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NightyKnight

Conquest of Bloodsworn Vale: Pathfinder Module Playing

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"There better be something interesting happening in those woods other than humping rabbits. I came along to make a name for myself. Being known as Goran Shadowpeak the Bunny Hunter just won't cut it. Though I wonder if it's still better than Goran Shadowpeak the 'Didn't-you-win-a-ribbon-for-melon-carving-when-you-were-eight?'" He made a big arcing wave with his arm in front of him as he was presenting his name in a grand fashion.

 

With an exaggerated motion, he unsheathes his silvery scimitar and points it in a challenging fashion at the forest, a noticeable "shing" sound and twinkle at the point of the blade accompanied his gesture.

 

"Fear my blade you vile horny hares, for Goran the Melon Carving Prodigy is upon you!"

 

 

Used Prestidigitation for scimitar SFX.

 

Edited by Cranky Dog

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Lavanliril chuckled at the other elf's remark. "Well, truth to be told, asking birds anything isn't usually overly exciting. They tend to be mostly concerned with what is out and about big enough to possibly eat them, or small enough to be eaten by them. Of course, when spring rolls around, listening to the males' ideas for finding themselves nesting mates can be most entertaining. I met this peacock once that..." She paused, then, shaking her head, continued in Elvish, "Sorry, it doesn't really translate well, even to a more melodious language, I'm afraid. Bird thoughts can be so, well, flighty, you know?"

 

She then turned to eye the flashy-acting human curiously, and went back to Common as she spoke with a slight grin, "Oh, don't give up hope! Just imagine if there were dastardly rabid dire rabbits! I'm sure if you were to skin any of those, the song of Goran the Harehunter could become legend. Well if you were lucky enough to have a bard witness the deed and make it sound more exciting than, basically, a dire wolf having lunch."

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He shook his head, having followed the conversation in elven as easily as if it where in common before turning his head towards Goran. "fornicating hare's are the least of our concerns in these woods" was all he said, before adjusting his pace to move out to the front of the caravan.

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She then turned to eye the flashy-acting human curiously, and went back to Common as she spoke with a slight grin, "Oh, don't give up hope! Just imagine if there were dastardly rabid dire rabbits! I'm sure if you were to skin any of those, the song of Goran the Harehunter could become legend. Well if you were lucky enough to have a bard witness the deed and make it sound more exciting than, basically, a dire wolf having lunch."

"You make it sound like I'm the poor soul in a fable. The last verse will start with 'Alas, poor Goran...'" He lets out an audible sigh. "At least children will remember my name."

 

[OOC: Is there a caravan master with us in charge of the wagons?]

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A rather lean man with electric blue eyes and blond hair walks out, he wears willing traveling clothes and is well shaven. You all recognize him as the caravan leader, he flashes you all a toothy grin before saying in an overly eligant accent "ah my good patrons, I see you are enjoying the view? Of course you are of course you are. I came to alert you that we will be commencing on with the journey shortly." He laughs but it is a laugh that is obviously for show. He turns and plods off to his wagon and finishes brushing his horse. Occasionally casting a smile at you before turning away with a worried look on his face.

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Lavanliril's gaze follows the caravan master for a few moments, before she shakes her head and turns toward the band of slightly unusual caravan patrons. "So, considering some of you look like you know how to handle yourselves in a fight, and others at least look like looks might be deceiving, would you have me go ask him what exactly has gotten him concerned? Just in case anyone likes to prepare for specific eventualities that commonly plague the road to... err... what was the fort called again?"

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"Deceiving?  Little old me?  Bad things just seem to happen to those who wish me harm.  Must be clean living."  Jezzharell bats her eyes innocently before her mouth slides into a sly grin.

 

"By all means, ask the caravan master what worries him so.  'Tis always better to be prepared."

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The red-haired elf nods and signals her wolf to heel, scratching him behind an ear as she keeps him close, following the caravan master. She approaches the blonde man slowly, smiling, and says, "Excuse me, good man? You seemed a little troubled, and if you don't mind, I'd like to inquire if it is anything that perhaps I could be of assistance. And afore you even consider just brushing me off, I suggest you consider even the meekest of elven bards might be craftier than you think and have a trick or three up her sleeve."

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The man scratches his head, " well since you asked nicely, I take it you haven't heard the stories then? There was at one time during the time of the Cheliaxian Empire  a massive battle around these parts." His voice descends to a whisper "They say those rose bushes grew from the fallen of that battle, I don't trust em' personally, its probably nothing I just don't like the look of them." The man goes back to brushing his horse appearing unwilling to give anymore information.

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oops the above was me I accidentally posted as my dad, sorry

 

The man scratches his head, " well since you asked nicely, I take it you haven't heard the stories then? There was at one time during the time of the Cheliaxian Empire  a massive battle around these parts." His voice descends to a whisper "They say those rose bushes grew from the fallen of that battle, I don't trust em' personally, its probably nothing I just don't like the look of them." The man goes back to brushing his horse appearing unwilling to give anymore information.

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Lavanliril just nods, leaving the man to tend the horse, and returns to the assembled oddballs, who she was starting to feel might yield a good story or two to preserve for posteriority, or at least crowds more interested in tales of motley crews than clean-cut heroes. She nods at them, shrugging, "There seems to be a tale the roses of the vale grew of those fallen in a battle, which presumably is either mere superstition or plenty good reason to bring extra fire. Either way, I shan't be surprised if anyone more talkative down in the valley were to add a layer of hauntedness to the tale of those roses. Might be telling if the songbirds avoid perching on the bushes. I shall need to ask, eventually."

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