Bowshot

This hamlet stands on the western side of the Trade Way, a day’s and a half’s ride south of Liam’s Hold, and two day’s ride north of the Way Inn. Named because it was just a bowshot away from the Misty Forest, it has been a logging center for a hundred years—and it has been so successful that the forest is now miles away to the east.

Bowshot consists of the Bowshot Inn, a sawmill, six farms (two run by men who shoe horses as well as any smith), and almost a dozen home woodcarvers who turn out yokes, coffers, wheel spokes, tool handles, and whimsical carvings. The place deserves mention because of recently discovered caves beneath its western fringes. They are entered from the horse-well behind the inn, and by at least one cave mouth in the stands of trees north and west of the hamlet.



Heluvianal

Your apprenticeship to Delfen Yellowknife has always been strange.  For one, he's never recognized you as his apprentice--not that you need his recognition, of course, just his knowledge. For another, none of his other apprentices pay for their education with sweat.  More than once you've felt like an oddity or an exhibit.  As if part of your payment were to be 'seen,' if only by his other apprentices and guests.  Moreover, you are the only of his apprentices that is male.  While they watched you with sidelong glances, eyes drawn to inhumanly powerful musculature and ethereally fine features, they seemed largely unaware that the oddly ageless but clearly old Delfen watched them with equal interest.

For years you've served--scrubbing and sweeping floors, studying under private tutelage at night, but never before has Delfen called you to service.

Until this night.

The moon and stars gleamed through the window lighting the pages under study.  Delfen always lit torches, candles, or spells when there were humans with him in the dark, but never with you.  Neither of you really needed it.  Whether Delfen was being secretive toward the humans or merely courteous he never said. There bent over the pages of your book transcribing the spidery writing of  Xoonthamar's 66th formulation ofVisual and Auditory Phenomena Manipulation in Variance and Caprice which Delfen has subtitled Improved Phantasmal Force, Delfen broke the silence.

"Edrie headed South some time ago with that young dwarf and his band.  She's falling behind.  My eyes miss the sight of her."

And that is how you found yourself in Bowshot sitting on a wooden stool in a mediocre inn serving considerably less than mediocre squirrel stew.  But then, could any human hand prepare squirrel stew like that simmered over the cookfires of your tribe in the Laughing Hollow?

Tol

With the priests dead the denizen's formerly bizarre harmony dissipated fully.  The sounds of battle could be heard ringing from the mouths of caves, no longer held at bay by the evil peace that had brought the unearthly tranquility.  But that was not the only thing that left--the fighting spirit of many of your followers (could they be called aught else) dimmed in their eyes.  Most had sworn to follow you until the business was done.  The priest's shattered skull on the black altar had a sense of finality to it.  With few words exchanged, the party returned to Bowshot with only a long silence to keep them company under the shadow-filled branches of the tree canopy above. Bits of the drow chain, so strong over so many days of fighting was finally starting to lose its luster.  Even the dim star light seemed to eat away at it.  As bits of vaporized steel seemed to drift from the mail tunics of your men, so too did their cares and worries and hard memories of the cave seem to go with them.  By the time they reached the highly questionable inn in Bowshot, they were lightly armored but also in light spirits though the grit and grime of battle and travel still coated them.

Gonzalo and Alfonse, brave Amnian men-at-arms saunter arm-in-arm through the doors.  Their spears they leave propped on the wall and their white teeth split their dark oiled beards in merriment.

The ethereal Celadhel and her dark warder who follows her like a shadow noticeably brighten as they are lit by the fire light.

Garth's blustering begins on the front porch, "...with my share I'll buy this Inn.  I'll double the revenues of my father's!  My sword will go... WINE!"

Olaf, makes a sign with his hands giving his thanks to his god for returning him safely and concurs with a more reverend tone. "Yes, wine.  But a bath too!" The thick-limbed priest began stripping off his armor as soon as he came in the door.

Demure Edrie, always watchful simply smiled and let down her brown hair.

Tol, Heluvianal--now's a good time to give a description of your character since you're seeing each other for the first time.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:50, Fri 03 Apr 2020.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 2):

Shorter than the usual Elven male, slim yet still chiselled like fine porcelain were the features of his face.  He stood there, stirring the stew in that large pot, not breaking a sweat even though he was near the fire.

Stepping out, you notice in the light of the tavern, the dark colours, greens and brown, blending in to the background like a snake in the woods or a mountain lion in the brush covered hills.

He brings bowls over for each of you, not that he had too, but he was there and had been doing it for so long, it came naturally to him.  Full length Brown and Dark Green Cannon, yet the contrast of the Pale Green Chemise did little to hide the Sharp lines of toned muscled beneath, top this off with Medium light Brown Leather Jerkin and High Boots depicted him as someone from the woods.  Easy to imagine his disappearing within 5 paces of a trek through the trees, only to reappear moments later with the Gold Sash around his waist showing up well.

His short cropped hair and piercing green eyes showed a studied and regimented intellect.  No armour to see, no, that isn't a plate he is holding, it appears to be a wooden buckler attached to his left arm.  After placing the bowls, he uses the Buckler as a serving tray with goblets and a bottle of wine on it.

His eyes only now taking in the members of the group that had just arrived and taken a seat at the table.

Reacting only now the table was filled to the undressing man and the stout Dwarf.  He notices the smile of the demure lady.  Edrie, you are a sight for sore eyes, well, they aren't sore really but they are glad to see you are still smiling.  Master Ondabarl sends his greetings and said he was missing you, really he said my eyes miss the sight of her, but that was too long winded.  He stopped and noticed the eyes of everyone looking at him, why were they looking at him, then he realised, his voice had been getting higher and higher.

Clearing his throat and putting on his best 'gruff' voice on Nice to see you are still alive  Then he went back tp the pot and started stirring the contents again, looking down, his eyes glancing up once to catch Edrie's with the look of "Sorry".

Edrie gazed at Heluvianal agape.  Never had she seen him so attired.  Was this the master's serving boy always silently scrubbing floors and walls, his rippling muscles... Ahem, let's mind our thoughts! "Heluvianal?  I told the master I'd be taking a hiatus from my studies.  Opportunities arose that had to be investigated, and friends required support."  Realizing that she had forgotten herself, she turned to the party members.  "My friends, this is an elf with whom I've been long acquainted.  He labors for Master Yellowknife in his tower.  Heluvianal Oakseer."  She leaves them to make their own introductions, though.

"A few of our party have completed their business here, but I think that others of us may wish to probe further. Master Yellowknife cannot compel me to return.  That isn't the nature of my apprenticeship." She stops and realizes that she is likely being rude by speaking over the head of a common scullery--even if he is uncommonly attired.  "I can write it down though so that you can carry it back. I believe we'll be feasting soon, though.  I would be happy for you to join us and tell us what has transpired in Daggerford in our absence.  It is good to see you."

Her honest smile and large brown eyes let you know that it is true.  Edrie always had a common and earthy goodness to her that the other two apprentices never illustrated.

Celadhel has a pale an ethereal quality to her.  It is obvious to any observer that she is high born and possesses every ounce of grace that Corellon's children are heir to. Her clothes are finely woven and perfectly cut to both accentuate the slim lines of her fey figure and to allow for the widest movement.  Her blonde hair is thin and fine and falls in a sheet--it's yellow somewhat hollow like the sun in the early morning of a misty spring day.  The blade on her hip is equally slender and finely wrought.  A lioness is tattooed down the length of her right forearm in a strange golden ink that reveals her to be a Bladesinger of House Floshin

((OOC: Heluvianal should probably feel fairly conflicted about Celadhel.  As a Grey/Sun/High Elf she gets a -3 to reaction adjustments among other elves because of her haughtiness and air of superiority.))

Celadhel regards Heluvianal remotely and does not interrupt his interaction with Edrie.  She cannot disguise her curiosity though at a Sy'Tel Quessir abandoning the Laughing Hollow to play scullery for a human wizard.

In reply to Edrie Graf (msg # 5):

Noting the almost flirtatious look and head shake of his fellow apprentice, Heluvianal smiled. To be fair, the master didn't say you had to return, something about making sure you were ok and learning a thing or two about the world from you and those you travel with. Besides, you were always nicer than the others. He shot her an equally genuinely playful smile.

He got the judge of the finely dressed Elf within Edrie's party, "Stuck Up" I think the Elder used to call High Elves like her, all the traits, I wonder if her personality is equally as self-important, this will be fun he thought to himself.

"Oh.  Okay then.  Do join us then!"

The broad shouldered priest with rich golden hair and beard and bright blue eyes walks up, his armor half stripped off. His steps are heavy and he has the affect of a farmer, albeit one that has taken up arms in defense of his home.  His gait reminds you of a plow-horse you once saw furrowing the earth.  He offers a thick calloused hand. "Olaf am I, and happy to meet a friend of Edrie's. I'm a servant of the Grain Goddess, and am happy to see to your cultivation and perseverance  as long as you are near. Yonder is Tol, the captain of our company and stout shield behind which we find shelter. " 
This message was last edited by the player at 18:38, Sat 04 Apr 2020.

Garth, Alfonse, and Gonzalo head off to the bar where the farm wives of Bowshot (who collectively run the inn as a sort of community kitchen or longhouse with rooms) again are driven from their sloth to tend to the needs of lusty men driven by thirst and hungry for coin.

"You're right to run, wench! Your house will soon be mine, and forever you'll be shamed in my shadow!"  Garth laughed as he ordered drinks.

Gonzalo and Alfonse were not always fond fo Garth's manners, but the Amnians appreciated his passion.  These southrons frequently found Northerners to be cold and remote.  They were happy to be in the company of one that seized life with both hands.  Together they started a happy song in their native tongue, which, though Garth had no mastery of Amnian he tried to catch the tune to anyways.

In reply to Olaf Stoutsheaf (msg # 9):

Taking the proffered hand to shake, he was getting used to these customs, he gripped the larger hand with equal measure, released and rubbed his hand as though the grip was too hard.  No sign of harm had indeed come to him, he just liked playing this game. Nice to meet you too Olaf, servant of the Grain Goddess, which one please?  Sounds interesting.  Waves over at Tol Hello Captain Tol

"Ah, fair Chauntea, the Lady of the Golden Waves.  She has taught men to till the soil and tame the wild and so build themselves up as sterner stuff from the blessings of her bounty."  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out several golden grains. "Such a fair gift, which any fool may eat, but for which our lady intended a higher purpose. Let us give praise to the lady together by drinking beer!"

Garth laughs mockingly at the priest, "A fine drink for a farmer or laborer, but here we feast in victory.  Let the wine flow!"

In reply to Olaf Stoutsheaf (msg # 12):

Listening to the Priest reminded Heluvianal why he didn't want to become one, too flowery and fixed. You tame the wild, I live with the wild, in the wild, would you tame me and make me less than I am?  That was all he could muster, he may have been clever by normal towns folk standards but he wasn't clever at all compared to back home.

His eyes seem distant for a moment as he remembers the wild of Laughing Hollow and the beauty of it all.  Yes, wine thank you
This message was last edited by the player at 22:27, Sat 04 Apr 2020.

"Lost in thought, kinsman?"  Balarba nudged Tol.

Tolantra shook herself. "Aye. Sorry. Just thinking back on those caves, and the glorious fight. And what might have happened if those priests had had the winter to strengthen and prepare." She pushed herself to her feet and bowed to Celadhel. "Tol Hardhammer, at your service."

Tolantra actively worked to appear the exact image that came to a human's mind when they thought 'dwarf.' A solid four feet of thick muscle, with long black hair and a black beard that fell halfway down her chest. Small stones engraved with runes of strength and toughness were braided in the beard, and clicked softly against the plate mail that encased her from neck to boots. The plate was a bit scuffed, with a few dents and punctures from their recent campaign, but nothing a bit of time under Tolantra's hammer in a forge couldn't set to rights.

It had been a good month. They had struck hard against the forces of evil, bringing glory to Haela and a bit of peace to the region. And best of all, none of her companions had even the slightest hint that she was actually Tolantra, a daughter and not a son of the mountains.

Truly, life had never been better.

In reply to Tol (msg # 16):

Nice to meet you Tol. Here, have some wine  (Edited because DM said so).
This message was last edited by the player at 19:28, Sat 11 Apr 2020.