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@Oggy

 

The gnome looks your direction expectantly for a moment, but when you say nothing she turns her attention elsewhere. She begins scrambling around on the ground, and after a moment you realize she is gathering up scattered gear. The wolf continues to pay you no mind for the moment. The wind has subsided momentarily, but you feel a current change that leads you to believe the weather will worsen before it betters.

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On the southern edge of The Shining Forest there is a series of interconnected caverns that run for miles under the forest, and perhaps even as far as the river known as Paladin's Tears. Despite multi

"Easy, friend," Oberron says soothingly laying a hand on the huge man's arm. "Let me talk with these new-comers and see whether their intentions be fair or foul."     Oft fire is without smoke, An

Eldan snores loudly...

@Neriskain

 

When you were found to have talent you were apprenticed to an ancient Invoker named Thandos Nalfaren. While somewhat disappointed at your decision not to chose his own specialization, he was overjoyed when you passed your apprenticeship, and rose to the level of Mage. While you were perfectly content to remain within the keep studying obscure magic, Thandos realized you would never gain any power that way, and began to cast about for a reason to send you out into the wider world. He decided to kill two birds with one stone. His obsession for the last 30 years was a storied weapon; a sword named The Silverbane. The sword was the weapon of a paladin named Anthril Silverbane, and it had disappeared some 800 years ago along with its owner. He heard that there was some knowledge of the weapon possessed by the family McRae, but at 90 some odd years he doesn't ever leave The Keep. After a long discussion, followed by a guilt trip, you set off on your grand adventure. After a long, arduous caravan journey that was rather dirtier, and full of menial labor, than you prefer. You arrived at the McRae lands, north of the Keep at Greywall. After several days talking to various members of the family, you finally gave up on getting any real information from them. You couldn't help but feel like you were being stonewalled, in particular by the matriarch of the family Cellanil. An elven lady so old that most don't even remember her real age, she gave you a lot of half hints and vague answers before suggesting you might have better luck at The Court of the Moon. So, you set out again aboard another caravan. This time headed north. After a particularly heated "discussion" with the quartermaster over the waste of using hands skilled in the arcane for dishes, you were respectfully invited to leave the caravan (kicked out). They gave you supplies for several weeks, refunded half your fare, and left you walking north feeling sorry for yourself. After several days of plodding your feet are rather sore, and you occasionally mutter to yourself about cranky old bastards and their obsession with stupid swords. The weather is rather cooler than you prefer to be out in, and you're sure that it will start raining any time. You are regrettably correct. Toward dusk, just as you have given up hope of finding any dry shelter you spot what appears to be a tarp lean-to, and the embers of a fire.

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Exhausted from taking inventory of her camp and gear, Merrillee sits down by the bed of coals and takes another drink from the waterskin, which thankfully appears more full than she had originally thought. The pain in her head makes it hard to think, and she shivers as a cold wind kicks up. She should probably think about putting the lean-to back up to cover herself and what is left of the fire, in case the the storm that threatened earlier finally arrives, but that would mean getting up, and her muscles protest the very thought. Taking another swallow of water, she wonders if that immobile figure out there in the dark is just a figment of her imagination.

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While Eldan knows his brother needs aid beyond that which he can offer, he also understands moving him in such a state with the current weather might worsen his condition.

 

Checking Kircan's pulse and breathing once more, he tries to get comfortable, hoping that after a few hours rest the cold rain will let up and he can take Kircan to find help, wherever that may be.

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@Merrillee

 

As you ponder your situation you notice that the wolf seems to be in some form of meditation or contemplation. At any rate her eyes are closed, and she seems withdrawn from the situation at the moment. A wine skin thumps to the ground in front of you, and the dark figure speaks bringing you back to the present.

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@Neriskain

 

As you hail the camp you notice the rain is increasing in intensity, and you also notice a very unpleasant odor. It's difficult to see where exactly it is emanating from.

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@Oggy

 

Your wineskin lands with a plop in front of the gnome, who seems somewhat at loss until the sound draws her out of her reverie (stupor?). You notice upon closer inspection she looks a bit dirty, bedraggled, and generally worse for the wear at the moment.

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@Eldan

 

As you cradle Kircan in your lap he stops mumbling. You suspect he has finally drifted into unconsciousness, though you're not sure if that's for the better. As you cast about trying to think of the proper course of action, you're sure you hear a voice cutting through the gloom. It originated to the south, from the direction you are coming from. Then you hear it again. It's definitely a voice, though you can't quite make out the words.

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Assuming that an enemy would not be announcing its presence so blatantly, Eldan gently moves Kircan that he can lumber to his feet. Bedraggled and sore, he absently grabs his warhammer and peers out into the gloom of the dark and the rain.

 

"Please, make yourself known. My companion and I welcome peaceful travellers to our camp. We are weary. Enter if you will."

 

He waits for a reply, knowing his meager energy will not last, need he fight again.

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@Oberon

 

The knightly life is not, to this point, quite as dramatic and exciting as you would really have liked. To date you have slain no dragons, saved no maidens, and smitten no large amount of evil (unless you count the interminable spiders that keep getting into the castellan's wardrobe). While not the most exceptionally bright of all the initiates, you nonetheless seemed to posses a great deal of common sense. Also, sometimes you just understand things, even if they defy traditional logic. Your novitiate was not the quickest in the history of the church, but certainly not the longest, and after showing some promise, especially in the martial aspects, you were elevated to the rank of Squire in the Order of the Blade of Church of The Knight. You were given a brief leave to use as you wish, visiting your family or however you wished to while it away, and then asked to report to Sister Ygrissa. The Sister, having just been promoted to Knight of the Shield requested a squire to help her on a trip to some of the smaller villages and hamlets in the hinterlands to the south of the main church at The High Hall. After gathering your gear you set forth in your wagon. After some weeks of visiting smaller parishes Ygrissa recommended swinging south near The Forest of Talking Trees to confer with several of the smaller gnomish communities. After speaking with some of the Elders the older knight became concerned, and agreed to alter your journey somewhat westward to check on one of the younger gnomes who has been absent a bit longer than expected. For the last several days the Sister, not loquacious in the best of times, seems to have become even more withdrawn. You've also noticed her casting augury at the beginning of each day before loading up the wagon, and whatever portents she receives seem to trouble her a great deal. Making camp for the evening you notice that the storm that has been threatening all day seems to have arrived with a surfeit of wind, and possibly some rain.

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Oberron goes about his nightly duties of making camp, giving special attention in attempting to give extra security and protection to Sister Ygrissa's shelter in hopes of keeping out some of the coming storm. When all of his duties are finished, he sits by the newly built fire and begins to prepare a humble meal for the two weary travelers. Glancing again at the threatening sky he mumbles:

 

"Ay me, how many perils doe enfold

The righteous man, to make him daily fall!"

 

As the smells of dinner waft through the camp, Sister Ygrissa eventually joins her Squire. Oberron serves her meal to her and says, "Not to intrude upon personal matters, Sister, but something seems to be bothering you of late. Is there some trouble for which my assistance would be of aide?"

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Though wary of strangers, at this point the fire is simply too inviting to resist. I approach somewhat cautiously, my head swiveling about as if I can't decide what direction is the most dangerous. I alternate between casting worried glances back over my shoulder, peering all around to see where the smell is coming from, and trying to determine what sort of person (s) are in the camp. Unless challenged directly, I slowly make my way right up to the fire.

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