Fantasy Dominions: The Middle Ages

[Ivan]

Jemmeh turns to face the woods to his left, a wave of euphoria rushing over him after such a brutal attack, making him tingle with pleasure.

You stand in anticipation. The noise grows louder still, until a creature that rivals you in size, and perhaps ferocity, barrels through the flimsy wooden housing. The thing is a grotesque amalgamation of flesh and bone that stunk of decay and dark magic, and it swung a mighty axe over its head like it was nothing. It let out another horrible screech, then charged right at you.

 

[Ivan]

"It will go swimmingly," he answered confidently. It would probably not go swimmingly.

"Here's hoping, my companion, here's hoping." The mage patted you on the shoulder, and then returned to merrymaking with his fellow mercenaries. There's not really anything you can eat, seeing as you're a skeleton, but a few drinks are sure to have made all the mercs more talkative.

 

[JacobLG]

Jemmeh's blood was practically boiling with excitement at the sight of such a worthy competitor; a real fight! He readied his large cudgel taking on a fighting stance, letting the brute get in close before side-stepping to the right. In the same motion, he brings his cudgel in an overhead, side-swiping motion that was aimed for either the beast's head or shoulders.

 

[Ivan]

Jemmeh's blood was practically boiling with excitement at the sight of such a worthy competitor; a real fight! He readied his large cudgel taking on a fighting stance, letting the brute get in close before side-stepping to the right. In the same motion, he brings his cudgel in an overhead, side-swiping motion that was aimed for either the beast's head or shoulders.

You bring down your club on the creatures shoulder. You can hear the distinctive sound of bones crunching, before the creature hollers in pain and stumbles back. Meanwhile, more undead converge on your position. The commotion you've been making is probably enough to wake the dead in and of itself, and seems to be quite proficient at attracting the unholy horde. Your mercenary companions, content to sit back and watch till now, finally spring into action.

"Abominations of such size and number must be controlled by a Necromancer. Seek the bastard out!" commands the mage.

The mercs begin the task of moving their formation forward. They make sure to obliterate any lesser undead around you with arrows and spells, before going deeper into the village. You finally focus back on your task at hand. The beast has regained its footing, and seems to be wildly swinging its ax around as it approaches you.

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

You are no one in particular, walking down a road nobody travels, going to who knows where, when, much to your surprise, you encounter a scouting party. They seem like local adventurers, a small rag-tag group of fellows probably doing work for a lord in the area. A couple are dressed in crude steel, and both carry Halberds. The rest are dressed in mostly simple attire, such as leather cloaks, or clothes they were able to rip off a dead man. Their weapons vary, ranging from bows to spears to maces to swords. They notice you, and hail you to them.

"Ho traveler! Not many come down this path," says a man who appears to be their leader. "It's a dangerous one at that, so I can only assume you're mighty brave. Could I ask for your name?"

"I was once called Graeme. I suppose that will do," The man responded, a woebegone look on his face.

"Interesting!," exclaims the man. A variety of faces and murmurs between friends erupt from others within earshot, but that's to be expected from a band like this. "Only so many places this road leads to, friend. Could I ask where it is you're off to?"

"I am bound for Ermor," He replied, his voice tinged in melancholy, or perhaps shame.

"A fine coincidence that is! We're heading that way as well. Join us for a spell, and we'll help you there safely."

Hesitantly, or perhaps not hesitantly enough, you agree to join the mercenaries on their journey. It isn't far into the walk when some of the other mercs introduce themselves to you, and start asking questions. A kindly old mage begins to ask you about your magic abilities, were were of a minor degree (1) in Thaumaturgy, and a better degree(2) in Enchantment, while the two heavily armored Halberdiers ask you about what you have on you.

"For armor, I have a bronze chestplate, a sleeveless gambeson, and a sleeveless shirt of chainmail. For a weapon, all I have is a simple shortsword." He explained simply. "Besides that, I also have general supplies and money, of course. And a sprig of lilac, from my love,"

Finally, a young squire asks you what you look like. You’re confused at first, but the other mercs explain that the boys been blind since he was born, and that they keep him on as a scout and a figurative “look-out” thanks to his keen sense of hearing. They tell you to humor the boy, and you agree, perhaps begrudgingly, to describe yourself to the child.

Graeme sighed a little, before starting. "I am a tall and rather lean man, a little over the hight of the tallest man here, six feet four inches I believe I was told. I never learned that sort of stuff, so I would not know. My hair is black, with a light dusting of grey, while my flesh is tanned from years under the sun. My left eye is covered by a simple leather patch, with an old slashing scar running down across it. My nose has been described as rather hawkish, though I tend to disagree." He would explain, rather surprised at how much he had told the boy, though a moments consideration told Graeme why, as the squire reminded him of days long past.

Finally, the leader of the band himself asks you a simple question; why are you out and about like this?

"I am seeking someone, an old shieldmate of mine. Last I had heard, he was in the skeletal empire."

Content with the knowledge they’ve gained, the mercenaries leave you be for the rest of the journey.

 

[Ivan]

You are no one in particular, walking down a road nobody travels, going to who knows where, when, much to your surprise, you encounter a scouting party. They seem like local adventurers, a small rag-tag group of fellows probably doing work for a lord in the area. A couple are dressed in crude steel, and both carry Halberds. The rest are dressed in mostly simple attire, such as leather cloaks, or clothes they were able to rip off a dead man. Their weapons vary, ranging from bows to spears to maces to swords. They notice you, and hail you to them.

"Ho traveler! Not many come down this path," says a man who appears to be their leader. "It's a dangerous one at that, so I can only assume you're mighty brave. Could I ask for your name?"

"I was once called Graeme. I suppose that will do," The man responded, a woebegone look on his face.

"Interesting!," exclaims the man. A variety of faces and murmurs between friends erupt from others within earshot, but that's to be expected from a band like this. "Only so many places this road leads to, friend. Could I ask where it is you're off to?"

"I am bound for Ermor," He replied, his voice tinged in melancholy, or perhaps shame.

"A fine coincidence that is! We're heading that way as well. Join us for a spell, and we'll help you there safely."

Hesitantly, or perhaps not hesitantly enough, you agree to join the mercenaries on their journey. It isn't far into the walk when some of the other mercs introduce themselves to you, and start asking questions. A kindly old mage begins to ask you about your magic abilities, were were of a minor degree (1) in Thaumaturgy, and a better degree(2) in Enchantment, while the two heavily armored Halberdiers ask you about what you have on you.

"For armor, I have a bronze chestplate, a sleeveless gambeson, and a sleeveless shirt of chainmail. For a weapon, all I have is a simple shortsword." He explained simply. "Besides that, I also have general supplies and money, of course. And a sprig of lilac, from my love,"

Finally, a young squire asks you what you look like. You’re confused at first, but the other mercs explain that the boys been blind since he was born, and that they keep him on as a scout and a figurative “look-out” thanks to his keen sense of hearing. They tell you to humor the boy, and you agree, perhaps begrudgingly, to describe yourself to the child.

Graeme sighed a little, before starting. "I am a tall and rather lean man, a little over the hight of the tallest man here, six feet four inches I believe I was told. I never learned that sort of stuff, so I would not know. My hair is black, with a light dusting of grey, while my flesh is tanned from years under the sun. My left eye is covered by a simple leather patch, with an old slashing scar running down across it. My nose has been described as rather hawkish, though I tend to disagree." He would explain, rather surprised at how much he had told the boy, though a moments consideration told Graeme why, as the squire reminded him of days long past.

Finally, the leader of the band himself asks you a simple question; why are you out and about like this?

"I am seeking someone, an old shieldmate of mine. Last I had heard, he was in the skeletal empire."

Content with the knowledge they’ve gained, the mercenaries leave you be for the rest of the journey.

Cool, cool. You're accepted, my man. I've got church this morning, but after I'm home from that, I'll get to work on writing your OP and plotting out your intro.

 

[JacobLG]

Jemmeh was content to let out a gurgling laugh of excitement as the beast gave under his crushing blow, the euphoria of the battle distorting all his senses and thoughts except for those poised on the battle before him. Despite the whirl of emotions going through the albeit idiotic giant, his posture and strikes mimick that of a well-trained soldier; quick, aggressive, and delicate when needed. For one reason or another, all of this just flowed naturally for him unlike anything else the giant does.

Jemmeh waits as the brute approaches, watching as he swings his axe around wildly. When it is finally only a few giant's paces away from him, Jemmeh takes the incentive to attack, swinging his cudgel diagonally, aiming to cripple the beast's legs. His electric charge forward further increases the momentum of his attack.

 

[Beologi]

"Here's hoping, my companion, here's hoping." The mage patted you on the shoulder, and then returned to merrymaking with his fellow mercenaries. There's not really anything you can eat, seeing as you're a skeleton, but a few drinks are sure to have made all the mercs more talkative.

Xochitl goes somewhere private, makes sure nobody is looking, then empties his stomach bag into the sea and goes back to the room. Who is there to talk to?

 

[Ivan]

You are no one in particular, walking down a road nobody travels, going to who knows where, when, much to your surprise, you encounter a scouting party. They seem like local adventurers, a small rag-tag group of fellows probably doing work for a lord in the area. A couple are dressed in crude steel, and both carry Halberds. The rest are dressed in mostly simple attire, such as leather cloaks, or clothes they were able to rip off a dead man. Their weapons vary, ranging from bows to spears to maces to swords. They notice you, and hail you to them.

"Ho traveler! Not many come down this path," says a man who appears to be their leader. "It's a dangerous one at that, so I can only assume you're mighty brave. Could I ask for your name?"

"I was once called Graeme. I suppose that will do," The man responded, a woebegone look on his face.

"Interesting!," exclaims the man. A variety of faces and murmurs between friends erupt from others within earshot, but that's to be expected from a band like this. "Only so many places this road leads to, friend. Could I ask where it is you're off to?"

"I am bound for Ermor," He replied, his voice tinged in melancholy, or perhaps shame.

"A fine coincidence that is! We're heading that way as well. Join us for a spell, and we'll help you there safely."

Hesitantly, or perhaps not hesitantly enough, you agree to join the mercenaries on their journey. It isn't far into the walk when some of the other mercs introduce themselves to you, and start asking questions. A kindly old mage begins to ask you about your magic abilities, were were of a minor degree (1) in Thaumaturgy, and a better degree(2) in Enchantment, while the two heavily armored Halberdiers ask you about what you have on you.

"For armor, I have a bronze chestplate, a sleeveless gambeson, and a sleeveless shirt of chainmail. For a weapon, all I have is a simple shortsword." He explained simply. "Besides that, I also have general supplies and money, of course. And a sprig of lilac, from my love,"

Finally, a young squire asks you what you look like. You’re confused at first, but the other mercs explain that the boys been blind since he was born, and that they keep him on as a scout and a figurative “look-out” thanks to his keen sense of hearing. They tell you to humor the boy, and you agree, perhaps begrudgingly, to describe yourself to the child.

Graeme sighed a little, before starting. "I am a tall and rather lean man, a little over the hight of the tallest man here, six feet four inches I believe I was told. I never learned that sort of stuff, so I would not know. My hair is black, with a light dusting of grey, while my flesh is tanned from years under the sun. My left eye is covered by a simple leather patch, with an old slashing scar running down across it. My nose has been described as rather hawkish, though I tend to disagree." He would explain, rather surprised at how much he had told the boy, though a moments consideration told Graeme why, as the squire reminded him of days long past.

Finally, the leader of the band himself asks you a simple question; why are you out and about like this?

"I am seeking someone, an old shieldmate of mine. Last I had heard, he was in the skeletal empire."

Content with the knowledge they’ve gained, the mercenaries leave you be for the rest of the journey.

Their questions asked and answered, the mercenaries return to their earlier conversations and musings. You're shot the odd "Hello!" or "Nice to meet you." from various members of the group that had yet to introduce themselves, but none of them seem all that keen on striking up a conversation with you. Though, seeing as you're an outsider picked up on a whim, perhaps it makes sense.

A particularly quiet moment is interrupted when the young, blind squire approaches you. It seems something about you caught is fancy, and he asks you some more personal questions, such as where you got that scar, and why people call you nose "Hawkish." Close behind the child is a tall, plain-faced man with a very neutral expression. With his soft, monotonous voice, he attempts to calm the boy away from such inquisitions.

 

[Ivan]

Jemmeh was content to let out a gurgling laugh of excitement as the beast gave under his crushing blow, the euphoria of the battle distorting all his senses and thoughts except for those poised on the battle before him. Despite the whirl of emotions going through the albeit idiotic giant, his posture and strikes mimick that of a well-trained soldier; quick, aggressive, and delicate when needed. For one reason or another, all of this just flowed naturally for him unlike anything else the giant does.

Jemmeh waits as the brute approaches, watching as he swings his axe around wildly. When it is finally only a few giant's paces away from him, Jemmeh takes the incentive to attack, swinging his cudgel diagonally, aiming to cripple the beast's legs. His electric charge forward further increases the momentum of his attack.

Your strike crashes through an opening in the creatures wild swings, and connects right at the knee. The creature howls in pain once more, and falls to the ground on one knee.

 

[Ivan]

Xochitl goes somewhere private, makes sure nobody is looking, then empties his stomach bag into the sea and goes back to the room. Who is there to talk to?

The two Halberdiers who introduced themselves on the road sit together, next to the blind squire, and a tall, plain looking man with short hair and a cloak. The mercenary captain is having a drinking game with one of the archers, a small. red headed woman, while a others look on and cheer. The mage sits near the age of the table, talking to the other archer, and a man with a mace on his belt and a round shield strapped around his back. The archer is a young looking boy with unkempt red hair, and an appearance not all too dis-similar from the other archer. The man with the mace is burly and scruffy, and lacks any kind of an inside voice.

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

Their questions asked and answered, the mercenaries return to their earlier conversations and musings. You're shot the odd "Hello!" or "Nice to meet you." from various members of the group that had yet to introduce themselves, but none of them seem all that keen on striking up a conversation with you. Though, seeing as you're an outsider picked up on a whim, perhaps it makes sense.

A particularly quiet moment is interrupted when the young, blind squire approaches you. It seems something about you caught is fancy, and he asks you some more personal questions, such as where you got that scar, and why people call you nose "Hawkish." Close behind the child is a tall, plain-faced man with a very neutral expression. With his soft, monotonous voice, he attempts to calm the boy away from such inquisitions.

"It's fine, friend. I don't mind answering questions," Graeme would tell the neutral man.

"Well, son, I used to be the leader of an adventuring band quite like this, a long time ago. We had been hired to hunt down a group of bandits who had taken an old tower as a base of operations to attack the area. It was a tough battle, hard fought, but we were victorious. But, during the battle, their leader had slashed me and blinded my left eye. But, I repayed him by removing his head," Graeme would tell the lad the tale, a grin spread across his face.

"And I guess they call my nose hawkish because it does rather resemble a hawks beak. Though, I personally say it looks more falconish," He would say, clearly joking.

 

[Ivan]

"It's fine, friend. I don't mind answering questions," Graeme would tell the neutral man.

"Well, son, I used to be the leader of an adventuring band quite like this, a long time ago. We had been hired to hunt down a group of bandits who had taken an old tower as a base of operations to attack the area. It was a tough battle, hard fought, but we were victorious. But, during the battle, their leader had slashed me and blinded my left eye. But, I repayed him by removing his head," Graeme would tell the lad the tale, a grin spread across his face.

"And I guess they call my nose hawkish because it does rather resemble a hawks beak. Though, I personally say it looks more falconish," He would say, clearly joking.

The boy listens closely and intently as you recall the tales that answer his questions. A smile plasters his face as he thanks you, and then runs back to the plain looking man, who nods a thanks in turn.

"Would you mind if I asked a question myself?" asks the main, still as quiet as he was with the child.

 

[CargoCultist]

You are no one in particular, walking down a road nobody travels, going to who knows where, when, much to your surprise, you encounter a scouting party. They seem like local adventurers, a small rag-tag group of fellows probably doing work for a lord in the area. A couple are dressed in crude steel, and both carry Halberds. The rest are dressed in mostly simple attire, such as leather cloaks, or clothes they were able to rip off a dead man. Their weapons vary, ranging from bows to spears to maces to swords. They notice you, and hail you to them.


"Ho traveler! Not many come down this path," says a man who appears to be their leader. "It's a dangerous one at that, so I can only assume you're mighty brave. Could I ask for your name?"


“It is I! The Great Jean Loveridge! Traveler to Earthly domains and discoverer of realms beyond the mind!” He puffs a bit on his pipe. “Also, a renowned psychic. Possibly the only true one on Earth, save for the Ascended Masters! Take that, Crowley!” Jean smiles.


"Interesting!," exclaims the man. A variety of faces and murmurs between friends erupt from others within earshot, but that's to be expected from a band like this. "Only so many places this road leads to, friend. Could I ask where it is you're off to?"


“The grimoires and other assorted magickal tomes point to old Atlantis as where the ley-lines converge. There, I must go. To think!: It never sunk, it traveled wholesale into realms beyond the ken of most earthmen! Mme. Blavatsky can eat her heart out, eh?”


"A fine coincidence that is! We're heading that way as well. Join us for a spell, and we'll help you there safely."


Hesitantly, or perhaps not hesitantly enough, you agree to join the mercenaries on their journey. It isn't far into the walk when some of the other mercs introduce themselves to you, and start asking questions. A kindly old mage begins to ask you about your magic abilities, [1 Enchantment, 2 Conjuration] while the two heavily armored Halberdiers ask you about what you have on you. [A revolver, a few extra cartridges, a snuff-box, a pipe, a handkerchief, some matches and tobacco] Finally, a young squire asks you what you look like. You’re confused at first, but the other mercs explain that the boys been blind since he was born, and that they keep him on as a scout and a figurative “look-out” thanks to his keen sense of hearing. They tell you to humor the boy, and you agree, perhaps begrudgingly, to describe yourself to the child.


“Why, my dear child: I am frail of body, but strong of mind. This cannot be lied about, though I do believe that in spite of my frailness I manage to make myself quite handsome. This no doubt due to my having my mother’s hair. She was an Irishwoman, and much like them, I have red hair and pale eyes. I wear a fez inscribed with with the sacred runes of my Magickal order and a tailored silk suit.


Finally, the leader of the band himself asks you a simple question; why are you out and about like this?

“My good sir, You ask me why I left my comfortable home in London? I’ll be frank with you: aspirations to wealth played a large part. That’s not to say that the search for sacred knowledge did not play a role, no sir, but until I held this last seance I thought it was all a bunch of hogwash! Now I find myself a stranger in a strange land, the only thing for it is to learn what the ancients knew, and this requires going to Atlantis. All my grimoires say as much: ‘it all started there’, and that balderdash.”

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

The boy listens closely and intently as you recall the tales that answer his questions. A smile plasters his face as he thanks you, and then runs back to the plain looking man, who nods a thanks in turns.

"Would you mind if I asked a question myself?" asks the main, still as quiet as he was with the child.

"I don't mind at all, friend," Graeme would reply, a wan smile on his lips. His heart would hurt at the lies he had told the boy, making himself seem a hero when he was no such thing. While the battle had gone almost exactly as he had described, who's side he and his men had been on was the lie. And now all he could do was lie more, and try to repent.

 

[Beologi]

The two Halberdiers who introduced themselves on the road sit together, next to the blind squire, and a tall, plain looking man with short hair and a cloak. The mercenary captain is having a drinking game with one of the archers, a small. red headed woman, while a others look on and cheer. The mage sits near the age of the table, talking to the other archer, and a man with a mace on his belt and a round shield strapped around his back. The archer is a young looking boy with unkempt red hair, and an appearance not all too dis-similar from the other archer. The man with the mace is burly and scruffy, and lacks any kind of an inside voice.

Xochitl approaches the two Halberdiers. "Hello, friends! I don't believe we've had the chance to properly speak to each other." He pauses. "I hope I'm not intruding."

 

[Ivan]

"I don't mind at all, friend," Graeme would reply, a wan smile on his lips. His heart would hurt at the lies he had told the boy, making himself seem a hero when he was no such thing. While the battle had gone almost exactly as he had described, who's side he and his men had been on was the lie. And now all he could do was lie more, and try to repent.

"Why would a northerner such as yourself be this far off? I would think that your companion would be closer to home, and not in these god forsaken lands."

 

[Ivan]

Xochitl approaches the two Halberdiers. "Hello, friends! I don't believe we've had the chance to properly speak to each other." He pauses. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all, friend! Not at all! Make yourself comfy."

The first halberdier, a good looking, scruffy man with an athletic build, who introduces himself as Clyde, is the friendly sort, with an incredibly warm disposition. He wastes no time in making you feel welcome and included, perhaps more so than on the road thanks to the abundance of alcohol he's consumed. He begins to introduce you to the others sitting around you. The second halberdier is called Karl. He's a clean shaven man, with short brown hair, and a face that'd make you think he was but a teenager. Karl smiles and nods at you upon being introduced. Clyde then names the young squire, who sits with his head in his hands, as Bradley. Finally, Clyde introduces the plain looking man as Alexander, Bardley's guardian. Alexander nods without looking over, then returns to quietly eating his food.

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

"Why would a northerner such as yourself be this far off? I would think that your companion would be closer to home, and not in these god forsaken lands."

"Why am I so far from home? I am on a quest. The man I'm looking for isn't the only one I search for. Besides him, I am also searching for eleven other men and women, all once part of my company." Graeme would explain.

"Last I had heard, he was searching for the fortress of a long dead warlock. I know not why, but whatever is within that tower seems to have driven him near mad with avarice," Graeme would explain to the neutral man.

 

[Ivan]

You are no one in particular, walking down a road nobody travels, going to who knows where, when, much to your surprise, you encounter a scouting party. They seem like local adventurers, a small rag-tag group of fellows probably doing work for a lord in the area. A couple are dressed in crude steel, and both carry Halberds. The rest are dressed in mostly simple attire, such as leather cloaks, or clothes they were able to rip off a dead man. Their weapons vary, ranging from bows to spears to maces to swords. They notice you, and hail you to them.


"Ho traveler! Not many come down this path," says a man who appears to be their leader. "It's a dangerous one at that, so I can only assume you're mighty brave. Could I ask for your name?"


“It is I! The Great Jean Loveridge! Traveler to Earthly domains and discoverer of realms beyond the mind!” He puffs a bit on his pipe. “Also, a renowned psychic. Possibly the only true one on Earth, save for the Ascended Masters! Take that, Crowley!” Jean smiles.


"Interesting!," exclaims the man. A variety of faces and murmurs between friends erupt from others within earshot, but that's to be expected from a band like this. "Only so many places this road leads to, friend. Could I ask where it is you're off to?"


“The grimoires and other assorted magickal tomes point to old Atlantis as where the ley-lines converge. There, I must go. To think!: It never sunk, it traveled wholesale into realms beyond the ken of most earthmen! Mme. Blavatsky can eat her heart out, eh?”


"A fine coincidence that is! We're heading that way as well. Join us for a spell, and we'll help you there safely."


Hesitantly, or perhaps not hesitantly enough, you agree to join the mercenaries on their journey. It isn't far into the walk when some of the other mercs introduce themselves to you, and start asking questions. A kindly old mage begins to ask you about your magic abilities, [1 Enchantment, 2 Conjuration] while the two heavily armored Halberdiers ask you about what you have on you. [A revolver, a few extra cartridges, a snuff-box, a pipe, a handkerchief, some matches and tobacco] Finally, a young squire asks you what you look like. You’re confused at first, but the other mercs explain that the boys been blind since he was born, and that they keep him on as a scout and a figurative “look-out” thanks to his keen sense of hearing. They tell you to humor the boy, and you agree, perhaps begrudgingly, to describe yourself to the child.


“Why, my dear child: I am frail of body, but strong of mind. This cannot be lied about, though I do believe that in spite of my frailness I manage to make myself quite handsome. This no doubt due to my having my mother’s hair. She was an Irishwoman, and much like them, I have red hair and pale eyes. I wear a fez inscribed with with the sacred runes of my Magickal order and a tailored silk suit.


Finally, the leader of the band himself asks you a simple question; why are you out and about like this?

“My good sir, You ask me why I left my comfortable home in London? I’ll be frank with you: aspirations to wealth played a large part. That’s not to say that the search for sacred knowledge did not play a role, no sir, but until I held this last seance I thought it was all a bunch of hogwash! Now I find myself a stranger in a strange land, the only thing for it is to learn what the ancients knew, and this requires going to Atlantis. All my grimoires say as much: ‘it all started there’, and that balderdash.”

Their questions asked and answered, the mercenaries return to their prior conversations, though, with you as a new focal point. You can help but over hear as the troop begins discussing a theorizing among themselves as to who you are, and where the hell you're from. Your accent, your words, your appearance, all are foreign to these poor men, some of which almost look as they've seen some sort of mythical beast. From within the murmurs, the mage steps out and approaches you.

"Hello, Sir, uh, Jean? Yes. You're quite the curious man, I must say."

 

[Ivan]

"Why am I so far from home? I am on a quest. The man I'm looking for isn't the only one I search for. Besides him, I am also searching for eleven other men and women, all once part of my company." Graeme would explain.

"Last I had heard, he was searching for the fortress of a long dead warlock. I know not why, but whatever is within that tower seems to have driven him near mad with avarice," Graeme would explain to the neutral man.

The man looks intrigued, or at least as intrigued as a man such as him can look.

"That's almost out of a story." jested the man in perhaps the most deadpan voice he could muster "A single hero, sent out to to retrieve a set of artifacts, but in this case, you're set out to find your old traveling party. Seems quite like you should have a troubadour following you."

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

The man looks intrigued, or at least as intrigued as a man such as him can look.

"That's almost out of a story." jested the man in perhaps the most deadpan voice he could muster "A single hero, sent out to to retrieve a set of artifacts, but in this case, you're set out to find your old traveling party. Seems quite like you should have a troubadour following you."

"I suppose it does sound rather fancifal." Graeme would admit, chuckling lightly. Although, what Graeme had to do to each of them was not so silly, and far more bloody. But, he was the only one who could end them.

 

[Ivan]

"I suppose it does sound rather fancifal." Graeme would admit, chuckling lightly. Although, what Graeme had to do to each of them was not so silly, and far more bloody. But, he was the only one who could end them.

"All jokes aside, you might try talking to our mage once we've made camp for the night. He's been just about everywhere, so he might be able to point you in the direction of some of your other traveling companions."

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

"All jokes aside, you might try talking to our mage once we've made camp for the night. He's been just about everywhere, so he might be able to point you in the direction of some of your other traveling companions."

"Aye, that sounds like good advice. I thank you friend. That reminds me. You know my name, but I know not yours or your charges. Would you pray tell?" Graeme asked of the neutral man.

 

[CargoCultist]

Their questions asked and answered, the mercenaries return to their prior conversations, though, with you as a new focal point. You can help but over hear as the troop begins discussing a theorizing among themselves as to who you are, and where the hell you're from. Your accent, your words, your appearance, all are foreign to these poor men, some of which almost look as they've seen some sort of mythical beast. From within the murmurs, the mage steps out and approaches you.

"Hello, Sir, uh, Jean? Yes. You're quite the curious man, I must say."

"Curious? Why, that's a phrase inside the mark if I've ever heard one. Very moderate, very measured. A 'curious man' occupies that hazy area between a person with curiosity and the object of a person's curiosity. I can say that in this instance, I'm no doubt both. As I said, measured and measured deliberately. But enough of my idleness, let's get right to it then, eh?" Here he takes another few puffs on his pipe. "I can tell, you sense I'm a throne, as a preacher-man might say. What say you be my guide? I'm new to the realm, as you can tell." Taking the pipe out of his mouth, he smiles. "And I'll put in a word for you when Her Majesty's finest come 'round this way to save me. What do you say?"