This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
OK, it's telling me dice rolls aren't available, which is weird because it worked the first time. Let's try this again, and I will also be rolling on my character sheet in case it fails again.
Additional Radiant: 3
Divine Smite (crit): 20
If this doesn't work, I rolled a 2 on my character sheet for the first one, and 18 for the second one.
(OOC: Wow. Boom. The Channel Divinity is definitely not needed.)
Kravik approaches the one remaining creature, and the farmer steps out of the way, guts strewn across his face, as the creature skees in pain, its legs writhing. Raising his rapier back up above his head, he brings his full weight down upon the beast ----- putting it out of its misery with a deafening crunch. Satisfied, he draws his blade and turns to the others.
"That was an impressive fight, friend," says the farmer after a bit. "Shall we go in, leave this until tomorrow? You three look as if you could use some rest."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. extended sig
Kravik looks to the others, and to the aftermath of the battle. He then turns back to the farmer. "That would be best, I think. A rest might do us all some good."
Looking more closely at the farmer, he adds, "Do you need any additional healing? Some of those wounds don't look good." Then glancing at his own, he chuckles. "I guess I could say the same for myself."
Heading back inside, away from the tumult, you feel the adrenaline begin to disappear from your bones, leaving you with a deep lust for sleep. Yawning, you recline as the farmer brings you steaming-hot tea. "Go to sleep, fellows," he says. "I'll wake you come morning."
(OOC: Assuming all people are done, that is a Long Rest completed.)
You're shaken awake by the farmer. Sunlight streams through the windowpanes, illuminating the dirt and dust floating through the air. "Ready for a meal? Maybe go and clean up a bit?" he asks, his face still blurry as you fully wake. He drops his hand down next to you three, and you hear the clink of coins before it lands. "Here's your pay - ten gold per. You're free to do what you want, but you can stick around here a while."
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. extended sig
As the last of the giant snickering locusts fall dead, Aydlott's arm drops with his crossbow. A groan of exhaustion escapes his lips. Horrifying. But it's over. An elated grin finds its way onto Aydlott's face as he takes his horse back to the barn to unsaddle him and rub him down. A few minutes later, he eagerly accepts the hot tea that the farmer brings, his heavy eyelids close, and he knows no more until the morning.
He's not quite ready to wake up in the morning. The clink of coins pierces through the fog of sleep, though, and he wrests his eyes open. One hand reaches out to claim his share. Counting it. Not enough. Never enough. He looks up at the farmer with a grateful smile. "My thanks, sir," he says. "One more round of dead pests will have us all sleeping better at night." Then he falls back asleep.
Kravik awakens fairly quickly and refreshed. He takes his share of the payment with a nod of gratitude, and says, "Thank you very much. I will join you for a meal shortly."
After cleaning up, he steps outside for his daily communion with the elements, honoring the Noble Genies through the balance they embody. Drawing upon his connection to the elemental forces, he casts the Elementalism cantrip repeatedly, working through each element in turn.
He kneels and shapes a patch of earth, feeling the solid weight of the soil on his hands. Then he calls forth water to dampen it, the cool liquid pooling in the sifted dirt. Embers flicker to life above the muddy earth, their warmth kissing his face as fire dances in the morning light. Finally, he summons a gust of wind that scatters it all -- earth, water, and ash dispersing into the air.
Kravik lets out a long, steady breath, feeling centered and connected to the balance he's sworn to uphold. At peace, he returns to the farmhouse for breakfast.
(OOC: what time is it for me and Kyvir, I'm imagining its probably getting dark now)
(OOC: It is. About seven or eight in the evening, you'd guess. Also: we may be adding a player or two, as the other group's kind of gone down in flames.)
Kravik is surprised to find himself the only one of the party at breakfast, the farmer a silent other in the quiet room. Now calmed, he sits, allowing himself to sink into the tall, dusty chair that reeks of disuse. "Your friends are still asleep," the farmer says, smile growing as he hoists two sizzling plates of heaped meats and eggs. Setting them down, he then rushes into the kitchen once more, bringing back with him two warm slices of bread. Spearing two pieces of steaming bacon with his comically small fork, he mumbles (through his loud chews), "So, how are you feeling? Appetized? Tired? A little bit of both?"
Kyvir, Tobias ---- you stroll through town, looking for somewhere shady. Somewhere you might find some information. You should thank your lucky stars tonight, you think, as you approach what you've just seen. The fiery yellow of a lantern, glimmering down an alleyway. Scattered voices come from down there, and a small line extends outside of a small storefront. A bouncer stands there, impeccably dressed in a large black suit. You can just barely catch the conversation, and, even then, you're not sure if you're hearing things right.
"The crow flies at dusk."
"Five" is the response, and the bouncer stands back.
"Fireplace."
"Twelve." But this time, the bouncer points away. The dejected customer leaves without a problem ---- not wanting to see what the response to a "no" will be.
"The betrayer lies in the gutter."
"Six." And the patron is allowed in, and so on.
It seems almost like the perfect place to meet all sorts of people ---- perhaps even that fae from earlier. Do you enter? Do you continue onwards, looking for something else? What do you do?
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. extended sig
Kravik settles into the chair—grateful it can support his weight—and nods his thanks as the farmer sets down the generous breakfast. The aroma alone is enough to remind him how hungry fighting giant locusts makes a person.
"A little of both," he admits with a slight smile, picking up his own fork. "Though more the former than the latter. Your cooking smells excellent." He takes a bite of the eggs, savoring the simple, honest food. After swallowing, he adds, "I slept well, thank you. It's peaceful here—or it will be now, without those creatures plaguing your fields."
He pauses, then asks with genuine curiosity, "Have you had this farm long? It's clear you put a lot of care into it."
There’s a strange sense of comfort that settles over Tobias when he sees this place. This kind of alley, this kind of door he grew up around them. He know they hold information and secrets. But also food
Without hesitation, Tobias steps forward, shoulders loose, stride confident like he belongs here.
He walks straight up to the bouncer, meeting his eyes without challenge.
Kravik settles into the chair—grateful it can support his weight—and nods his thanks as the farmer sets down the generous breakfast. The aroma alone is enough to remind him how hungry fighting giant locusts makes a person.
"A little of both," he admits with a slight smile, picking up his own fork. "Though more the former than the latter. Your cooking smells excellent." He takes a bite of the eggs, savoring the simple, honest food. After swallowing, he adds, "I slept well, thank you. It's peaceful here—or it will be now, without those creatures plaguing your fields."
He pauses, then asks with genuine curiosity, "Have you had this farm long? It's clear you put a lot of care into it."
The farmer eyes Kravik for a second. Some sort of reluctance mars his brow, an internal struggle tightening his stance. You wonder: what could be the thing that makes him afraid so? A silence, but then, he relents, dropping his weight back into the seat of his chair. "I've told you of the name of this place," he says quietly, in a grave sotto-voce. "My wife died many years ago, and the pain I felt made me name this place so."
He looks up at the ceiling, breaking through any last barriers. Something clicks, and suddenly, he's waving to you. "Come with me," he says, face tense. "I'd like to show you something. We won't be gone long."
You'd rather take the night before again instead of this day ---- storm-clouds darken the grassy expanses, and, far away, the peaks of the mountains are blurred as rain falls heavily upon the stone. No rain falls here, though ---- only a fierce, pining wind whipping through the fields. You walk slowly for what seems like hours, but still inside the farm, the rhythmic sensation of the cold, wet grass underfoot the only way to keep the seconds moving.
He stops in front of Kravik, pointing to the ground in front of them. Strange, Kravik thinks. There's nothing there. But the man, getting down to his hands and knees, tenderly brushes the grass and dirt off of something ---- what is it? ---- a large slab of stone, words engraved:
Here lies MARIA ÉVOLA, reads the slab, and you realize what it is almost immediately as the man stares down. Beloved wife and mother. Always remembered.
He laughs harshly. "She doesn't lie there, do you know that? She was killed, she didn't die. I'd made bad connections before this place. Done bad things. I left my hometown for this, hoping I could keep us safe. But I couldn't. They got their vengeance. So, I've owned this farm thirty-three years. Thirty-one in pain."
Turning around, he begins to walk back towards the house. "I do put care into this place," he replies. "Plenty, to make up for what I've done."
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. extended sig
Kravik stands still for a long moment, looking down at the gravestone. The wind whips across the fields, and he feels the weight of thirty-one years of grief pressing down on this place—on this man who tends it with such care.
"Thank you for showing me this," he says quietly, his deep voice barely carrying over the wind. "For trusting me with it."
He doesn't offer platitudes about time healing wounds or the past being behind them. He knows better—some scars never fully fade, just as the burns on his own hands remain. Instead, he walks beside the farmer in silence for several paces before speaking again.
"I've seen what you've built here. The care in every field, every crop. That means something." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "I don't know if atonement ever feels complete. But honest work, done with heart—that's not nothing."
Kravik glances back toward the house, then asks, "Is there more of that breakfast? I could use seconds." A small offering—a return to the present moment, to the simple comfort of a shared meal, where the farmer can still provide and Kravik can still receive with gratitude.
Kravik stands still for a long moment, looking down at the gravestone. The wind whips across the fields, and he feels the weight of thirty-one years of grief pressing down on this place—on this man who tends it with such care.
"Thank you for showing me this," he says quietly, his deep voice barely carrying over the wind. "For trusting me with it."
He doesn't offer platitudes about time healing wounds or the past being behind them. He knows better—some scars never fully fade, just as the burns on his own hands remain. Instead, he walks beside the farmer in silence for several paces before speaking again.
"I've seen what you've built here. The care in every field, every crop. That means something." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "I don't know if atonement ever feels complete. But honest work, done with heart—that's not nothing."
Kravik glances back toward the house, then asks, "Is there more of that breakfast? I could use seconds." A small offering—a return to the present moment, to the simple comfort of a shared meal, where the farmer can still provide and Kravik can still receive with gratitude.
As Kravik gently speaks of the heart and work done with a vigor, the farmer's eyes noticeably moisten. He dabs at them with his tunic, hoping to obscure it, but it's still very much noticeable as he begins to laugh. "I can make plenty more," he replies, grinning "I'm feeling a bit hungry myself. I'll just have to hope that your friends don't eat as you and I do, or I'll have to cut into my livestock -- literally."
There’s a strange sense of comfort that settles over Tobias when he sees this place. This kind of alley, this kind of door he grew up around them. He know they hold information and secrets. But also food
Without hesitation, Tobias steps forward, shoulders loose, stride confident like he belongs here.
He walks straight up to the bouncer, meeting his eyes without challenge.
Cries of protest erupt behind you as you stride forward, sidestepping those turned away to position yourself at the front of the line. Your confidence must surprise the man, because he quickly averts his gaze and coughs before fixing his eyes upon yours. "The red fox runs like lightning," he says, and you recognize the line from some old canto or other, but you can't quite place it. You're not quite sure of what to say, and more cries come from behind you...until...
(OOC: Hey, y'all, something that's come to my notice. There may be one or two additions to the campaign (don't worry, I'll slot them in with this story). The other group kind of went down in flames XD.)
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. extended sig
Kravik's expression lightens, a genuine smile crossing his face. "You're fortunate I didn't bring my entire tribe with me," he says with a chuckle. "Back home, we'd prepare feasts that could feed a human village, and it would barely be enough for all of us. My mother used to say the hardest part of raising Goliath children wasn't teaching us respect or honor, it was keeping the food stores from running empty."
He follows the farmer back toward the house, his stride easy. "But I promise I won't eat you out of house and home. Just... most of what you're willing to part with." The humor in his voice is warm, an attempt to keep the mood lifted after such a heavy conversation. "And if my companions wake up with similar appetites, well..." he glances back at the fields, now free of locusts, "...at least your crops will have a chance to recover before we descend on them."
(OOC: I'm good with adding anyone from the other group that wants to keep playing. I feel like we've barely gotten started, and would like to see where this goes. I'm sure they were hoping for the same in the other group.)
When Kravik and the farmer return, they find Aydlott up and already in the kitchen, filling his plate. He looks up with a rogueish grin as they approach. "I wondered where you'd got off to. This breakfast looks amazing."
Tobias doesn’t hesitate because places like this punish hesitation more than being wrong.
“Six.”
No explanation. No counting on fingers. No pause. like he’s heard quizzes like these a hundred times before.
Only after it leaves his mouth does Tobias remember he isn’t alone. He glances back over his shoulder, eyes flicking to Kyvir
“…You coming?”
he adds lightly, as if they are meant to be here.
(OCC: Some more people sounds fun. Along those lines though I think Kyvir(beginnerBots) may have left us )
Kyvir looks at Tobias with an impressed feeling quickly going through him. Didn't think he would be able to figure out the riddle that was going on here, but impressed that he did. Kyvir nods and follows behind him. As he walks past the bouncer, he clicks his teeth, does a quick finger gun and says.
"Good job keeping out the riff raff Geoffry. Keep it up."
And Kyvir continues on, regardless if he got the name right or wrong.
Tobias doesn’t hesitate because places like this punish hesitation more than being wrong.
“Six.”
No explanation. No counting on fingers. No pause. like he’s heard quizzes like these a hundred times before.
Only after it leaves his mouth does Tobias remember he isn’t alone. He glances back over his shoulder, eyes flicking to Kyvir
“…You coming?”
he adds lightly, as if they are meant to be here.
(OCC: Some more people sounds fun. Along those lines though I think Kyvir(beginnerBots) may have left us )
Kyvir looks at Tobias with an impressed feeling quickly going through him. Didn't think he would be able to figure out the riddle that was going on here, but impressed that he did. Kyvir nods and follows behind him. As he walks past the bouncer, he clicks his teeth, does a quick finger gun and says.
"Good job keeping out the riff raff Geoffry. Keep it up."
And Kyvir continues on, regardless if he got the name right or wrong.
The man looks at Kyvir in confusion, but then decides to let it slide ---- after all, he has a job to do. For only a couple of seconds, you stride down a long, carpeted hallway ringing with the sound of chatter and music, strings of hanging beads separating the beyond from the here.
Patrons clap and laugh while dancers work their arts and a singer croons onstage. This, although appearing rather refined in appearance, is definitely not the place most would seek to go ---evident by the very visible weaponry worn by many of the customers.
What do you do, now in a den of thieves and murderers? You've found the place you're looking for, but who or what do you seek?
A waiter approaches, his coat meticulously cleaned, down to the last button sparkling. "Would you like a table, sirs? Something to eat or drink?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. extended sig
When Kravik and the farmer return, they find Aydlott up and already in the kitchen, filling his plate. He looks up with a rogueish grin as they approach. "I wondered where you'd got off to. This breakfast looks amazing."
The farmer puts a hand to his face. "Thank you for the compliment. I should've known," he says, chuckling. "We should've just stayed here and held the fort. Hopefully, there's still enough for us two to have a bit more." He sits in the same chair, plucking at the remnants of his first plate. "Well, friend, how goes it?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. extended sig
OK, it's telling me dice rolls aren't available, which is weird because it worked the first time. Let's try this again, and I will also be rolling on my character sheet in case it fails again.
Additional Radiant: 3
Divine Smite (crit): 20
If this doesn't work, I rolled a 2 on my character sheet for the first one, and 18 for the second one.
(OOC: Wow. Boom. The Channel Divinity is definitely not needed.)
Kravik approaches the one remaining creature, and the farmer steps out of the way, guts strewn across his face, as the creature skees in pain, its legs writhing. Raising his rapier back up above his head, he brings his full weight down upon the beast ----- putting it out of its misery with a deafening crunch. Satisfied, he draws his blade and turns to the others.
"That was an impressive fight, friend," says the farmer after a bit. "Shall we go in, leave this until tomorrow? You three look as if you could use some rest."
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
extended sig
Kravik looks to the others, and to the aftermath of the battle. He then turns back to the farmer. "That would be best, I think. A rest might do us all some good."
Looking more closely at the farmer, he adds, "Do you need any additional healing? Some of those wounds don't look good." Then glancing at his own, he chuckles. "I guess I could say the same for myself."
Heading back inside, away from the tumult, you feel the adrenaline begin to disappear from your bones, leaving you with a deep lust for sleep. Yawning, you recline as the farmer brings you steaming-hot tea. "Go to sleep, fellows," he says. "I'll wake you come morning."
(OOC: Assuming all people are done, that is a Long Rest completed.)
You're shaken awake by the farmer. Sunlight streams through the windowpanes, illuminating the dirt and dust floating through the air. "Ready for a meal? Maybe go and clean up a bit?" he asks, his face still blurry as you fully wake. He drops his hand down next to you three, and you hear the clink of coins before it lands. "Here's your pay - ten gold per. You're free to do what you want, but you can stick around here a while."
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
extended sig
(OOC: what time is it for me and Kyvir, I'm imagining its probably getting dark now)
As the last of the giant snickering locusts fall dead, Aydlott's arm drops with his crossbow. A groan of exhaustion escapes his lips. Horrifying. But it's over. An elated grin finds its way onto Aydlott's face as he takes his horse back to the barn to unsaddle him and rub him down. A few minutes later, he eagerly accepts the hot tea that the farmer brings, his heavy eyelids close, and he knows no more until the morning.
He's not quite ready to wake up in the morning. The clink of coins pierces through the fog of sleep, though, and he wrests his eyes open. One hand reaches out to claim his share. Counting it. Not enough. Never enough. He looks up at the farmer with a grateful smile. "My thanks, sir," he says. "One more round of dead pests will have us all sleeping better at night." Then he falls back asleep.
Kravik awakens fairly quickly and refreshed. He takes his share of the payment with a nod of gratitude, and says, "Thank you very much. I will join you for a meal shortly."
After cleaning up, he steps outside for his daily communion with the elements, honoring the Noble Genies through the balance they embody. Drawing upon his connection to the elemental forces, he casts the Elementalism cantrip repeatedly, working through each element in turn.
He kneels and shapes a patch of earth, feeling the solid weight of the soil on his hands. Then he calls forth water to dampen it, the cool liquid pooling in the sifted dirt. Embers flicker to life above the muddy earth, their warmth kissing his face as fire dances in the morning light. Finally, he summons a gust of wind that scatters it all -- earth, water, and ash dispersing into the air.
Kravik lets out a long, steady breath, feeling centered and connected to the balance he's sworn to uphold. At peace, he returns to the farmhouse for breakfast.
(OOC: It is. About seven or eight in the evening, you'd guess. Also: we may be adding a player or two, as the other group's kind of gone down in flames.)
Kravik is surprised to find himself the only one of the party at breakfast, the farmer a silent other in the quiet room. Now calmed, he sits, allowing himself to sink into the tall, dusty chair that reeks of disuse. "Your friends are still asleep," the farmer says, smile growing as he hoists two sizzling plates of heaped meats and eggs. Setting them down, he then rushes into the kitchen once more, bringing back with him two warm slices of bread. Spearing two pieces of steaming bacon with his comically small fork, he mumbles (through his loud chews), "So, how are you feeling? Appetized? Tired? A little bit of both?"
Kyvir, Tobias ---- you stroll through town, looking for somewhere shady. Somewhere you might find some information. You should thank your lucky stars tonight, you think, as you approach what you've just seen. The fiery yellow of a lantern, glimmering down an alleyway. Scattered voices come from down there, and a small line extends outside of a small storefront. A bouncer stands there, impeccably dressed in a large black suit. You can just barely catch the conversation, and, even then, you're not sure if you're hearing things right.
"The crow flies at dusk."
"Five" is the response, and the bouncer stands back.
"Fireplace."
"Twelve." But this time, the bouncer points away. The dejected customer leaves without a problem ---- not wanting to see what the response to a "no" will be.
"The betrayer lies in the gutter."
"Six." And the patron is allowed in, and so on.
It seems almost like the perfect place to meet all sorts of people ---- perhaps even that fae from earlier. Do you enter? Do you continue onwards, looking for something else? What do you do?
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
extended sig
Kravik settles into the chair—grateful it can support his weight—and nods his thanks as the farmer sets down the generous breakfast. The aroma alone is enough to remind him how hungry fighting giant locusts makes a person.
"A little of both," he admits with a slight smile, picking up his own fork. "Though more the former than the latter. Your cooking smells excellent." He takes a bite of the eggs, savoring the simple, honest food. After swallowing, he adds, "I slept well, thank you. It's peaceful here—or it will be now, without those creatures plaguing your fields."
He pauses, then asks with genuine curiosity, "Have you had this farm long? It's clear you put a lot of care into it."
There’s a strange sense of comfort that settles over Tobias when he sees this place. This kind of alley, this kind of door he grew up around them. He know they hold information and secrets. But also food
Without hesitation, Tobias steps forward, shoulders loose, stride confident like he belongs here.
He walks straight up to the bouncer, meeting his eyes without challenge.
The farmer eyes Kravik for a second. Some sort of reluctance mars his brow, an internal struggle tightening his stance. You wonder: what could be the thing that makes him afraid so? A silence, but then, he relents, dropping his weight back into the seat of his chair. "I've told you of the name of this place," he says quietly, in a grave sotto-voce. "My wife died many years ago, and the pain I felt made me name this place so."
He looks up at the ceiling, breaking through any last barriers. Something clicks, and suddenly, he's waving to you. "Come with me," he says, face tense. "I'd like to show you something. We won't be gone long."
You'd rather take the night before again instead of this day ---- storm-clouds darken the grassy expanses, and, far away, the peaks of the mountains are blurred as rain falls heavily upon the stone. No rain falls here, though ---- only a fierce, pining wind whipping through the fields. You walk slowly for what seems like hours, but still inside the farm, the rhythmic sensation of the cold, wet grass underfoot the only way to keep the seconds moving.
He stops in front of Kravik, pointing to the ground in front of them. Strange, Kravik thinks. There's nothing there. But the man, getting down to his hands and knees, tenderly brushes the grass and dirt off of something ---- what is it? ---- a large slab of stone, words engraved:
Here lies MARIA ÉVOLA, reads the slab, and you realize what it is almost immediately as the man stares down. Beloved wife and mother. Always remembered.
He laughs harshly. "She doesn't lie there, do you know that? She was killed, she didn't die. I'd made bad connections before this place. Done bad things. I left my hometown for this, hoping I could keep us safe. But I couldn't. They got their vengeance. So, I've owned this farm thirty-three years. Thirty-one in pain."
Turning around, he begins to walk back towards the house. "I do put care into this place," he replies. "Plenty, to make up for what I've done."
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
extended sig
Kravik stands still for a long moment, looking down at the gravestone. The wind whips across the fields, and he feels the weight of thirty-one years of grief pressing down on this place—on this man who tends it with such care.
"Thank you for showing me this," he says quietly, his deep voice barely carrying over the wind. "For trusting me with it."
He doesn't offer platitudes about time healing wounds or the past being behind them. He knows better—some scars never fully fade, just as the burns on his own hands remain. Instead, he walks beside the farmer in silence for several paces before speaking again.
"I've seen what you've built here. The care in every field, every crop. That means something." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "I don't know if atonement ever feels complete. But honest work, done with heart—that's not nothing."
Kravik glances back toward the house, then asks, "Is there more of that breakfast? I could use seconds." A small offering—a return to the present moment, to the simple comfort of a shared meal, where the farmer can still provide and Kravik can still receive with gratitude.
As Kravik gently speaks of the heart and work done with a vigor, the farmer's eyes noticeably moisten. He dabs at them with his tunic, hoping to obscure it, but it's still very much noticeable as he begins to laugh. "I can make plenty more," he replies, grinning "I'm feeling a bit hungry myself. I'll just have to hope that your friends don't eat as you and I do, or I'll have to cut into my livestock -- literally."
Cries of protest erupt behind you as you stride forward, sidestepping those turned away to position yourself at the front of the line. Your confidence must surprise the man, because he quickly averts his gaze and coughs before fixing his eyes upon yours. "The red fox runs like lightning," he says, and you recognize the line from some old canto or other, but you can't quite place it. You're not quite sure of what to say, and more cries come from behind you...until...
(OOC: Hey, y'all, something that's come to my notice. There may be one or two additions to the campaign (don't worry, I'll slot them in with this story). The other group kind of went down in flames XD.)
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
extended sig
Kravik's expression lightens, a genuine smile crossing his face. "You're fortunate I didn't bring my entire tribe with me," he says with a chuckle. "Back home, we'd prepare feasts that could feed a human village, and it would barely be enough for all of us. My mother used to say the hardest part of raising Goliath children wasn't teaching us respect or honor, it was keeping the food stores from running empty."
He follows the farmer back toward the house, his stride easy. "But I promise I won't eat you out of house and home. Just... most of what you're willing to part with." The humor in his voice is warm, an attempt to keep the mood lifted after such a heavy conversation. "And if my companions wake up with similar appetites, well..." he glances back at the fields, now free of locusts, "...at least your crops will have a chance to recover before we descend on them."
(OOC: I'm good with adding anyone from the other group that wants to keep playing. I feel like we've barely gotten started, and would like to see where this goes. I'm sure they were hoping for the same in the other group.)
When Kravik and the farmer return, they find Aydlott up and already in the kitchen, filling his plate. He looks up with a rogueish grin as they approach. "I wondered where you'd got off to. This breakfast looks amazing."
Tobias doesn’t hesitate because places like this punish hesitation more than being wrong.
“Six.”
No explanation. No counting on fingers. No pause. like he’s heard quizzes like these a hundred times before.
Only after it leaves his mouth does Tobias remember he isn’t alone. He glances back over his shoulder, eyes flicking to Kyvir
“…You coming?”
he adds lightly, as if they are meant to be here.
(OCC: Some more people sounds fun. Along those lines though I think Kyvir(beginnerBots) may have left us )
Kyvir looks at Tobias with an impressed feeling quickly going through him. Didn't think he would be able to figure out the riddle that was going on here, but impressed that he did. Kyvir nods and follows behind him. As he walks past the bouncer, he clicks his teeth, does a quick finger gun and says.
"Good job keeping out the riff raff Geoffry. Keep it up."
And Kyvir continues on, regardless if he got the name right or wrong.
I don't have a signature.
The man looks at Kyvir in confusion, but then decides to let it slide ---- after all, he has a job to do. For only a couple of seconds, you stride down a long, carpeted hallway ringing with the sound of chatter and music, strings of hanging beads separating the beyond from the here.
Patrons clap and laugh while dancers work their arts and a singer croons onstage. This, although appearing rather refined in appearance, is definitely not the place most would seek to go ---evident by the very visible weaponry worn by many of the customers.
What do you do, now in a den of thieves and murderers? You've found the place you're looking for, but who or what do you seek?
A waiter approaches, his coat meticulously cleaned, down to the last button sparkling. "Would you like a table, sirs? Something to eat or drink?"
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
extended sig
The farmer puts a hand to his face. "Thank you for the compliment. I should've known," he says, chuckling. "We should've just stayed here and held the fort. Hopefully, there's still enough for us two to have a bit more." He sits in the same chair, plucking at the remnants of his first plate. "Well, friend, how goes it?"
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
extended sig
Kravik grabs another portion and eats quietly, not wanting to interrupt the farmer or Aydlott.