Storyline Sidelines.   Posted by Game Moderator.Group: public
Game Moderator
 GM, 487 posts
Thu 16 Jun 2016
at 02:56
Storyline Sidelines
Quinn's Carnival sits on one of the many small hillocks south of Falcon's Hollow.  A short distance to the west is Brookman's Well.  The carnival is a cluster of small tents on the top of the cleared hillock which is surrounded by short scrub trees and a few larger conifers. The tent flaps flutter in the wind and water beats against the canvas of the caravan tents, creating streams of water down the sides and soaks the surrounding sod.  It is another of the late afternoon storms that ravages the region this time of the year.  The fading light of the day is dimmed further by the dark, brooding skies above.  There are no patrons at the carnival this day, not in weather like this.  The carnival does its best business early in the day typically, and on good weathered nights.  This is not one of those nights.

The storm clouds, it seems, is not the only thing in the Hollow brooding this evening.  The carnival's proprietor, an elf named Namdrin Quinn, looks across the desk at the gathered 'guests' and frowns.  What sort of misfortune will come from this, he wonders.  Standing in the tent's center is the sheriff of the Hollow, what he considers an abomination of nature, a half-elf named Deldrin Baleson.  Quinn sneers at the half elf and moves his eyes to the next man, a woodsman of some sort with obvious outdoors experience by his demeanor and dress.  This man, he does not know.  The next is Payden Teedum, the pug-faced, mash-nosed human thug that licks at Kreedís boots.  And lastly... Quinn shivers with a glance at the robed figure.  Sharvaros Vode.  Some add d'Vile to his name.  It fits.

"What, may I ask, would pit the three of you together within my tents?" Quinn asks politely but with no smile.

"We are looking for an elf."  Sharvaros says in a quiet voice, that somehow seems threatening. The mage takes in everything around him, taking note of several items.  A peculiar set burners for incense for one, peculiar items made of horn and thistle decorate  one shelf.  An odd looking chalice and an etched silver dagger on another.  These things the mage takes note of openly, but makes no expression as to what he is thinking.

Quinn stands, tensing and keeping his gaze from traveling to the desk drawer.  "Well, here I am."

"Not you, Namdrin." the sheriff says with a mocking in his eyes.  "We are looking for Durwe Ondosume."

Namdrin's eyes narrow and he waits seconds before responding, "What makes you think he is here?"

"Gold to little ears.  More than I wanted to pay."  Sharvaros says.  "He is here.  I wish to speak to him."

This message was last edited by the GM at 04:44, Thu 16 June 2016.

Game Moderator
 GM, 490 posts
Fri 17 Jun 2016
at 02:41
Storyline Sidelines
The tent is small, and shorter than the one they just left. Quinn has led them down and around a part of the hillock.  Down a wet soggy trail to a grey tent with the flaps closed.  The rain is pelting and Namdrin wipes the water from his eyes before pulling the tent flap open.  The mage, with not a wet hair on him, enters.  How is it the man was not wet, Namdrin muses to himself.  Those questions are best left unanswered though... especially when dealing with someone like Vode.  He knows personally that a few corpses have disappeared from the graveyard at his behest.

Sharvaros enters into a dimly lit, low tent that is sparsely furnished.  An elf, presumably Durwe, lies on a cot made from the same material as the tent, and ship's sails.  He is pale, or paler than a normal elf's palor.  Swaths of linen is wrapped around his head, neck, and upper torso.  Blood seeps through in some places.  His wounds are severe, and he is unconscious.  Next to the cot sits another elf, straight backed with intense green eyes that are wary.  She stands and crosses her arms and gives Namdrin a questioning glare.  Her expression is one of disappointment.

"As you can see, he is not up to speaking with you Vode."  Namdrin Quinn says harshly.  So the mage has spies in his troupe.  Does he think he can just do what he wants?  The proprietor crosses his arms and waits.

Sharvaros turns to the woman, "Tell me what happened."

The elf's lips turn down and her expression is blank, "He was attacked. I brought him to a place of safety among like people."

"Yes, I know the elves enjoy whatever it is you elves,"  Vode looks at Namdrin, then back to the female elf, "do in the woods.  It seems you have moved the frolicking with the fey from meadows and streams into tents."

"You have no idea what you speak."  the woman says with fiery, flinty eyes.  "Or... you do and are a fool.  He found your creature of the night, the one that killed the girl... several in fact, though not all children, nor women. You have a local problem that will only get worse as time moves forward.  Rally your watchmen, hire mercenaries and get in there and kill them before--"

"Tynia!  Tell him what we face." Namdrin says a little too quickly.  "Tell him what happened.  What he said."

Tynia looks from Namdrin back to Vode, "It is lycanthrope.  It is one of these twisted creatures that killed your girl, Nikka.  Durwe tracked it back to a ruin on the east slope of the smaller mountain. A place over run with vine and vegetation, yet deep within the darkness of the underbrush are old ruins from a time perhaps no longer written in history... and they lair there. Before being spotted, he saw the hole.  There are more than one.  More than many."

She pauses, looking over at Durwe's form.

Namdrin sighs heavily, "Tell them Tynia."

"More," she says, "They are organized.  Led by someone or some thing.  The evil that festers on the side of that mountain will threaten the region on a grand scale unless stopped."

Vode's demeanor never waivers and he exhales patiently, "Who knows of this?"

"We have to warn the king.  We have to send runners to Falcarragh!"  Deldrin exclaims and his shushed quickly with a look from Vode.

"Aye, I know of these ruins." Milon says with a worried expression.  "I have avoided the place.  It has a feeling to it.  A feeling of loathe and... and..."

"Who else knows this?" Vode asks again.

Tynia keeps a straight face and glares back at Vode with equally intense eyes, "Just those in this room now."

An awkward moment passes as Vode regards Tynia, thinking on her words.  "The consortium will meet immediately and decide a course of action.  Tell no one of this or suffer ruination along with everyone else.  I have your word elf?"

Tynia nods in acquiescence.  She would tell no one else.  If Durwe lives through his wounds, he can tell who he wishes.  He is not bound by word.

"Cassius or the lady Cirthana of Iomedae will ask questions.  They already have, but I have hedged.  The wounds are... specific."

"Tell them nothing Tynia, on your word."  Vode says then strides from the tent while beckoning the others.

Tynia lets out a heavy breathe and glares at Namdrin, "You LET them in here?"

He shrugs, "It is Vode, Tynia.  What else was I going to do?"

With that he strides the from the tent as well, remarking on how the world can suddenly turn on a pence.