Post by sparkusclark on Oct 22, 2017 18:54:53 GMT
So tonight I follow my players into Barovia for the first time ever (wish me luck). During last week's character creation, I privately asked each of them some questions; do you already know another party member? how did you meet? which do you fear more, a large wolf or betrayal? if your horse trampled an old lady and nobody saw what would you do?, etc. (they ALL answered 'betrayal' and I am looking foreword to playing off that answer).
This is the short story I wrote up for them a few days ago. I took a bunch of their answers and tied it all together as best I could. Please enjoy!
We begin in the Cala****e city of Darromar, along the banks of the river Ith. It is near evening and the hot sun has begun to dip below the horizon, the cool air of night fast approaches. A tall figure in a long cloak walks among the Queens Market vendors, hood pulled high. Beside him walks a gangly adolescent mastiff, entranced by all of the new sights and strange smells. It is during one of these moments of distraction that the tall stranger walks bodily into a local. The cala****e man is the first to react, a harsh word half escapes him before he composes himself; motioning to the young woman beside him to resheath her dagger, as he and the stranger offer apologies and introductions. He is Aseir of House Pashar while his companion is Mehnahrah of House Khusson. The stranger is not so formal or so forthcoming, yet eventually admits that he goes by the name of Duruand. The dark furred canine giving off wisps of shadow by his feet is named Sammael.
Aseir is taken aback when Duruand inquires if they are near Ank'harel, but chuckles at the pale Northerner's poor grasp of Cala****e geography. It is Duruand’s turn to be taken aback when told that no such city exists in these lands. The tall man rolls the clay beads of his necklace along his fingers in contemplation before asking for a recommendation on a place to stay within the city. Aseir muses for a moment before telling him that the best Darromar experience can be found at Adetk’s Inn. Duruand thanks him for his kindness and takes his leave. As the strange figure disappears into the market crowd once more, Mehnahrah puts forth a question.
“My Lord, why send him to the same hotel where we will be meeting the cutpurse?”
“Because that man has a familiar, and familiars always mean spellcasters, my young squire.”
The young squire groans, “My Lord, you’re not trying to set up an adventuring party again are you?”
“Shush,” Aseir chides, “a good squire does not question her knight.”
“If you wanted a good squire, you should have picked Faruk,” Mehnarah grumbles.
The knight chuckles, “Perhaps I enjoy a challenge. Come along then.”
The two of them turn and stride deeper into the Queens Market hubub, night rapidly descending around them
A different night, a different place, three days prior. The small fishing town along the banks of the river Ith sports several taverns and Inns, but few are as ruckus and as renowned as the Fish’s Liver. Braziers light and warm the interior, keeping out the night chill as a minstrel regails the sailors and merchants with lively tunes. The slim figure of a tan-skinned half-elf sits at the bar, sipping her drink and keeping an eye on the increasingly drunk orc beside her. She does her best to look small and unobtrusive in plain clothes, her weapons in dull colored sheaths.
Most people ignore the wandering knight who comes through the door, to them Aseir is just another dusty traveller. Yet the minstrel is not most people, and her practiced eye sees the accoutrements of nobility about him as he and his squire find a table. She gives her instrument another crank and the hurdy gurdy changes pitch and tempo. At the bar, the half-elf glances over, spotting the newcomer, she seemingly nods into her drink before starting a quick, subtle limbering routine.
The minstrel smiles, running a hand over the silver bands on her horns, metal rings tinging against them, adding to the song she’s building. She loves this part. Loves what comes next as the tune she crafted for her half-elven friend fills the bar. As the music swells the half-elf turns to the orc beside her and loudly demands the short toothed bilge sucker take back the insult of his company. Moments later the bar is in an uproar of flying drinks and fists as the minstrel’s fingers fly, her music only adding to and even accompanying the chaos. The half-elf is leaping, bounding, and diving through the fray, hands and weapons going where they shouldn’t. With practiced ease she allows a hit to toss her into the air and down onto Aseir’s table. The momentum carries her past the knight as she somersaults across the table and into a new pack of brawlers. Aseir nods, impressed, before leaning over and whispering to Mehnarah. The two of them rise and begin to wade their way towards the front door.
Noise and music burst from an open side door moments later as the half-elf slips out, the night air cool against the excited flush of her face. She grins as the ruckus inside masks her escape, closing the door and turning to go, only to discover the sounds masked the arrival of the knight and his squire. Aseir smiles, his sword levelled at the half-elf’s chest, Mehnarah at his side.
“You are a very nimble fighter, my dear,” the cala****e knight says, “but I would like my coin purse back, if you don’t mind?”
The half-elf sighs and produces the desired object, tossing it to the squire’s outstretched hand.
Aseir clears his throat. “Hers too.”
A second, small pouch is also given over.
“Tell me something...?” He asks, resheathing his sword as he waits for her reply.
“Sai,” the half-elf says.
“Tell me something Sai, how would you like your skills to be put towards a better, more profitable use?”
The response is wary when it comes. “I miiight.”
“My name is Aseir. If you are interested, meet me in Adetk’s Inn in Darromar in three days time. I believe I have a job for you.” He nods politely, motions to Mehnarah, and they begin to leave.
“Can- can I bring a friend?” Sai blurts.
The knight pauses. “Do they have skills to compliment your own?”
“Uh, sure, I mean, yes.”
“Then by all means, bring them with you.
Sai breathes a sigh of relief as the two figures disappear into the night, their fading footsteps overtaken by the clack of hooves on wood behind her. The minstrel appears at her friend’s side, adjusting the hurdy gurdy on her back. Her voice is thick.
“Did we get anything good?”
The half-elf holds up five jingling pouches and half a cooked chicken.
“Good, we’ll divy it up later. We should go now.”
As the two make off for an inn on the far side of town, they split the chicken between them, gnawing happily on the cooked flesh.
Sai swallows a mouthful before looking up at her tiefling companion. “Hey Nihil?”
“Yes?”
There is a brief pause as the half-elf scratches a pointed ear. “So I think we may have just gotten hired by our own mark…..”
This is the short story I wrote up for them a few days ago. I took a bunch of their answers and tied it all together as best I could. Please enjoy!
We begin in the Cala****e city of Darromar, along the banks of the river Ith. It is near evening and the hot sun has begun to dip below the horizon, the cool air of night fast approaches. A tall figure in a long cloak walks among the Queens Market vendors, hood pulled high. Beside him walks a gangly adolescent mastiff, entranced by all of the new sights and strange smells. It is during one of these moments of distraction that the tall stranger walks bodily into a local. The cala****e man is the first to react, a harsh word half escapes him before he composes himself; motioning to the young woman beside him to resheath her dagger, as he and the stranger offer apologies and introductions. He is Aseir of House Pashar while his companion is Mehnahrah of House Khusson. The stranger is not so formal or so forthcoming, yet eventually admits that he goes by the name of Duruand. The dark furred canine giving off wisps of shadow by his feet is named Sammael.
Aseir is taken aback when Duruand inquires if they are near Ank'harel, but chuckles at the pale Northerner's poor grasp of Cala****e geography. It is Duruand’s turn to be taken aback when told that no such city exists in these lands. The tall man rolls the clay beads of his necklace along his fingers in contemplation before asking for a recommendation on a place to stay within the city. Aseir muses for a moment before telling him that the best Darromar experience can be found at Adetk’s Inn. Duruand thanks him for his kindness and takes his leave. As the strange figure disappears into the market crowd once more, Mehnahrah puts forth a question.
“My Lord, why send him to the same hotel where we will be meeting the cutpurse?”
“Because that man has a familiar, and familiars always mean spellcasters, my young squire.”
The young squire groans, “My Lord, you’re not trying to set up an adventuring party again are you?”
“Shush,” Aseir chides, “a good squire does not question her knight.”
“If you wanted a good squire, you should have picked Faruk,” Mehnarah grumbles.
The knight chuckles, “Perhaps I enjoy a challenge. Come along then.”
The two of them turn and stride deeper into the Queens Market hubub, night rapidly descending around them
A different night, a different place, three days prior. The small fishing town along the banks of the river Ith sports several taverns and Inns, but few are as ruckus and as renowned as the Fish’s Liver. Braziers light and warm the interior, keeping out the night chill as a minstrel regails the sailors and merchants with lively tunes. The slim figure of a tan-skinned half-elf sits at the bar, sipping her drink and keeping an eye on the increasingly drunk orc beside her. She does her best to look small and unobtrusive in plain clothes, her weapons in dull colored sheaths.
Most people ignore the wandering knight who comes through the door, to them Aseir is just another dusty traveller. Yet the minstrel is not most people, and her practiced eye sees the accoutrements of nobility about him as he and his squire find a table. She gives her instrument another crank and the hurdy gurdy changes pitch and tempo. At the bar, the half-elf glances over, spotting the newcomer, she seemingly nods into her drink before starting a quick, subtle limbering routine.
The minstrel smiles, running a hand over the silver bands on her horns, metal rings tinging against them, adding to the song she’s building. She loves this part. Loves what comes next as the tune she crafted for her half-elven friend fills the bar. As the music swells the half-elf turns to the orc beside her and loudly demands the short toothed bilge sucker take back the insult of his company. Moments later the bar is in an uproar of flying drinks and fists as the minstrel’s fingers fly, her music only adding to and even accompanying the chaos. The half-elf is leaping, bounding, and diving through the fray, hands and weapons going where they shouldn’t. With practiced ease she allows a hit to toss her into the air and down onto Aseir’s table. The momentum carries her past the knight as she somersaults across the table and into a new pack of brawlers. Aseir nods, impressed, before leaning over and whispering to Mehnarah. The two of them rise and begin to wade their way towards the front door.
Noise and music burst from an open side door moments later as the half-elf slips out, the night air cool against the excited flush of her face. She grins as the ruckus inside masks her escape, closing the door and turning to go, only to discover the sounds masked the arrival of the knight and his squire. Aseir smiles, his sword levelled at the half-elf’s chest, Mehnarah at his side.
“You are a very nimble fighter, my dear,” the cala****e knight says, “but I would like my coin purse back, if you don’t mind?”
The half-elf sighs and produces the desired object, tossing it to the squire’s outstretched hand.
Aseir clears his throat. “Hers too.”
A second, small pouch is also given over.
“Tell me something...?” He asks, resheathing his sword as he waits for her reply.
“Sai,” the half-elf says.
“Tell me something Sai, how would you like your skills to be put towards a better, more profitable use?”
The response is wary when it comes. “I miiight.”
“My name is Aseir. If you are interested, meet me in Adetk’s Inn in Darromar in three days time. I believe I have a job for you.” He nods politely, motions to Mehnarah, and they begin to leave.
“Can- can I bring a friend?” Sai blurts.
The knight pauses. “Do they have skills to compliment your own?”
“Uh, sure, I mean, yes.”
“Then by all means, bring them with you.
Sai breathes a sigh of relief as the two figures disappear into the night, their fading footsteps overtaken by the clack of hooves on wood behind her. The minstrel appears at her friend’s side, adjusting the hurdy gurdy on her back. Her voice is thick.
“Did we get anything good?”
The half-elf holds up five jingling pouches and half a cooked chicken.
“Good, we’ll divy it up later. We should go now.”
As the two make off for an inn on the far side of town, they split the chicken between them, gnawing happily on the cooked flesh.
Sai swallows a mouthful before looking up at her tiefling companion. “Hey Nihil?”
“Yes?”
There is a brief pause as the half-elf scratches a pointed ear. “So I think we may have just gotten hired by our own mark…..”
And So It Begins