hox is playing with the crab, dancing around it as it goes.
Fargim replies, "Yes, I've worked with Hox. He's quite deadly in the right place. Doesn't talk too much though. He might have a family somewhere in the mountains, but I'm not sure."
"I'm sure he has a clan somewhere, just not here. We kind of were in the same clan for a while, but that was more like a temporary thing."
"I can probably throw a book really far and accurately as well. Would you like me to try? Do you have a book?"
OOC: Less than a day's travel, not far.
A mist has settled into the area near the Pork on the Fork tavern, making the search for the cave a little difficult. After traveling for almost a full day, your conversation is broken by the sound of arguing in the trees ahead.
The arguing is in a strange language, and can be easily heard up ahead through dark thickets. Two drow elves can be seen in the middle of their tiff through the trees.
Everyone can make out one name being spoken in Common - "Roscoe Goodprice". Fargim understands the language being spoken and can make out more of the conversation.
For Fargim:
The drow are speaking in Undercommon. They are arguing about how they have lost Roscoe Goodprice's "delivery", and they consider it to have been "the big score".
See my profile for all my PbP threads!
The sight of the drow immediately creates mixed feelings within Therien. Dark elves have been, thus far in Therien's life, something only heard of in stories. So, quite naturally, he wishes to interact with them, learn from them, and understand their strange and un-elflike desire to dwell underground. Those same stories, however, have contained many examples of drow treachery. So, Therien is uncertain of the wisdom of starting any sort of dialogue with the two who are arguing with one another.
In his left hand, Therien loosely grips his arcane focus--a twelve-sided crystal--and readies himself for any potential complications.
Fargim assumes everyone understands the conversation and just listens for a bit. Then looks at the others with a questioning look as if to say, "Now what?"
"Now you tell us what you just heard," replies Therien. "Their language was neither elvish nor gnomish, but it seems you could grasp it."
Fargim says, "They are arguing about how they have lost Roscoe Goodprice's "delivery", and they consider it to have been "the big score"."
"I don't know what that means."
"The lord's men, maybe? Bandits steal...so maybe messengers?"
Answering Therien's question: "I did not grow up in a bugbear clan and do not follow those gods. I was raised within a bear den and spent my childhood learning to hunt with my claws and teeth. It was a roaming Druid that eventually found me and "Civilized" me so to speak."
Current: "Do we hurt them, or hail them?"
The drow's heads snap your way as they clearly catch a piece of the conversation. One leaps into the bushes nearby, and the other rushes to don a cloak and draw a pair of rusty longswords.
The "lone" drow assumes a placid face and walks towards you, suddenly stopping about 10 feet away. He bows clumsily. "Hail, and well met. I am Drizzt Do'Urden."
See my profile for all my PbP threads!
"Greetings, Drizzt. I am Therien Moorshadow, and these are my friends," replies Therien. "It seems we four have stumbled inadvertently into your business."
With a slight bow of his head, Therien then says in elvish, "Forgive the intrusion."