After arranging lodging for the group Zornun packs up his things and takes his leave.

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20th of Fading Sunrise

This morning greets you with a slight chill in the air, the bright sun slowly works its way into the sky.

Zornun stands outside the Inn, looking as if he has been waiting for a while. ”So a good night a drinking?" In the early morning sun it is obvious as to why they call him the “Warted Magician”. It was not as obvious in the dark Inn, but out in the bright day the sun cast long shadows on his face from his many warts. He has a large wart on his nose and many others scattered over his face, another large on rest below his right eye.

He stands next to 4 back packs that are stuffed to the brim with supplies. ”Here is all that you asked for plus I threw in some rope, about 400’. That should do ya.

I look forward to hearing of your findings. Adventures get me all giddy inside; I wish that I could travel with you. But I’ve grown too old for that sort of thing, so all I can do is wish you luck. I will keep an eye out for you.” As he finishes his statement a rather large back bird floats down out of the sky to perch itself on Zornun’s shoulder.

” Ahh yes, this would be Elmberry, my bird. He’ll keep his eye out for you, incase you get into any trouble. The day is getting old, you had best be going.

May Tymora guide your way.” He bows his head as he goes around to each one of you with a firm handshake and a warrior’s greeting. (Hand shake brought up to the chest as the two parties clap each other on the back.)


OoC: Well we are off on another adventure.

Game On!!!

Erdtar hauls himself and his equipment out of the inn, and makes ready for the trip, watching for his companions.

"Tymora be stuffed.", says Renoart sullenly, meeting his other companions after a late watch standing at the fort, "These outlanders are all rustic, and untrained rabble. Can you believe I posted a watch, and my relief was drunk when I went to fetch him. Had to stand double duty till the sargeant came round, then it was nearly dawn,...bother and bother,...well I'm ready for travel. How are you this morning Erdthar?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:08, Sat 11 Feb 2006.

Milo hefts his pack and falls in line behind the group as they set out his dog close at his heels.

The morning air slightly chilled makes it good for walking and Milo is in good spirits.

A song springs from his lips as he mosies along.


When you walk through a storm,
Hold your head up high,
And don't be afraid of the dark,
At the end of a storm, there's a golden sky,
And the sweet silver song of a lark.

Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Though your dreams be tossed and blown

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart,
And you'll never walk alone,
You'll never walk alone

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart,
And you'll never walk alone,
You'll never walk alone...

"Your relief was drunk?" Pello asks walking alongside the cleric.

"His name wouldn't have happened to be Marthin? A guy with an outrageous lisp, and a secret talent as juggler? I've never seen so many mugs in the air at one time, outside of a barfight."