For several days now, he'd been stuck here in a cell with a handful of others, all of whom seemed reticent to talk much beyond the occasional passing acknowledgement of one another's shared existence. Not that it bothered Barnum heavily to do so; after all, he'd had his share of time spent in quarters worse than this, and most of those were filled with silence - it was never wise to become friends with someone you might have to wander out and kill tomorrow.
For the most part, he rested on the bunk that he'd claimed. A bottom bed; his stout, dwarven form was not made for higher levels, as he'd found out once before. Underneath it rested the collection of weapons that he'd acquired over the years since earning his freedom, with his war hammer being the one item that tended to remain on his person at all times.
Finally, one broke the silence. Even in Barnum's wide-ranged travels, the snake woman was somewhat of a sight to behold. She introduced herself, and as the circle grew, he finally swung his legs off the bed, feet planting firmly on the ground. The hammer rested next to his right foot.
"Barnum." He said gruffly, his dwarven accent tinged heavily with strange accents and intonations, forming a unique voice. "Just here for the adventure."
As the elf wandered up to the door of their cell, Barnum stood up and took it with a nod of thanks.
"No apologies needed here. At least the mattress is soft and the sheets are clean." He said, turning back to the room and placing the tray on the floor before taking a plate, filling a tankard and returning to his seated position on the bed.
He committed the names and faces. Vostaria the snake-woman naturalist; Ellayne the human ranger; Tipplewhiskers, the wordy gnome, and a few others.
"You know, I think a little Tipple will be the first thing I do when we get out of this paradise." He said, throwing a wink and a smirk in the gnome's direction.
Wander titls his head as his meditarion is interupted by the others in his cell talking, his body seeming to whirl to life as a few creaks and groans escape from his wodden and metal body. The warforged mutters something about needing to oil his joints as he turns to fade the others, his crystalline eyes not giving away much. As he truly focuses on the others he listens to a few things they say, hearing the that ranger looking explore while while one wants to study animals. Jis expressions shifts slightly to a confused one when he hears one complain about common and then is amused by the well spoken gnome.
" You may call me Wander am merely looking for a new place to find myself. I traveled to as many place as I was able but decided coming here would perhaps give me a chance to learn more and help others."
Jebben, still standing in the center of the pen, watches the elven guard bring the food in. "With the influx of emigrants, I'm sure the burden of administrative responsibilities have you all scrambling for staff and lodging," he says to the food-bearer, "though I must say I'm baffled at the bars and the locks. But keep bringing delectable dishes like this, and I'm sure we all might find the understanding to overlook that otherwise minor detail."
Jebben goes to the door, takes his plate, fills a tankard so full of wine that it seems to bulge above the rim, and makes it back to his bunk without spilling a drop. He sucks at the cup, lowering the level of liquid to below the rim.
"It's ironic you should make that allusion, Mister Barnum," Jebben says to the dwarf, "for the humor in my nickname is double-layered. I share what you might say, what my friends havesaid--the friends who gave me the name Tipplewhiskers, I mean--I share an appreciation for libation that is commendably dwarven in nature. I do like to think myself a discerning drinker despite the fact that I do imbibe enough to, well, to use the verbage of my good mate Addison back at the Stage, 'put a donkey in a ditch, dick-up.'"
The gnome titters in laughter, seemingly pleased at using the less refined phrase.
"No, no, no, I'm not just an overly indulgent connoisseur, I'm also collector. Although it doesn't fall under the purview of my official scholarly capacity, I have a small book dedicated to alcoholic concoctions, a recipe book if you will. Between you and me, I'm hoping to taste and archive a few undiscovered future entries the New World has to offer."
Jebben begins eating, a very slow and deliberate affair compared to his rapid-fire speech. "I think," he says in between bites to Wander, "you may have come to precisely the right place."
The warforged nods as he passes off his own meal to someone else had he had no true need to eat even if he could just to enjoy the experience of it. "That is my hope. My old world was falling apart at the seams and I felt as though the good I did there was doing little if anything to help. I do not regret it but I felt the chance at a new experience was worth leaving my home behind."
Vostaria takes delicate, polite bites of the lamb and vegetables as she listens with keen interest to her cell mates. To the little gnome, she eventually gets a word in while he is drinking from his wine. "Have you composed anything original? A poem or song, perhaps, that you could share with us?"
Dorstaer hops off the bed, leaning against it instead and looking around at the others. "I guess we're doing the sharing thing. I'm Dorstaer. And if you must know why I'm here, lets just say...it was a bad breakup, and she got to keep the old world."
Ellayne looks at the cellmates whenever their introduces echoes in the cell. Different names and the various reasons to come to this New World. As she grabs her food from the tray, she looks at Dorstaer with her mismatched eyes. "I'm sorry for what you've been through." She replies as she goes back to her bunk bed. Soon, her gaze shifts back to Vostaria with a sparkle inside of her eyes before it goes to the bard. "I would love to hear them if you can!"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Reverie Forestgleam—Human Paladin Level 5 in Frontier City of Nunkreet Extremely busy and busy as ever recently, but I will trying to catch up as much as I can
As you all sit and introduce yourselves, three Orcs from the cell across from you start fighting amongst themselves. One of them headbutts the largest and screams out in common.
"Yu scummy wretch. Yu fink yu can just come in 'ere wiv us wivout proovin' yourself?"
The bigger Orc holds his face, then lets out a roar before jumping onto the other, pounding his head into the stone floor until it's mush. The Guards rush in and stand around the gate with their spears pointing toward the door. The Elf guard, who had served you your meals, returns from further down the cell blocks and mutters a few words to the guards, who instantly thrust their spears into the cell, skewering the two remaining Orcs within, killing them outright.
Minister Trask appears from Rift-Hall way with a bunch of keys in her fingertips. She smiles and unlocks your cell, ushering for you to follow her.
"I'm sorry about all of this. Just ignore them, this happens quite frequently with the Orcs. Can't keep their tempers in check. If you follow me, i'll take you for processing now."
Vostaria, hands clasped behind her back as she passes the orcs' cell, looks in with disappointment. "Do any orcs make it through this...quarantine process?" she says to Minister Trask.
"I find it strange that they needed to kill all of them for the actions of one. If they had intervened sooner none wluld have had to die." Wander says as he grips his quarterstaff tightly and moves to follow. "In my world orcs were greatly respected as powerful druids and warriros...."
As he slowly ate, Jebben respectfully declined the invitation to perform, insisting that he is primarily a playwright, and what musical talent he does have would likely be lost in the din of the cell.
When the orc confrontation is brought to an end by the guard, Jebben's jovial air fades; he looks uncomfortable.
"Ms. Trask, I'm sorry, but those orcs, were they emigrants?"
The gnome looks around the cell at the different pens, his expression one of horror.
Ellayne frowns ever so slightly as soon as she witnesses the events from the orcs before the cell unlocked for them. Even following Minister Trask, her mismatched eyes fixats onto the scene for a split second before moving her steps forward.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Reverie Forestgleam—Human Paladin Level 5 in Frontier City of Nunkreet Extremely busy and busy as ever recently, but I will trying to catch up as much as I can
Minister Trask walks briskly through the corridor, cells on either side filled with all manner of races. The groupings are all similar. Half-Orcs with Goliaths and Warforged, Haflings with Humans and Gnomes.
She turns to Vostaria and Wander, still marching down the hallway. "Many Orcs do, yes. They're not the most patient race and do tend to start fighting the moment we place one tribe with another. We have no tolerance for that here, you see, this is a new beginning. No room for petty tribal war here."
She then looks forward, speaking to Jebben. "Yes, I believe those came from Faerun. The Orcs have all but taken over and some aren't strong enough to continue over there, so they come here. Some are genuine, others would like to start what has almost ended Faerun. We have to... deal with them early."
The hall appears to go on forever. Countless cells lie to the right and left, most filled to the brim. The stone floor is moist and bits of food litter the area. A group of Humans are making their way slowly down the hallway, clearing up whatever mess has made it out of the cells.
In thoughtful silence, Jebben pulls his pack out from under the bunk and carefully stows his writing gear. Then he leans down and reaches deeper under the bunk. A short, mournful, buzz is heard from under the bed. A moment later the gnome has dragged out a set of blue-and-white bagpipes.
He stands, hefts his pack, and tucks the instrument under his arm as he begins to follow Minister Trask and the others. He looks up at the minister.
"Surely, Ms. Trask, if you don't mind me being so bold as to offer a helpful suggestion--surely, someone in your staff can take the time to ensure warring tribes aren't cohabited in the staging area, no? Most of Faerun's orcish cultures and their respective tribal alignments are documented in any major library, and if one were to couple that general knowledge with a short emigration interview for each occupant-to-be, before assigning them to a room, one could save a life or, in this particular case, three lives."
He glances back at the cell containing three dead and bleeding orcs.
Minster Trask lets out a short laugh before placing her hand on her chest. "Unfortunately, the sheer amount of Arrivals we have on a daily basis takes up much of the Ministry's time. We just can't make arrangements for 'interviews' and 'little chats'. The Orcs that behave themselves in here generally do quite well in the fields. The Orcs that don't... well, best they stay here. You all have much to learn about this place. I advise you keep your suggestions to yourself whilst in these halls."
She turns her head around and gives Jebben a smirk before powering on down the corridor.
"I understand I shall have learn about the differences between the orcs of my home world and Faerun." Wander said as he quiets as was suggested. He agress with the gnome that there should be a more extensive screening process as the way it seemed the system in place was flawed and more then likely let many beings worse then orcs through.
Well this was a motley crew.
For several days now, he'd been stuck here in a cell with a handful of others, all of whom seemed reticent to talk much beyond the occasional passing acknowledgement of one another's shared existence. Not that it bothered Barnum heavily to do so; after all, he'd had his share of time spent in quarters worse than this, and most of those were filled with silence - it was never wise to become friends with someone you might have to wander out and kill tomorrow.
For the most part, he rested on the bunk that he'd claimed. A bottom bed; his stout, dwarven form was not made for higher levels, as he'd found out once before. Underneath it rested the collection of weapons that he'd acquired over the years since earning his freedom, with his war hammer being the one item that tended to remain on his person at all times.
Finally, one broke the silence. Even in Barnum's wide-ranged travels, the snake woman was somewhat of a sight to behold. She introduced herself, and as the circle grew, he finally swung his legs off the bed, feet planting firmly on the ground. The hammer rested next to his right foot.
"Barnum." He said gruffly, his dwarven accent tinged heavily with strange accents and intonations, forming a unique voice. "Just here for the adventure."
As the elf wandered up to the door of their cell, Barnum stood up and took it with a nod of thanks.
"No apologies needed here. At least the mattress is soft and the sheets are clean." He said, turning back to the room and placing the tray on the floor before taking a plate, filling a tankard and returning to his seated position on the bed.
He committed the names and faces. Vostaria the snake-woman naturalist; Ellayne the human ranger; Tipplewhiskers, the wordy gnome, and a few others.
"You know, I think a little Tipple will be the first thing I do when we get out of this paradise." He said, throwing a wink and a smirk in the gnome's direction.
Wander titls his head as his meditarion is interupted by the others in his cell talking, his body seeming to whirl to life as a few creaks and groans escape from his wodden and metal body. The warforged mutters something about needing to oil his joints as he turns to fade the others, his crystalline eyes not giving away much. As he truly focuses on the others he listens to a few things they say, hearing the that ranger looking explore while while one wants to study animals. Jis expressions shifts slightly to a confused one when he hears one complain about common and then is amused by the well spoken gnome.
" You may call me Wander am merely looking for a new place to find myself. I traveled to as many place as I was able but decided coming here would perhaps give me a chance to learn more and help others."
Jebben, still standing in the center of the pen, watches the elven guard bring the food in. "With the influx of emigrants, I'm sure the burden of administrative responsibilities have you all scrambling for staff and lodging," he says to the food-bearer, "though I must say I'm baffled at the bars and the locks. But keep bringing delectable dishes like this, and I'm sure we all might find the understanding to overlook that otherwise minor detail."
Jebben goes to the door, takes his plate, fills a tankard so full of wine that it seems to bulge above the rim, and makes it back to his bunk without spilling a drop. He sucks at the cup, lowering the level of liquid to below the rim.
"It's ironic you should make that allusion, Mister Barnum," Jebben says to the dwarf, "for the humor in my nickname is double-layered. I share what you might say, what my friends have said--the friends who gave me the name Tipplewhiskers, I mean--I share an appreciation for libation that is commendably dwarven in nature. I do like to think myself a discerning drinker despite the fact that I do imbibe enough to, well, to use the verbage of my good mate Addison back at the Stage, 'put a donkey in a ditch, dick-up.'"
The gnome titters in laughter, seemingly pleased at using the less refined phrase.
"No, no, no, I'm not just an overly indulgent connoisseur, I'm also collector. Although it doesn't fall under the purview of my official scholarly capacity, I have a small book dedicated to alcoholic concoctions, a recipe book if you will. Between you and me, I'm hoping to taste and archive a few undiscovered future entries the New World has to offer."
Jebben begins eating, a very slow and deliberate affair compared to his rapid-fire speech. "I think," he says in between bites to Wander, "you may have come to precisely the right place."
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
The warforged nods as he passes off his own meal to someone else had he had no true need to eat even if he could just to enjoy the experience of it. "That is my hope. My old world was falling apart at the seams and I felt as though the good I did there was doing little if anything to help. I do not regret it but I felt the chance at a new experience was worth leaving my home behind."
Vostaria takes delicate, polite bites of the lamb and vegetables as she listens with keen interest to her cell mates. To the little gnome, she eventually gets a word in while he is drinking from his wine. "Have you composed anything original? A poem or song, perhaps, that you could share with us?"
Dorstaer hops off the bed, leaning against it instead and looking around at the others. "I guess we're doing the sharing thing. I'm Dorstaer. And if you must know why I'm here, lets just say...it was a bad breakup, and she got to keep the old world."
Ellayne looks at the cellmates whenever their introduces echoes in the cell. Different names and the various reasons to come to this New World. As she grabs her food from the tray, she looks at Dorstaer with her mismatched eyes. "I'm sorry for what you've been through." She replies as she goes back to her bunk bed. Soon, her gaze shifts back to Vostaria with a sparkle inside of her eyes before it goes to the bard. "I would love to hear them if you can!"
Reverie Forestgleam—Human Paladin Level 5 in Frontier City of Nunkreet
Extremely busy and busy as ever recently, but I will trying to catch up as much as I can
As you all sit and introduce yourselves, three Orcs from the cell across from you start fighting amongst themselves. One of them headbutts the largest and screams out in common.
"Yu scummy wretch. Yu fink yu can just come in 'ere wiv us wivout proovin' yourself?"
The bigger Orc holds his face, then lets out a roar before jumping onto the other, pounding his head into the stone floor until it's mush. The Guards rush in and stand around the gate with their spears pointing toward the door. The Elf guard, who had served you your meals, returns from further down the cell blocks and mutters a few words to the guards, who instantly thrust their spears into the cell, skewering the two remaining Orcs within, killing them outright.
Minister Trask appears from Rift-Hall way with a bunch of keys in her fingertips. She smiles and unlocks your cell, ushering for you to follow her.
"I'm sorry about all of this. Just ignore them, this happens quite frequently with the Orcs. Can't keep their tempers in check. If you follow me, i'll take you for processing now."
Dorstaer grimaces as he walks past the cell with the three dead orcs, following Minister Trask. "Note to self, keep temper in check..."
Vostaria, hands clasped behind her back as she passes the orcs' cell, looks in with disappointment. "Do any orcs make it through this...quarantine process?" she says to Minister Trask.
"I find it strange that they needed to kill all of them for the actions of one. If they had intervened sooner none wluld have had to die." Wander says as he grips his quarterstaff tightly and moves to follow. "In my world orcs were greatly respected as powerful druids and warriros...."
As he slowly ate, Jebben respectfully declined the invitation to perform, insisting that he is primarily a playwright, and what musical talent he does have would likely be lost in the din of the cell.
When the orc confrontation is brought to an end by the guard, Jebben's jovial air fades; he looks uncomfortable.
"Ms. Trask, I'm sorry, but those orcs, were they emigrants?"
The gnome looks around the cell at the different pens, his expression one of horror.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Ellayne frowns ever so slightly as soon as she witnesses the events from the orcs before the cell unlocked for them. Even following Minister Trask, her mismatched eyes fixats onto the scene for a split second before moving her steps forward.
Reverie Forestgleam—Human Paladin Level 5 in Frontier City of Nunkreet
Extremely busy and busy as ever recently, but I will trying to catch up as much as I can
Minister Trask walks briskly through the corridor, cells on either side filled with all manner of races. The groupings are all similar. Half-Orcs with Goliaths and Warforged, Haflings with Humans and Gnomes.
She turns to Vostaria and Wander, still marching down the hallway. "Many Orcs do, yes. They're not the most patient race and do tend to start fighting the moment we place one tribe with another. We have no tolerance for that here, you see, this is a new beginning. No room for petty tribal war here."
She then looks forward, speaking to Jebben. "Yes, I believe those came from Faerun. The Orcs have all but taken over and some aren't strong enough to continue over there, so they come here. Some are genuine, others would like to start what has almost ended Faerun. We have to... deal with them early."
The hall appears to go on forever. Countless cells lie to the right and left, most filled to the brim. The stone floor is moist and bits of food litter the area. A group of Humans are making their way slowly down the hallway, clearing up whatever mess has made it out of the cells.
In thoughtful silence, Jebben pulls his pack out from under the bunk and carefully stows his writing gear. Then he leans down and reaches deeper under the bunk. A short, mournful, buzz is heard from under the bed. A moment later the gnome has dragged out a set of blue-and-white bagpipes.
He stands, hefts his pack, and tucks the instrument under his arm as he begins to follow Minister Trask and the others. He looks up at the minister.
"Surely, Ms. Trask, if you don't mind me being so bold as to offer a helpful suggestion--surely, someone in your staff can take the time to ensure warring tribes aren't cohabited in the staging area, no? Most of Faerun's orcish cultures and their respective tribal alignments are documented in any major library, and if one were to couple that general knowledge with a short emigration interview for each occupant-to-be, before assigning them to a room, one could save a life or, in this particular case, three lives."
He glances back at the cell containing three dead and bleeding orcs.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Minster Trask lets out a short laugh before placing her hand on her chest. "Unfortunately, the sheer amount of Arrivals we have on a daily basis takes up much of the Ministry's time. We just can't make arrangements for 'interviews' and 'little chats'. The Orcs that behave themselves in here generally do quite well in the fields. The Orcs that don't... well, best they stay here. You all have much to learn about this place. I advise you keep your suggestions to yourself whilst in these halls."
She turns her head around and gives Jebben a smirk before powering on down the corridor.
"I understand I shall have learn about the differences between the orcs of my home world and Faerun." Wander said as he quiets as was suggested. He agress with the gnome that there should be a more extensive screening process as the way it seemed the system in place was flawed and more then likely let many beings worse then orcs through.
Can you all make Perception checks, please.
Perception: 7
[now I'm off to bed!]
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Wander Perception: 25