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Post by DM Hawk on Aug 31, 2023 10:57:16 GMT -5
Quietly and without fanfare, Yuppa's shop opens again for business.
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Post by DM Hawk on Aug 29, 2023 20:12:09 GMT -5
Vera steps into her office on a day off to catch up on reports and paperwork set aside during the lengthy criminal investigations and matters of the Dragon's Graveyard facing the city.
She is out of uniform in plainclothes, only the badge on her vest revealing her office.
Shuffling through the pages, writing quick responses, she pauses. She sighs. She wishes she had a window to stare out of for a while. It was raining outside when she stepped in. It would be nice to watch the rain for a while.
Squaring a blank leaf of parchment before her, the High Inquisitor begins to write...
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Post by DM Hawk on Aug 22, 2023 23:10:33 GMT -5
Hear ye, Hear ye
From the office of the Minister of Vineyards, Mistress Amity Calah
Volunteer Help is wanted at the Hope's Cradle Orphanage
Interview by appointment may be made with
High Priestess Melinda 'Kiki" Heartfire
or
Mistress Amity Calah, Minister of Vineyards
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Post by DM Hawk on Aug 22, 2023 23:02:34 GMT -5
Hear ye, Hear ye
Let it be known
The following changes to the Baron's Council of Valkur's Roar are in effect as of this day.
The Office of the Minister of Interior will hereby be assumed by the Lady Baroness, Alusantia Crownsilver.
The Office of the High Magician is open for application. Preferential consideration will be given to interested candidates from the Mage Guard.
Valkur's Roar recognizes and thanks Pollyanna Pea for her service as the High Magician and hereby awards her the title High Magician Emeritus.
The Office of Master of Waters is open for application.
The following offices remain open after the Selection Process was necessarily delayed by Criminal Investigations.
Herald
High Inquisitor - Applications accepted by Active Inquisitors in Good Standing Only
Minister of Forestry
Assistant Minister of Tombs
Applications should be sent to Administrator and Acting Herald Frimgarold Scheppenfiedlen.
This proclaimed by the will of the Baron
22nd of Eleasis, 1387, The Year of the Emerald Ermine
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Post by DM Hawk on Aug 20, 2023 7:30:58 GMT -5
August 20, 2023 (catch up)
- Arabel Milil Shrine Updated - Arabel Temple Services Prices Fixed - Suzail Temple of Sune Updated - Valkur's Roar Hope's Cradle Interior Updated - Valkur's Roar Yuppa's Opens again for Business - Event Updates Arabel, VR - Misc Fixes
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Post by DM Hawk on Aug 15, 2023 0:53:28 GMT -5
Pett squints at the report and adjusts his eye patch, a Red Raven's work is ne'er done...
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Post by DM Hawk on Aug 4, 2023 18:01:22 GMT -5
Hear ye, Hear ye
Let it be known
On this day, the 29th day of Flamerule
In the Year of the Emerald Ermine, 1387 Dalereckoning
By Royal Decree of the Cormyrian Crown
that Dragonmere Island known as the Ash Isle
and also as the Isle of Ashen Winds
Shall henceforth be ceded to Dragonkind
to serve as a sacred place of Twilight.
Let it also be known henceforth that Ash Isle
Shall be known as Mnomene's Isle
in honor of Lady Mnomene, Princess Menexalavoss of Dragonkind
Friend to Cormyr, Valkur's Roar, and Clan Oghrann.
Further let it be known that no one may sail to or visit
Mnomene's Isle without permission of the Crown of Cormyr or the Barony of Valkur's Roar.
Thus signed and sealed on this day
Azoun Obarskyr V Crown Prince of Cormyr
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Post by DM Hawk on Jul 13, 2023 19:04:56 GMT -5
The opulent carriage came to a rest by the northernmost gate of Valkur’s Roar, the former city state of Redmist. The carriage door opened and a fine leather boot descended to the step. Its twin followed suit to the cobblestone as Costello exited the extravagant interior. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scents that greeted him. The smell of humanity and the smell of smoke was heavy in the air. Grey eyes glanced about, taking in the dark, gloomy stone of the walls and a battered gate that had seen better days. The rolling of the Dragonmere waves reached his ear. The breeze from the sea had yet to cleanse the air of smoke. A guardsman, clad in blue and green livery, dutifully approached from the gate. After glancing toward the magnificent draft horses and the luxurious carriage, the guard hailed. “Well met and welcome to Valkur’s Roar, the seat of Baron Crownsilver. I am Sergeant Willy and I have charge of the gate. Might I ask your name and business in the Barony?” Costello gestured with a gloved hand towards the cowled wagon driver and turned his back on the guardsman, to attend Lady Daxa, holding her hand as she descended from the coach. His gaze moved to the cemetery behind the carriage and west of the road. The Coachman patiently answered the Sergeant’s questions and acknowledged a warning about dangerous times threatening the Barony and that the city was in mourning. With Lady Daxa on his arm, Costello strode through the open gate, waving to his driver, “We’ll be staying at the Tipsy Imp, Tobias.” “Yes, Master” *** The room was dark when Costello opened his eyes. He lay in a large bed wrapped in the arms of two women. Mistress Amity Calah of the Baron’s Council and the owner of the Tipsy Imp had joined Lady Daxa and himself for a night of diversion. Glancing at the two women as they slept peacefully the master merchant smiled briefly. They were deep in slumber and would not rise for some hours yet. Regrettably, the distraction had only lasted briefly for him and sleep had yet to arrive. Costello disentangled himself from his lovers’ arms and rose from the bed to walk toward one of the room’s windows. Looking through the glass panes, his gray eyes determined the sunrise was a few hours away. He turned from the window and moved as quietly as a cat through Amity’s room. Finding his clothing on the floor where it had been discarded during the night’s play, he dressed himself silently in shirt, breeches, vest, and boots. Lifting the richly embroidered coat and cloak from the floor, he set them across the back of a chair and smoothed out the wrinkles. The room was only lit by scant starlight twinkling through the slight parting in the curtains but even so he was able to see everything inside. Glancing into Amity’s mirror, Costello took in his appearance and smoothed his salt-and-pepper hair. Careful not to disturb the sleepers, Costello unlocked the door and stepped out of the chamber. The hallway was silent and empty. The other guests were quiet in their rooms. A nearby candle had burned out in its sconce and another was flickering. The merchant made his way down the stairs and into the tavern. The room was empty at this hour, In the small span between patrons staggering to their rooms or out the door after a night of intoxicated carousing and the serving of morningfeast. A fan of light spread out from beneath the kitchen door and Costello heard the muffled clanging of pots and kettles. The scent of cooking smoke reached his nostrils followed by the smell of breakfast on the stove. The merchant’s mouth watered but it was still too early for breakfast to be served. He made is way through the empty tavern room and glanced towards the sleeping parrot. That bird probably had tales to tell. Costello exited the tavern and stepped into the darkened streets of pre-dawn Valkurs Roar. *** The city was quiet. Costello could hear his footfalls echo from the surrounding structures. The merchant stalls were closed. The hustle and bustle of the day would not begin until the sun had risen. In the darkest hour before the dawn, the merchant had the streets to himself. Or so he thought. Amused and somewhat intrigued that the footpad had gotten this close before being heard, Costello continued along his way with his senses attuned to the approach. The scent of a dirty human came next, young by the smell, the sweat was pure, untainted by the vices of adulthood. The breath reached his ears, shallow and excited. Though barely audible, the child struggled to maintain control of his breathing. A novice. Costello smiled as he felt is belt pouch lifted and its weight removed. The pouch was a trifle, a few coins to serve as a distraction from the true wealth the merchant carried in a vest pocket against his breast. He continued his stride, wondering if the small cutpurse was going to dare chance more gain using the rusty iron knife Costello could smell in the child’s hand. Instead, the footsteps, the smells, and the excited breath retreated into the darkness of a nearby alleyway, presumably content with the prize. Placing another small pouch on his belt, Costello continued to make his way down the lanes of the city. As he walked, he made his way by memory, recalling the tour hastily provided by Calah the day before. The Mistress of Vineyards had a head for business and sensed opportunity when it presented itself. After dealing with shrewd Sembian merchant princes and Lady Daxa, Costello had found the coffers of Cormyrian lords easy prey to the wiles of his ventures. If Cormyr boasted more merchants like Amity, perhaps the kingdom’s mercantile potential yet had hope. His path brought him before the expensive stone façade of the Gallery of Scarred Wisdom. The temple was a beauty to behold, both inside and out. When Amity brought them inside, Costello thought to find Baemarq there among the fine sculptures and stonework. The wealth and pride obviously poured into the structure appealed to the merchant’s vanity. Sir Baemarq was not to be found however and Costello did not care to fathom why these people whipped themselves. Instead, they had found the Platinum Knight in the Barren of Retribution. Quite severe with a minimalist style, the temple of Hoar was a stark contrast to Loviatar’s. To Costello’s senses the foreboding temple of the Doombringer seemed more suited for torture and suffering than the lavish Gallery. Yet it was here that Baemarq found succor. The High Priest of the Temple, a bearded man in plain gray robes named Keofar, was attending the altar and escorted Costello, Lady Daxa, and Amity to the infirmary. There they had found Baemarq, sitting on a wooden chair, gazing into a fire in the hearth. The knight looked at him and the grief in Baemarq’s eyes touched Costello. The merchant strode across the room and in a rare gesture gathered up Baemarq in a comforting embrace. Lady Daxa and Baemarq had found their way into a heart otherwise riddled with avarice. Costello knew the wisdom of avoiding attachment with humans but these two had made their imprint upon him. They would be gone in a blink and then it would be Costello’s turn to grieve. The merchant felt Baemarq’s tears seeping through the collar of his fine shirt. He reached up and stroked the old knight’s hair. It was the gesture he had seen a human father grant to a grieving child and perhaps a kennel master to a wounded pup. “She’s gone, Master, she’s gone” the old knight wept. “I know.” *** Baemarq had been wounded deeply in mind and spirit to an extent that he may not fully recover. The years left to the Platinum Knight would not be kind. At his age he had little time to spend in recovery so that his duty may be resumed. Perhaps it would be better to retire and spend his twilight in peace. Costello considered turning down the street to visit with Sir Baemarq again. Perhaps he could start advising retirement. A glance eastward told him that the Sun still had not risen. If Baemarq had found temporary solace from his suffering through sleep it would be poor to wake him. The merchant continued on his way. He could visit with Baemarq after morningfeast. He found the southern gate guarded by Sergeant Willy’s like. This time, they barred the way. “I’m sorry mister, but the southern fields are off limits.” “Indeed?” The guard explained, “There was a dragon on rampage. It has been slain but we have not yet ascertained whether the fields are safe for return. Travel will not be permitted until the Castellan and Master Gruteje deem it safe enough.” “Not a worry” Costello said, gesturing up toward the Sea Queen’s Due, the shrine to Umberlee overlooking the southern wall. These people loved their gods well, it seemed. The guards nodded as Costello took the stair up to the shrine. Reaching into the pouch on his belt, he withdrew a few gold coins and placed them upon the offering plate. He then bypassed the altar and stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the harbor. Taking one of the seashell chairs he kicked aside a crab that had grown too curious and scurried over his boot. He considered eating the crab while he was alone in the shrine but it would not be a wise gesture to devour the favored pet of a goddess, even a human one. Instead, he sat and leaned back, lost in thought until the sun began to rise. Costello observed the play of the dawn’s light upon the distant waves of the Dragonmere. As the sun rose the merchant caught a glint of light reflecting from a dragon scale. Peering out over the water he could see the distant shape of a dragon on wing, making its way north to the coast. He saw the glint again and a foolish hope welled up inside him that would not be denied. The hope however, was fleeting. The reflection was not the golden hue of the sun. It was darker, and less lustrous. Orange. Topaz. Kitangerlust. Costello predicted the Topaz dragon’s course and estimated where it would make landfall, and beyond to the mountains which housed the valley. The valley which housed the Dragon’s Graveyard. Rising, Costello moved to the southern edge of the wall and peered down. The gate guards outside were still in the shadow of night, not yet touched by the dawn. It was unlikely they could see him. Costello vaulted lightly over the side of the wall and landed on his feet, well balanced and in stride. He gave the guards a wide berth then neared the wall again and followed its course. *** He had found more guards watching over the slain dragon. From these Costello purchased an hour of privacy with the treasures in his vest pocket. With the guards out of sight and hearing, he walked a slow circle around the corpse as the rays of sunrise struck its scales. The dragon was a young adult but large for its age. Its black horns were twisted and swept back. One had been broken. The frill was tall, rising from the base of the dragon’s skull and running its entire length to its tail. The talons were as dark as its horns. The dragon’s mouth was fixed in a grimace, its sharp fangs exposed. A long, forked tongue rested in their midst. The grass beneath the wyrm was burned, blackened, and scorched in all directions. The merchant crouched and inspected the dragon’s wounds. Streaks of black blood had dried against the crimson scales. Numerous wounds were visible from blades, arrows, and the like. There were deep piercings. The hoof prints of warhorses were pressed into the ground surrounding the dragon confirming the use of lances. There was evidence of magical wounds as well. And something else. Peering closer Costello looked over several slashes across the dragon’s belly and haunches, scrutinizing the magical burns that accompanied the wounds. His suspicious aroused, the merchant cast a spell to better attune his senses to the magic. His suspicion was confirmed. Feyrza. Glancing up further along the dragon’s body, Costello saw wounds of another sort along the dragon’s neck and chest. It looks like you gave as good as you got sveargith aurix. If he had survived, he would have felt these wounds for the rest of his days.Costello rose up from the crouch and gave the draconic visage a long look, committing it to memory. “Rhettskaar. It seems you will not become the successor to the red mantle of Mistinarperadnacles or Ixamarunmaughzeraph in Cormyr. Better that you had died young, but for the cost.” A shadow fell across Costello and the remains of Rhettskaar. The merchant turned towards the east to witness the great expanse of Kitangerlust as he glided overhead, descending towards the valley. The merchant’s gaze followed the Topaz dragon’s descent, then he made his own way south. *** When Costello returned to the tavern he was greeted by the laughter of Lady Daxa and Mistress Amity. The two women smiled and turned as Costello approached. They were both dressed in finery to greet the day with their beauty. They each held a glass of wine in hand. Lady Daxa made her way to him, “Ferreous, you are just in time. We are having a toast to Mnomene and Amity has availed us to Mistress Miller’s finest vintage.” “Would you prefer red or white, Master Costello?” Amity asked, smiling. “Gold.”
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Post by DM Hawk on Jul 10, 2023 11:41:27 GMT -5
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Post by DM Hawk on Jul 10, 2023 11:24:01 GMT -5
After some few days, a small Forest Owl Familiar comes to perch on Stacia's arm...and takes a nap. Having taken a long flight, it rests, heedless of her discomfort and the weariness of her arm.
Once the owl has been refreshed from it's nap, it hoots and peers at Stacia with luminous eyes. The owl raises one of its wings to reveal a tiny scroll bound to its leg by a strand of string. Patiently the owl waits with its wing raised until Stacia unties the string and removes the parchment. After this the owl spreads both wings and leaps up, relieving the elven woman the burden of its weight. Within a few beats of its wings, the forest owl is gone.
Written in fine, elven script are the following words.
Enchantress Stacia'ilphu Ther'Revar of Evermeet,
I bid you the greetings of Arulem Sylv'stria. The interest your companions have in the recovery of the history of our People is commendable and welcome. I would be pleased to meet with you in my court and hear your tale.
Your company of kindred are welcome as well. However I ask discretion, as this is a matter of the business of The People, as you speak of this with your companions. These are matters belonging to the faithful offspring of the Seldarine.
You shall be met at the Stone Platform and be bid entry into Arulem Sylv'stria.
I shall ask the Eldreth Talae to join us as well.
May comforting winds speed your journey.
Tulithlaras.
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Post by DM Hawk on Jun 2, 2023 12:42:53 GMT -5
Hear ye, Hear ye
Let it be known
The sentence of High Justice has been fulfilled upon 11 members of the Four Winds Trading Company
for the crimes of violation, abuse, and kidnapping of three women of Valkur's Roar
Under the direction of the traitor, murderer, and outlaw Vindel Alow
Who has been forever banished from Cormyr by the College of War Wizards.
For conspiring to suppress an Inquisitor's investigation into the Four Winds Trading Company
and for negotiating with the Four Winds Trading Company for a share of profit from illegal smuggled goods
Master Frankfurt Rothford, Minister of Waters, is hereby dismissed from the Baron's Council.
Frankfurt Rothford is also hereby required to report to Master Izzak Bursturm, Minister of Tombs
who will direct him in the burial of Jorran of the Four Winds Trading Company
without instrument or assistance, using only his hands.
For conspiring to suppress an Inquisitor's investigation into the Four Winds Trading Company
For not disclosing the true name of Vindel Alow after he committed perjury
on the Charter Documents of the Four Winds Trading Company
and by swearing an oath of service to Valkur's Roar using the false names
Loric Copperfinger and Captain Slinger
thus shielding Vindel Alow from justice and enabling further wrongdoing
For claiming to speak with the Baron's voice without authorization to both the Suzail Court and the Thayan Enclave at Proskur
For accepting Thayan evidence against the Greatgaunt Guardsman Beldan on behalf of Cormyr and the Baron without authorization
For being party to torture in Cloudstone and using Baron Crownsilver's name to escape penalty
Mistress Mynian Copperhand, Minister of Interior, is hereby dismissed from the Baron's Council.
Mynian Copperhand is also hereby required to report to Master Izzak Bursturm, Minister of Tombs
who will direct her in the burial of Randall of the Four Winds Trading Company
without instrument or assistance, using only her hands.
For not disclosing the true name of Vindel Alow after he committed perjury
on the Charter Documents of the Four Winds Trading Company
and by swearing oaths of service to Valkur's Roar and the Free Sails using the false names
Loric Copperfinger and Captain Slinger
thus shielding Vindel Alow from justice and enabling further wrongdoing
For negotiating payment to Master Frankfort Rothford for a share of profit from illegal smuggled goods
The candidacy of Mage Lieutenant Ru'ath'amaali Tyrnea Dae'annia for the Office of Herald is hereby closed.
Mage Lieutenant Ru is also hereby required to report to Master Izzak Bursturm, Minister of Tombs
who will direct her in the burial of Adiccus of the Four Winds Trading Company
without instrument or assistance, using only her hands.
For not disclosing the true name of Vindel Alow after he committed perjury
by swearing an oath of service to Valkur's Roar using the false names
Loric Copperfinger and Captain Slinger
thus shielding Vindel Alow from justice and enabling further wrongdoing
Reserve Guard Captain Runa Rothgar is hereby required to report to Master Izzak Bursturm, Minister of Tombs
who will direct her in the burial of Slavan of the Four Winds Trading Company
without instrument or assistance, using only her hands.
In addition to the above mentioned crimes, the Barony recognizes the years of good service provided by Master Rothford, Mistress Copperhand, Mage Lieutneant Ru, and Guard Captain Rothgar including between them service during the Wild Magic Crisis, reducing hostility with the Wolf Woods Mist, recruiting assistance towards resolution of the Dragon's Graveyard, braving the Survey of the Isle of Ashen Winds, and more. These merits shall be weighed in the Barony's consideration of criminal penalties to be sentenced.
In due course, the future status of Captain Runa Rothgar and Mage Lieutenant Ru in the Valkur's Roar Reserves will be determined by their peers.
Ongoing Criminal Investigations Continue by the Valkur's Roar Inquisitor's Office.
This proclaimed by the will of the Baron
2nd of Kythorn, 1387, The Year of the Emerald Ermine
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Post by DM Hawk on May 24, 2023 10:56:37 GMT -5
To confirm, the Elven Crusade has taken place in the FRC timeline and this includes the liberation of Myth Drannor.
Fflar Melruth and two other NPC's from Myth Drannor have made appearances on FRC thus far.
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Post by DM Hawk on May 23, 2023 18:22:28 GMT -5
Hear ye, Hear ye,
Let it be known
The elf Vindel Alow, previously convicted of Treason, Armed Rebellion, and Murder
while in the service of the pretender lord Matthias Zorastryl
and who also failed to comply to earn a pardon
and who was declared an Outlaw and sentenced to High Justice
did assume the aliases Loric Copperfinger and Captain Slinger.
By these false names and as an outlaw committed acts of perjury swearing oaths to
the Baron of Valkur's Roar and the Free Sails.
Vindel Alow is also guilty of kidnapping three women in Valkur's Roar
and subjecting them to rape and assault by eleven guardsmen and sailors
of the Four Winds Trading Company.
Vindel Alow is also guilty of multiple counts of forgery and fraud.
For these crimes, Vindel Alow has been sentenced to Enforced Exile
by the College of War Wizards, never to return to the Kingdom of Cormyr.
The following Four Winds sailors and guardsmen are guilty of
rape, assault, and kidnapping of three women in Valkur's Roar
and hereby sentenced to death by Lord Baron Azorus Crownsilver.
Jorran of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Randall of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Adiccus of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Slavan of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Rackall of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Rashand of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Corbus of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Roscko of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Vallen of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Rickard of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
Bobby of the Four Winds Trading Company of Valkur's Roar
High Justice will be performed at the Jamei Mirellos Gallows of Valkur's Roar
On the 28th of Mirtul, 1387.
Ongoing Criminal Investigations Continue by the Valkur's Roar Inquisitor's Office.
This proclaimed by the will of the Baron
23rd of Mirtul, 1387, The Year of the Emerald Ermine
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Post by DM Hawk on Apr 21, 2023 14:06:13 GMT -5
A response is returned.
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Post by DM Hawk on Apr 20, 2023 17:24:16 GMT -5
bump bump
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Post by DM Hawk on Apr 6, 2023 12:10:30 GMT -5
Talinnita, Lady of Mystery and High Priestess of Mystra's Grove, reads the correspondence.
Turning to a pupil she says, "Servant of Mystery, summon the Dweomerkeepers and prepare our response to Priestess Harton."
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Post by DM Hawk on Apr 5, 2023 13:46:43 GMT -5
Hail Cormyrians! The expanded Server Rules for Prestige Classes have been updated with the following: frc.proboards.com/thread/29394/server-rule-expanded-prestige-classes5. Blackguard Special Consideration - An application is not required to play the Blackguard PRC at this time but Blackguard players are required to advise a DM or EDM about their character's pact with an evil outsider upon taking their first Blackguard level. Each Blackguard is aware of the entity that granted them their power and this needs to be represented in roleplay on FRC. The blackguard epitomizes evil. The quintessential black knight, this villain carries a reputation of the foulest sort that is very well deserved. Consorting with evil outsiders, the blackguard is hated and feared by all. Some people call these villains anti-paladins due to their completely evil nature. The blackguard has many options available to them - sending forth dark minions and servants to do their bidding, attacking with stealth and honourless guile, or straightforward smiting of the forces of good that stand in their way. To that end a Blackguard on FRC is not an evil divine champion. The blackguard must make a pact with an evil outsider. That could include a representative of an evil deity, but not the deity themselves. If a deity is not evil, it is unlikely they would work with evil outsiders which means they would not qualify for a blackguard pact. DM Betelgeuse has agreed to be the point of contact for players taking the Blackguard PRC. Please contact DM Bete in game, on the forum, or in Discord and advise him of your Blackguard's pact with an evil outsider. If Bete can't be reached, players may contact another DM or EDM instead.
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Post by DM Hawk on Mar 25, 2023 8:59:51 GMT -5
A drop of ink fell from the gnome’s quill as the words of the Wolf’s Wood Mist tribesman were spoken. Frimgarold Scheppenfiedlen did not realize that his jaw had gone slack beneath a meticulously groomed mustache. If he had noticed he would have closed it, of course. A gaping mouth is unseemly. Even at a moment like this one.
Thwael stood in the center of the audience chamber of the great hall with perhaps a hundred eyes staring at him. The elf appeared unbothered and unassuming. He simply stood, his poise relaxed and graceful, as he held the gaze of the baron. His expression was calm and patient in contrast to the rising tumult of anxiety surrounding him. His words had been spoken calmly and slowly, in elven, as if teaching a child. But the calm elven words had struck the audience chamber like a thunderbolt.
“War is not the word. They hunt you, Lord of Dead Rock, and they are coming for you now. They will slay anything between to reach you.”
The Councilors and the Reserves reacted in various ways. The High Inquisitor was on her feet, followed by Inquisitor Steel. The Guard Captain stood calmly beside Thwael. It seemed everyone else was making noise at once. Elven assassins, a gnomish baker’s dozen of them, were coming for Baron Crownsilver. Lord Baron Azorus responded to the elven tribesman, but Frimgarold could not hear him over the noise. Another drop of ink fell.
When the baron turned toward him, Frimgarold realized his mouth was gaping. He closed his mouth and leaned in to listen, but the Baron’s words were not for him.
“Are you ready for this, son?”
There was a moment's pause. And then, “It is why I am here father.”
Orders began to flow from the Castellan, first to Huntsilver. Then, he addressed the High Inquisitor.
“Take command of the Regular Guard. Set watches at all the gates and send detachments to Hope's Cradle, the taverns, temples and to the homes of the Councilors and their families.”
Vera’s voice was calm and clear, “As you command. Councilors, with me please.”
Aluxar turned to the Baroness, “You too, Mother”
Frimgarold hopped up from his chair and fell in with the Baroness and other Councilors beside the High Inquisitor as she led them out of the hall.
* * *
The ground shook and dust fell from the ceiling. Frimgarold watched the dust drift down, thankful for the protection of his sturdy writing desk as he huddled beneath it.
Another dragon must have passed overhead. A big one. Frim’s curiosity had gotten the better of him an hour before. A single glimpse of a wyrm wheeling over head was enough to send the gnome trembling beneath the desk, clutching his prized possessions tightly. Too tightly.
The clockwork time piece had broken. His favorite gnomish stylus had bent. He’d lost control of his bladder when the first dragon passed overhead but Alakaboom’s Moisture Whicking Chamois Insulated Undergarments had kept him in relative comfort. The underpants had worked well for the gnome, keeping his outer trousers dry and odor free. It would not do for him to be found dead of fright in his house with soiled pants.
Frimgarold could hear shouting, right outside his door. Then there was a pounding on the door and Frimgarold struggled to contain a shriek. Dragon!
The rational thinking of the Administrator surfaced. Dragons do not knock. Do they? Could it be the elves?
“Master Frimgarold! Councilor, are you within?” The pounding again.
Cautiously, Frimgarold emerged from the desk, holding the broken timepiece and the bent stylus, he glanced at himself in a mirror. The Lantan imported mirror had a crack now. He looked dreadful. Placing the prizes down carefully he produced his mustache grooming kit from a pocket and begin to arrange the whiskers properly.
“Master Frimgarold!”
Frim muttered to himself as he stalked towards the door. They wouldn’t even allow a gnome to groom himself before barging in if he didn’t answer. The indignation allowed him to forget the dragons for the moment as he opened the door.
“Yes?”
Standing in the street was Lieutenant Haler of the Inquisitors and the two regular guards that had been watching his door street-side. Corporal Thandric looked weary and private Zacho looked spooked. Lieutenant Haler had it together though. Vennis always seemed to have it together, the gnome reflected. Haler spoke.
“The guards are being withdrawn to the Great Hall. If you wish protection you must come with us there.”
“My guards? But...I can't fight elves! Oh my!” Frimgarold’s mouth ran faster than his thinking sometimes. It frustrated him so. He began to count to ten in gnomish.
“The baron's chamber is heavily protected” Vennis added.
The Inquisitor Lieutenant and the Guards turned and began jogging down the street, leaving him behind. Frimgarold Scheppenfiedlen closed the door to his small home and set the clever locking mechanism. He took solace in the sound of the smooth gears of the device and gave his home a brief, loving look. Knowing he might not see it again he turned and scurried down the street, as fast as gnomish legs would carry him.
The path to the Great Hall was littered with debris. Among the debris were the dead. The Acting Herald tried not to look at the body of the woman who had been crushed by stone broken free from an overhead rooftop. And then the street ahead was blocked.
It was a startled moment before Frimgarold realized the way before him was blocked by dragon. A green dragon. His bladder began to betray him once again.
A figure walked carefully around the dragon and into view. He was right-sized, not too tall like the humans. Armored, head to toe in gray steel, an axe in one hand and a shield strapped to the other arm. Frimgarold knew his heraldry and glimpsed at the shield, taking in the sigil of a hunting horn. Then he spied the holy symbol of Gorm Gulthyn, the Fire Eyes. It was the Minister of Mines. The Ambassador. Only it wasn’t. At this moment, Arak Smithson was a warrior and he was looking over the dragon as it lay in the street.
They’ve killed the dragon! Frimgarold noted the wounds torn into the dragon’s body. He also noted the livery of a Valkur’s Roar guardsman caught beneath the dragon, clearly crushed beneath it when the wyrm fell. The Minister gave Frimgarold a nod and raised his bloody axe in greeting before turning his attention back to the wrym, perhaps attempting to confirm the dragon was truly slain.
Frim moved around the dragon as it lay in the street, being sure to keep the Ambassador between the dragon’s jaws and talons and himself. Rounding the dragon, Frimgarold took in the sight of the plaza and the Great Hall.
Then he heard it. That magical, unnatural, mournful hum that could bring him to tears or give him nightmares. Frimgarold shivered as the sound washed over him. Starmetal. Feyrza.
The Castellan stood squarely before the entrance of the Great Hall. He was wounded and the shield had been torn free of his arm, but he was composed and his presence provided a sense of surety amidst a roiling sea of uncertainty. The starmetal sword was held in his right gauntlet, its blade aglow and singing that sorrowful song. The humans didn’t seem to mind it as much as they gathered around him. As he neared, Frimgarold could hear their voices over the keening of the sword.
Frimgarold had to sidestep another fallen guardsman as he approached. The Lieutenant had arrived ahead of him and stood with those surrounding Aluxar Crownsilver. The Kara-Tur Inquisitor held her heavy blade on her shoulder and wore a purposeful expression. Inquisitor Steel was there as well, but her face was grief-stricken, her eyes haunted. The Mage Guard Cooper stood beside them, turned to watch the dragons gliding over the city. There was Captain Runa and the woman had it together like Vennis. Guardswoman Whitelaw was there in black and white. The dwarven guardsman from Earthfast, Naldin, stood beside her in sweat-stained leather and Frimgarold noticed far fewer feathered arrows peeking over the dwarf's shoulder than before. The half-orc and bearded Inquisitors, Kur and Kalien, had just arrived. A blonde woman in Purple Dragon uniform sat astride a war horse, it’s hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles as it stepped back and forth in anticipation. The Castellan was speaking.
“Hunters…the elves are trying to lure us away…they struck Hope’s Cradle. We cannot leave the Hall undefended but we cannot let them terrorize our people unchecked. Find them and kill them.”
With a mixture of banter, bravado, and quiet resolve the hunters set about the task. Aluxar directed others to reinforce the Baron’s guards. Master Arak returned from the dead dragon and joined the Castellan on the steps of the Great Hall. Inquisitors Kalien Black and Kur moved beside Crownsilver as well and joined Inquisitor Steel to keep watch over the plaza. Guardsman Naldin had readied one of his remaining arrows and peered out from beneath his helm. The Castellan turned to the Purple Dragon astride the war horse.
“This is our mark, Firstsword Xandy…we cannot abandon this hall and we cannot let the dragons terrorize our people. So I want you to bring the dragons to us. You and Compass. We’ll face them here.”
Those standing with Aluxar nodded grimly.
The Purple Dragon wheeled her horse, “Well then... something to lift the spirits...oh…! Huzzah!” The rider thundered away on her steed, seeking a dragon to tempt into Aluxar’s trap…or to come and devour them, horse and all.
Frimgarold felt like sneezing but saw the opportunity and found his voice before Pebble galloped back with a dragon on her horse’s hooves.
“Yes Castellan? We are to report to the Baron's office for protection?”
Aluxar looked at Frimgarold and the gnome saw something in his eyes that betrayed the confidence of the bold words he had spoken only moments before. The Castellan paused to recover a battered shield from the ground and in that moment seemed to regain his resolve.
“No, Frimbiscuit…”
Frimgarold felt his mustache tingling, wanting to twitch in protest but he maintained control of the whiskers. The old nickname used this terrible night seemed to bring a sense of comfort to Aluxar and those around him. In his own fright Frim possessed a way to grant courage to someone else. The gnome could afford it this once. Aluxar continued.
“…the elves murdered the guards posted at the orphanage and one of the children as well.”
“Oh my! No!” The words were out of Frim’s mouth before he could think. Then the sinking feeling came. Despair arrived to visit Frimgarold’s fear.
“Listen to me, Frimgarold.” The Castellan was confident.
Frimgarold looked up at Aluxar and swallowed a lump in his throat. Grown gnomes do not cry in front of humans.
“Take these guards with you to Hope's Cradle and bolt yourself inside. Do not tempt the elves with visible targets...close every door, shutter every window. Huddle the children in the basement. You lot remain with them until you hear from us. Keep calm and the children will be calm.”
Inquisitor Kur looked away, something had gotten in his eye.
“Calm…Castellan…” Frimgarold heard his voice say.
“Calm breeds calm, Frimgarold...go now...just think about grooming that fine mustache with Prince Valiant's royal hair.”
Frimgarold took a deep breath, looked at Zacho and Thandric.
“Right…the mustache..come on guards, the children need us…calm…calm…”
Inquisitors Steel and Kur escorted them to the orphanage. Walking through the gate in the curtain wall, Frimgarold saw more bloodshed. Two guards had been lost and a Huntsilver forester. Beside them lay one of the elves. She was clad like Thwael and bled from several wounds. Frim wondered if the elven woman had been Neen, but there was no time to look closer.
Then they arrived at Hope’s Cradle and Frim felt the chill run down his spine. Two guards lay dead in the street at the gate of Hope’s Cradle’s playground. One of their cloaks had caught on the fence as he fell and remained draped over a wrought-iron post. Behind the guards, lying face down in the yard, was an orphan boy. A red-feathered arrow rose up from his back. Frimgarold was not a gnome-of-action but it was apparent to him that the child had been running for the safety of the orphanage when he was struck.
Frimgarold wanted to fall to his knees and give in to despair. Then he remembered the sound of his own voice, only a few moments before.
…come on guards, the children need us…
Frimgarold mustered his courage, strode to the door, opened it and stepped inside. He was greeted by a crowd of frightened faces. The children. Calamity and Nacyra were there as well and looked just as frightened. For a moment they all looked at each other, pale and wide-eyed. Panic began to rise.
Then a small, one-armed girl spoke.
“Hey it's Mister Frimgarold! Tell us a story!"
In the midst of it all, this little girl loaned Frimgarold her courage. Calm breeds calm.
Frimgarold called upon his skill as an orator to muster his best speaking voice, strong and sure.
“Tonight children, we are going to talk about a big horse named Prince Valiant…”
* * *
“And so Garl Glittergold, Baervan Wild Wanderer, and Chitika Fastpaws returned to the Golden Hills after their grand adventure, leaving the Crawler Below searching for a make-believe –”
“Frimgarold?" A hushed voice asked, "Have you been reading all night?”
The children had surrounded him and fallen asleep to the sound of his voice hours ago. Nacyra and Calamity were snoring, each with a child in their lap. Frimgarold had kept reading as they slept to drown out the distant sounds of horror throughout the city. Frim placed the book in his lap and turned towards the quiet voice.
The Castellan was there and the door was open. The light of dawn spilled into the room behind him.
Frimgold took a closer look at Aluxar. The man was bruised and bloodied. The armor he wore was battered and the livery of Valkur’s Roar hung about him in tatters. The look in his eyes was weary and haggard.
“Castellan…is it over? How fares the city?”
Aluxar sank to his knees and settled onto the orphanage floor beside the sleeping children.
“Please Frim, keep reading. Just a little longer.”
Frimgarold watched as the Castellan pulled one of the sleeping children into his lap, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.
Garl, Baervan, Chiktika and Prince Valiant began another adventure.
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Post by DM Hawk on Mar 13, 2023 13:23:38 GMT -5
A retainer in Skatterhawk (Cadet Branch) livery seeks out Inquisitor Kur with his lord's response.
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Post by DM Hawk on Mar 10, 2023 9:12:06 GMT -5
A letter is delivered to Meesha Grimm by a courier in Valkur's Roar livery, on behalf of Mistress Amity Calah.
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Post by DM Hawk on Feb 24, 2023 0:41:34 GMT -5
Copies of notices are distributed throughout Valkur's Roar, being posted at the gates, in the inns, taverns, and markets.
Residents of Vakurs Roar
We hope this note finds you well. We have all struggled since the losses from the Night of Dread and it is hard to imagine how difficult the last couple of months have been for you and your family and friends. Words can’t express how saddened we are all by our losses. Thoughts and prayers have been with everyone of you during this trying time.
Sadly another danger has come to pass, most of you will be aware by now of the presence of a Topaz dragon in the quarry to the south of the city. This dragon has decided to see out its days in the canyon and despite all attempts at negotiation by the Baron and our Council, to remove or relocate the dragon, it remains in place. The mining team working to free the trapped miners have made good progress and expect to finish the digging to get them out by the end of the month. Some of you may know of Gardrak Fire Rune and gratefully he has been engaged recently to aid their efforts.
The Council has investigated a number of lines of enquiry to remove the dragon and I am writing to tell you about something that is about to happen, so as to ally any fears you might have.
A brass dragon from the Anorauch Desert has been contracted with, and she is to arrive soon into the Roar, with her objective being to remove the Topaz Dragon in the quarry. Her name is Gorgotha. She is our ally and we promise you she means no harm to you and your families. At this point she presents our best hope of being able to remove the Topaz, Kitangarlust from the quarry. Brass dragons are one of the most benign of all species of dragon. They love to converse, to the exclusion of most else. Being known to engage friends and foes alike in hours of long-winded conversation.
Most of you would know Ru of the Four Winds, and it is her and her team that have made this arrangement.
We understand that the presence of another dragon in our midst, so soon after the attacks may concern some of you, and while we would encourage you to engage with Gorgotha while she is in our city, we understand if you prefer to keep to yourself during this time, we do ask though that any interaction is courteous and respectful.
Looking ahead.... As part of the bargain that has been made, the city has agreed to host a festival, that honors Gorgotha’s successful role in the removal of this Kirangarlust from our lands. The exact date of the festival has yet to be determined however it is something to look forward to. Our own Blue Gnome Pogo has been put in charge of organising the festival, so expect it to be amazing and any ideas or suggestions can be forwarded to him.
Any concerns or questions can be directed to Reservist Whitelaw Rehsinup, who will be door knocking in the Roar over the next tenday.
The parchments bear the mark of the Four Winds Trading Company.
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Post by DM Hawk on Feb 22, 2023 7:48:04 GMT -5
February 22, 2023
- Greatgaunt Bath House Soap Shop Fix - Valkur's Roar Great Hall Update to reduce lag - Misc Fixes
February 18, 2023
- Greatgaunt Bath House Update and Soap Shop Added - Bramblewood Troglodytes relocated to Darkwood Forest - Misc Fixes
February 17, 2023
- Guardians Guild NPC Conversations Update - Valkur's Roar Sewer Reopened (been reopened for a while) - Hullack Forest Goblin Loot Fix - Low Road Ant Bites Update - Alakaboom's VFX removed to reduce player crashes - Misc Fixes
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Post by DM Hawk on Feb 10, 2023 21:57:59 GMT -5
Baroness Alusantia Crownsilver arrives with two guards to wrangle the bull back to the Baron's estate where it can contribute fertilizer to the grounds.
"Sophie was right. We should have eaten him."
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Post by DM Hawk on Jan 28, 2023 8:07:00 GMT -5
Hail Cormyrians! The FRC Team is happy to announce the following update
The Farsea Marshes and the Tun Marsh now offer increased creature variety and more immersive encounters. The Tun Marsh has been rebuilt using a new Tileset. These wetlands have also been been updated to include the use of varied skills and abilities for creative problem solving and present new surprises never before seen on FRC. Pay attention to your surroundings!
Additional fixes include... - Mercurial Weapons Feat Fix - Bramblewood Gnoll Boss Fix - Butt Test Seating Fixes for: Arabel Alehouse, Arabel Interior, Eveningstar Lonesome Tankard, and the Greatgaunt Regal Griffon Inn. - Minor Marsember Naval Docks and Valkur's Roar Updates - DM Event Areas Added - Misc Fixes FRC would like to offer special thanks for Southpaw , DM Jorteck , DM Flash , and DM Sauron for the labor of love producing this update. The FRC Team also thanks our Test Team for their diligent effort and support. There are more new things coming soon - stay tuned!
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Post by DM Hawk on Jan 16, 2023 23:21:15 GMT -5
Hail Cormyrians! We've had a few questions recently about which weapons share the same feats from our server update last September. This post is just to extract that part of the server update notes to help make it easier to find. frc.proboards.com/post/373658/threadMost of these items in game have had their descriptions changed to reflect this. We're also aware that the Mecurial Weapons feats are overdue for a fix. We'll get to that soon.
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Post by DM Hawk on Jan 2, 2023 21:40:18 GMT -5
In a cramped office in the second floor of the Great Hall of Valkur's Roar, a gnome reads over a letter. A finger idly smooths out a well-gnomicured eyebrow as he reads.
"We have openings for three...make that four...council seats...and we receive an application for an assistant's position that isn't open or advertised..."
The gnome glances up a the ceiling. The ringing persisted in his ears, all through the turn of the new year. Ding dong, ding dong...maybe it was a way for the spirits of the departed to get back at him for his hand in their demise by ringing that bell.
Someone sitting in one of the chairs opposite the gnome might see the annoyance in his features. But the chairs were empty at the hour and no one was there to see.
Deft gnomish fingers guided the quill to ink and parchment, gracefully crafting the letters in fine, smooth strokes.
"Eidetic memory...able to scribe two hundred words per minute...A dozen Thayan savants aren't worth a well-groomed gnome."
With that the gnome departed his office, taking the letter to the courier and taking stairs down and down again to inform Master Burstrom about his aspiring apprentice. He hadn't had one since Martin Crumb...
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Post by DM Hawk on Jan 2, 2023 20:28:07 GMT -5
In the Suzail War Wizard's tower, Atticus the Receptionist received the day's post. Idly he leafed through the sealed leatters, documents, reports, and periodicals that made their way to the tower following the turn of the year.
Atticus adjsuted his spectacles.
The Cormyte Coronet had published an end of year special.
The cover story was an expose asking the question, "Is the Jolly Spirit of the North Real?" Sessily Chipperbeak had interviewed the folk of Suzail about sightings. The artist Ansel Greyslate had dutifully sketched a depiction of each encounter, including a reported visit by the Jolly Spirit to the Prancing Bull brothel. The final entry included a drawing of Editor-in-Chieftian Knittrick Cornpepper holding a lump of coal.
Flipping a few pages, the War Wizard glanced at articles covering Waterdhavian fashion, the spread of narcotics, lyrics for the top three songs from the recent Battle of the Bards, coverage of tragedy in the Western Reach, and on. Adverts by the Thayan Enclave of Marsember, Twimby's Eastern Imports, and Alakaboom's. The obituaries included a few executions. His interest waned after glancing at the tarot card readings.
Charlatans.
Flipping through he glanced at the latest issues of Cormyrian Woman and Horse and Rider.
With a sigh of tedium he rose from the chair and carried the periodicals for deposit in the waiting area reading box. He collected the previous issues to distribute to the prisoners later.
Returning to his desk, Atticus inspected the next document. Sigglehomph's Treaties on the Sentience of Fungi, Oozes, and Slimes.
Maybe one for Jestra and the Monster Hunters.
Atticus squinted at the next letter in the pile and a smile came to his aged face. He dipped the exotic quill in the well of ink and scribed the forward address.
Ambrose old boy, I hope the Jolly Spirit was good to you this season...of course he's real.
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Post by DM Hawk on Dec 20, 2022 15:48:47 GMT -5
The great hall doors opened and icy wind blew in, followed by the complaining words of the elderly Gram, cook for Talbot's Table and Inn. Talbot himself followed Gram and Goodman Holance followed Talbot, his straw hat supporting a layer of snow.
Talbot and Gram carried large, covered platters of food while Holance carried jugs of hot cider and spicy, mulled wine. Ushered by the guards, the three men placed the trays of food and jugs on one of the long tables of the hall.
Removing the lids, the contents of the platters are revealed: Sandwiches, fruit, crackers and cookies.
A small leaf of parchment is set on the table between the platters:
Mynian,
This one's on the house. Good luck.
Talbot
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Post by DM Hawk on Dec 19, 2022 13:21:53 GMT -5
It is a sleepless night for Baron Azorus Crownsilver and the Council.
"Secure my City" the Baron had told the Castellan, and Aluxar obeyed. Guards able to perform their duties are set on watch at the gates and patrols throughout the city, restoring order, watching over the people of Valkur's Roar as loved ones were sought out and damage surveyed. The levies of Mortimer Gruteje and Nate Skatterhawk were called forth and sent into the city to assist those in distress.
Leaving the vineyards, the Baron made his way through the city, touching those he passed. He was followed by a limping but silent Gerld Huntsilver, holding a torch to light the way. He first visited Hope's Cradle and looked in quietly as Frimgarold read stories to the children. The gnome was almost as proud of his strong lungs as he was his well-groomed mustache. His voice hadn't given out though his shoulders sagged. He had been reading for hours. Most of the children were asleep, surrounding the gnome's chair, soothed by the voice.
His next visit was to the mortuary. Master Brustrom's people were reporting as soon as the hostilities calmed enough. Leaving their families to check up on loved ones and look to repairs, they arrived one by one to begin the grim work of the days ahead.
The Baron gave Izzak a ring to purchase two caskets on display, the largest and the smallest. Gerld was directed to gather his remaining foresters to watch over Izzak's people as they made their way to the Mistwood, axes in hand. Lumber would be needed for more caskets. A small smile of derision formed when he thought about the elves complaining for the use of wood. Yes, new trees would be planted, but not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until some of the wounds healed.
He and Gerld brought the small casket to Hope's Cradle. The lad and two guards beside him had been arranged peacefully, laying side by side with their hands clasped over their chests holding holy symbols. Their eyes closed. Prayers had been made for them by clergy who had passed by and moved on. They must not have answered the prayers that sometimes brought the miracle of raising the dead to life. Perhaps the boy had found his parents in the hereafter and decided his days as an orphan on Faerun were done. The lid was closed firmly, lest the other children see who was inside.
The next was brought to the vineyards. The heavy casket was built for a tall man, perhaps even one of orcish blood. Sophie Miller was not tall but she would need the space. He and Gerld carefully lifted Sophie and placed her inside. Carefully he pulled her collar to cover the ruin the noose had done to her neck. His fingers went into the earth beside the casket and gripped a handful of the soil that nourished her prized grapes. He placed the earth in her cold hand, wishing she could take it with her.
The gate to the manor house was closed. He would find no welcome there, while Alusantia cared for Vera Gudwerks.
Truman was speaking with Lawrence Murley, overlooking the Great Hall. The Murley Brothers stood to make good coin in the months to come. The Baron gave the Murleys a new demolition contract: "Dismantling" the carcasses of the green dragons with saw and axe and hauling the "Materials" to a pyre in the Gruteje granite quarry. Truman would have a fight to keep the treasury afloat.
The Baron nodded to Rothford and his sons as they inspected the docks for damage. The dock hands and sailors were reporting their findings and setting to work.
"Lord Baron?" It was Izzak. There wasn't any humor in his voice tonight.
"Yes?"
"What do we do with the remains of the elves?"
The Baron answered and Gerld set to the task.
Izaak accompanied him to the Great Hall. Izzak went down below to exchange the bloody apron of the mortician to austere garments suitable for the task of consoling bereaved families of their grief. The Baron would join them in whatever courtly attire survived the damage to his office upstairs. But first...
He unlocked the office door and stepped inside the darkened chamber. He left the door open behind him, letting light spill in from the hall. His hand absently touched a basket of fruit on the counter. The Baron navigated the furnishing to the shelves of alcohol on the far wall. At the moment he understood her and why she kept the bottle close to hand. He took one and settled into the chair he sat in the tenday before when they had discussed the year's budget. She had made sure to give Truman a hard time.
She had made sure to give all of them a hard time. She had a way of reminding them they were just women and men, different from those they governed only by what they wore and how they spoke. Men and women...and a gnome...a dwarf...some half-elves...she kept their boots on the ground with her humor. She would topple them from their loftiness when their grandiose airs carried them too high.
To honor her they would have to remember her humor, to keep it alive, and to keep their boots on Faerun.
"It's time, my lord."
The baron nodded in the darkness of the office. He placed the unopened bottle on Sophie's counter, and followed Izzak from the hall.
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Post by DM Hawk on Dec 8, 2022 10:28:13 GMT -5
Damn it was cold. Not as cold as last year, but still too cold for his liking.
Waric Fetter stepped out of the Regal Griffon Inn into the chilly dawn. Taking a hurried sip of hot Dark Desire, he set the mug down and rubbed his hands briskly together. As he lit the lantern he looked over his shop. The carpenter was proud of his little shop. It wasn't much compared to the other stores in the village but it was his. It kept his mug full and food on the table. With coin to spare he was saving up to buy her a ring.
Kentin walked by with a nod, stepping into the inn. The guardsman was stepping up to keep things together with the militia and the Volunteers. Everyone felt the old knight's absence but Kentin was making a good effort. No doubt he was inside buying breakfast for the morning watch out of his own wages as Sir Callen would do.
Though muffled by snow, a strong tenor sung a verse behind him. Waric turned to squint through the snowflakes into the gloomy town square. He heard the voice again.
"One house divided is two houses!"
The voice sang from Frubo's stage, but it wasn't Furbo's voice. Of course it would not be. Frubo was scarcely out of his bed before the crack of highsun.
A critique was made. "That's reduh...reduh...redundant." Frubo?
The tenor sang again, "One house divided falls in half!"
"One house divided falls in twain, doom doom doom!" Without question, Frubo. Waric looked up into the dawn haze. Had he overslept? He scratched his head.
"One house divided...?" The tensor sang, in question. Waric looked back to the stage. Biedello, that's who it was. He had forsaken the comfort of the inn to sing with Frubo. Madness.
"It cannot stand!" Frubo declared in his singing voice.
"That's it!" Sang Biedello.
"I do turn a good lyric." Furbo allowed.
Waric scratched his beard and glanced towards the fields. As the gloom brightened a little, he could make out the shapes of farm hands moving about their early chores. Maybe MacDunald would want to buy a fine stool to use while milking cows or shucking corn. Harvest season had come and gone though. Waric sighed. Maybe Giselle needed a new sign.
"That's enough work for one night, I think" Biedello was saying. They were trudging through the snow towards him, making for the inn. Had they been up all night? Madness.
"That's one verse and two lines of chorus." Frubo was saying.
"Progress! Good morn, Waric!" For a man half-frozen Biedello was chipper. He carried nearly a yard of snow atop his hat.
"Good morn you two. Up late?" Waric asked as he considered the fashioning of a small, wooden snow plow with which to remove buildup from hats. Would it sell?
"Aye and then some. The muse was upon us and when the muse calls..." Frubo led
"The bard answers with song!" Biedello answered cheerfully, shivering.
"Siren's song more like" Waric muttered. "You look half-froze to death."
"Maybe Cele will warm me up this morn" speculated the guitar-picker.
"When has she ever? Besides, she won't go near your cold hands. They're nearly blue..." Biedello chirped as he opened the door. The warmth and light of Kale's tavern room spilled out into the town square.
"Aye, so you'll need to write down the lyrics. And don't lose them!" The door slammed shut.
Snow fell from the Regal Griffon's tall roof onto the awning sheltering his little shop. Maybe an intermediate wooden plow for awnings too...
The door opened again. One of the bards had probably forgotten something on the stage. Waric wondered if they could find it under the snow. They might have to wait for the spring thaw.
"Greetings!" Waric started. That wasn't Biedello. Or Frubo. He turned to see a short man, a bit fat, wearing warm clothes for the cold morning air. Over the clothes he wore a carpenter's apron, like his own. The man's hair was black, straight, and parted evenly down the middle. It looked like an...
"Arse crack...of sparrows." Waric grinned at his own wit and nodded a salute to the dawn's sun which surely appreciated the cleverness the carpenter was unappreciated for all too often.
"I beg your pardon?" The short, fat carpenter asked.
Had Waric said that aloud? The man might be a customer. He looked familiar. Shite.
"Uh, are you back...on the morrow?" Waric asked, attempting recovery.
"No, no I'm for the Roar today though the road will be cold. Say, are you Fetter the Carpenter?"
"Aye, I am" said Waric cautiously.
"I thought so." The short, fat carpenter put out a hand, "Moses Murley, from Murley Murley & Murley, Murley Brothers Construction."
Waric shook the man's hand. "Waric Fetter."
"Aye, I remember you bid against us on a few projects. Then you were sub-contracted by the Herdols on the orphanage."
"Yes, that's right." Waric beamed with pride at mention of the fence he'd built around Hope's Cradle. The finest fence in Valkur's Roar, if I do say so...
"We could use a good hand on a job...hard to get enough carpenters out in the cold." Moses Murley stuck out his tongue to catch a snowflake. "Nyuk."
"I'd have to close up shop. It depends on the offer." Waric put on his imaginary negotiating hat. It wouldn't need a snow plow.
"The contract is with the treasurer himself, Lord Truman Truesilver." Moses puffed out his chest, "Baron's gold, five hundred pieces for you if we meet the deadline. Pun intended."
"That sounds reasonable Mister Moses." Waric shook Murley's hand again. He reached for his shop sign, the finest in Greatgaunt, and fliped it around. He read the letters in white paint and nodded. Sorry, we're closed.
"Oh, one more thing" Murley asked, "Are you good with rope?"
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