The following notice is posted in Greatgaunt at the gates and crossroads and markets. A copy or two may find their way to Valkur's Roar. The parchment and writing are plain bearing the seal of the Council of Greatgaunt.
People of Greatgaunt and the Western Reach,
I solemnly write to inform you that the sentence of high justice will be performed on the 23rd day of Alturiak in the Year of the Vindicated Warrior in the township of Greatgaunt upon a convicted criminal for crime of murder:
~Otter, Adventurer, Smith, and Merchant
The fulfillment of sentence will take place at the 18th hour and will be public. The public is permitted to attend but all weapons must be peace bonded; all heads bare of helmet, hat, or hood; and may not have magic cast upon them while in attendance.
The services of the clergy of Chauntea are requested. Please contact the Red Ravens Outpost of Greatgaunt.
In the interim, it would do all townsfolk well to say a prayer for this convicted man and those who must carry out the sentence.
In Service to the Council of Greatgaunt,
Hail Cormyrians! This will be a roleplay event open to all player characters on Saturday, February 23rd at:
6 PM US Central and Midnight (Feb 24th) London time
*A'zu'ra passed the notice. She went pale a bit. She was told of the day and time at her last visit by Sir Callen. The shock, the reality, for all to see. She quickly composed herself and went into the inn*
Marister-Ranger of Mielikki, Man of Mystery, Often misunderstood.
Lucien Rein reads the notice and sighs to himself. He looks around and notes some of the others who have shown themselves and then fades back into the crowd.
He slowly makes his way to the place of Otter’s final act and posts up to wait, in one hand he constantly flips a coin of Tymora, and the other rests within his cloak, gripping the handle of a fine kukri with an intricate hilt.
He takes note of the day, the general mood of the townsfolk as they mill about, and the demeanor of the guards.
His curly shoes and desert style pants paint him as a creature who does not belong, yet he offers a perfect smile to any who approach him. And they would see his milk chocolate skin and piercing blue eyes.
As the ebbing of time moves on, Lucien lets out another sigh. He has counted the coin flips, weighing heads against tales.
“And so your final act is about to begin my friend. Peace be with you.”