The smell of cinnamon and fresh baked bread filled the air, along with a generous helping of laughter and general merriment. It was festival season in Maypole. No one knew exactly when the tradition started, but it has gone on as nearly as long as Krieghold has claimed the lands south of the Green Wood. Ribbons and banners and kites fly in all of their created glory to the eager delights of the children below. Raised in the center of the town is its namesake. Towering nearly one hundred feet up, this used to be the center of a staircase that wound its way up a tower that looked over the fields of this idyllic farming town for miles around. At least that is how the stories are told at the local inn and tavern.

The festival itself is a grand affair for the town, the centerpiece of which is the massive tournament that is held on the outskirts of the town. The normal population of a few hundred booms to thousands as farmer sell food and drink, merchants ply their wares to the contestants, and of course the massive amount of adventurers and glory seekers. The knightly orders have sent representatives to look for possible recruits and to compete in the jousting. There are even a few stands dedicated to the crafts of the Draaken dwarves.

The biggest rumor that has seized the town and festival is the appearance of one of the Roses. None know for certain, but the competition would be fierce to impress a member of the elite group. It also lends a certain importance to Maypole and the festival, rumor or not.

But all is not well in Maypole. A carnival of halflings has crept to the edge of the tourney grounds and established themselves. The sideshow is said to be disturbing enough to keep most of the common folk away. Meanwhile, the music that drifts out of the massive tent is haunting and macabre. The halflings have yet to break any law of the Emperor, so nothing has been done by the jittery townfolk, but many ale-brave men have claimed they will take care of the halfling infestation themselves.

For reasons of your own making, the town of Maypole has found to have called you there at one of the most exciting time of the year. Each of you has also been given a lot ticket, as part of a contest to see the Rose if they come. By chance, or perhaps fate, you all have been given the same group number, though that has not yet revealed itself.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:15, Wed 28 Dec 2016.

It's been three weeks now since Kharash completed his training with the Eyes of Yggdrasil and earned the title of Watcher. He openly shows the symbol, and has already noticed the change in how people regard him. He had gotten used to the looks and the whispers, children hiding behind their mothers, and the faces filled with fear. Still many people react just like before, but now others – usually the more brave ones – salute him with nods of approval. He is being treated more with the respect that he had only experienced when he was in the company of one of his mentors. Soon after his ceremony, one of his mentors – Sir Gardall, a greying man whose skill with the sword is unmatched – gave him his first assignment: to represent the Eyes of Yggdrasil during Maypole's festival, and to keep an eye out for trouble in the meantime.

Kharash looked at the ticket he was holding between two clawed fingers. The girl that had given him the ticket had been visibly shaking and white as a ghost. But an hour later was standing on top of a crate telling the grand story to her friends. She even waved at him at one point, and as he nodded back at her, the whole crowd of children collectively gasped and cheered for her. He grinned at the thought and made his way across the festival grounds. He stopped at an interesting looking stand surrounded by many people: Nogg's traveling tavern – the best ales from all around Arathia! Pictures of exotic barrels and mugs were painted on the cart.

Enjoying his Golden Desert Ale, he stood at a table and looked around the grounds, his silver greatsword shining in the morning sun.

Griswold stopped with a start, abruptly halting his meander through the throng of revellers.  "Hah!" He exclaimed, triumphantly thrusting his right hand - along with two identical slips of paper - into the air.  Much to the annoyance of a fleabitten grey following close behind.  The golden-haired half-elf lowered his arm and grinned conspiratorially to a companion. "This is great! Now we'll be able see the Rose together.  That'll leave us so much more time.  Good job!"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:23, Thu 05 Jan 2017.

"...maybe we should keep our voices down about our good fortune at finding ourselves to have the same group number on our tickets." Eli hurredly reached up and pulled Griswold's upraised arm back down below eye level. Aside from the past couple weeks when they were reunited, it had been many years since Eli had seen his childhood friend. He was quickly reminded of why Griswold was usually caught more often than he was whenever they would attempt something mischievous as children.

He lowered his voice a bit. "The original holder of that ticket may not be too pleased when he learns that the ticket he traded for does not, in fact, belong to a group of..." Eli paused briefly as he searched for the right way to phrase it "...young ladies with much to learn of the world." He grinned awkwardly and shrugged his shoulders as though to imply that what's done has been done and there's no sense dwelling on it.

With another quick glance around to make sure the person he had persuaded to trade was not within eye-line, he took one of the tickets back and pocketed it before looking back to Griswold. "Come on, then. Let's see just what else there is to do here."

The golden-haired half-elf gave an exaggerated, dismissive wave of his hand as Eli walked off.  "Bah! You worry too much.  We've put fair distance between us and him.  Besides, who can hear anything above all this."   He swept his arm wide, a joyful smile on his face.

He rolled his eyes as his friend's back continued to slowly recede, pocketed his own ticket and sighed. "Okay, okay.  Come Jacoby," Griswold tugged on his docile horse's reins. "Let's taste some freedom!"

Ever since embarking on his trial, the squire's medallion had singled him out wherever he went.  And he had loved it.  Revelled at being the centre of attention.  However, here amongst the true knights (including a legendary Rose!), he was but a footnote.  As inconspicuous as he was ever likely to be, ever again.  An opportunity he most certainly did not want to go to waste!

Sigi wandered the market place. She had heard a rumor that Gregor Trolltaster would be here, she wanted to see his legendary craft for herself. It is said that his masterfully crafted helms size themselves to the wearer, a feat she had to see to believe.

The rumors regarding one of the Roses was too hard to pass up. Sigi could care less about the saviors of Krieghold, she had always thought the Kriegs we weak pretenders to the Draaken Empire. The young half dwarf was convinced that the Roses power was fueled by runes. It must be the power of the Titans that fueled the great deeds of these supposed heroes. With ticket in hand, she would see for herself.

As the day wound on, only a handful of events were of note. The lists were running several at a time, as it was only the practice tilts this day. The preliminaries would be set for the morrow and the tourney proper held the day after. With a hundred would-be champions, the many would have to be whittled down to a few. Several brawls at the many ale stands had broken out and then been broken up, either by knights or guardsmen. The violence was rare, since usually most of the fighting took place on the field of contest. Many are blaming the halfling carnival for the disturbances.

Lastly, each of you have a whim of fate take notice of your presence.

@Kharash: You find that no person bars the path for you as you walk, a corridor of space opening before you in the throng of bodies. The Norns seem to look favorably upon you as you slowly make your way through the crowds. As easy as the path has been, now before stands a fork. Two paths open up, one towards the lists, the other towards the carnival.

@Eli and Griswold: Fortune favors the bold, it would seem, for you are not accosted as the day begins to wane. It is easy enough to find fun at the festival, with many game and prizes available. The lot tickets sit idle, but not forgotten, as fate pushes you closer to an end. Many options for the rest of the day lay before you two. Where will you go, the stalls, the lists, or the carnival?

@Sigi: It is not hard to find the stall of the fabled runemaster. His craft has long been touted as the best in the world, yet not all are convinced as you sit in line to meet the renown artisan. Whispers of more than mere craftsmanship float on the air, with the more extreme leaning towards deals with other worldly beings. You also hear that the lot tickets are starting to be called elsewhere at the festival. Do you stay and see the craftman or risk missing a chance to see the Rose?

@Brother Sul and Fariel: Fate has brought you two beleaguered souls to the festival for reasons only they know of. Hidden in the stalls is not only a treasure of knowledge from books long forgotten and jealously guarded before being sold, but also the milling of people with tales to tell from all over the Empire. Where does your journey in Maypole begin?

Sul was seated in a rundown inn in a corner of the town, the cheapest place he had found to stay. It wasn't just the room and board that was cheap, but the food and the drink as well.

As he nursed a chipped cup of the bitter brew that passed for drink here, trying to drown his sorrows and forget the painful memories of the past if for a little while, encroaching thoughts once more intruded onto his mind: Why again was he here?

It had seemed simple enough. After the failed expedition that had seen his former companions slaughtered, he had vowed to find a way to defeat the creature that had done so and reclaim the relic it had stolen from his party. Some time of wandering had brought him news of the coming tournament in Maypole, and immediately the thought came to him a tournament meant knights of reknown. What better group to be willing to slay a beast of legend than glory hungry knights?

Unfortunately he had not thought much further ahead, how he would recruit such warriors to his cause. He had the backing of no nobility, no coin and most importantly, no one would believe his claims of such a mythical beast existing even in legends, much less in real life.

Thus he found himself in the here and now, the smell of drink on his breath as he sat in the cheap inn, gesturing to the fat innkeeper to bring him another round.

Fariel Kriegborn did not like idle chat. He didn't like idle -anything- if he was to be honest; "all things should be done towards a greater goal" he reasoned, and idle chat rarely had such goals. It was, in his mind, a fruitless activity, much like drinking.

the elf, naturally, was not much of a fan of taverns. That having been said, he acknowledged them as being important and useful sources of information. In this case, information about a certain strange carnival he was sent to investigate.

Fariel walked to the bar of the cheap-looking establishment, quietly taking in his surroundings. mostly non-descript townsfolk, trying to drink away their dreary lives. Of note was a holy-man, bedecked in symbols dedicated to some deity or another. Interesting, but ultimately irrelevant. The Mission was whats important.


Sitting on a bar-stool, Fariel waited for the barkeep to ask his business. He would begin his...interrogation, as it were, then.

A flint stone wall.  Uneven and sharp.  Not the most comfortable of surfaces, to be sure, but Griswold knew that the drunkard he'd found unconscious on the main thoroughfare was far too plastered to notice.  Chuckling, the squire dumped a disposable festive hat on the man's head and patted his cheek a couple of times.  A little inebriated himself, Griswold's overly solid slaps would normally have left a mark were the man's face not already blooming.

The squire stood up and jovially dusted his hands off.  He was still grinning when he turned to Eli, who held Jacoby's reins.  "He'll be fine here until he sobers up.  Ten to one his friends were too hammered to even notice the codger drop!"  There was a momentary pause when Griswold looked wistfully back at the unconscious man and sighed.  Was that a hint of envy Eli noticed in his friends expression?  If so it didn't last long as he quickly turned back.  "So where to now?  Must be getting near time to see the Rose, no?" 
This message was last edited by the player at 18:56, Tue 03 Jan 2017.

Sigi scoffed as those around her postulated their theories.

Father was right, these Kriegsmen, they do not understand true artistry.

The muscular half-dwarf shouldered her way out of the line, mumbling curses in dwarven. She would have loved to stay and set these fools straight, however a chance at meeting one of the Roses was more pressing. The magic of the Titans fueled the saviors of Kriegshold, she was sure of it.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:56, Tue 03 Jan 2017.

Kharash looked in the direction of the tilts for a second, but then decided to head the other way. The Rose will probably appear on the last day anyway, he thought to himself as he headed in the direction of the carnival. He had heard the rumors, and decided to take a closer look himself. His shoulders moved back and forth in the rhythm of his slow but large steps. Moving through the throngs of people was much easier than expected. A path opened up before him and closed again after him, allowing him to move without bumping into anyone. Quite a feat, as his equipment made his figure even larger than it already was. He thought most people were simply afraid of him, but the longer he waded through the crowds the more he noticed that it wasn't fear, but respect that moved these people. He felt proud and openly showed his amulet.

@Brother Sul: The inn keeper gives you a dubious glare, obviously wondering why a man of faith would take so easily to the cup. He seems to shrug it off as he turns his attention to a silver elf at the counter. Instead, he sends a homely barmaid with a bright smile to help him. "Another of the bitter, love? Seems too much more and you will have to move the tap to the table," she says with a bubbly laugh.

@Fariel: The bartender turns to you and begins to clean glasses with a questionably clean towel. "How can I help one of the woodland folk? It is not often that I catch glimpses this far south, master elf," his tone is cautious, but not overly so. He seems more tolerant now, you suspect, than he would otherwise if not for the festival.

@Griswold:The man seems no worse for wear as he smiles happily in a drunken stupor. The crowd has seemed to ignore most the commotion and even the most enterprising of the hobgoblin guards have turned a blind eye to drunken fools and those not actively looting them.

@Sigi: The line easily fills the gap that you have left in your wake. As you make your way to the touted meeting area for the lots, you find that many are staring. Half-Dwarfs, or Stouts in the Kriegian derogatory, are not welcome many places outside of the dockyards and piers. Still, you are not troubled more than that as you take a place front and center near the stage.

@Kharash: Before long, you find yourself in front of the multitude of tents and stalls that compose the halfling carnival. It seems that most are empty of customers and patrons, the rumors doing little help business. However, there seems to be one area that is drawing a large crowd. The garish purple and blue tent stands out even among the others. A hawker, of course one of the small folk, stands on a platform of boxes dressed in a fine suit. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I invite you, for the cost of only two copper pennies, to see the wonders of the adventuring world! Behold the magic and mystery that us normal folk could only dream of! Well dream no more! Face the horror without the danger! Marvel at magic without years of study! Come and enjoy Arkham Arcanium's Den of Wonder!"

Gazing at the overly cheerful barmaid Sul struggled to smile, then gave up with an inward shrug. "My thanks woman, but don't you worry. I can hold my drink, about all I can hold these dark days it would seem. And my coin is still good."

As he dismissed the serving lady the entry of a curious individual caught Sul's attention for a moment, breaking him out of his depressive thoughts. It was a Silver Elf, of lithe figure like all their kind. Elves were not known to frequent human towns much, and seedy inns far less. Were there elven knights taking part in the tournament, assuming there was such a thing as a fae knight, or was he here for some archery competition?

Wondering thus, Sul eyed the fair haired fae while taking another sip from his cup, hardly feeling the sting of the bitter draught by now as it trickled down the back of his throat, and again he started thinking about this task here.

Perhaps he could take part in the melee, and attract the attention of some possible warriors and knights that way? The comforting weight of the warhammer leaning at the side of the table by his leg affirmed, at least to Sul, he could do well enough against any opponent in a place like this.

Fariel gave the barkeep a smile. Time to shine, he supposed.

"Hello, good sir! I was wondering if you could tell me what you know about the carnival at the edge of town. I'd love to hear something..."

the young elf slid his hand towards the bartender. he opened it, revealing 2 gold coins.

"...particularly interesting, or perhaps where to find such information."

"Oh, come now." Eli handed the reigns back to Griswold with one hand and slapped the shoulder of his light-haired friend with the other. "Have you learned nothing of making an impression?" He gave a mischievous grin and let the question hang ominously for a moment before turning with a wave for Griswold to follow. "You never seek them out. You give them a reason to seek you... which is why I may have signed you up to compete in the knightly competitions." Again he paused to allow this new information to sink in. "No need to thank me, of course. As you were a late entry, it took a bit of convincing for them to allow you to compete, but they could hardly refuse once they had heard of your many accomplishments leading up to this which would certainly provide a grand performance the likes of which this tournament has never seen." The more he spoke, the more his volume rose and the more frequent his occasional exaggerated sweeping arm movements accompanied his speech as though he were practicing to introduce a knight of great renown... never mind the fact that he didn't actually know many (if any) of Griswold's real-life accomplishments.

Eli's steps became a bit more lively as he picked up the pace. "Come on, Sir Ortman. You don't want to be late for your grand debut..." The dark-haired Half-Elf's increased pace may have been to hurry Griswold along toward the competition, though it was more likely to keep him just out of Griswold's immediate reach... just in case.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:56, Thu 05 Jan 2017.

"You did what?" Griswold's eyes were wide with shock.  "You probably have no idea how many protocols you've just broken!  And made me complicit in! I am a squire!"  He grabbed the medallion around his neck and thrust it out toward Eli. "A squire on his trial no less!  I have yet to earn my knighthood.  I am no sir, as everyone will know as soon as they see this.  And all my 'deeds' need to be reported back to the knightly orders!  Lies and falsifications are big no-nos.  And I mean big."

A few moments passed in painful contemplation, before being broken by a nervous chuckle.  "Oh to the gorgon with it!  I'll just come clean and hope for the best.  And to think you were worried about some horny old farmer catching up to us about his ticket!  So what did you sign me up for, you crafty blaggard?  Archery?  Duels?  Jousting?  Please don't say jousting - Jacoby here is a fine animal, but he's no warhorse and I've not plate to wear.  The Gods know this chain is uncomfortable enough."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:20, Thu 05 Jan 2017.

Another halfling stood besides the entrance to the tent. He was carrying a wooden box, that hung around his neck with a leather strap. As Kharash made his way towards the tent he fished 2 copper coins out of his pouch and put them in the wooden box. Upon hearing the sound of the two coins falling, the halfling pulled a rope and the piece of cloth that was the 'door' was pulled sideways.

Kharash had to lower his head to enter, and once his eyes were adjusted to the dark he found himself a place to stand in the back, not too far from the entrance.

@Brother Sul: The woman gives a half frown when you don't take to her invitation for banter. Obviously she was hoping to earn a few more coin by flirting her way into it. Still, the drink is flowing and no one else seems to be a bother.

@Fariel: The bartender skillfully palms the coin in a motion you suspect is either well practice or often performed. He smiles and shrugs, continuing his work on the kitchenware. "Seems they have a reputation of hosting unnatural things in such a carnival. None of the guards have taken too keen an interest, so nothing must be amiss, wouldn't you think?", he asks in a tone that gives the heavy implication of something interesting is going on there.

@Eli and Griswold: Before the conversation can go much further, a particularly skinny goblin appears before you. A sour milk stench hits you before you actually see him, but he appears at least somewhat presentable. He cocks an eyebrow at the medallion before holding out a small scroll, sealed with wax and the emblem of the Dragon Legion. "Summons from Sir Roderick of Carsen for Sir Griswold Ortmann. There must be another of your description, for I was told I was looking for a knight," he says with an even mix of caution and disgust.

@Kharash: The doorman greedily takes the pennies and ushers you into a dimly lit corridor. The walls are crude wooden pallets and it is obvious the carnival is well deserving of its shady reputation. The corridor ends abruptly into a well lit alcove with a gathering crowd. Before them is a massive glass enclosure and a strange black substance in it. You hear the bleat of a goat and see the animal suspended in the air. It is obvious that the holder on the lowering device is waiting for a few more people. [Private to Kharash: Make an Int check to identify the substance]

Unnatural things?

Sul's ears perked at the innkeepers comments, and he quickly downed the remained of his drink to mask his expression and interest as he gathered his thoughts.

It really was none of his business, and thus far Sul was more interested in his own plan to join the general melee, assuming there would be one, win some glory and use that to attract some knights and warriors to his cause. He really did not have time or the desire to get caught up in anything else.

Still, his curiosity was piqued by the innkeepers comments, and Sul's training and the oaths he had taken to protect the world from the encroaching darkness of the Primordials and their spawn rose to the surface of his consciousness

Slamming the cup down onto the table he dabbed at his lips and hefted his warhammer, slinging it to his belt as he rose. Picking his shield up he attached it to his back in a practiced motion and then walked over to the bar where the elf stood.

"What I owe, bartender, plus some extra for your trouble." He explained, as he tossed some coins onto the bar, inclining his head to the silver elf by way of greeting. "Now, what did you mean by 'unnatural things' at this carnival? Anything...dangerous for the townsfolk?"

[Private to GM: Please deduct the charges for the drinks and 5 coppers extra from my monies.]

Griswold's face exploded into a vision of welcome and glee at the goblin's arrival (despite the smell).  "Well met, friend!  You've done well finding me amongst this incredible throng.  You're eyes must be sharp as a barber's razor.  Especially given the unfortunate circumstances of my misrepresentation.

"Indeed, I am both Griswold Ortmann and not yet a sir.  I have just learnt about this dire misunderstanding and was about to head over to the lists to clear it up.  I will make sure this Sir Roderick of Carsen knows of your diligence.  Come, Jacoby."

The half elf walked away with reins in hand, trying to appear as proper as possible.

OOC:
09:16, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 19 using 1d20+4.  Persuasion - attempting to mollify the goblin.

Kharash slowly walked up to the glass. The whole scene unnerved him, but he didn't let it show. After a moment he returns to the back of the crowd, watching and waiting for what was about to happen.

---

19:53, Today: Kharash rolled 12 using 1d20-1.  Black substance (INT).

"Your eyes do not deceive you, noble messenger. Before you stands th..." Eli had just begun a grand arm gesture to accentuate his words when Griswold, in what was probably the better of the two options, spoke over him and went with the honest approach.



As the pair walked off, Eli leaned over and whispered to his friend. "I remember you being a bit more in favor of an exciting adventure than this. Back then, we would have at least tried to see just how far we could go with that." Eli flashed a mischievous grin. "I dont know where you hid him, but I suppose I'll just have to find him again."

Sigi stood toward the front of the stage, her face stoic and emotionless. She waited patiently for the lots to be drawn.

These fools can sneer all they want. I'll be walking past their grandchildrens graves before I've even opened a forge of my own.

Fariel gave a little smile.

"Yes, please do go-on, good sir. I would be...very interested to hear all you have to say on this subject"

The young Silver Elf turned to acknowledge the Holy Man. "have you any interest in...investigating this carnival? Your curiosity seems as piqued as mine. Perhaps we could pool our resources? I am Fariel, of the Kal-Helas."

Griswold stopped and turned to Eli.  For once, his face was serious.  "Listen, Eli.  I still enjoy a laugh, but this one threatened my trial.  And I really want that knighthood.  A few words might not seem like such a big thing, but trust me.  They are. Besides - and I know it is hard for you to understand, but -" the handsome half-elf opened his arms wide, "when you've got all of this going on, you don't need lies!"

With a loud laugh Griswold turned his back to Eli again, waved the scroll given him by the goblin in the air and shouted back, "Now come, my homely serf!  The games await!"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:05, Mon 09 Jan 2017.

@Brother Sul and Fariel: The bartender sniffs loudly at the intervention of the holy man, but pays no mind. He appears to think for a minute and then leans into the two inquiring men. "I heard the carnival is a front. Seems to be an easy way for some madman to make money off of the curiosity of simple folk by showing them dangerous monsters. All it would take is just one getting loose to cause a whole mess of problems," he finishes with a shrug and then moves down the bar to another customer, obviously finished giving Fariel his money's worth.

@Kharash: The crowd does not take long to gather and although you cannot identify the substance exactly, you do think it to be more than a mere liquid. You suspicions are confirmed as the showman makes a grand appearance from a puff of smoke. The acrid smell is distracting as he begins to speak to the crowd. "Folks, what you see before you in this glass case in not tar or sludge or even viscous oil. No, you would be hard pressed to find this substance outside of ancient caverns and bleak ruins. Watch and be amazed, be horrified, and you can even be shocked! But do not be afraid as you witness the grotesqueness of the Black Terror of Jelhurst!", he cries as the goat is lowered slowly towards the substance. With sudden swiftness, a long tendril wraps itself around the goat. Smoke begins to rise in wisps as the smell of burning hair spreads. The goat begins to scream in pain as it is slowly enveloped. A nasty gurgling sound emanates from the creature as the goat's mouth is covered and the ooze flows in. The sound and smell of people retching begins to overtake the grisly scene before you.

@Eli and Griswold: The goblin thinks for a moment before bowing and handing you a receipt and taking a portion of it for himself. "Very good, sir. It is not my business to pry, I only wished to deliver the message to the correct knight. Any misunderstanding is yours to deal with. Good day," he says as he dashes away to make another delivery. The scroll has very little contents, only being a more eloquently written formal request. Sir Roderick has a tent near the rest of the Dragon Legion men and the place is jovial as people greet long time friends separated by the toils of knighthood. Banter between the Dragoons and what looks to be a group of Argonauts is in full swing as two men engage in a contest of strength.

@Sigi: A well dressed man, noble by the look, takes center stage and removes a scroll from his side. Close inspection reveals that scroll has the seal of a wax rose. He opens the scroll and clears his throat as he begins to read, his voice loud and smooth to listen to.
"Three days of festival, three days of fun;
The prize all seek to still be won.
But careless not the path before is tread,
Lest witless seekers join the dead.
If you are wishing to meet the Rose,
These are how your instruction go.

Four tasks to meet and four to beat,
The first of which is to find your feet.
In three hours time the tale will tell
The groups moving where the trials dwell.
Once complete, the tasks only start
To test your mind, not your heart.
Two tests remain to exercise skill
And both are surely to be a thrill.
But steel your soul for the final task,
And after, in glory, you will surely bask."
He finishes and announces the official start of the contest to meet the Rose.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:55, Mon 09 Jan 2017.

Kharash looked in disgust at the grizzly scene, but was able to hold his stomach. He frowned as he looked from the strange black substance to the showman. What is... He didn't know why he did it, perhaps as a reflex. But he closed his eyes, raised his head and held the amulet around his neck. As he opened his eyes again, they were shining in a white light.

He once more closed and opened his eyes, and the light had faded. With his eyes turned back to normal, he made his way to the front. "What is this abomination!?" he shouted at the showman. His voice deep and loud. "Are you out of your mind bringing such a dangerous creature to this festival!?"

---

Using Divine Sense.

Shrugging lightly at the elf's words Sul smiled and intoned, "You can call me Brother Sul, for we are all but brothers sheltering in the warmth and light of the Silver Flame." The words appeared ritualistic, as if part of a standard greeting, and though Sul did not appear resigned in the uttering them he did appear weary as he spoke, as if a burden weighed heavily upon his broad shoulders. "I am interested in the tournament more than the carnival itself, why? Are you here to watch or perform yourself?"

Before he could say more the innkeeper dispensed with his information and Brother Sul's eyes narrowed in alarm. Normally he would not place such importance on heresay and superstition, but given his recent experience with a living and breathing (especially breathing) myth he would never discount such dire rumors lightly.

"I see...and if I am correct about the tourney would ensure some of the most capable warriors in the lands around are here, gathered in one location," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully with his arms folded over his armor. Glancing at Fariel he said, "Suddenly I am quite interesting in investigating this carnival, friend Fariel. Let us make our way there and see what there is to see, and pray it is nothing to worry about."

Griswold watches the knights with glee as he manoeuvres through the informal contest waving his scroll around.  "My apologies my Lords, however I have been summoned by Sir Roderick of Carsen.  I believe that there might have been a little misunderstanding."

Upon arriving, Eli resists his instinctual urge to attempt to continue his ruse from earlier. Instead, he quietly allows Griswold to speak and observes the course of events from there. Griswold, it would seem, had changed (or at least was trying to change) quite a bit in the years since they had known each other as kids. For now, he was content to watch and see what happened.

Unless there were additional announcements, Sigi walked away from the stage. She kept repeating the rhyme to herself, committing it to memory and searching for hidden meaning. It seemed the trial grounds were the first placed to head, but she had time. Nonetheless the young half-dwarf started wandering towards the trial grounds.

@Kharash: The showman seemed none too perturbed by the large dragonborn, though many of the patrons seemed to take the hint to retire from the tent. The showman looked his accuser up and down before gesturing to the glass enclosure. "Tell me, watcher, what laws have I broken? I am outside of the town itself and the creature is feasting on a goat, not a person. So tell me. What have I done wrong? Why do you not have a legion of guardsman at your back?" ,he said in a glib tone. It seems a very rehearsed speech.

@Brother Sul and Fariel: The carnival is easy enough to find and gain entrance to, provided you are still looking to go.

@Eli and Griswold: One of the Dragoons breaks away from the crowd and gives a look at the scroll and then the medallion on display by Griswold. He reaches out and fingers it for a second, looking on the reverse, a wide smile erupting from his face. The Dragoon turns back to the contest and shouts, "Carsen! Some whelp errant-not even declared!- is looking for you. He has a scroll with your seal." The Dragoon engaged in the contest breaks away and flings a few gold at the Argonauts, who roar in disappointment at the end of the contest. The large man, as he stands tall at his full stature, approaches and looks down at Griswold and then the scoll. He glares at the medallion and a scowl burns daggers at Griswold. "Explain yourself," is all he says in a tone that would brook nothing but the truth.[Private to Griswold Ortmann: Make an opposed charisma check to avoid being intimidated][Private to Eli Reiner: Make an opposed charisma check to avoid being intimidated]

@Sigi: The trial grounds are busy, but not actively engaged, as most of the action will come in the next few days. For now, you are left to ponder the mystery of the riddle.[Private to Sigi Stonebrow: Make a Intelligence check for a hint at the riddle. You may substitute another skill if you have adequate reasoning.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:12, Mon 16 Jan 2017.

Shrugging as the elf did not answer, Sul decided to go and meander through the carnival himself, and see if the rumors the innkeeper spoke of were true. If not, he could re-focus onto the original task he had set for himself.

Whatever the case he would be running out of money and options soon, and needed a break of luck desperately.

"I would like to accompany you, Brother Sul. I believe something is...afoot at this carnival."

Fariel left his stool and gave the barkeep a nod, following the holy man out of the bar.

You both find the carnival easy enough. There seems to be a tent with many people leaving covered in retch. There are several people arguing and strangely no guards are present despite the commotion.

"I'm sure you're aware of what the Eyes of Yggdrasil stand for," Kharash approaches the showman, while he makes himself look bigger, "to rout out the evil from this world. To keep creatures such as this far away from society. You better start explaining yourself and what exactly is behind that glass!"

The fact that this showman was expecting more guards makes Kharash wonder what he's really up to.

---

17:42, Today: Kharash rolled 12 using 1d20+3.  Insight.

Pre-programmed, Griswold drops to one knee in front of his superior and looks at the floor, attempting to swallow back a lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat. When he spoke his voice lacked it's normal playfulness "Sir, I believe you summoned me.  Squire Griswold Ortmann, at your command.  I learnt of a misunderstanding and was on my way here to correct it when your messenger found me."

[Private to GM: 17:18, Today: Secret Roll: Griswold Ortmann rolled 13 using 1d20+2.  Opposed Charisma Check.]

Giving Fariel a nod of thanks, Sul meandered along the path, leading the way to the carnival area.

As they started to come across the festivities Brother Sul spotting a tent with some sort of a commotion in front, and with multiple people covered in something foul.

"What is this then?" Sul wondered out loud to himself and his companion, before moving towards the beleaguered folk.

As the Dragoon approached, the weight of his presence caused Eli's eyes to shift nervously to the side for a moment. Over the years, Eli had made it a point to spend as little time as possible with anyone of even moderate authority and so he had little in the way of personal experience with Knights such as the one addressing them beyond what he had read as a child.

When Griswold responded by reverting to his training, Eli decided to defer to his own training. He could almost hear N'Rell's voice reminding him that, when faced with any type of demanding interrogation, confidence was even more important than being right. He stood tall next to Griswold and held the Dragoon's stare attempting to strike a balance in his own expression between being confident without appearing disrespectful or threatening.

"Good Sir Knight..." Eli began with a slight bow before straightening his posture and continuing in as grand and official a tone as he could manage. "This man who kneels humbly before you received your summons. He is, of course, honored and knows that such invitations are not given lightly or undeserved. His only request is that he be allowed the honor of accepting the invitation given him so that he may compete and prove for you what many already know..." Eli hoped that his speech had drawn an appropriate amount of attention from those around, and so he let the completion of his declaration hang for a moment before continuing. "...that he is deserving of advancement beyond his current station so that he may be of even greater service to the common good of all!"

He remained steady as he watched for the Dragoon's response. He was fairly certain that, in private, such a speech would not have helped them in the slightest. Eli's speech, however, was as much if not more for those gathered than for the Dragoon in hopes that public opinion might sway the Dragoon's judgement on the matter.

For now, he focused on standing his ground as he awaited the Dragoon's reply.


02:28, Today: Eli Reiner rolled 22 using 1d20+3

Truthfully, I'm not sure whether you would call this a full Deception or Persuasion. It's probably a little bit of both in this circumstance. Whichever applies, the result of the roll is the same.

To help visualize, imagine his mannerism to be much like Geoffrey Chaucer as portrayed in the movie A Knight's Tale whenever he would announce William before a match.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:10, Wed 18 Jan 2017.

@Kharash: The showman makes no effort to hide his step back as you tower over him, however, he does not seem intimidated. He points to the glass again and looks frustrated. "It is the same in every town. We try to bring something novel to people and instead are treated like outcasts. The living ooze in that container is no more evil than a sack of potatoes. It is merely a product of magic and nature. So, if you are not actually going to do anything, leave watcher. You are no longer a welcome customer," he said with a reluctant sigh.[Private to Kharash: You get the distinct feeling this is not the first time he has encountered a watcher before.]

@Fariel and Brother Sul: You are able to help a few people right themselves and receive thanks. A robust looking man that seemed to have avoided the worst of the sickness, points to you and then the tent. "If you plan on going in there, brace yourselves. There is a monster eating creatures alive. It was horrible. Melted the flesh right off the bones!", he exclaimed to a renewed chorus of retching.

@Eli and Griswold: The Dragoon gave a hard stare at Eli before grabbing Griswold by the arm and hoisting him up. "You may not be a knight, but you are a knight errant. Quit your groveling here, no one to impress yet. Your page boy does well to speak of you so. I thought I was going to have to deal with a fool squire too big for his breeches. I can see how the list master might have been confused." A wide smile broke across his face. "Come now, the Dragoons have much to offer before you declare for our order. I thought it strange to see a knight that was not yet declared, but now I know. My tent is over yonder," he finished with a gesture and a smile still plastered on his face.[Private to Eli Reiner: You get the distinct impression from a look he gives you that he understands your game, but will not fight it in public. ]

"May the flame eternal light you in dark times, and give you warmth in the cold of despair." Brother Sul intoned in response to the thanks from the people they aided.

His brow raised in shock when the robust looking man spoke of a supposed monster within the tent yonder. "A monster, are you sure man?" he asked, but the man was too busy retching to respond immediately.

Giving Fariel a look Sul reached inside his breastplate and withdrew a crystal amulet, holding it tight for a moment before letting it fall into view on the outside of his armor. He brushed a hand lightly against the powerful looking warhammer at his belt, as if to ensure it was within easy reach, and also wishing he had time to wear his gloves; they did aid with the grip.

But it seemed time was not something they had and so with resolve shining in his eyes Sul boldly walked forward and strode into the tent, ready to confront this so called monster.

@Brother Sul: You see a large dragonborn bearing down on a halfling showman, who looks quite agitated, as well as a glass enclosure containing a black substance that is making a burbling, even sometime sucking sound. A strong odor of burnt hair is present.

Griswold wobbled as he was unceremoniously forced to stand, somewhat confused by the sudden change of events.  Recovering on his way to Carsen's tent, he turned to Eli with a grin and a whispered "Well done, boy."

Then to Carsen, with a skip in his step, he says: "I have always admired the Dragoons fervour.  There are none more daring.  You are an unstoppable, undeniable force.  Like a storm.  Not only in battle but in life too, so I hear.  The chance to thrill you all in the Tourney will be a dream come true.  Speaking of, which of the games has the list master placed me in?  And...who must face me?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:28, Sun 22 Jan 2017.

"Are you surprised? Look at this thing and how the people react to it! It reeks of death in here, only marked by the vomit of those who witnessed its feeding. It may not be evil, or even aware of anything besides its instincts, but it is definitely dangerous. What if an accident happens, this ooze won't care whether it's devouring a goat or a child. Will you be the one responsible?" Kharash looks at the halfling. "Tell me, how do your colleagues at this carnival feel, do they feel safe with this thing around?" He looks at the strange ooze. "And where did you get hold if this thing anyways?"

Fariel follows behind Sul, trying to be unnoticed by whatever is in the center of this tent.

OOC:16:12, Today: Fariel Kriegborn rolled 10 using 1d20+7 ((3)).
This message was last edited by the player at 21:13, Sun 22 Jan 2017.

Sul paused only for an instant as he processed the scene before him, then pointing at the dragonborn and thundering, "You! Stand down this instant!"

His other hand was upon his warhammer, drawing comfort and confidence from the cool stone of the hammer's head, but he did not draw the weapon yet.

Brother Sul did not know ofcourse what was transpiring, but he went with what he saw; a towering dragonborn, a species rarely seen, appeared to be threatening the showman. And yet in the corner in the glass enclosure, a strange specimen of a creature burbled.

Hopefully he would be able to get some answers from the duo in front of him before things spiraled out of control. Indeed, as he listened to the tail end of what the dragonborn had been saying it appeared he seemed more concerned about the oozy creature than openly hostile...

Kharash turned around looking surprised at the man approaching him. He didn't expect anyone to enter the tent again after this show. Openly showing the symbol of the Eyes of Yggdrasil that hung around his neck, he raised his head and frowned. "Who are you!?" he thundered back at the man, while glancing at the silvery-grey tabard. The man wasn't actively wielding a weapon, but the large warhammer didn't go unnoticed. "This one with you?" he asked the showman while keeping his eyes fixed on the newcomer.

"I am Sul, a follower of the Silver Flame of Bahamut, the dragon-king of old." Sul replied firmly to the dragonborn. Though the Order of the Silver Flame never preached to outsiders, and thus was little known in the lands, the monks also decreed not to hide in shadows nor back down from revealing allegiance when needed or challenged.

Glancing askance at Fariel Sul went on, "He is with me, though we have but just met. We heard rumors of vile monsters hiding in this carnival and came to discover the truth for ourselves."

Touching his amulet lightly he added, "I am beholden to shine the light of the Flame into the shadows where dark things lie, and thus could not let the rumors pass without investigating."

Kharash relaxed and continued in a friendlier tone. "Though I haven't heard of the Silver Flame of Bahamut, it seems we have a common cause. I am Kharash, Watcher of the Eyes of Yggdrasil." He proudly introduced himself and offered his hand, which only had four fingers and was covered in scales.

He gestured at the glass containing the ooze. "See for yourself. That's the creature you're looking for. You've just missed the show where it devoured a goat, burning it alive in the process. A gruesome act to witness and the cause for this smell and the crowd of belching people outside."

He turned around to look at the showman again. "I was just asking some questions to the one responsible for bringing this creature to the festival."

Sigi looked down at her feet a moment, then smiled. She brought her lot ticket out, turning it over in her broad hand.

Alright then, first things first. I need to find the others in my lot. Probably others from Draaken but who knows for sure.

OOC: Do the tickets have a number on them? Or a symbol of sorts? Do we have any idea how many were handed out?

@Fariel, Sul, and Kharash: The showman has wide eyes as the attention that had been drawn away from him suddenly returned threefold. He stammered a bit as he started to speak. "The creature was sold to us by a group of Argonauts. They had found it at the bottom of a well, eating small beasts and animals if they ventured too close. The Ringmaster thought it would be worth the admission price to display it and feed it animals unfit for the butcher's block. None of the other towns have caused a fuss over it!" ,he exclaimed as he tried to divert attention to someone else.

@Eli and Griswold: Sir Roderick gave a disappointed grunt as he led the two men into the tent. It was slightly small for a knight of his size, but furnished well. Two small boys, a human and half-orc, rush to him with a mug of ale and some cheese. Roderick shooed them away as he took a seat on a stool. Two more were brought, though they were of poorer quality. Once settled and hospitality offered, Roderick inhaled deeply. "I have to say that I am a bit disappointed. I figured my first opponent would have been more than a green horn in the lists. No matter, you are an errant. You can handle a lance well enough. You will do fine," he declares as the Dragoon lets his words sink in. [Private to Eli Reiner; Griswold Ortmann: Please make a DC12 Insight check.]

@Sigi: The lot ticket is a rather plain wooden card painted blue and with five notches on either face. You have seen others and know that they come in different colors, at least. You also know that you have seen different colored flag poles scattered throughout the festival.[Private to Sigi Stonebrow: Make a perception check, please]

As the Dragoon finishes his statement, Eli leans over and whispers to Griswold. "In for a copper, in for a pound, eh?" He then claps his friend firmly on the shoulder and takes a small step back as though putting his friend in a spotlight before he addressed Sir Roderick. "Handle a lance? I have yet to witness for myself any better than him." Nevermind the fact that he hadn't actually witnessed Griswold in combat. To that point, his statement was not false. "Don't let his station fool you. There is no reason to go easy on him." [Private to GM: From his position just outside of Griswold's field of vision, Eli shoots a quick wink to the Dragoon to communicate that, should Griswold believe his first match was actually against Sir Roderick, he was willing to play along.]

Griswold gleefully accepted the tankard and drank long and deep from it.  "Ahhh."  He exclaims contently, before a look of confusion (somewhat delayed), crosses his face.  "Me...face you?  W...well..."  He forced a smile that quickly turned into a genuine grin at Eli's encouragement.  "Hah!  Of course.  What better pairing!  The dashing young squire - favoured of maidens everywhere - eager to prove himself, against the power and skill of none other than Sir Roderick of Carsen himself!"

There was a pause as Griswold leant back in his chair and studied his opponent, trying to recall if had heard anything of the man before.  Then he twitched. "Me handle a lance?  Of course I can, but that means the Joust?  Jacoby!  Uh, that's my horse.  As fine an animal as any but, he's no courser.  Can't compete against a warhorse half his size again.  It would be heartbreaking if he got injured.  I had thought," Griswold waves his hand behind him, generally indicating at some distant location, "the archery or melee contests.  Has that also been miscommunicated?"

[Private to Eli Reiner; GM: 21:52, Today: Secret Roll: Griswold Ortmann rolled 7 using 1d20-1.  Insight.]

OOC 11:18, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 12 using 1d20+4.  History - Sir Roderick.

Sul grasped the dragonborn's hand with his own firm grip, staring Kharash in the eyes and giving a firm nod, "Well met Watcher. It seems a most opportune meeting as well, perhaps it was already decreed."

Turning to regard the creature oozing about again, then staring at the showman as he spoke in his defence Sul said to the man, "Dying cleanly under a blade or by old age is one thing, getting devoured alive by this unnatural creature wholly another."

Still, Sul could not help but consider; who was he to judge upon another's livlihood, as long as no real harm was done to anyone save ailing animals. While he had never seen this sort of a creature before, monsters did exist in the wild places of the world, unnatural as they might be. They too had a right to hunt and eat.

"Do you attest then this creature has not harmed any innocent folk? And that you shall ensure it does not in the future, as log as you own it? If so, I don't think there is a need to take this matter any further."

In reply to Brother Sul (msg # 56):

Fariel walked up to the dragon-born, and gave a small wave.

"I am Fariel Kriegborn. it is good to meet you. Now, gentlemen, what do you propose is our next move?"

"No fuss!?" Kharash brought his face closer to the showman's, looking at the halfling with his almost glowing eyes. While allowing the halfling to have a better look at the draconic features that made his presence so unnerving to most. "The whole town here is talking about this carnival," he gestures with his hand in the town's direction, while he stands tall again, "and not in a good way. I cannot imagine the reactions to this thing have been more positive in other places. Nor from your fellow performers, who seem to be losing their clients."

Kharash exhaled deeply through his nose, and he relaxed a little hearing Sul's opinion on the matter. In a calmer, and more sympathetic tone, he continues. "Listen. Us Watchers care for the people. If you can show us this creature poses no harm, and that you're able to keep it that way, I will no longer trouble you. However," he frowns and the serious look returns, "if there is so much as one incident, the Eyes of Yggdrasil will find you and hold you responsible for the acts of this creature."

He lets those lasts words settle in for a moment, before continuing, calmly again. "The other option is to let me help you get rid of it. You'd no longer have to worry about feeding it, keeping it safe, or about other people who might threaten you. It seems there are rumors even right now. Bold men who want to take matters into their own hands. Or even your colleagues right here, who are detesting the bad name you're giving this carnival." He looks at the halfling, awaiting his answer.

@ Carnival Group: The showman bows low and utters a thanks, though he isn't clear about what. He speaks again, slowly this time. "I will have to decline the offer to exterminate it. It is far more valuable alive than dead, but it is safe in the glass. The container was reinforced with dwarf runes for strength. I doubt even a strong dragonborn like yourself could shatter it!", he boasts as his showman instincts return. He made a nervous glance at the glass, obviously not wanting Kharash to take him up on the offer. About that time, you notice a sounds of a crowd filling the room. The carnival was not abandoned, but certainly not populated enough to draw this kind of noise.[Private to Brother Sul: You notice that your lot ticket seems to be making the noise, though it is muffled.]

@ Eli and Griswold: Sir Roderick gives a shake of his head and slaps Griswold on the knee. He chuckled slightly as he spoke, his tone more of a comrade than superior. "Come now. Did you really think that they would pair a former champion against a greenhorn? You must make it past the first two rounds to meet me in combat. Still, I look forward to facing you...",he said with a pause as he looks at Eli instead of Griswold before resuming. "...in the melee." Sir Roderick sat back again and finished some more ale. About that time, you notice a sounds of a crowd filling the room. Too much to be coming from the knights outside. Sir Roderick hears it as well and looks around in confusion.[Private to Griswold Ortmann: As soon as he says it, you recognize him as a previous melee champion and a contender for the joust in last year's festival.][Private to Eli Reiner: You notice that the sounds seem to be coming from your lot ticket.]

Kharash sighed. "Very well then, I..." interrupted by the noise, he turned around to see what's happening.

A quick glance around was accompanied by a confused expression. After a moment of searching, he reached into his pack and produced his lot ticket. For whatever reason, it seemed to be the source of the noise.

Griswold grinned at Sir Roderick, "Well, if I'm lucky, maybe I will be get to face the reigning melee champion y..." His elation was cut short by the noise and looked about, perplexed.

As Eli produced his ticket, it took Griswold a moment to realise what was going on, then his eyes widened.  Laughing, he said: "That's the damnedest thing, Eli!  What did you do?"; and produced his own, studying it.

OOC
11:51, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 11 using 1d20+2.  Arcana - Crowded Tickets.

As you all soon discover, the tickets are in fact emitting the sounds of a crowd. It seems curious until a hesitant voice comes over the ticket. It sounds like a woman and unsure if she is doing the right thing. "If you are hearing this, meet me by the blue flag in the market district. We have the same lot ticket and I think we only have a few hours until the first test. We have to all be together for us to get to the next stage to meet the Rose. Hurry!" There is a sense of urgency as the voice complete her message.

[Private to Griswold Ortmann: You are unable to deduce the magic or method behind the tickets.]

Sul was about to intervene between the showman and Kharash to try and calm things down peacefully when his ticket started producing the noise.

Taking it out he gazed at it in shock, unsure about what to do and wondering if it was cursed. Before he could say or do much else a woman's voice spoke, instructing them through the ticket.

"What sorcery is this?" he finally said out loud, gazing at Kharash and Fariel in confusion. Holding the ticket up he added, after a few moments of introspection, "This doesn't seem to be meant for us, maybe we got these tickets by mistake. Do we go to the meeting place and get some answers?"

Obviously they would be getting involved in business not meant for them, but Brother Sul couldn't help but feel curious, and strangely thrilled at the prospect of adventure.

Eli gave an exaggerated shocked expression. "What did I do? Why do you immediately assu..." As the ticket also began speaking to them, Eli looked back up to Griswold with a bit of a grin. "Well, it seems one of our teammates has some sort of talent with magic. I doubt the tickets for the other groups do this." Looking back up to Roderick. "It seems we have to go meet someone, but don't count young Sir Griswold out of the competition just yet." He gave a polite bow with a wink. "I'm sure he'll be up to the challenge a bit later." Once Griswold said his goodbyes and they were dismissed, Eli quick-stepped his way out of the tent to find his way to the blue flag.

Turning around, Kharash realized the sound didn't come from a large crowd in the tent. As he faced the tent entrance, the sound once again came from behind him. He took of his pack and started searching for the source of the sound. He held the ticket between two claws as if it was something dirty. Confused he looked at Brother Sul and Fariel Kriegborn as they too were in possession of a sound-producing ticket. Then he smiled, exposing several sharp teeth. "The Norns are playing with our fate."

Before they set off to the market district he turned to the showman one last time, with a serious and threatening look. "Remember. One incident.. we will find you."

"Indeed! With luck, I'll see you at the lists, Sir Roderick.  Thank you for the ale.  It has been a pleasure and an honour to meet last year's melee champion." Griswold stood up, bowed and left the tent.  Outside, he turned to Eli and grinned. "Okay, I admit it - I was worried.  You got me good.  I'd almost forgotten how much fun your crazy schemes can be." He winked at his companion, "even when they work.  Now let's get Jacoby and win ourselves a competition!"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:34, Sat 04 Feb 2017.

Kharash's stern look lingered for a moment on the showman, before he turned around and the other two with a ticket similar to his. "Shall we head to the market district, then?" And gestured towards the tent entrance.

As they walked, he struck up conversation with the two. "So, what's brought you to this festival? And Sul, tell me about the Silver Flame of Bahamut."

Fariel spoke up. He was feeling uncharacteristically social.

"I was sent by The Capital, there were some rumblings that this particular carnival was housing something unsavory."

The flag pole with the blue flag is easy enough to find. There are several people standing below it, looking expectantly around. Slowly, they seem to compare lot tickets and move off as they find their group. One person sticks out, however. A half-Dwarf woman stands with a raised ticket. Upon closer observation, it matches the number you all have. She nods to each of you as you approach, acknowledging the group as a whole once everyone is assembled. She holds up her ticket. "I'm glad that we were able to figure out the first task. Did anyone else here the riddle about the competition?"

"They meant that slime-thing?" Kharash asked Fariel as he pointed with his thumb backwards to the carnival. "What does your employer want done with it?"

"Riddle?" Kharash asked the half-dwarven woman. "I'm afraid I've missed the announcements of the competition. Was it you.. who talked to us through these tickets?" he held his ticket up and turned it around as if he was looking for something hidden. "Nice trick. I am Kharash," he offered his hand. "So what's this riddle they want us to solve? Seems like a lot of people are figuring out the first task as well," he notes as he looks around at the crowd, "we better get moving if we want to win this thing."

Griswold meandered up to the flag pole, stretching his arms as he did so.  "What an eclectic group of outstanding individuals!" He chimed.  "Might I intercede to introduce myself and my friend?  I am Griswold Ortmann, squire and soon to be" he brandished his medallion, "knight.  And this," he gestured to Eli, "most extraordinary individual is my childhood friend Eli Reiner.  There is no truer wit nor defter hand outside of Olympus herself.  Whilst Jacoby here is my stalwart steed."

Looking over the group, he addressed each in turn, complimenting all and favouring none.

Kharash was first, his size and nature standing out, "Zeus strike me down: a dragonborn!  I don't believe I have had the privilege to meet one such as you before.  Your scales are magnificent - they glitter like gemstones. Are all of your kind so resplendent?"  Noticing the man's own medallion, Griswold gasped and quickly dropped to one knee. "It seems even here I am to be outclassed.  Show your respect, Eli.  This man is a Watcher of Yggdrasil."  After a moment he stood up and with a last smile at Kharash turned to Brother Sul.

"Might I venture to say that you've the bearing of a veteran, sir.  Battle forged, I'd say.  Your arms and armour, unified by identical sigils, are truly inspiring.  Forgive my ignorance, but are they knightly?  I imagine you could crush two or even three skulls with a single blow from that warhammer.  It will be my honour to complete this task and ensure you meet the Rose.  Though, perhaps, it should be he questing for your attention?" Griswold bowed and turned to Fariel next, where upon his apparently endless stream of words stopped momentarily.  For a beat there was silence then, as though nothing had happened, he was speaking again.

"Well met, sir elf.  Rarely has it been my pleasure to encounter a Silver.  Rarer still to have the opportunity to speak to one.  And yet all I can say is that you shame me.  I pride myself on my elegance and poise but even now, relaxed as you are, it is obvious that I am the shadow to your light.  If it would not inconvenience overly much, perhaps we can talk later?  I have many questions of the Silver Forest and its mysterious people."  Finally with a cock of his head Griswold spots the last of the group.

"What's this fiery brilliance I see before me?  Does someone carry a torch?  No.  A lantern then? No, but it cannot be...hair?"  He pushed past the others to get a better view of Sigi.  "Ah!" He gasped, "Such beauty!  Feminine as Aphrodite herself, but with strength underlying. My Lady! Griswold dropped to one knee and reached out to take the half-dwarf's hand.  "Please grant me your favour and I promise that, in me, you'll have the most fervently loyal companion ever known."   There Griswold remained, awaiting Sigi's response or some other interruption.  His eyes burning with anticipation.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:53, Thu 09 Feb 2017.

Eli remained silent as Griswold took the lead in their introduction. He offered a gracious bow as his name was given. As Griswold continued, Eli stood and watched each of the others as they were addressed and showered with compliment, observing how each of them reacted to the treatment. Their reactions, or even lack thereof, would go a long way in shaping how Eli treated them from here on out.

Once Griswold was finished, Eli leaned over and quietly whispered to him "You know that, after that there, you don't get to call me 'long-winded' in the future. Right?" He nudged his friend and then turned back to adress Sigi as the Half-Dwarf inquired about the riddle. "No, I'm afraid this is the first I've heard of it."

As he walked with the others to the place directed by the disemobied voice from the ticket, Sul couldn't help but smile a little at Kharash's question. "The Order of the Silver Flame, that is the Order to which I belong; we live by the tenets of Bahamut, the Dragon King of old, who reigned when the world was young and man, elf,  dwarf and even dragonborn were but twinkles in misty dreams. Terrible things sought to remake the world then, but the Dragon-King and his kin maintained order under their vast wings."

Sul turned to look at Kharash and went on, "That time is long gone but the Order remains, carrying the torch with Flame brightly lit and trying to live as best as we can by those lofty ideals of old, holding the darkness of evil at bay with the Silver light of truth. There seems to be much need of it now more than ever, for it seems darkness is growing in strength, and creatures of old returning to this world."

He would have embellished on his cryptic remark but they reached their destination by then, and met the dwarven woman and two others, a Half Elf called Griswold and another by the name of Eli. Replying to their greetings in kind (albeit more briefly than Griswold's magnanimous introductions) Sul turned his gaze to the dwarven woman.

"This is the first I, or my companions hear about this riddle. Please speak more, but first tell me how these tickets work? Is this all part of the carnival, some form of entertainment or game perhaps?"

Sigi looks down at the ticket and takes a deep breath. "I was at the announcement near one of the stages. The riddle went like this.

"Three days of festival, three days of fun;
The prize all seek to still be won.
But careless not the path before is tread,
Lest witless seekers join the dead.
If you are wishing to meet the Rose,
These are how your instruction go.

Four tasks to meet and four to beat,
The first of which is to find your feet.
In three hours time the tale will tell
The groups moving where the trials dwell.
Once complete, the tasks only start
To test your mind, not your heart.
Two tests remain to exercise skill
And both are surely to be a thrill.
But steel your soul for the final task,
And after, in glory, you will surely bask."

I figured out that the groups are determined by the ticket numbers. That mean the tickets are connected. A little bit of fiddling and I was able to activate them.

She looks around for a second before continuing. "I have a good idea on what the other tests might be."

Listening carefully to the riddle Sul stroked his chin, pondering for a moment then remarked, "So, I take it we completed the first task, 'finding our feet' by meeting here? And three hours from now these trials will begin?"

Looking at the others Sul spread his hands and said apologetically, "I am horrible at riddles, sorry."

Griswold stood up from his kneeling position still smiling.  Obviously unfazed by Sigi completely ignoring him.  With a stretch he turned to Brother Sul and shrugged.  "Never fear, Brother Sul.  It will be no match for our efforts combined!  Besides, I think it more a poem than a true riddle.  There doesn't seem to be any secret I can discern directing us to our next goal (other than the three hours reference), just a wordy introduction to the game.  And even that is mostly just bluster.  Showmanship, if you will. I cannot envision a world where the Spring Order would be comfortable with placing common folk, drunk ones at that, at risk.  If such a dangerous task existed, I think we'd be hearing them cause all manner of ruckus about now.

"The only concern I have at the moment is the first task.  Finding our feet?  Can we really assume that means simply gathering together?  I'd expect some sort of indication that the task was done.  Otherwise, how do we know that we were successful?"

OOC
Investigation: Is it logical to assume that we have completed the first task?
17:22, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 22 using 1d20+2.  Investigation - Is Brother Sul's conclusion about the 1st task logical?

CRIT!

Btw - the result will be the same if this should have been a flat Intelligence check, instead.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:39, Sat 11 Feb 2017.

You are able to determine that the riddle is referring not only to meeting the group, but being at the correct location as well.[Private to Griswold Ortmann: Your insight into the riddle reveals that each test is likely harder than the last. The three hour reference is a countdown. Only those with a group, at the right time and location will be successful. You are also able to deduce that the other tasks likely involve tests of mind, body and an unknown third.]

Griswold flamboyantly snapped the fingers on his right hand and strode back.  "In fact I am certain of it." He pointed upward assertively. "There is more to the first task." Continuing the exaggerated display, akin to some stage actor, the half elf spun around and looked first to his right, then left, then right again. "I do believe that we also need to be at a specific place.  And that we have three hours to get there!"   He held gripped his chin between thumb and forefinger, thoughtfully.

"The first of which is to find your feet.  In three hours time the tale will tell the groups moving where the trials dwell."  He repeated the lines over and over first aloud, then to himself.  "Hmm...It has to be somewhere local, of course.  I would hazard a guess at it being a landmark, so even foreigners might stand a chance at solving it.  Four immediately come to mind: The Maypole itself, the Tourney proper, The Green Wood or...I remember hearing some odd rumours about a halfling carnival nearby?  What do you all think?  Eli, you're always good for a suggestion or three."

Whilst waiting for an answer, Griswold wracked his mind for any more information he might have about the small village of Maypole.

OOC
21:19, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 23 using 1d20+4.  History - Famous sites of Maypole: visit today!
This message was last edited by the player at 22:01, Sun 12 Feb 2017.

Kharash turned around to look at the approaching duo. As the flamboyant half-elf made his introduction, he wasn't entirely sure yet whether he was joking or serious. There hadn't been many so happy with seeing a dragonborn. Though as the man continued, he slightly lowered his guard and by the time his title was recognized, the serious look had been replaced by a friendly smile. "Ha! Well met, squire," he stepped forward to offer a scaly hand to the both of them. "I take it our group is complete now?"

Kharash listened to Griswold's deductions of the riddle. He himself has, like Sul, never been the greatest at these things. But it didn't hurt to try. "It depends on what the trials mean in this riddle. If it's referring to the tasks of the riddle, it could be anywhere. But if it's referring to the trials of this festival, it may be at the tourney. We just came from the carnival, and it seemed pretty empty. Also, I don't think the carnival was organized by those who organized the festival," He thought back to the strange creature the halflings had dragged with them to Maypole, "making it less likely it's there."

He looked around the market district to see if other groups were formed and moving in a certain direction, though the crowds made it hard for him.

---

Don't know what sort of roll this would be, though I doubt it'd be high enough for anything.
19:11, Today: Kharash rolled 4 using 1d20.

Eli couldn't help but wonder where this version of Griswold was during their interaction with the knights earlier in the day. Recognizing that Griswold was about to launch into a bit of an overdramatic monologue, Eli was never one to miss having a bit of fun with it. He took a subtle step back to remove himself from his friend's field of vision.



Eli silently raised his finger to the sky to mirror Griswold's action.



Eli nimbly shifted his positioning to stay behind Griswold before pausing to hold his own chin in his hand as well.



Eli stepped back around Griswold's side and into view with a thoughtful expression as though he had been pacing and considering the clues given to them. "I doubt that the tournament is the first task since it is supposed to challenge the mind.

"Well done, Watcher Kharash and Friend Eli!  We have eliminated the Tourney and the Carnival.  But don't limit yourselves only to the locales that I put forward.  There may be other possibilities too."  Griswold continued to punctuate his words with exaggerated emphasis and, to those good at reading such things, seemed a little too smug.  He knew something, or at least thought he did.  Like a teacher coaxing their students.  "Remember it is somewhere that a foreigner is likely to go, or at least know of.  Assuming they know nothing of Maypole, where could that be?  It would have to be somewhere common to all settlements.  Where would you go in a strange town or city?"

After his poor attempt at being subtle, the knight started quietly singing a tune to himself:

"In three hours time the tale will tell
The groups mov-ing
Where the tri-als dwell.

"The tale will tell
The groups mov-ing
Where the tri-als dwell.

"The tale will tell the grou-hou-houps
Where the tri-als dwell.
Where the tri-als dwell

"Who tells tales and where do they dwell?"
"Who tells tales and where do they dweeeeell?"

"In three hours time...

This message was last edited by the player at 12:30, Tue 14 Feb 2017.

Kharash pulled his gaze from the crowds and turned around to look at Griswold. "What're you hinting at, the tavern?"

Griswold feigned surprise.  "The tavern?  What a splendid idea, Watcher Kharash!  I am feeling a little parched.  To the The Dragon and Unicorn, where adventures begin!"

Tearing his gaze from the amusing diplay put on by Eli as he mimicked Griswold, Sul turned to glance in the direction of the tavern.

"Hum, not a bad idea. But is the tavern part of the riddle or do you imply we can get more answers there?" he asked Griswold curiously, albeit ready to move to the tavern with the others.

Though he was not too fond of riddles, it did excite him to play this little game, wondering what might await at it's end.

The energetic half-elf grinned widely.  "Tell me Brother Sul, have you ever heard of an old children's tale called, The First Adventurers?  I am sure Eli has.

"As the story goes, it was a bright summer day of the sort that, should you take the chance, it would have you believing you could run forever." Whilst recalling the book from his youth, Griswold's tone became wishful.  "The First, unremarkable at that time, huddled around a small corner table in a tavern.  Spending what pennies they had on the cheapest ale and stalest bread.  Their meagre livelihoods sold off to purchase fourth or fifth-hand arms and equipment.  What follows is a truly bittersweet tale of their rise and fall and rise again.  An epic journey of glory claimed and tragedy suffered.  Of camaraderie and betrayal.  If you have not read it, I would suggest you do.  Children's story or not, it is quite thrilling and unapologetic in portrayal of man, both good and bad.  It does not shy away from such things as death or darkness, even from the main characters.  Unlike more contemporary literature.

"Anyway, it is said that their humble beginnings led to the tradition of adventurers gathering in taverns, for luck, before embarking on their own courageous endeavours.  And, as I am sure you have realised by now," Griswold winked at Brother Sul, "the tavern they first met in was, of course, the Dragon and Unicorn."

"The Dragon and Unicorn?" Kharash asked while he slightly tilted his head. The irony wasn't lost on him, as he compared himself to the extravagant half-elf in front of him. He chuckled. "Ok. Let's head that way then, we'll find out soon enough if that's the place." He adjusts his pack and equipment, and gestures for them to start walking.

During their walk, Kharash walked next to Griswold. He nodded at the medallion Griswold had so proudly shown. "Soon-to-be knight, huh? Which order is it going to be?"

The Dragon and the Unicorn is a two-story old timber building. The wood shows the passage of what looks to be centuries, darkened with age and reinforced in many places. Bright yellow tiles cover the roof and the sign that hangs in front shows a dragon profile over a charging unicorn. It was once brightly painted, but has since faded with time. Patrons seem to frequent the tavern, but most quickly turn away. As you enter, you quickly discover why. An ogre stands just inside and hustles you to the side, asking for your lot tickets. Seeing that they match, he gestures you inside to the sprawling common area. There appears to be four other groups of various sizes enjoying drinks and food.

A tall woman, dressed in the garb of a Kriegian noble, bows to you and smiles. "I am please that enough of you were able to figure out the first part of the riddle. The Dragon and Unicorn is indeed the first place to find your feet when on an adventure, though the other tavern would be a correct answer as well. Enjoy food and drink until the next task is announced. You still have an hour before then," she said and bowed again before leaving.

"Thank you," Kharash nodded to the hostess. "Seems you knew what you were talking about, well done!" he said to Griswold before he went to get some drinks. Carefully moving his large body through the crowd, he returned with his hands full. A mug of ale for each of them, and gestured the rest of the party to join him at one of the standing tables.

Before entering the public house, Griswold made sure Jacoby was comfortable and cared for.

Inside, the half-elf didn't hesitate to take the mug from Kharash with a grin and a nod.  "Ah, thank you, most generous Watcher!"  He gulped down half of the ale in one, then slammed the mug down.  Head lowered, he peered out of the corner of his eye at the Hostess to see if she was watching him.  He gestured assertively with an upwardly pointing finger.  "Of course I knew what I was talking about.  Never in doubt.  Not for a moment.  Although - if I was wrong - at least we would have been in the right place to drown our sorrows out."  He tipped both his mug and chair back, quickly draining the last of the liquid.  This time synchronising the slam of his mug with the thud of his chair's feet against the floor.

"Anyway, as I was about to say before.  It would be my honour to serve in any of the knightly orders of Krieghold.  They are all fine, upstanding, elite military organisations.  Open to only the best that the country has to offer."  He checked on the hostess again. "The perfect place for yours truly."  After a moment he frowned, leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially: "Except the Guardians of the Quill.  Their job sounds so boring!  The Custodians of the Coin too...and the least said about the Ashen Order the better.  What they do is important, obviously, but they're just too...severe."  Griswold leans back, turns his head towards the room (and hostess) and raises his voice, "Though, since I'm destined to be the fifth Rose, the question is, as they say, moot."

OOC
20:23, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 3 using 1d20-1.  Checking out the Hostess.
So is this hostess attractive?  Does she wear a wedding band?  I'm sure nothing bad can come of this mighty roll...

Griswold: You manage to catch her looking back at your table occasionally and to your knowledge she is wearing no indication of being wedded or betrothed.

Eli entered with the others and took a moment to observe the others already seated. He chuckled a bit at Griswold's mention of it not being quite so bad if this was not the place to be. "Still finding the upside even if things manage to go wrong, eh? At least that part of you hasn't changed." He nudged his friend jokingly before taking up the offered mug and raising it in front of him as he addressed the others gathered around the table. "To the beginning of our adventure together... may we be strong in the face of adversity... may we possess the necessary wit when the answer is hidden... and, in the absence of the first two, may we at least be lucky enough to make our success look like we did it on purpose." He added a wink to each of them at the last part.


20 Investigate (or Perception - it's the same result either way) to determine how competent the other groups appear based on their initial appearance and interaction with one another

00:23, Today: Eli Reiner rolled 20 using 1d20+2.  Investigate - looking at other groups.

Eli: You think that there may be two groups of competent adventurers present, not including yours. The others look like they either guessed correctly, or figured it out from trial and error.

Sul had been silent on the short trip to the tavern but once greeted by the hostess he inclined his head back at her in turn. "Our thanks for your hospitality madam."

He waited for the others to choose a table to take a seat, if they did so, choosing to remain standing with arms folded over his broad chest as long as the rest of the party remained on their feet.

Since he had just been in an inn having a meal and some drink, Sul declined the food offered. If any attendant came by with drinks he chose only a drink of simple water for himself.

Griswold leaned over to Eli and whispered to him, "A tavern with lots of drink and competitors partaking?  A less honest man, might try to take advantage of that."

Standing up sharply, the Half-Elf bowed to the group with a flourish and a grin.  "Excuse me lady and gentlemen."  With that he spun on his heel and sauntered over to the hostess.  Giving her a winning smile, he held out his hand and said: "The Festival has many surprises, but I doubt any are more pleasant than the one I laid eyes on upon entering this historic establishment.  Griswold Ortmann, at your service."


OOC
19:42, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 11 using 1d20+4.  Persuasion - womaniser on sight!
Not great...

Kharash raised his mug in answer to Eli's toast and laughed. "Well said!" A bit dramatic perhaps, since they were just participating in a game and not slaying the dire boar of the Green Wood, but he enjoyed the light attitude of the two friends. It was a fresh way of looking at things, especially compared to how serious everyone from his order was.

"So how'd the two of you meet?" he asked Eli, while with a small nod of his nose he pointed at Griswold making a move on the hostess.

"Griswold?" Eli motioned for those interested in what he had to say to lean in a bit. He spoke loud enough for them to hear but not so loud that his voice carried to the surrounding tables. "I suppose it's best to let you know as it will make his actions much clearer in this light. Had he been born among the more presentable humanoid races, he could have easily been a knight several times over by now. A rare few have matched his character in the time that I've known him." Eli paused a moment to allow certain parts of his story so far to sink in a bit... particularly the parts about Griswold being born of a different race than he appeared. It was that point which Eli addressed as he continued.

"Many years ago, when I was but a boy, I and a few friends wandered away from our small town a bit further than we should have. We quickly found ourselves caught in the crude nets laid by Goblins. We were only children and unable to escape. I couldn't tell you for just how long we were dragged to that cave, but my friends and I knew that a fate worse than we could imagine awaited us within. We were dropped into a pit..." Again Eli pause, though this was only to collect himself before continuing. "...all but Edwin, anyway. He was the first among my friends to learn of the Goblins' intent. Cailen and I were only left to piece together clues from the sounds we heard. There was no scenario we could come up with that would lead us to think we might see Edwin again. For the rest of the night, or at least what we assumed was night, there was only silence. Cailen and I awoke to the rustling and skittering sounds akin to large rats. When we peered into the dim shadows, we saw that a young Goblin had scurried down into the pit. We would later discover that this was the first time the Goblin had seen any outside of his own race, alive anyway, and was merely curious what we looked like in one piece. In hindsight, Cailen and I could probably have overtaken the creature with our combined strength. It was, however, fortunate that our youthful instinct was fear motivated by uncertainty. The Goblin seemed almost sympathetic to us and did not bother us any further. Instead, he scurried back up the pit wall and back into the darkness of the cave. A short while later, a rope was lowered into the pit... or at least we made ourselves believe it was rope despite its blatantly organic texture. Cailen and I wasted no time in taking the opportunity given us. Once we were out of the pit, we again saw this young Goblin grunting and gesturing for us to follow. We put no thought into questioning the creature's intention as we followed it blindly to the cave's entrance."

Taking a moment to take in the room's sights again, Eli took another drink from his mug before leaning back in and finishing his story. "We began to flee as soon as we got a whiff of fresh air, but I felt a sharp tug on my leg. When I looked back, I realized that the Goblin wished to come with us. We reasoned that it was likely to be left to the mercy of the other Goblins when they realized it helped us escape. With a quick nod, I motioned for the creature to follow us. When we reached the town, we didn't even give a second thought to the fact that a Goblin was accompanying us. We were simply glad to be home. The patrols spotted us and quickly separated us from our rescuer. Distraught, we were in near hysterics as we tried to explain to them what had happened. Until it could be sorted out, the Goblin was locked in a cage. Unsure of what to do, I went to my uncle who was among our town's elders who carried a large influence. I told him the story of what had happened to us, what happened to Edwin, and how we escaped. He smiled and told me not to worry, that he would take care of it. The next day, I went to the cage to find it empty. I was only left to assume that, at best, they had run the young Goblin from the town or, at worst, killed the creature during the night. It was there that my uncle met me alongside a young boy I had never met before. It was another Half-Elf who my uncle introduced to me as 'Griswold'. He told me that Griswold was being adopted by a couple in the town who could not have children of their own. It was years before my uncle told me exactly what had happened. In his time as a young adventurer, he had come across a powerful magical artifact capable of granting a limited number of wishes. He used the last one to give Griswold, my rescuer, a new chance at life himself. To this day, he is not fully aware of his life before that moment. He only knows that he is meant to be a great hero. I haven't the heart to tell him the details of how he already is..." Eli lifted his mug in Griswold's direction once more before taking another drink. "The reason I tell you this is so that you are more understanding of certain tendencies he may exhibit as his true nature may show from time to time. I only ask that you not draw much attention to it when it happens."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:45, Tue 21 Feb 2017.

The noblewoman smiled and lightly tapped him on the cheek with a cupped hand. "You're cute, darling. Come back when you've declared and that may work a little better," she said with a coy smile before turning to the other groups. A few of the more daring of the groups snickered but raised a toast to the fallen Griswold.

The burly ogre guard moves to your table and deposits a piece of parchment. "I need your names and lot number. The other tasks will be announced shortly. Time is almost up." He moved off without another word.

"That's a.. most unusual history the two of you share." Kharash leaned in. "And he doesn't remember any of it?" He glances at Griswold for a second. "That wish must've been a powerful one. He is the exact opposite of a goblin in every way. And you've managed to keep it a secret from him for this long? I don't think I could've kept that to myself."

Kharash looked up at the ogre, "yes, of course," and he wrote down their names on the piece of paper.

Eli nodded solemnly to Kharash. "He used to have the occasional dream, fading memories perhaps, when we were younger but they either don't happen anymore or he just doesn't talk about it. My energy has been better spent helping him focus on his knightly goals rather than trying to remind him of the past he clearly wishes to forget."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:35, Wed 22 Feb 2017.

Sul listened to Eli's tale with a raised brow, finally saying, "That is quite the tale. Let us hope nothing dispels the enchantment laid upon your friend, lest he revert to his original form."

He turned to gaze at the burly half ogre, meeting the guard's gaze with his own. Sul didn't like the ogre's brusque attitude, but kept his silence. It took all sorts to make the world, and they had other tasks to focus on, after all.

Oblivious to his new epic history, Griswold grinned slyly at the hostess and bowed deeply.  "You shall not be kept waiting long, my Lady."  At the depth of his bow, he took her hand in his and laid a kiss on the back of it.  Withdrawing back to the group's table, he guffawed, "Well that could have gone better!  Your turn, Eli.  If you're game."

"What do we have here then?  A registration slip, hmm?  Well I suppose that makes sense.  Though by the time this festival's over, everyone will know our names."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:00, Fri 24 Feb 2017.

The conversations continue around the tables in the tavern, with food and drink aplenty. Most of the groups seem content with the situation that has been given to them. It is nearing the time for the next tasks to be announced when the entire tavern seems to crackle with magical energy. Several of the patrons look around, but it is your table that seems closest. With a sudden bust of light and a peel of thunder, a rift opens up between Sigi and Fariel, who happened to be standing close to each other. They each barely have time to utter a sound and move before they are touched by the light and vanish! Another peel of thunder erupts and the rifts disperses in tendrils of harmless arcane lightning. Left in its wake is the diminutive form of a very confused looking gnome holding a lot ticket with the same number as you.

Wrenn's stood unmoving for a moment, save for his eyes which shifted left, then right. After about three seconds, the gnome twirled about raised his right fist high into the air and then bowed with a flourish of his bronze colored cape. He paused at the bottom of his bow for a moment for applause, and took advantage of the moment to look for an empty seat to settle himself into.

"Gods!" Griswold exclaims, bolting up, taking a step back and drawing his rapier.  He looked about the room in confusion, wondering if this too was part of the test and taking a few moments to gather his wits about him, before chuckling nervously and attempting to break the tension, "so that's how gnomes are born!  I'd always wondered."

He spared a couple for his joke to settle in, then glowered at the new arrival.  "But I'd rather have the cute redhead back...if you don't mind."

"Woah!" Kharash exclaimed as he jumped up, knocking over his chair. "What... how did you do that?"

Wrenn had a moment of uncertainty as the half-elf drew his weapon. He hadn't planned for combat today, and what few spells he had prepared that might aid him would not do well against one of fey ancestry.

Wrenn paused at the elf's comment, and gathered his thoughts to share with the silly man the details of gnome birth. Of course in order to understand the birth you needed to talk about incubation, and of course that wouldn't explain much if you didn't understand fertilization, which of course would require a description of sex. Naturally, you couldn't have that conversation until you discussed genders, attraction, brain chemicals.

It would take several hours, but Wrenn was up to the task and he'd finally settled on the starting point of brain chemicals. Just as he started to launch into the conversation the half-elf spoke again, this time mentioning a cute red-head, which threw off his whole thought process.

"Cute red-head..." Wrenn paused in thought once again, thinking of cute things with red heads. "Ah! Certainly Wrenn can assist you there!"

The gnome held out his arms, put his right index finger in the palm of his left hand, traced a line up his arm and shoulder up his neck and chin, then back down to the center of his chest, pulled his left hand to meet his right at his chest and then lowered both arms while softly chanting words that sounded somewhat like a nursery rhyme in gnomish.

A red-orange kitten appeared cradled in the gnomes arms. "Doesn't get much cuter than that, does it?" [private to dm: Resummoning my familiar in the form of a cat.]

Sul started in shock at the sudden occult disturbances, reaching for his shield and weapon with the appearance of the rift, but then halting in confusion at the appearance of the gnome!

"By the sacred flame! What magic is this?" he exclaimed, gazing at the newcomer with wide eyes, releasing his grip on his warhammer but immediately reaching up to grip his amulet instead.

"How did I do it? Why, not but by the very thing that flows through your veins, Fierce One - Magic!" Wrenn's eyes light up as he sees the dragonborn.



"By what magic? Indeed! That is The Question!" As Wrenn exclaims, he raises an arm for emphasis and accidentally drops the cat which exclaims itself with a tiny "Rweow!" as it drops to the floor on all fours.

"Not my magic, I can tell you that! Mine is not but Divination," he turns toward Griswold and lowers his voice a touch, "Divination is like Divine, only bigger and better." He then turns back to the human, "I was trying to discover that very thing when suddenly I was pulled into some strange dimension the likes of which I have neither seen nor read of before, and found myself here! - Which brings me to my questions. - So, where in the seven stones have I been teleported to? What strange gathering do I now find myself in? And lastly, what is this stub in my hand, and who put it there?"

The corner of Griswold's mouth twitched upwards at the appearance of the cute little critter, but he managed to restrain a full smile.  He wiggled the tip of his rapier in the gnome's direction to reassert himself. "Such arcane incantations! Sir gnome is a wonder indeed!  An explosive entrance and a beastly conjuration!" The half-elf gave an apologetic glance to the little cat before continuing.  "Such showmanship!  And all at the cost of only two lives!"  Griswold's eyes narrowed.

"The redhead was a half-dwarf.  A very pretty one.  And there was an elf too.  He was quiet.  Both popped out, just as you popped in.  What.  Did.  You.  Do.  To.  Them?

"I warn you to think very carefully on your answer before speaking.  As everyone knows Magic is highly regulated in Krieghold and you just happen to have appeared in exactly the wrong place, in exactly the wrong way, at exactly the wrong time.  At this very moment Knights of The Ashen Order, witch hunters if you will, patrol up and down the streets outside.  Only a shout away.  And that's assuming you survive my blade first."

"You mistake my appearance, and your friends' disappearance, as something of my doing. I assure you, were I to have done this intentionally it would have been you that disappeared and the cute redhead you speak of who stayed! What did I do to them? Why, I do declare - not a thing!"

Eyebrows raised, "Krieghold?!"

Wrenn took another look at the surroundings. "Hmm, so it is. Yes, yes. Ashen Order. Old news." The gnome rolled his eyes like a kid whose mother was telling him to go to bed. "I repeat, Sir Paranoia, my appearance here was not of my own doing. I was trading wares at Last Haven, pewter casts and music boxes for a small collection of gemstones. One second I was collecting the gempouch, and the next I was standing here holding this stub in its place." He held up the stub and waved it around, still having no idea what it was.

Wrenn's posture changed as the half-elf threated him verbally. "You're not the first would-be robber to threaten me so. You wish to steal my wares too, eh? 'Sir Paranoia' is far too great a title for one such as you. Liar, cheater, thief, rat! More fitting to one of such demeanor."

Wrenn's eyes grew larger with his own paranoia, as things started to fall into place in his mind, "Yes, I see it clear now, Thief. Buyer offers to pay me in gems, but insists I take them in the pouch provided. A pouch - enchanted to teleport me here, allowing one thief to take my wares unpaid-for, while the other, his honorless sellsword, seeks to steal my life away. Perhaps we should call the Ashen Order over and see who they're more interested in - a harmless gnome capable of cheap tricks? Or a murderous scoundrel disguised in knightly garb, in league with thieves wielding teleportation magic?"

"Woah! Woah!" Eli quickly placed himself in between Griswold and Wrenn. "Hey, I was just as startled as you when this little guy popped in." Eli made a brief motion to the Gnome before looking back to Griswold. "...but don't you think this is just a little bit rash of a reaction here. You wouldn't want anyone thinking you some sort of savage for drawing your sword at the first sign of errant magic, would you?" Even with the new development, Eli couldn't help but take advantage of it as a way to further cement his story about Griswold to the others.

Eli quickly turned to face Wrenn. "I think you may want to sit down and explain yourself a little bit more. Your sudden appearance was..." He paused as he searched for the most appropriate. "...unexpected." The word he chose was certainly an understatement.

"Thief?  You are the one who has stolen two lives and a Rose's ticket. If this was an ambush, why bother with that second part and why question you at all?" Griswold turned his eyes on Eli in frustration, then sighed.  He proceeded to finger the amulet around his neck and curse, "By Hades, Eli.  Do you want me to fail my trial today?  Fine.  You deal with him." Then to the gnome again: "I was required," he flashed the medallion, "to have called the Ashen Order immediately.  I've already risked everything by giving you even a moment to explain." He raised his voice to the entire room, making sure that everyone assembled heard it, "And now that you have spoken you have exposed everyone here to your...influence.  The Ashen Order are merciless.  They will not stop their interrogations with you now.  They will want to...intimately question the entire tavern."  He cast a glance around the room, to check that his words were sinking in and, hopefully, dissuading anyone from calling the guard.

Sheathing his weapon, Griswold knelt, picked up the small cat and muttered, "it was a very impressive entrance, wasn't it?  Yes it was.  Yes it was." in a strange voice to the little animal as he made a fuss of it.

09:38, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 13 using 1d20+2.  Intimidation on the tavern - this wont go well..

"Settle down everyone!" Kharash thundered as he stepped in with raised hands. His larger golden scales were standing up, and by straightening his back he made himself look even larger and more imposing than he already was. He turned in his place, staring down the other patrons, making sure both his amulet and shield bearing the symbol of the Eyes of Yggdrasil were visible to all. "There is no need to spoil a day like this by calling in the Ashen Order. Return to your drinks, take another plate of that delicious food, and let the Eyes of Yggdrasil take care of this!"

Completing his turn he looked at Griswold and the newly appeared gnome. "You two. Outside. Now."

Away from the curious eyes of the other people, he continued. "I don't know what's happened, but I doubt it was on purpose." He looked at the gnome, and gestured with one hand to Griswold. "This man is a squire, not a thief. Even if he was a thief, I doubt there'd be any so stupid to try the thing you accused him of. With the amount of officials present at this festival, this would be the last place to try out those sort of shenanigans." He paused for a moment, while he looked at the gnome. "The same can be said for you. Even if you are responsible for what happened, I don't think it's on purpose."

"You're free to call the Ashen Order, though I don't think it'd spell much good for you. I'm sure you are aware the cards are stacked against you here, and the Ashen would gladly take in another mage to justify their cause." Kharash stood up straight. "Why don't you join us." It was more a command than a question. "You'll be under my charge, while we figure out what happened.. Unless you are guilty," he added with squinted eyes.

As the tavern reacts to the sudden, and flashy, appearance of the gnome, it would seem that few are keenly interested in it. A few are too drunk to really notice anything besides the magic itself, others are now eyeing you much more closely. A curious reaction is the noblewoman that greeted you placing a hand to stop the ogre guard from interfering. [Secret to Brother Sul, Eli Reiner: You can barely hear her words as she speaks. "This is an interesting and unexpected way for him." The ogre nods and replies in a rough voice. "It should have been more natural and less direct. They will suspect something."]

Wrenn listened to the dragonborn's words, not wanting to find as much credit as he did in the logic. Wrenn knew that he had a tendency to jump to conclusions when he thought someone might be trying to cheat him.



"One man already threatens my life twice over, and refuses to listen to any explanation other than a false confession. He's twice my height, with a sword as long as I am tall, and I'm going to defend myself with what? A knife!? A mage I may be, but my talents lie in information and discovery, not combat. What have I got to lose? My life? The one he's already threatened to take?"



Did he dare trust a dragonborn? Half his scales were red, the rest gold. Did that mean he was descended from evil, goodness, or a mix of both? "On your honor? Very well, I throw myself at your mercy, and accept your protection."

Wrenn saw the patrons looking on, but there was nothing he could do about the current situation at even one table, much less the whole room.

Griswold continued to play with the cat he held, then looked between Wrenn, Kharash and the their audience.  He sighed and shook his head.  "So many witnesses to report my failure to alert the Ashen Order.  So goes my knighthood, I suppose.  Before I even had a chance to try..."  A moment of sadness crossed his face.  He then he looked up at the gnome and grinned.  "Well what's done is done. For now, at least, I am still a squire on his trial until I hear different.  Let's start over.  Griswold Ortmann, at your service."  He bowed deeply.  "Please accept my heartfelt apologies for any earlier disservice.  I was shocked by the sudden disappearance of two of our number.  I still am.  So let us, together, unravel this conundrum and hopefully find them safe and sound."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:06, Fri 03 Mar 2017.

"Very well, Griswold Ortmann, I accept your apology. To share with you the fullness of my name would take the rest of the evening and you've indicated that you have things to be about, so I shall share only my Firsts which are Wrenn Muernig, previously of the Traveling Tinkers Caravan. I will lend what aid I can in discovering the truth behind what happened to your friends, and indeed to myself. It seems near impossible for the two events not to be related given the timing, but I swear to you upon whatever you deem holy that I had nothing to do with it. Or if it I did, it was not intentional, as I have no idea what caused me to be here."

Kharash's scales flattened against his scin as he relaxed. He was glad that both Griswold and the gnome seemed to see the other's side, and were willing to work to solving this. Like Griswold, he also offered the gnome his name, "Kharash," and a scaled hand with only four fingers, each with a claw-like nail at the end.

Leaning in a bit, and with a softer voice he says "It seems this magic trick could've been the work of the organizers. Our hostess was keen on letting us solve this on our own. Could this be part of the riddle?" He looks at the gnome. "Seems a bit mean to do that without letting you know. You didn't plan this with them, right?" He asks while he gives a small nod towards the hostess and the ogre.

Wren took the massive hand offered to him, grasping the thumb-claw to best allow a proper handshake given the size discrepancy.

Wrenn shook his head, "I assure you, I don't even know what this is, much less a plan for it. This Rose ticket, stub-thing? No idea what it is, what it's for, or what it represents. These organizers you speak of? No idea beyond the hint you just gave me. I don't know anything about the riddle either, through I'm certainly willing to lend a hand there if you'd care to share it with me."

"Well, I'm sure you've heard of the Maypole festival. That's where you are right now, a long way from Last Haven. It lasts for three days with a large tournament on the last day. Additionally, there is a small competition that groups can partake in," Kharash nodded at the ticket Wrenn was holding. "It involves solving some riddles, of which the first one was to find the other participants with the same ticket number, and meet in one of the inns. That's where we are now, while we are waiting for the next tasks to be announced. The reward at the end is to meet one of the four Roses."

Kharash then retells the riddle. "If you've got a mind for riddles, that'd be much appreciated. Were it not for Griswold's knowledge of the local history we'd have had a hard time getting past the first step. The rest of us were pretty clueless."

"It sounds more like a rhyme than a riddle. Not much in the way of word play. Testing your mind rather than your heart could mean making a choice based on logic rather than emotion. Exercising skill could be literally skill with physical exercise - in which case you better pray they don't expect me to do it - and the last part could be any number of things, though the words seem to indicate a possible battle of some sort with the mention of steel and glory."

Wrenn shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, and tilted his head to either side eliciting a string of popping sounds both direction, "That's all that comes to mind from simply considering the words at face value. If it is truly a riddle, then more analysis is in order. If they're going to announce tasks, as you said, then I tend to think it's more likely to be a simple rhyme to tease your imagination."

"If the rest is just a rhyme, the better. For now at least, we're just awaiting to hear of the next task." Kharash glanced at the inn. "We should probably head back inside to hear it. They're also offering plenty of good food and drinks - should help a bit in recovering from this shocking event."

Griswold sauntered back into the inn behind the others, grinning broadly.  He waved at everyone, winked at the hostess, then sat down with the rest of the group.  Plonking the cat onto the table, he called for: "one milk please!"

Putting the sudden appearance of the gnome to that species perchance for mischief, or perhaps a game being played by the organizers of this strange carnival, Sul had regained his composure and now stood with his powerful arms folded over broad chest, stroking his chin with a hand and trying to think of a solution to the riddle

This was not really his forte, but it seemed they were well and truly stuck. As he pondered, he gazed at the noblewoman wondering if she had any answers...

---

ooc:Rolling a Wisdom Check: 22
Trying to discern anything about the riddle using pure wisdom

Wrenn took a seat, running over the words to the riddle in his mind. His thoughts kept jumping around, so he decided to pull out some items from his bag to busy his hands. He laid out his tinkering tools before him, various instruments of metal and wood, and turned them about to investigate their condition and such.

He spoke the words to the riddle aloud, then whispered them to himself over and over as he sought to gain any insight into their meaning.

---

I rolled both History (8) and general Intelligence (22), if either of those is applicable.
10:04, Today: Wrenn Muernig rolled 8,22 using d20+6,d20+4.  Riddle: History, Intelligence.

[private to dm: One of the items he pulled out was his wand, and after whispering the riddle to himself a couple of times he lowered his voice just a touch more and instead whispered a message. (Trying to be sneaky about casting a spell.)

Casting Message, directed at the noblewoman. "Good day, my Lady. Might I beg your opinion concerning this riddle?"]

Kharash looked with interest at the various tools Wrenn had produced in front of him on the table. "So eh.. Wrenn, what is it that you do for a living?"

As you return to the table to discuss the riddle and resume partaking of drink and food, you notice that the tavern has returned to a somewhat state of normalcy. You all do find it strange that none have come to investigate Wrenn or the group, but mostly it seems to have passed into memory.

[Private to Brother Sul: Thinking upon the riddle, you determine that in days past riddles were littered more with flowery words but rarely held the directness that this seems to contain. You do know for certain that the words warning of death  for careless participants is not to be taken lightly. Each task, whatever they are, carries the penalty of death for failure.]

[Private to Wrenn Muernig: The noblewoman looks at you and makes a gesture for you to pay more attention to your group, but does give a smile that makes you think she thought the trick clever. As you ponder the riddle, you are able to discern a few things. With the first test, you have found your feet at the start of an adventure. Your logic holds that each test is designed around the theme of a full adventure.
Task 1- Find a group to adventure with
Task 2- Prepare for an adventure {logic puzzle is likely}
Task 3- Use skill to evade and disable obstacles
Task 4- Find a way to get back home in one peice ]

Wrenn smiled at the noblewoman and bowed his head slightly before turning his attention back to Kharash as he put his tools away once more, "Hmm? Oh, I'm a tinker. I make various contraptions capable of moving around, producing fire or music, repairing metal objects that have broken or spit, and sculpting and casting small works of art. Working with my hands allows me to think more clearly."

"This riddle speaks of four parts. Four parts of an adventure, it seems to me."

"First, you find yourself a group of like-minded individuals. Which you've done.
Second, you prepare for the adventure; in this case it seems a logic puzzle may be our means of "preparation".
Third, we go on said adventure, which requires us to defeat obstacles and avoid danger.
Fourth, we must return home safely."

Stroking his chin Sul hummed to himself for a moment, listening to the others and then saying, "Yes, Wrenn seems to have the gist of it. I also believe this is a serious matter, not a mere game as it might seem. The penalty for failure, should we elect to participate, would be death for the foolish and unprepared. We should not embark on this quest lightly."

Turning his neck towards the noble woman he added, "We need more information, rather than vague riddles and word games. Tell us what you want more clearly if you wish us to take action."

"If you're good with these things, you might be able to find out how this works," Kharash held up the ticket with their group's number, "there's supposed to be some way to activate the tickets to they can be communicated through."

"I doubt this thing would put our lives in danger. This is a harvest festival, not a gladiator pit," Kharash added.

"The tickets allow communication over a distance? Well that's something I happen to know a thing or two about."

[private to dm: Not sure which would be more applicable, in this case. Figuring out the magic or the functionality to turn it on. Happy to roll something different, if you'd rather.

21:02, Today: Wrenn Muernig rolled 9,20 using d20+4,d20+6.  Tickets: Arcana, Investigation.]

It is easy enough for you to all put your heads together and figure out that each ticket has a small rune on it that is identical to each other ticket in a lot. Depressing the rune activates a sort of magic trigger and the tickets begin to broadcast the ambient noise. Due to them being close to each other, a squeal of feedback can be heard.

Shortly after, the noblewoman, flanked by the ogre, assumes a spot at the front of the tavern. She raises her hands for quiet and when there are a few that do not cooperate, the ogre bellows for quiet in a voice that seems big even for him. Smiling, the noblewoman smiles and resumes. "My name is Lady Inara and I would like to congratulate you all for making it past the first task. For your trouble, you each will get a reward of twenty five gold pieces, to be collected from my companion. To say that it is not a bribe would be a lie. From now on, this contest, for that is what it is, will test the very limits of your body, mind, and spirit. There is a reason behind this, but if you do not have absolute conviction, seek entertainment and adventure elsewhere," Lady Inara finished to a eruption of shouts and cheers.

Curiously enough, two groups besides yourselves seem to be a cut above the bystanders that lucked into the tavern meeting. One group is composed of a stern looking human with greying hair and beard, a massive half-orc man, a slight female elf, and a sly looking goblin. The other has five members consisting of a hobgoblin male, a pair of female half-elf twins, an ogre that is not quite as big as his counter part, and a venerable looking bugbear.

A few of the patrons start to leave, collecting small purses with gold. All that is left is a line of people waiting for gold and the three groups including yourself. What do you do?

Kharash raised one eyebrow. "I don't mind the free gold, it can always come in handy. But why? There's a clear prize for winning this contest, to get to meet one of the Four, and all the people here were attracted by just that. Why hand out another incentive?" He was talking to no one in particular, perhaps only to clear his thoughts. Turning to the group, he continues. "So, what do you feel like? I would like to see this through to the end."

"In a game of riddles, everything is a clue. I say we go get our 'free gold' and give it a little inspection. If there's nothing on it, we may need the weight of it later, or some similar use."

Finally the noblewoman spoke Sul thought, but though she gave more information she was yet vague at the same time, inviting as many questions as she had answered.

Sul also  noted the strange characters remaining, making up disparate groups apart from their own small company. it was startling, the priest had never seen so many non-humans together in one place before, but then again he hardly ever left the monastery where he had been raised and trained.

As he pondered Sul absently  pressed down onto the rune on his ticket to produce the ambient noise again, enjoying doing it for some reason. Sul hoped it would not become a habit, assuming they would be able to keep their tickets.

"I have been tested in body, mind and spirit since a young age my lady, such trials are old friends to me by now." Brother Sul finally spoke, staring at the Lady Inara as he did so. "I already accepted this contest when I came here, seeking the answer to the riddle of these tickets. It only makes sense to follow on from here, and see where this path will lead."

He did not make a move to collect the gold, not yet. After all he would not be collecting his gold and leaving like others had done.

Griswold thumped the table and laughed.  "Of course we're staying!" Then, as his grin waned slightly, he cast a wondering glance towards this Lady Inara.  Trying to recall anything he'd heard about her.

21:47, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 19 using 1d20+4.  History - the Lady Inara?

By the time the tavern clears, there are not many left. It seems that most either were happy with the generous gift of gold or were dissuaded by the vague warning from the Lady Inara. There does seem to be a group of young villagers, in addition to the three more adventurous groups mentioned before. They look eager and excited to be there. The Lady Inara nods when the last of the farmers are done collecting gold and depart, she bars the door and turns to the remaining patrons.

"Those of you that have decided to stay, I applaud your bravery. The next task will be more intensive than finding the tavern, to say the least. I would ask that you bring any adventuring equipment you wish to the tourney grounds at dawn. There is a long day tomorrow and we will need an early start. I will take any questions at this point," she says and adopts a relaxed stance as if she expects a slew of questions.

[Private to Griswold Ortmann: You think you may have heard the name floating around as a member of the Emperor's court.]

Griswold stands up and bows at the Lady Inara.  "Questions?  I have one! Would the lady care to join us in a drink?" He indicates to the party's table.  "After all, it is not everyday we get to meet someone from the Emperor's Court."

Wrenn sat back and listened to the questions of others for the time being. There would surely be questions that arose of his own, but he would start by listening to others'.

Like Wrenn, Kharash listened to what the others asked. He sat back, and silently took a sip from his beer.

Staring at the woman Sul replied, "I have question a-plenty, but for now I would like to know who exactly you are and why you are conducting these games; and if not you who is behind this scavenger hunt, then who is?"

Folding his arms over his broad chest Sul remained standing, eyes locked on the noblewoman and added, "What of these other groups? Are they in the same position we are?"

He was aware of the other adventuring groups standing there of-course, and wondered if they too were just starting out in this game, or if any of them were in the private employ of their 'host', which is why he asked to gauge the woman's reply.

Lady Inara gave a smile at Griswold, but answered the more poignant question posed by Sul. Inhaling and releasing it slowly, she looks the groups up and down. "I have been authorized by the Rose, whose meeting is the prize, to act on their behalf. It is they who have sponsored this contest, thus it fell to a member of the court to be the judge and adjudicator here." she said in a very rehearsed reply. She was about to answer his second question when one of the twins stands up, suddenly it would seem from her companions reactions, and slams the table.

"The man is right! What in the name of Hera are we doing here?" ,she practically screams. The bugbear stands and shoves her back down, whispering harshly. The older human in the other group stands and you can clearly see the badge of an Argonaut. "The lad and lass are right. You scared off the idiots and greedy, but there are at least three seasoned groups here and a clutch of eager youngsters that are going to get hurt."

Lady Inara huffed at the man but though for a moment. She sighed again and shook her head. "The rules don't allow for any more information regarding purpose. I'm sorry. Part of this whole thing is the mystery, real or imagined. I can tell you that it will not be easy nor will you be safe in the trials to come," she said. For her part, at least, she did look frustrated.

Some questions did finally burst out of Wrenn's mouth as he heard the others, "So let's stick to what you can tell us. Difficult and dangerous, you've said; what else can you tell us of these tasks ahead? Dangerous what? Men? Monsters? Magic?" Wrenn didn't bother pushing for details concerning 'difficult', as the subjectivity would likely prompt only more confusion.

"I somehow can't imagine that a Rose would put normal folk in a truly dangerous position. It wouldn't do much good for their status if people got hurt during a harvest festival," Kharash softly said to his companions. "So my bet is on the true danger lying in the idea of danger. Though, if there truly is something shady going on, I'll be the first one to get to the bottom of this." A small spark of determination lit in his eyes.

"Do any of you know if they've ever done anything similar in previous years, the Roses?" he asked his companions.

---

Kharash doesn't have a good memory.
16:17, Today: Kharash rolled 4 using 1d20-1.  History.

In reply to Wrenn Muernig (msg # 144):

"The tasks that lay before you are all designed to prove that you are worthy of meeting a Rose. They are the greatest heroes of the land. They have faced hordes of undead, survived ancient death traps,  and solved problems that ordinary people cannot fathom. You must prove that you can do the same, though we do not intended to make you find such tasks on your own. We have brought them to you," she replies with a more genuine tone than before.

Sul frowned at the noblewoman's answers, though he tried to hide his disapproval for politeness's sake. "Worthy of meetin a Rose? Do they truly think so much of themselves? Not very heroic of them," he muttered.

Shrugging then he added, "Well regardless, as I said I am interested in proceeding further, despite my doubts about this affair."

"After all they've done and the position they've obtained, I'd be surprised if they didn't think anything of themselves by now," Kharash answered Sul with a faint smile. "I am interested as well; both in the challenges as well as the reward."

"Well, we've made it this far, might as well see where it leads. I'm sure we won't be able to know the minds of these heroes until we stand before them, so we may as well push on. Bring on the challenges!"

There are a handful of other questions, but none give any indication or information about the next day's events. Soon after, Lady Inara passes out the last of the gold and departs. You have a night to prepare and do what you want before the trials start the next day.

OOC: Everyone gets 25 gold. You may discuss what is going on and prepare, or simply write a post saying that you are ready to move to the next day.

Kharash would stay for a few more drinks and then retreat for the night, feeling confident about the challenges to come.

Griswold rubs his hands together and stands up.   Then, with a flourishing bow, excuses himself from the group. "Well if you superb examples of your prospective races will be so kind as to pardon me, I think I'll spend some time with another couple of superb prospects.  Double or nothing!"  Chuckling to himself, he turns to wander over to the half-elven twins.  Then stops, scowls for a moment and turns back to the table. Whispering, he says: "We might have to keep an eye on that group of young villagers.  If what the Lady Inara said is true, they're probably in well over their heads."  With that, his smile returned and he was gone.  Off to try his luck.

Wrenn decided that if there was going to be some kind of challenge tomorrow, he'd better get some sleep now and figure out what had happened to get him here later.

Despite a few hours of carousing by members of the various groups, everyone seems refreshed and ready to go in the morning. Of particular note is the group of young villagers that is first to the tourney grounds. Lady Inara is with them, speaking emphatically. She departs obviously frustrated. The other groups have gathered near the ground entrance.

The large ogre is there, a standout in a crowded place. His voice booms out over the noise of the eager masses gathering towards the stands. "Contestants! Gather round!" , he booms and patiently waits for everyone to do so. Once done, he points with a sausage finger at the center of the grounds. Two doors stand opposite of each other, separated by only a dozen feet. "Your next task is to pass through one door and out the other. Only then may you move on."

The twins are the first to chuckle at the simple task, causing the ogre to turn on them and smile. "You will go first. Gather your party and proceed to the doors," he says with obvious relish. The twins gather their group and move to the doors. They inspect them thoroughly before opening the one closest to the remaining groups. With a loud pop as each goes through, they disappear entirely.

Less than thirty minutes later, the opposite door opens and the group emerges. One of the twins is dragging her sister, who appears unconscious. The ogre has both the bugbear and hobgoblin slung across his shoulders. The hobgoblin appears badly burned and it is not clear if the bugbear is even breathing under all of the bruiser. Attendants rush to them, notably two clerics of Odin as noted by the eye patches, and begin to administer aid.

The festival masses gasp before cheering as the remaining twin, haggard and beaten, weakly raises a hand in triumph. The crowd explodes with cheers and the din drowns out everything else. The ogre points to the group of villagers next and they huddle. After a moment, the most senior of them steps forward. By this time, the cheering has quieted and you can hear him speak. "We are bowing out. We didn't think it would actually be dangerous," he starts to say before another jumps in, angrily. "Speak for yourself, Chris. Gerard, Kyle, and myself think we can make it!" There seems to be some indecision between them as an argument breaks out.

What do you do?

Despite a few hours of carousing by members of the various groups, everyone seems refreshed and ready to go in the morning. Of particular note is the group of young villagers that is first to the tourney grounds. Lady Inara is with them, speaking emphatically. She departs obviously frustrated. The other groups have gathered near the ground entrance.

The large ogre is there, a standout in a crowded place. His voice booms out over the noise of the eager masses gathering towards the stands. "Contestants! Gather round!" , he booms and patiently waits for everyone to do so. Once done, he points with a sausage finger at the center of the grounds. Two doors stand opposite of each other, separated by only a dozen feet. "Your next task is to pass through one door and out the other. Only then may you move on."

The twins are the first to chuckle at the simple task, causing the ogre to turn on them and smile. "You will go first. Gather your party and proceed to the doors," he says with obvious relish. The twins gather their group and move to the doors. They inspect them thoroughly before opening the one closest to the remaining groups. With a loud pop as each goes through, they disappear entirely.

Less than thirty minutes later, the opposite door opens and the group emerges. One of the twins is dragging her sister, who appears unconscious. The ogre has both the bugbear and hobgoblin slung across his shoulders. The hobgoblin appears badly burned and it is not clear if the bugbear is even breathing under all of the bruiser. Attendants rush to them, notably two clerics of Odin as noted by the eye patches, and begin to administer aid.

The festival masses gasp before cheering as the remaining twin, haggard and beaten, weakly raises a hand in triumph. The crowd explodes with cheers and the din drowns out everything else. The ogre points to the group of villagers next and they huddle. After a moment, the most senior of them steps forward. By this time, the cheering has quieted and you can hear him speak. "We are bowing out. We didn't think it would actually be dangerous," he starts to say before another jumps in, angrily. "Speak for yourself, Chris. Gerard, Kyle, and myself think we can make it!" There seems to be some indecision between them as an argument breaks out.

What do you do?

Despite a few hours of carousing by members of the various groups, everyone seems refreshed and ready to go in the morning. Of particular note is the group of young villagers that is first to the tourney grounds. Lady Inara is with them, speaking emphatically. She departs obviously frustrated. The other groups have gathered near the ground entrance.

The large ogre is there, a standout in a crowded place. His voice booms out over the noise of the eager masses gathering towards the stands. "Contestants! Gather round!" , he booms and patiently waits for everyone to do so. Once done, he points with a sausage finger at the center of the grounds. Two doors stand opposite of each other, separated by only a dozen feet. "Your next task is to pass through one door and out the other. Only then may you move on."

The twins are the first to chuckle at the simple task, causing the ogre to turn on them and smile. "You will go first. Gather your party and proceed to the doors," he says with obvious relish. The twins gather their group and move to the doors. They inspect them thoroughly before opening the one closest to the remaining groups. With a loud pop as each goes through, they disappear entirely.

Less than thirty minutes later, the opposite door opens and the group emerges. One of the twins is dragging her sister, who appears unconscious. The ogre has both the bugbear and hobgoblin slung across his shoulders. The hobgoblin appears badly burned and it is not clear if the bugbear is even breathing under all of the bruiser. Attendants rush to them, notably two clerics of Odin as noted by the eye patches, and begin to administer aid.

The festival masses gasp before cheering as the remaining twin, haggard and beaten, weakly raises a hand in triumph. The crowd explodes with cheers and the din drowns out everything else. The ogre points to the group of villagers next and they huddle. After a moment, the most senior of them steps forward. By this time, the cheering has quieted and you can hear him speak. "We are bowing out. We didn't think it would actually be dangerous," he starts to say before another jumps in, angrily. "Speak for yourself, Chris. Gerard, Kyle, and myself think we can make it!" There seems to be some indecision between them as an argument breaks out.

What do you do?

Griswold leans in close to Brother Sul and whispers to him, "I believe, good sir, that I'll defer to you on this delicate matter.  I suspect they're more like to listen to a veteran's voice over my charms."   He then rushes over to the twins and their companions, to offer his most heartfelt concerns.

The ogre moves in front of you and prevents you from approaching the group that just completed their trial.

Kharash looks surprised at the emerging of the first group. He too hadn't thought these trials would actually be dangerous. He thinks for a moment, judging whether it is smart to partake in this event. But there is a curiosity that burns within him. Besides, if there's anything out of line here, he should see it for himself. So he convinces himself.

Shaken from his thoughts, he looks at the arguing villagers. "You sure you can handle this? That other group barely made it out, and there were five of them."

Wrenn simply stood his ground and watched those around him. His eyebrows rose as the ogre stopped Griswold from approaching the returned group, but with this being a challenge and all he supposed he could understand keeping rival groups separated. Still, it wasn't like there was active hostility between the groups.

For some reason, Wrenn felt it best to keep his mouth shut for the time being, so instead he stood as he was and people-watched the other groups around him.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:47, Thu 13 Apr 2017.

Griswold stepped back from the ogre and haled his hands up.  "Woah.  Steady on there my good fellow.  Have no fear.  I've no interest in asking them anything about the trial.  Just want to make sure they're okay.  Okay?"  He twisted his torso so his medallion caught the sun.

"Okay!" He nodded and, having assumed that his squire's word would be enough, moved to walk past the burly guard once more.

The ogre looks at the other group, still trying to gather themselves and two are receiving healing from the priest. The conscious twin appears to be cradling her sister now that apparent danger is over. The ogre turns back to Griswold. "Two minutes or your group is disqualified."

"You, sir, are a gentleman of the finest order!"  Griswold called back to the ogre, already halfway to the other group.  He came to a skidding halt in front of the sisters.  "My lady," he said, kneeling, to the conscious one, "I do not have much time.  How is your sister?  Would that I could offer my assistance, but my skill is with blade not salve."  He looked at the woman with genuine concern.


22:35, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 4 using 1d20+2.  Medicine - Examination.

The twin, recognizing Griswold from the night before, shakes her head. You can see that she is crying. Her sister doesn't appear to be breathing. She holds her sister tighter to her, cradling her sisters head.

Griswold lays a sympathetic hand on the twins shoulder then, after a moment, quickly stands up and marches over to the healers.  Speaking with unusual severity, he asks of them:
 "Before my emotions get the better of me, please could one of you explain the condition of the injured challengers?  I'm no medic and don't want to be jumping to the wrong conclusions."

The senior of the two clerics, currently treating the bugbear, looks up at Griswold for less than two seconds. "They are not going to make it much longer if you keep asking questions. None of them are dead yet, so please let us do our work. You will be glad to have us when you are done with your trial," he says as he begins to intone over the bugbear.

The ogre is giving you a motion to come back to the group.

Griswold sighed with relief and nodded at the ogre, before wandering slowly back in thought.  When he reached the others he said: "They're alive.  Just."  Then under his breath, "The Spring Order would never have agreed to this.  There's a potential political shit-storm on the horizon..."

A moment later he was clapping his hands together and grinning wildly.  "Well we'll just have to make sure that whatever lies between those two doors cannot harm anyone else."  Turning to first to the Lady Inara, then to the crowd he bellows, "My lady!  Gentlemen and Gentlewomen! These trials are as much for your entertainment as for our competition!  We have already seen the dangers that they present.  Tell me - what would you prefer to see?  A group of youths barely free from their mother's teat crippled and killed?  Or..." He jumps onto a nearby flagpole and spins, holding one hand out towards the others of his group, "the mightiest of warriors rising to the challenge.  Slaying monsters! Thwarting dangers! and..." His swing on the pole continued until he was pointing to the elfen twins, "seeking justice!

"For I ask you, is this not Maypole?  The home of adventurers.  The place where legends are born?   Town where dreams are made?  Not a graveyard for boys...

"I say enough to this charade and on to adventure!  I give you:"  As his swing came full circle, Griswold leapt off of the pole and went one by one between his companions, holding their hands triumphantly aloft and introducing them in turn:

"Veteran of a thousand battles and champion of good.  The Hammer of Evil: Brother Sul!

"One through whose very veins courses the blood of the Dragons themselves.  He who hold Titans at bay: Watcher Kharash!

"Dimunitive in size, but devastating in Intellect.  Keeper of a thousand secrets.  The gnomish Master Wrenn!

"And finally, humbly," Griswold bowed,"Yours truly, trialling squire, Griswold Ortmann!

"Let us go now!  Not these green children whose blood would be on your hands!"

Spinning on his heels and pumping his hands up and down, he begins chanting: "Adventurers now!  Children no!  Adventurer's now!  Children no!"

17:57, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 10 using 1d20+4.  Performance - swaying the crowd.
17:57, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 13 using 1d20+4.  Again? If I am either lucky enough to get advantage for my post, or if anyone can offer me the aid action
Also, it would be nice to have gotten guidance (+2) from Brother Sul, assuming he has the cantrip ofc.

Ive also ignored Eli because its been over a month since he last logged in
This message was last edited by the player at 17:11, Tue 18 Apr 2017.

Wrenn brought out his clockwork contraption along with his wand. He turned the little device on and tapped it here and there with his wand to show off his work as the thing moved about in his hand. The crowd roared along with Griswold's chant of "Adventurers now!  Children no!  Adventurer's now!  Children no!"

---

Casting Minor Illusion to create the sound of the chanting among the crowd for 1 minute. Every few seconds, I'll recast it in a different location of the crowd to spread it around.

That's Wrenn's version of Help/Aid.

I'll dismiss the castings if they agree to let us go.

This message was last edited by the player at 18:33, Tue 18 Apr 2017.

Kharash looked away from the villagers and frowned as Griswold began his speech to go against Lady Inara and the organization of this event. He was about to stop the squire from disturbing and annoying the Lady, until it dawned on him what he tried to do. He glanced at the crowd to judge how they took it. This might just work, he thought, and at his own introduction he unsheathed the greatsword from his back. Letting out a roar that revealed his teeth, he pointed the sword in the air with one hand. The silver blade shimmered brightly in the morning sun.

The crowd erupts into the chat, likely more for the energy of how it was given than the substance of it. The young, would-be adventurers look disheartened at the crowd and the leader turns to Griswold, anger in his eyes. He storms over to Griswold, sticking a finger into his chest. "What gives you the right to decide for us, you sanctimonious prick? You have a shiny medallion and an ego, not authority!" ,he yells as he is pulled away by a smaller man, a boy really. The boy sounds pleading as he speaks to the leader. "Come on. They are right. We aren'y trained like they are." The leader glared at the boy but hung his head, sounding resigned when he spoke again. "I know, but he shouldn't get a say in my destiny."

In the meantime, Lady Inara calmly walked over to the second group, speaking softly to the older man that served as the leader for them. He nodded and started to lead his group towards the door. Lady Inara made her way to Griswold, leaning in and whispering in his ear. [Private to Griswold Ortmann: "Did you think we would put them in danger when they are so obviously not ready? Did you have to embarrass them in front of the entire Festival?"]

OOC: The second group has entered the trial.

Kharash wanted to defend Griswold's actions. He thought it gave the peasants the perfect chance to get out of this trial without any broken bones. Though he thought they weren't going to go through with this, the Lady seemed to have quite some persuasive talents of her own. Once Griswold was alone again, he'd lean in. "What was that all about?"

To the boys, Griswold offered a parting apology to the boys, "I am sorry for showing you up.  I am not trying to interpose myself between you and destiny.  More that I am giving you an opportunity to realise a better one than have it cut short.  You are young and there will be many more festivities in your lives.  Train, work hard and return as warriors.  Then claim it for yourselves.  If that is what you decide to do."

10:53, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 6 using 1d20+4.  Apologies and Inspiration.
I feel, for my efforts, the dice rolls have been very unkind recently.

To the Lady, he returns a whisper, a smile on his face, but coldness in his eyes. [Private to GM: "Sorry if I do not believe you, my Lady. You had plenty of time to do something before, yet nothing was done. Empty words, especially those spoken after the fact, are meaningless. It is your actions, or lack thereof, by which others must judge you and act accordingly. Even if you did have some sort of safety in place, there has been no indication of such. Put yourself in my place and perhaps you will understand why I believed a little embarrassment is preferable to the possible alternatives. Besides, long term, a little embarrassment is not necessarily bad."]

Finally, he smiles and waves his hand dismissively at Kharash's question.  "It appears that I have upset the Lady's tender sensibilities."

"Seems you've finally managed to make an impression then," Kharash winked at Griswold. Though his smile quickly faded as he watched the group of young locals enter the portal-door. He crossed his arms. "And now we wait."

Lady Inara's face suddenly grows hard and she nearly sneers as she speaks, this time loud enough to let the rest of the group hear. "And you would do well to remember your place, squire. Just because you lack the vision to see beyond your own ego does not give you free reign to act as you will. Prepare your group and we shall see if you have enough ego to spare after the trial," she says, her words laced with venom. Obviously she is not happy with the group's interference and showmanship, but her words did not speak of disqualification nor direct threat.

Minutes pass after Lady Inara leaves the group. The youths are hesitant at first, but the crowd, once cheering for them to quit, turns to enthusiasm for the bravery of the local heroes. The leader of them raises a fist and one by one they disappear.

It is the better part of an hour before they emerge from the otherside, but unlike the first group, they are all standing. Most have relieved smiles on their faces. They appear bruised and battered, but the leader still has the awareness to raise his hands in triumph and the crowd explodes into another round of cheers. The cleric send another priest to inspect them, but he looks them over and shakes the leaders hand before rushing back to help the other group.

The crowd starts a chant of "Maypole Heroes!" as the group retreats to a small pavilion set up to receive them. Lady Inara goes to them and is all smiles. She leaves the ogre behind to stand guard over the two remaining groups. He looks on sternly but leaves you to talk while several other people reposition the doors and the crowd is given a small break.

Griswold smiles in relief as the boys emerge and nods at them respectfully, then turns to his group.  "It seem that the competition might be a fix."  He looks to the first group, "kill off the competition and let the local boys win."

"By the Norns, they've made it!" Kharash looked relieved and the lady Inara had regained a little trust from him. Perhaps these challenges weren't so bad. It would be in bad taste to have someone die while the public is watching, after all. The thought crossed his mind that this obstacle course could be tailored to the capabilities of those who entered, in which case it'd be wise to know their own capabilities. "Seems we're up next," he turned to the group. "Just because these villagers managed to get through - and I'm glad they did - doesn't mean that we'll have an easy time in there." He glanced over at the people preparing the door for them. "I think it'd be wise to know each of our strengths. So we know what we can rely on, and so we don't waste time and resources on something that someone else could've done more efficiently."

Kharash taps the hilt of his greatsword. "I am strong," he starts, "if you need some heavy lifting, let me handle it."

"It may be," Kharash responded to Griswold. "Though that's a better scenario than putting the local boys in actual danger."

A quiet scowl crossed Griswold's face as he replied to Kahrash.  Truly serious for a moment.
"Perhaps.  But look what became of the first group.  Just because this challenge goes easy on the locals, that does not vindicate the organisers from the danger they are placing the others in.  This is no Grand Melee or Joust.  Entry was open for everyone and none that came had any idea of what awaited them.

"Besides what do you think the first group thinks now?  How hard they had to fight.  The injuries they sustained.  The grief they have.  All that only to see a bunch of boys stroll through unharmed.  What of their glory?  It takes their struggle and spits in its face.

"I may be a naive fool that enjoys too much of life's luxuries, but I'm a prospective knight still and this reeks of injustice."

A moment passes and he shakes his head clear of negative thoughts.  "Whatever.  I'm a simple brawler.  A quick, charming and highly intelligent one perhaps, but a brawler all the same."

"You seem to always jump to the worst, or perhaps most negative conclusion, Griswold. You did it with me, with both of the other groups, and now with the competition itself. Perhaps you've lived a sad and disappointing life up to now that has ingrained such thoughts into your mind, in which case you have my condolences and sincere wishes for success and happiness moving forward. Banish that negativity from your thoughts, and keep the darkness at bay. Let light, joy, and determination take root there instead, and cultivate those." Wrenn gave the half-elf an encouraging smile in hopes that he would take it as the sincere advice it was and not a harsh criticism.

"As for skills, mine lie nearly entirely in intellect, history, and research. As you know, or at the very least suspect, I do practice arcane magics. However, my focus is on Divination, the gathering of information. My usefulness in combat is somewhat more limited than others because of my chosen path. All of my magic, in one way or another, interacts with the mind or the mind's eye."

"I am certain your skills will serve us well," Kharash said to Wrenn. "I doubt there will be endless combat behind those doors. In fact, I suspect the opposite." He paused for a moment. "You don't happen to be able to foresee what's coming, do you?"

He turned to Griswold. "Who knows what choices both groups have made. The first one emerged much faster, but at what cost? We'll just have to see for ourselves. If there's a slight favor towards the locals, that's hardly anything new. Though if there's truly something shady going on in there..." With a serious look Kharash glanced at the doors.

"Biting words Master Wrenn.  However, my life has been a happy and joyous one so far.  Hard sometimes, but fun regardless." He paused, considering.  "Though I suppose it is possible that I have been too eager to prove myself for my trial.  Have I been trying to find problems and help people in need where none existed?" He shook his head and grinned.  "Very well - I will endeavour to put such thoughts behind me!"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:55, Wed 26 Apr 2017.

Nostrils flaring, as subtly as possible for nostrils on a nose as broad and frequently-broken as it was, the ogre surveyed the crowd. Evidently someone had used the field for some kind of horse training before this event started; the smell and several deposits lingered in the area.

Brimir did not care for horses. The last person to persist in suggesting that he had ought to get along with them better, seeing as they were of a kind... well, that person still had yet to find all of his teeth.

Frowning against the sun he shook his head once, slowly and definitively, at a handful of young women in the crowd who had laid hands on the rope cordon separating the contestants from the stalls. Milkmaids or millers' daughters; sisters or sweethearts of the newly-dubbed 'Maypole Heroes', no doubt, eager to check on and congratulate their loved ones. He watched until they backed down. Rules were rules.

Sparing a sidelong look at the group yet to enter the doors, he tromped back to the Lady. There was one in every crowd, at every tavern, every dinner party, every marketplace, every ball. Brimir took note again of the fine-featured squire's quick and too-easy grin. Always someone whose purpose in life was to make Brimir's job harder than it needed to be. Grimacing, he leaned down to pass a few words to Inara, nodding at her reply before turning to approach the group.

As he crossed the well-trodden grass Brimir reached into his embroidered surcoat. The chanting and applause had died off, replaced by a murmur of anticipation and people migrating to and fro in their own quests relieve themselves or find refreshments. From an inner pocket he produced a broad rectangular scroll-case.

"I am required to make sure your registration is in order," he said, easing open the case with a large, square, and surprisingly clean thumbnail. Very deliberately he leafed through the small sheets of parchment within, until he came to the list of names from the tavern. "Incorrect registration means disqualification." Casting around for a convenient surface and finding none, Brimir suppressed a sigh and knelt down. From within the case he took a small vial of ink and wedged it into the sward, removing the stopper. The short quill he produced appeared almost comically small in his great blunt fingers.

"I have Brother Sul of the Order of the Silver Flame," Brimir's eyes sought each group member after pronouncing their names, his large head at a height above that of most dwarves despite the fact that he was kneeling. "Watcher Kharash, and Squire Griswold Ortmann. I do not have," he turned the parchment over to check the reverse, then righted it, "A 'Master Wrenn'. And where are 'Eli Reiner' and 'Apprentice Runeforger Sigi Stonebrow'?"

Quill poised, he awaited the group's response.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:16, Tue 02 May 2017.

"Well met!"  Griswold, though still contemplative, could not resist a warm welcome.  It was just a little disappointing that introductions on his part were, apparently, unnecessary.  "Alas, the Lady Sigi is temporarily absent.  And Master Fariel with her, who you have yet to speak of.  As for that pirate of a friend of mine..."  Griswold looked around the audience, expecting his childhood companion to walk into view at any moment.  "he's probably still a-bed, with some buxom tavern wench.  Or three..."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:12, Sun 30 Apr 2017.

"A mix up in the paperwork!? Color me not-surprised." Wrenn feigned his surprise, then produced his ticket stub for the large fellow. "Surely you can see that I am meant to be here."

Brimir's expression suggested that he landed on the skeptical side of uncaring when it came to whether Wrenn was meant to be there or not, but he took the gnome's ticket for inspection regardless. Scrutinising the blue lot ticket with the level of studious deliberation attributable only to those paid by the hour, Brimir concluded by fishing around under the sheets of parchment; something small and wooden clacked about in the case, eluding his grasp until he finally produced a near-identical lot. The check was completed with a squeal of feedback as he activated Wrenn's ticket.

"I see no Fariel," the ogre observed flatly, checking the list again despite its bearing only a half-dozen names to begin with. He folded the case to and handed it to Wrenn as a backing to write against, along with the list, quill, and Wrenn's ticket. "Make your mark. If the others on the list aren't here before the doors are set up, they're disqualified from the rest of the competition. Anyone not on the list doesn't go through."

"Unless you'd prefer to forfeit as a team."

Wrenn marked as indicated. "There will be no forfeiting on our part, I assure you."

After seeing to her duties with the local heroes, Lady Inara made her way over to the groups remaining. She pointed to Brimir and waived away the sheet. "It is their time. The stage is set and the crowds have returned," she said and gave a long look at Griswold. "Do you have any attempts to make at turning the crowd on me again, squire, or are you content to continue?" ,she asked. Lady Inara didn't even wait for any answer before she moved on to Brimir.

"I have received instructions that you are to accompany them. This group seems to be apt for causing difficulties during this contest. See to it that they do not cause any more trouble. For your own sake, participate with them. You are not a simple bystander in this."

With that, she indicated the door and shooed the group forward.

When you enter the door, you find your ears pop with pressure as you move through the shimmering haze that envelops the door's interior. There is no other sense of movement but you are in a stone block, circular room with no visible door. Mirrors line the walls and there sits a table in the middle with many different objects on it.

Wrenn shook his head as the transportation effect finished, "Well, how incredibly...familiar, that was."

After taking a look around to make sure that the rest of the group had all arrived safely, Wrenn moved to the table to have a look at the collection of things atop it.

Their surroundings may have changed, but Brimir's expression remained exactly as it had been since he turned his back on the Lady; brows drawn together in an ominous frown, like two great thunderheads poised to create a prodigious storm.

To the nearest mirror he turned, checking his reflection. Noting the collar was off he straightened his doublet beneath the surcoat, then reached down with a long arm to tuck his breeches more neatly into his high boot. Brimir took his time in ensuring that he was as well-presented as possible; as he did so he studied the other contestants, the table, and the room behind in the polished window of his mirror.

Griswold's shoulders twitched at the lingering feeling of, he supposed, teleportation.  After a moment of warding off the unfamiliar feeling, his gaze came to rest on the ogre that had been ordered to accompany them.  He walked over and laid a hand on one of the creature's meaty arms.  Unable to comfortably reach a shoulder.  With a sorrowful smile he said: "Good sir, I fear that my...enthusiasm is to blame for you being here.  For that, I apologise most sincerely."

Grey eyes looked down toward the squire's hand, then sought Griswold's in the mirror.

"I am here," Brimir pulled the cuff into place at each wrist with a sharp tug, "Because my employer has told me to be here. Such is the nature of my position." He paused. Sincere or not, the rabble-rousing would-be knight had observed good form. Brimir respected good form. His brows parted and the frown receded.

"It would appear that I am at your service." The ogre's bald head inclined toward Griswold and, by extension, the group of ticket-holders.

"That is, until someone threatens to disrupt the contest again," he added, his deep and distinctly even voice laced with just a hint of dryness.

00:21, Today: Brimir rolled 2 using 1d20.  Perception - Looking at the man in the mirror..

The room door vanishes after the last of the party enters. The table is littered with various items and small trinkets. Nothing seems to be of real value. The only curiosity in the room seems to be an inscription Wrenn is able to see wrapping around the edge of the table.

'Red as blood, but other colors too
Sharp as a tack, but soft as a pillow
Given for luck, but offered in death
Object of desire, but not under guard
Symbol of hope, but also despair'

OOC: Please make perception or investigation checks if you wish to continue to inspect the room.

Griswold smiles and nods to the Ogre, then moving past him to the mirror behind asks: "I will try to not rock the proverbial boat any more.  Now, your name, perhaps?  You have me disadvantaged in that."

Whilst waiting for a reply Griswold looks not into the mirror but around it and across its surface, for any interesting details.  Such as inscriptions of the like that Wrenn had found.

11:21, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 22 using 1d20+2.  Investigating a mirror.
CRIT!

Brimir raised an eyebrow, the elven squire's request evidently an unexpected one. Satisfied with his appearance, the ogre turned away from the mirror.

"I am Brimir," he said simply, stepping over nearer the table and the investigating gnome. Hands behind his back, feet apart, standing at a stiff sort of attention, the erstwhile lackey squinted at the assortment of oddments upon the tabletop.

22:23, Today: Brimir rolled 14 using 2d20+1, dropping the highest dice only with rolls of 13,19.  Investigation - The tabletop contents. (Using the dice roller correctly.). [Feel free to use the '6' it would have been by the original two rolls, though.]

Anything on the table of a decent weight that could be used as an improvised weapon with the 'Thrown' property?

10:53, Today: Wrenn Muernig rolled 11 using 1d20+6.  Investigation.

checking out the table

Brother Sul remained passive, likely as stunned as Kharash, by the sudden effects of the teleportation. Wrenn is able to discern that the table has eight statuettes and eight small medallions. The statues are of the following figures; a knight in plate, a mage in robes, a figure in woodland garb, an ogre with a maul, an elf with a bow, a priest with extended, a demon, and an angel. The medallions are of a jester, scales, quill, rose, ship, eye, book, and a unicorn.

Brimir is not able to discern anything different than Wrenn. Griswold is able to discover that each mirror has a world etched near the top that is only visible after careful inspection. The words are inspire, the, by, lead, kingdom, example, to,   entire. Griswold is also able to notice that the reflections in the mirrors are not all the same. Each statue is different save for one, the knight in plate. You also notice he is the only one not holding something in his hands.

"Well met, Brimir," Kharash said. He shook his head as he recollected himself from the effects of the teleportation. "What are we supposed to do here?"

Upon the notion that the reflection of the statuettes didn't match, he picked up one of the statues (the angel) and a medallion (the scales). With these in hand he started walking past each mirror, checking if their reflections changed between mirrors.

Taking special care not to jostle or tread upon the gnome, Brimir made a slow circuit of the table. "I do not understand what purpose these items serve," he stated, pausing in his suspicious scrutiny of the figurines and medallions to nod respectfully at the dragonkin. In the way of any good domestic he appeared loath to handle any of the items unless instructed, and his typically dour face evinced some slight surprise when Kharash simply 'helped himself'.

Abandoning the table, the ogre gravitated toward the circumference of the room. Following two mirrors behind Kharash, Brimir did his own inspection of the looking glasses; this time leaning in to study each frame, close enough for his breath to mist on cool glass. Stern lips moved as he read each inscription silently.

"I have never heard of the 'lead kingdom example'," he observed, pronouncing 'lead' as the base metal. "Is this a fable known to elves or... others? These words do not make sense to me in this order; perhaps it is a poor translation."

Griswold, considered Brimir's words.  "They might not be in order.  Getting the right order may be part of the puzzle." He cocked his head to one side, considering the words on each mirror.  "This is a trial to meet a Rose, so 'lead by example to inspire the entire Kingdom,' maybe?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:19, Fri 12 May 2017.

"That sounds more logical yes," Kharash looked at Griswold. "Do we have to place the mirrors in the right order, perhaps?" He placed the statue and medallion back on the table, and glanced at the riddle inscribed in the table's edge. Lost in thought he moved back to one of the mirrors and tested whether it could be moved. Suddenly, he looked up. "Griswold! You are right, this is a trial to meet a Rose. That's what the riddle refers to: a rose!"

He walked back to the table and read the riddle out loud again:
"Red as blood, but other colors too
Sharp as a tack, but soft as a pillow
Given for luck, but offered in death
Object of desire, but not under guard
Symbol of hope, but also despair"

"I've never received one for luck, but the rest seems to fit pretty well. Roses are red, but also come in other colors. Their thorns are sharp, but the flower is soft. It's offered to those who have passed away. People want them, and they grow free in the wild. A symbol of hope and despair could mean the Four Roses themselves. Hope for us, despair for our enemies."

Kharash was visibly proud for figuring out something. Even if it isn't correct, he's given a pretty good shot. "What do you think?"

Brimir pursed his lips as he mulled over the words of the two contestants, seemingly well-satisfied with both responses. "Very good, sirs," he intoned, with a polite little dip of the head. Squaring his shoulders he positioned himself beside the mirror inscribed with 'kingdom'; hands behind his back and feet shoulder-width apart he stood at a stiff attention.

"At your command I shall begin to shift the mirrors, unless you have another task for me."

"If it is indeed a rose, then that could also be the item missing from the knight's hands." Kharash gestured at the statue of the knight. "Meaning it represents one of the Roses. I bet the one this whole competition is about."

He picked the knight up again. "Perhaps we have to place the statues in front of the mirrors? There are eight statues, eight medallions, and eight mirrors after all. That means we have to find an order among the statues and medallions." He looked at the statue in his hands. "If this is indeed the Rose, it's probably the first or the last statue. The first word is 'lead', which makes sense for a Rose. The last word is 'kingdom'." Kharash thought for a second. "Makes less sense. Though the Rose is the reward for this competition, and a reward comes at the end."

"The statues and medallions seem random to me. Let's just try some combinations and see if anything happens?" Kharash placed the knight statue on the floor in front of the mirror with the word 'lead'. He then grabbed all the medallions and one by one hung the medallions around the knight's neck. "See if any reflections of the other statues change," he told the rest.

(if nothing happened, Kharash then proceded to place the knight statue in front of the 'kingdom' mirror and repeat the process)

"Well done Kaharsh!" Griswold beamed.  "A rose indee...Wait!" He suddenly stopped Karash before the Watcher could place anything down.  "Wait."  He repeated less urgently, whilst looking cautiously around the room.  He then gestured for Karash to give him the items he held and, if presented with them, placed them back on the table.  "Remember the first group's injuries.  And how strange it is that the boys made it through unharmed?  I cannot believe that martial ability that set the two apart.  More likely some decision or insight on the boys' part.  Perhaps bad things happen if you make mistakes?  Even if they don't we should at least try to get it right the first time.  Just to be safe."

"Besides," he mumbled to himself, "I'd rather not be shown up by a group of kids."

"The first group completed their trial in a shorter time than the second," Brimir mused, "The second group was longer, but untouched." Recollection of the scent of scorched hobgoblin evoked a twitch in the ogre's cheek. Stolidly he watched, his eyes moving from one mirror to the next, to the floor, the table, the ceiling, then back again.

"Perhaps their trials were different. I do not see any source of flame here."

After discussing the puzzle some more, but without any conclusion, Kharash decided it was time to simply try some combinations. "Brace yourselves, there may be fire, but if we don't try anything we'll never get out of this room." He walked over to the knight statuette. "And watch the reflections, see if anything changes," he added before picking it up. He intended to try five things, pausing in between to see if anything happened and to check out the reflection, though he would stop immediately if any proved to be dangerous.

First, he put the statuette back in the same spot on the table, but facing the other way (towards the 'kingdom' mirror).

Second, he put the knight statuette on the next spot (clockwise, in front of the 'example' mirror I believe), facing towards the center of the table (towards the 'the' mirror I believe). Then turning it around (facing 'example').

Third, he inserted the book medallion into the knight statue and put the knight statue on its original spot (in front of the 'kingdom' mirror, facing 'inspire').

Fourth, he removed the book medallion, and inserted the rose medallion into the knight statue. After which he put the knight statue on its original spot but facing the other way (towards the 'kingdom' mirror).

Fifth, with the rose medallion inserted he put the knight statue on its original spot (in front of the 'kingdom' mirror, facing 'inspire').

Griswold readies his sword and shield as Kharash gets to work.

Brother Sul notes that when the knight is placed across from the woodland figure, the woodland figure is the same in all the mirrors. There is no change when the medallions are exchanged on the knight.

"Allow me, Watcher Kharash," Brimir took a few lumbering steps forward, moving slowly like a dislodged boulder. "I am not armed nor armoured; you might wish to stand at guard." He rolled to a stop at the side of the table which initially held the Knight and reached out for the statuette, his long arms easily covering the distance. A minute twist of humour quirked his lips. "I would also suggest that, of those assembled, I have the greatest professional experience with table-settings."

His hand lingered over the Knight. "In the army I was exposed to elven-kin, wood-rangers, and priests; and some who might be described as devils or angels. Perhaps these repesent those who dwell within the Kingdom? The Knights of the Rose are renowned as steadfast examples to all; mayhap this one's influence will still the others also." Brimir looked from one to another; Wrenn, Brother Sul, Kharash, and the assumed leader Griswold.

"As Watcher Kharash has begun, perhaps we should continue in kind through the motto: our Knight faces the word 'Lead'; shall we move him then to face 'By', 'Example', and the others in turn?" The growing hint of a smile evaporated, replaced momentarily by the consternation of one who might be accused of speaking at length above their station, then returned to the carefully neutral and somewhat stern mask seen during most of his appearances in public.

"Or as you direct, m'lords."

OOC: If approved, Brimir will move the statue of the Knight to switch places with the Ogre (facing the Demon and the word 'By'), and see if that sets the Demon's appearance as the same in the mirrors.

Kharash nodded to Brimir and gestured with his hand to 'go ahead'.

Brimir swapped the places of the two figurines with deliberate care, watching his placements carefully.

OOC: Switch the figurines so the Knight is facing the 'By' Mirror.

Nothing happens when you move the Knight across from the Demon, nor anything else as it is moved around the table. However, when the demon is moved, a loud clicking noise can be heard, followed by a steady humming. It sounds almost melodic, but is getting louder. Brother Sul looks around and studies the table for a moment. He speaks up after the humming starts. "I think we should think carefully about where we adjust the statues next. We may have just activated a timer."

At the click Brimir's jaw tensed; his face remained stoic, but the reflections of his eyes in half-a-dozen mirrors portrayed an instant of realisation -- the kind of realisation that accompanies the sound of a priceless Dunnoth teapot's handle cracking beneath one's fingertips.

Gingerly returning the Demon to its place on the table, the ogre cleared his throat; a sound muted by the swelling hum which now reverberated through the room.

"M'lords," Brimir kept his hands open, holding steady several inches above head-height for the statuettes on the table, "I agree with Brother Sul. Perhaps another solution would be more appropriate."

Griswold's grip tightened on his sword.  "Well now.  Seems we need to pick up the pace.  Mr. Brimir, my good man, how do you feel about swapping that interesting piece you're holding with the Priest and placing the aforementioned clergyman in the empty space and we'll see what happens? If anything..."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:57, Mon 22 May 2017.

Brimir nodded, taking the relevant pieces in each hand and swapping places. Soon the Demon stood opposite the Angel, and the Priest statuette faced the Mage across the octagonal field.

When the statuettes are placed, they normalize as the woodland figure did. The faint outline of a key can be seen in the middle of the table.

Griswold checks the statues and nods at Brimir.  "That seems to have worked.  Well done my refined friend!  Let's finish the pairings.  Woodland Figure with Knight and Ogre with Elf."

"So it seems. What is that in the center of the table?" Kharash swapped the Woodland and Ogre statues, completing the pairings. He looked serious, not entirely sure what to expect once all the pairs were in place.

Wrenn snapped out of his stupor of thought and pointed at the pieces on the table, "Alright, I figured it out. You just have to move the --"

Seeing that the pieces had already been moved into their places while he was in his mind palace figuring the things out, Wrenn sighed, "Well, yes... Just like that. Well done, team!"

---

OOC: About as good as I could do to explain my absence in-game.

Having himself been debating which to move first, Brimir eased himself back as Kharash took the fore; the ogre taking care so as not to obstruct the dragon-knight's bold moves. A square elbow barely jerked itself out of a collision-course with the newly-enlivened gnome's head as Brimir shifted backward.

"Apologies, m'lord," he rumbled, looking down at Wrenn over a meaty forearm. "Have you also an insight on pairing those coins?"

"I'm afraid I was focused on the figures up to this point. Coins, coins...let me see here."

As the pairings are completed, the statues lock into the same stance across all of the mirrors. Meanwhile, a solid looking brass key with the emblem of a rose solidifies at the center of the table. There are no changes to the medallions.

Wrenn took a closer look at each of the figures, to see what each of them was holding.

Griswold looked at the key.  "Interesting find, Watcher!  I suppose that leads us out of here, or unlocks another part of the puzzle?  Hmm.  Doesn't seem to be an obvious locking for it though.  May be that's what the medallions are for?"

"I suspect, if we're all facing the same challenge, that the first group moved things about randomly until it worked, triggering the apparent time-trap, and that's likely where things got ugly for them. The second group, less likely to rush through things, came back unscathed thanks to their local knowledge and aptitude for the puzzle."

"Griswold, I think you've the right of things. Well enough to get us started, at least."

---

Some knowledge checks to see if anything else jumps out at me concerning how the medallions link to the other things.
History: 25
Knowledge: 8

12:23, Today: Wrenn Muernig rolled 25,8 using d20+6,d20+4.  History & Religion.

Wrenn, while in deep thought on the problem, seems to settle on the idea that the medallions are about as good as he can reason. The only confusion seems to be whether the Book Medallion could stand for the mages that the Ashen Order hunt or the Ledger of the Fallen that the Custodians of the Coin maintain.

Griswold was less confident about the medallions.  There seemed to be multiple interpretations he could come up with that were all as likely as each other, with no stand out solution.  However, with time apparently an issue, he thought it best to try.

He picked up the coin bearing them emblem of an eye, flicked it up into the air like a coin and caught it.  "Eyes or tails?" He said with a wry half-a-smile before taking a deep breath and placing it in the base of the elf statue.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:56, Wed 31 May 2017.

When the Eye Medallion is placed at the base of the Elf statue, nothing happens at first. Only a moment later, Griswold spots an elf in the mirror opposite him with a raised bow. It gives him a wink before firing.

You may make an Acrobatics check TN13 to reduce damage to 3, otherwise take 6.

Griswold cocks an interested eye back at the elf.  Already expecting danger from this room however, the image's cocky attitude doesn't entirely catch him off guard.  He deftly twists with the motion of the arrow, keeping it from a sure strike.

"Ergh." He complains as the shot still draws blood.  "I said this place was dangerous.  I suppose luck had been on our side until now."

09:43, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 16 using 1d20+5.  Acrobatics - Mirror Missile.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:56, Wed 31 May 2017.

The elf nods as the shot is reduced to a graze. He is now clearly a high elf soldier of some kind, wearing a breastplate with a flowering tree and the bow is of fine make. His image does not disappear. Instead, he assumes a guarded stance close to the "glass" of the mirror. It is obvious to everyone that he has clear line of fire to the whole room.

Griswold walks over to the mirror with the elf on, winks at him, then holds his shield up in front of it.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:23, Fri 02 June 2017.

Kharash's hand shot towards the hilt of his sword as soon as the arrow was fired. Though he lowered his hand again as the elven archer didn't seem to make another move. "Well, it seems the danger is real. We have to be careful now.. Clearly the eye doesn't belong in the elven statue." He quickly removes medallion, watching the mirror to see if the archer disappears as well.

Griswold looks over his shoulder at Kharash and grins.  "Feel free to try another medallion.  I've got this guy covered." He shrugs with one shoulder.  "Maybe."

Curling one finger under the cuff at his wrist, Brimir tugged free a rather expensive-looking kerchief and shook it open. The ogre's lack of response at the apparition in the mirror suggested that either he had thought it an illusion or, more likely, had failed to distinguish the movement from Griswold's own reflection until after the arrow had been loosed.

"Perhaps a moment to stanch the blood, m'lord?" Brimir quarter-folded the cloth and offered it to Griswold. "A knight of your acquaintance?" he added, remarking the squire's familiar attitude toward the elf in the glass.

"Elves and unicorns are both woodland creatures," the manservant offered, intentionally or otherwise ignoring the fact that his own kind also hail from the Silver Forest. "Shall I hold your weapon, Master Watcher? Or shall I place the circles?"

Griswold raised an eyebrow at Brimir's offered handkerchief.  He'd obviously not expected the gesture and smiled coyly at the massive man as he shook his head.  "My thanks Mister Brimir. However, time is against us.  Please, see to the medallions.  And, by all means, try the unicorn if you think it wise.  However, this is a High Elf not a Silver, so be careful.  And no" The half elf chuckled, turning back to carefully watch the elf's movements, "I don't know who he is  At least, I don't think so..."

Brimir's question made Griswold wonder: was this a depiction of someone he should actually know?

History check on the elf: 8

"Thanks Brimir, but that won't be necessary." Kharash felt the familiar weight of the blade on his back, and preferred to keep it that way.

"If this elf has nothing to do with the woods, than I think we'd be better of not trying our luck with placing the unicorn there. Doesn't your people hail form the Silver Forest as well?" He looked at Brimir. "To put the unicorn with the ogre statue would make more sense then. Although I also have the feeling the unicorn could fit the angel."

As Kharash pondered what to do next, he made a low gutteral rumbling sound. "Hm... Perhaps there is a different medallion we can try with more security?"

Griswold called back.  "It could still be the unicorn, honoured Watcher.  The elf has a tree on his breastplate.  Besides, in theory at least, I have this mirror covered.  I'm not sure we should risk, uh, summoning another individual before we have dealt with this one."

He up nodded at the elf. "Greetings, sir.  Do you understand me?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:04, Mon 05 June 2017.

"I think at this point, experimentation is our only course of action. Let's try another and then we can discuss and revise per our findings."

"You have a good point, only dealing with one statue at a time will save us a lot of trouble," Kharash nodded. "Ready your shield squire, let's see if this is the right one then." He grabbed the unicorn medallion and inserted it into the elf statue.

When the Elf statue is replaced, now containing the Unicorn medallion, the mirror elf nods and drops his guarded stance. A faint chime sound can be heard.

Kharash let out a sigh of relief. "It seems you were right, well done!"

"Now, if we are going to try to do this statue by statue, which one shall we try next? Perhaps we should work our way up to the most dangerous looking statues - the demon last I say."

Griswold lowered his shield as the elf dropped his guard and gave a little bow to the image.  He spun on his heels, grinning and gesturing wide with open arms.  "Indeed!  Good work Mr. Brimir and Honourable Watcher!  Very well done."  After a moment too many, the Half-Elf dropped his pose, thoughtfully scratched his chin and shrugged.  "Well, given your suggestion friend Kharash, I suppose I feel least intimidated by the woodland figure.  Should we try it next?  I don't see a connection to the medallions, though.  There is the rose, but I think we all know who that belongs to." Griswold winked.

"So, the Eye perhaps?  If only as the best of the rest."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:34, Mon 05 June 2017.

Acknowledging their mutual success with his eye still on the elf in the mirror, Brimir nodded. "Yes, the same forest is the home of my birth."

"Elves and unicorns sometimes work together in the warning tales told to young ogres by the night fire," he commented, stuffing the square of cloth back into his cuff with two fingers, "In the tribal histories they are creatures of fear and wonder, but are no closer to the people than that."

He placed a heavy hand on the table by the angelic figurine. "Would not the angel be a safe choice? Angels do not seek to do others harm."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that last part, but either choice works for me as the next option. We currently have a fifty percent success rate; we need more data before we can review further."

Nodding at Wrenn's observation, in the quiet room Brimir reached instead for the statuette of the Ogre.

"Perhaps there will be some kinship here," said the footman, turning over the figurine slowly in his hands. At length he regarded the remaining medallions, their bright polished surfaces and the shadows of their etchings and reliefs. Eventually he selected the piece stamped with a pattern of scales.

"In a time long past, it is said that one of the first of our kind sought to hunt a dragon. Perhaps he takes his place here amongst these other heroes."

Under too much applied pressure the medallion slipped free of the slot in the statue's base and almost escaped Brimir's grip. More carefully, he slid the disc into its setting and returned the statuette to its position on the octagonal table.

OOC: Placing the 'Scales' medallion in the 'Ogre' figure and back on the table in its established position.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:57, Sat 10 June 2017.

Griswold positioned himself defensively between Brimir and the mirror opposite the Ogre Statue.

As the statue settle in its place, Griswold is startled by the appearance of the ogre. It came when he blinked and was massive. The ogre was decked out in wyvernscale armor and appeared to be looking at each of the party in turn. He does nothing save stand tall and proud, an etched dragon head on the maul.

When gazed upon by the towering apparition, Brimir placed a fist upon his heart and maintained eye contact; a traditional mark of acknowledgment and respect. Then, when the eyes moved on, Brimir began to shrug his upper layers over his head, some of the stitching creaking under the strain as the seams stretched over his shoulders.

Having stripped to the waist Brimir painstakingly folded the embroidered velvet and fine Dunnoth cotton; as he worked the musculature of his upper arms and body gave evidence of long years devoted to physicality, though the fullness of his waistline betrayed a softer life in more recent times. In due course he set a neatly-creased bundle before the elf's mirror and returned to the octagonal table, pushing invisible sleeves up to his elbows as he contemplated the work before him.

Brimir's right hand enfolded the statuette in priestly garb, hauling it from the tabletop and up to eye level. Upending the statue to better access the slot in its base, his other hand then quested across the surface of the table for a medallion. At the medallion of the book his fingers paused, lingering uncertainly, then progressed to the disc embossed with a quill. After a little maneouvring his blunt fingertips pried up the piece from the polished tabletop.

Setting the medallion of the quill into the base of the priest statuette, Brimir returned the combination to its place on the table.

"Take it off!  Take it off!"  Griswold taunted Brimir with mock feminism in his voice.  Then, more seriously as he had done for the ogre before, took a defensive position facing the mirror opposite the Priest statue.

As the statue is returned with the Quill medallion at its base, the expected image of the priest appears. Dressed in fine golden robes, he looks ruddier than a priest should. The holy symbol that seemed indistinct on the statue is clearly a ship in the image. The priest raises it aloft, only to have it immediately flash brilliantly. When the light subsides, the symbol remains extended out and the priest's robes seem to have a shimmering quality to them.

OOC:DC12 Fort save for everyone in the room or be half-blinded, suffering disadvantage on sight based activities until the effect wears off.

By chance Brimir had been frowning back at the statuette when the priest raised his holy symbol, comparing the figurine's resemblance to the apparition in the mirror. Reflected in all of the mirrors, the burst of light momentarily stunned the ogre; he stood frozen until the glare receded, blinking the swimming shapes within the room back into focus. Bringing his face near to the table he squinted at the medallions, fumbling for the one bearing a ship whilst he reached for the priest statuette again.
[Private to GM:
Brimir will replace the Quill medallion in the Priest with the Ship medallion.
12:10, Today: Brimir rolled 12 using 1d20+5.  Fort Save vs St Elmo.]

Expecting some sort of damaging attack, Griswold is caught off guard.  Staring directly at the priest's symbol causes him to suffer the flash's full effect.  He calls out in alarm as the light scorches itself onto the back of his eyeballs.  Attempts at blinking are futile, just refreshing the large spots impeding his vision.

Dropping to the floor and rubbing his eyes with the back of his forearm, he calls out: "Of all the...I'm blind!  Sort of."

09:55, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 9 using 1d20+4.  Constitution Save vs Half-blindness.

Kharash raised his arm and averted his gaze, for most part avoiding to directly stare into the blinding light. After a few seconds the spots on his vision disappeared and he took a closer look at the priest's image. "It seems this one carries a ship symbol. Brimir, that must be..." he stopped mid-sentence as he noticed the ogre was already inserting the ship medallion into the base of the priest statue. "Eh.. go on," he nodded.

---

11:49, Today: Kharash rolled 15 using 1d20+2.  CON save.

As the Ship medallion was placed in the Priest statue, the image in the mirror relaxes and steeples his hands. As if one, the figures rearrange themselves in the mirrors at seemingly random. Once they stop, they gesture to the remaining mirrors, each of which has a small keyhole. A minute or so after the keyholes appear, a knight figure appears in each of the once empty mirrors, all identical to the statue. The previous statue figures remain however.

After the light flashed, Wrenn stood and turned his head different directions and was trying to catch things in the air in front of him that apparently weren't actually there. The little colored balls that floated in front of him seemed to move wherever his eyes did, and his hands just couldn't seem to catch them.

---

Fail: 09:42, Today: Wrenn Muernig rolled 9 using 1d20.  Con Save.

"I see...well, I see little. But what I do see appears different at the very least. If any of you happened to not be looking at that cursed priest when he brought light to the world, feel free to hand me the next two pieces, and I will try them. I can't see well enough to pick up the details, but I can put them together if you'll hand them to me."

"A noble offer, archmagus," said the bare-chested Brimir quietly, touching Wrenn's elbow in an attempt to guide the gnome's questing hand gently to the table edge, "But permit me."

Like a dutiful servant, Brimir doggedly continued with his task of matching medallions to statues. Little heed did he give to the appearance of the Knight-reflections; not knowing their significance, he had no mind to their purpose. On the job in hand, however, they seemed to be making progress.

"Shield up, Squire Griswold," he called over to the prone knight-aspirant. Taking in hand the outdoorsman-garbed statuette, Brimir pondered over the remaining medallions. Selecting the one engraved with an eye, he held the amulet up for Kharash's inspection.

With a nod toward the imposing Dragonborn, Brimir placed the medallion in the base of the statuette and returned it to the table.

[Private to GM: Eye Medallion in Woodland Figure]

With the placement of the statue upon the table, all of the figures in the mirrors step to the side and disappear. They return a moment later, again shuffled, but there are only four knights now. A woodland figure, his outfit heavy with greens and browns, is in view and at his neck is a brooch in the shape of the classic representation of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. He looks at each of you like the others, but stops at Kharash. He bows, rises, and raises his fist in a traditional greeting. None of the others have done this. Another chime sounds.

The four knights now stand under the mirrors with the words kingdom, to, inspire, example.

Griswold is on his feet and ready to protect Brimir.  He's not even that late in doing so.  Only about thirty seconds or so after the Medallion has been placed in the Woodland Figure.  Smiling sheepishly and rubbing the back of his head he apologises through squinted eyes.  , "Sorry,"

"Damn this sucks.  I hope this," he waves his hand in front of his eyes "whatever-it-is will be temporary, or I'll be a better librarian than a knight. And no," he half-jests with a chuckle, "that does not mean I'll be joining the Order of the Quill!  Um...would you mind giving me your opinion Brother Sul? It's no battle wound but..."

Unclear as to the woodsman's origins -- or perhaps woodswoman, it was difficult to tell when they rugged themselves up -- Brimir had performed a simple, courteous bow of the head and shoulders when the Watcher had looked his way. If the apparition's response to Kharash was illuminating, Brimir didn't show it; his attention was set stolidly back on the game board.

Subliminally or otherwise, Griswold's comment appeared to have a determining influence as Brimir worked the Quill medallion off of the table. Tendons adjusted themselves in his thick neck as Brimir clenched his jaw; the increasing hum, melodic or not, was beginning to set his nerves on edge. Lifting the angelic statuette by its feet, he pushed the feather token into its niche at the figure's base and set it down heavily opposite its demonic counterpart. Although his fingers released their grip the hand itself barely moved; his eyes still fixed on the Angel in its place as though that were the real source of imminent consequence.

[Private to GM: Angel + Quill for 500gp, please.]

Squinting, Griswold did his best to position himself and - more importantly - his shield between the angel statue and its opposite mirror.

As the statue is placed and Griswold takes his position, the angel appears and turns his attention to Brimir. Griswold's presence in front of him seems to stall him for a moment. Raising the glaive, a well made weapon, it comes through the mirror. As it breaks the plane of the mirror, it glows a brilliant gold and rests a few inches from Griswolds throat. Without warning, Griswold's medallion pulls away from his neck and glows as well. Everyone suffering from the half-blindness is instantly healed. A ring of medallions can be seen around the glaive as it pulls back. The still glowing medallion around Griswold's neck settles and burns with heat. The angel pulls the glaive into a guarding stance, the ring of medallions dangling from a hole in the blade.

Griswold take 3 burning damage.

Without a word Brimir hauled the angel back off of the table; in half a step the back of an oversized hand impacted Griswold's tabard and the dense mail beneath. The ogre's palm sought to force itself beneath the squire's medal of appointment, thick fingers trying to gain purchase around the scorching-hot metal at the half-elf's neck.

As he did so, he thrust the base of the angel statuette back in the direction of the table. An increasingly white-knuckle grip belied the calm in his voice.

"Another medallion if you please Watcher Kharash, Arch-magus Wrenn, Brother Sul?"

[Private to GM; Griswold Ortmann:  Brimir is attempting to ameliorate the burning by wrapping his fist around Griswold's medallion, literally taking some of the heat. Any chance I can absorb a bit of that damage, or intercept any ongoing burn? Provided Griswold allows the contact, of course.]

"Well, that smarted.  But only a little."  A relaxed, somewhat surprised Griswold said before he noted Brimir's meaty hand gripping the squire's medallion.  "Wha'? Mister Brimir!"  He explained in alarm as his vision cleared.  "You should not endanger yourself so!  That is my job, as soon to be knight.  I appreciate the sentiment, really, but aren't your hands of vital important to your occupation?" He grabbed the massive man two-handed by the wrist and jostled to be freed from it.

"I have a hand to spare," some strain began to eke into Brimir's voice, be it from the pain or the effort of resisting Squire Griswold's remarkably agile and determined fingers. "You have but one neck."

"Is that... ngh," Brimir's little finger spasmed and he grunted as the half-elf's limber thumb found a pressure-point, "The right coin?"

The base of the angel statuette and its inset quill medallion waved again toward the others.

Griswold shook his head as he finally gave up on trying to remove the Ogre's hand.  "I doubt it.  I expect that it may have done significantly more damage, but seemed to recognise my squire's medallion.  My best guess is that the ring of medallions it has and the fact that it went straight for mine would suggest that the angel is linked to the Order of the Coin.  Try the book, maybe?"

Despite his assumption, Griswold looked up at the 'angel,' nodded at it and tried to determine whether it had been placated or not.  Just in case he was wrong.

09:44, Today: Griswold Ortmann rolled 2 using 1d20-1.  Insight.
Griswold is not a wise man...

"I'll take this one. Angle and book you say? The only way to know is to try it and find out." Wrenn took the statue from Brimir, separated the pieces and replaced the quill with the book before putting the statue back in its place, allowing time for the others to position themselves as had been done before.

When the statue is replaced with the Book medallion instead of the Quill, the angel relaxes and the heat from the burning metal at Griswold's neck dissipates. The remaining mirrors knights are To, Inspire, and Kingdom.

Sul watched the proceedings with interest once the shock of what was going on faded. At least, that was what he was doing till the blinding light surrounded him. In an instant he was lost in memories, watching his nightmares unfold around him as his very scream was less than a whisper. The face of the creature before him seemingly smiling, it's razored teeth promising death...

The flashback ended abruptly, releasing from the fear and he dropped to his hands and knees within the ash of his brethren... wait... No... That was before. Just another nightmare. One he needed to move beyond... And he was in the here and now with those depending on each other... On him...

With some of the color returning to his cheeks, he took a deep breath and raised himself before looking around, thankful that his latest... episode, went unnoticed by those around him, save the mirror images themselves. He grasped the crystal pendant around his neck and whispered a few words of courage before taking another deep breath and getting to his feet.

"The Quill. It should represent recorded history. The beginning of true learning, and what a learned man or wizard would strive for." He spoke slowly, seemingly out of breath, as he wiped the sweat off of his glistening forehead.

"Forgive me, my lord," Brimir unfurled his grip, freeing the squire's medallion to gleam against livery and mail once more, "I meant no offense. I am sure none here question your valour." Rather than inspect the damage to his hand Brimir seemed determined not to acknowledge any injury, though he kept his wrist pressed close at his hip.

Drawing the cloth from its new home in his waistband, Brimir proffered the kerchief with his good hand to the perspiring cleric; though accompanied by a tactful lack of comment regarding the holy man's fall and subsequent rise, the ogre failed to completely conceal a concerned frown.

"This one looks like a scribe," he said, giving the priest time to compose himself whilst seizing and upending the robed figurine from the table. Brimir moved to take up the quill medallion but, upon straightening his fingers, thought better of the act.

"Perhaps someone might... pass the feather piece?"

Kharash returned the greeting from the woodland figure in the mirror. Even though the image was likely not real, he stood taller and prouder as he did. He watched as the next statue and medallion was combined, and continued to watch as the Quill medallion became the next subject.

Griswold bowed slightly to the Ogre and handed him the Quill medallion.  Then again took up position between the statue and opposite mirror, raising his shield and bracing for what might come.

Taking the dodge action.

The blistering had yet to manifest, but a familiar tautness beneath the persistent red heat in his hand suggested that something was imminent around the rim of his palm. As graciously as he was able with tender fingertips Brimir received the medallion; in the process the penultimate  disc slipped free and bounced to the floor with the gentle ringing of dropped change.

A comprehensive boot stomped down to arrest the medallion's flight, and with a mild grunt of annoyance Brimir reached down to scoop it up. Concentrating, he added the quill to the underside of the robed statuette.

[Private to GM: Quill Medallion + Mage Statuette - sorry for the delay, I left an opening and thought someone else might like jump in to do the medallion.]

As the statue and medallion are paired and placed, the corresponding mage appears. His sleeves bear the quill symbol and his elder face smiles. He raises a finger and points to the two remaining knights. The keyholes are starting to glow and the remaining mirrors have Kingdom and Inspire above them.

Griswold stood up and considered the mage's gesture.  "It seems we are done with the statues.  I think the mage is indicating that we have to choose now.  Remember how something happened when we touched the demon statue before?  And the jester is a wildcard too.  I think perhaps these two might bring misfortune to us, even if paired correctly." He turned to the two doors.  "I would try the keyhole beneath the word 'Inspire.' It is one of the prime tenants of the Order of the Rose."

"You know better than I would, Griswold. Shall I do it?"

Sul accepted the offered cloth with a smiling sigh before dabbing his brow and head. It was definitely much easier than his gloved hand. Rather than hand back the cloth, he tucked it wiithin the glove to hold till they were done with this trial, while he listened to the other's thoughts.

"I don't see why we couldn't skip the last pairing. It didn't form till a few of them were paired after all." The Cleric said as he looked towards the key. _{"Then again..."} He noted he had been less than helpful through the whole ordeal, and decided to change that. If it was an issue that they were essentially skipping ahead, there was no reason he couldn't join in the risk. "We may need your wits Mr Wren. I can do it." He reached out with a gloved hand and picked up the key, tenderly waiting to see if anything would happen, and if nothing did, he would move towards the door.

There is no reaction as you touch the key or move towards the door.

In a process so practiced as to be automatic, Brimir fell in behind Brother Sul when the priest moved away from the table. Initially not over-close, when Sul stopped at the mirror Brimir drew in close behind. A nod over one beefy shoulder to Griswold and over the other toward Kharash confirmed that their flanks were guarded.

Looming over the shaven-headed templar, the ogre seemed to be aiming to use his own bulk to shield Brother Sul's back; the muscles in Brimir's shoulders shifted, tensing in anticipation.

OOC: Ready a 'Help Action' to try to help Brother Sul avoid any ill-effects if he triggers a trap (pull him aside, etc.).

Ever observant, the cleric noted the ogre's shift to follow, immediately tensing slightly as his training kicked in, but forcing himself to relax. He had thought he had gotten past such judgements, yet it seemed he had not. It was something he desperately needed to work on. Especially with the more immediate threats that came with these teats.

"If there are no objections, then the light shall guide us." Sul said, nearly whispering the last part to himself. With a steadying breath, he placed the key at the entrance to it's presumable home, and pushed inward to unlock... whatever it would unlock.

---

Casting Guidance on myself.

As the key is placed in the glowing mirror, a faint clicking can be heard. A blinding light floods the small room and a dull roar begins to build. Soon, the light fades and the roar turns to thundering applause and cheering. You find yourselves moving forward without realizing it and you are back at the tourney grounds. All around you are cheering festival goers and you get sight of a massive, magical hologram showing your trial in the room. It seems they were watching the whole time. The clerics of Odin begin to head towards you, but it seems they are not in a hurry, having seen your lack of serious injuries.

Wrenn smiles and waves at the gathered crowd, occasionally pointing toward one of this companions and clapping along with the onlookers as well.

He considered casting a spell to enhance the show further, but remembering where he was he changed his mind at the last moment.

Griswold was at first shocked by the sudden change upon leaving the room, then relieved.  The Inspire door was his call, after all and he did not want Brother Sul or Brimir to suffer for it. As his eyes adjusted to the brilliant glare of outdoor light, he looked about in awe, gaze settling on the Hologram.  He squinted, making a mental note to discuss that particular oddity with the group later.

As he continued to scan the familiar surroundings, he remained uncharacteristically apathetic towards the cheering horde.  His first discernible reaction was in response to the approaching clerics, as he moved to meet them.  After inquiring into the health of the first party, he directed them to Brimir's hand, making no mention of his own minor wounds.

Finally, with concerns allayed, he happily gave himself over to the moment.  Thrusting both arms triumphantly upwards, he guffawed and basked in the glory of victory.  Whilst the group walked 'off-stage,' as it were, he twisted and turned making sure to show his appreciation to the entire crowd.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:36, Fri 30 June 2017.

Alert to the clicking of some hidden mechanism and a mounting noise, Brimir had grabbed Brother Sul around the chest and strove to wrench the man of cloth bodily to one side; the ogre's other thick arm came up too late to protect Brimir's eyes from the blinding flash.

As the sound became identifiable and Brimir found himself drawn forward he loosed his grip, blinking as his vision cleared to reveal the Maypole tournament and its stalls of festival-goers. Without a word he did his best to smooth any of Brother Sul's rumpled garments, studiously ignoring the fact that he himself was now shirtless. The astute observer might have noted a hint of colour growing in his cheeks, however, when comprehension of the magical image set in -- along with the realization that Brimir had himself been on display and broadcast the entire time.

Burying any embarrassment beneath a grim jaw and a stormy frown, he shook his head at the clerics whilst searching the podium for the lady Inara. Wrenn's acknowledgement brought a grudging nod for the gnome; the greater crowd, however, Brimir pointedly ignored.

Wary of a 'final scare' intended to catch himself or his compatriots off-guard, Brimir unhappily weathered the public's adulation before accompanying the others off the field.

Sul tenses as he was grabbed from behind, grunting as he flexed to fight off the assailant only to realize that he had already been let go. He turned to his attacked and frowned, wondering what had come over the ogre. It didn't take too long to come to the conclusion that he was an overbearing protector, as the ogre had immediately tried to help him with his clothes.

He raised a hand, waving off the ogre's attempt before taking in their new, or rather old, surroundings. "It seems we have completed the trial." He said, acknowledging the obvious as the realization of what was going on around dawned on him. With a smile that didn't really set well on his face, he raised his hand in victory to the cheering crowd.

As your group is ushered away, the last group makes its way towards the doorway. Lady Inara is waiting next to the pavilion where the other groups were carted off to. Inside the large tent, both the previous groups are enjoying a taste of victory. Wine and food is available, though it appears someone has secured some ale. The locals are basking in the glow of surviving the trial, while the other group still is licking their wounds. It would appear that all of them survived the ordeal, though the one twin still lay unconscious though breathing and more peaceful than before.

Knowing the feeling of loosing a brother, Sul couldn't help but be thankful that the twin survived. He was sure it would have been much harder on the other than what he had gone through. "Thank the Light." He whispered to himself, clasping the crystalline pendant that hung around his neck for a moment before looking to the food and drink. Particularly the wine.

His face conflicted slightly before eventually giving in. 'Forgive me, but it seems this victory came with drink." He said to his comrades in these trials. "And free food and drink would do well on my purse." He added, motioning to the nearby tables. "We are but one step closer to meeting the Rose. Let us celebrate another trial completed."

Griswold inclined his head to the Lady Inara upon entering, despite the evil eye he expected in return.  He'd have winked, just to provoke her, if she weren't nobility.

Having already heard from the clerics that the first group was - mostly - healed he did not immediately seek the twins out as he might have otherwise.  Instead he excused himself, grabbed a few ales and strode over to the group of local boys.

"Well, it seems I owe you all an apology.  You've fared better than anyone else, so far!  Very well done." He bellowed gleefully offering the tankards to them. "Drink well.  You've earned it.  But not too deep, there's still plenty more to be done."  He waited for them to take the flagons - if they were going to, otherwise put the vessels aside.  Then the smile faded from his eyes. "But Lady Luck was on your side this time.  Local knowledge might not be enough to pass the other tests."  He looked back towards the entrance, then to the unconscious twin.  "The Lady Inara told me that she would not place people's lives in danger.  However, serious injury is apparently less of a concern.

"Though I still advise against it, if you are intending to continue at least let me help you.  I am no knight, but I have had formal training.  Let's go out back, grab some training equipment - daggers with bucklers, something that wont leave your muscles aching - and practice a few simple techniques.  It may not be enough to spare you entirely should things go sour, but hopefully could take the edge off.  And don't worry about not having this," he shifted uncomfortably in his chainmail, "my style works better with less cumbersome garb anyway."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:34, Tue 04 July 2017.

Not long after the others had entered Brimir pushed through the opening, having waited aside patiently for a private word with the Lady. He squinted, adjusting to the coloured shade beneath the painted canvas overhead. Spying the table of refreshments Brimir strode ahead; Griswold's fraternising with the members of another team diverted the ogre's attention, which meant he failed to see the poor serving-boy before him.

The collision was enough to knock the wind out of the lad, but Brimir managed to grab a handful of the stunned servant's tunic before he had bounced far enough to inflict any collateral damage. Setting the child back onto his feet Brimir leaned far down to murmur something as he sent the servant on his way. [Private to GM: "See me when I finish serving if you want to earn a coin." ]Fortunately empty, the wooden platter the boy had been carrying in both hands was unbroken; retrieving it, Brimir took up attendance by the table. Despite being shirtless he maintained considerable aplomb, selecting four -- and then, with another guarded look after Griswold, three --  shallow bowls and wooden goblets.

"What may I offer you?" he asked the others, gesturing half the length of the trestle with one of his extensive arms. "Fruit, meats, the seasoned potato soup?" His hand stopped above one of the pitchers of red wine, reminiscent of his selection of statuettes at the octagonal table, and he took hold of a jug and raised it.

Instead of taking a sip, however, he swirled the wine and closed his eyes, inhaling through his broad nose. Immediately he frowned, returning the pitcher with a growl and a glare that swept the room for any senior attendants present.

"I recommend the white," he said tightly, with more emotion than he had throughout the preceding trial, "The red has not yet had sufficient time to breathe."

[Private to GM: Brimir will quickly stop in to report to Lady Inara before entering the pavilion, to see whether she has any further instructions for him.]
This message was last edited by the player at 23:57, Tue 04 July 2017.

Several servants are more than willing to help cart away and bring food to any who wish it. One boy stops by Brimir, tugging on the big ogres trouser leg. [Private to Brimir: "You needed me, sir?"] Lady Inara, though at the entrance of the tent, is nowhere to be seen. No one else in the tent seems to notice that she is gone, however.

Meanwhile, among the local group, things are starting get interesting. You are able to gather that of the group, Chris, a tall athletic blonde and the oldest looking, seems to be the leader. Roland is a younger, obviously more cocksure from his pre-trial outburst, mousy haired youth. Gerard is a barrel of a lad, used to hard labor and will likely continue to grow into someone that could be confused for a small ogre. Kyle is red haired and wears lines on his face that he is too young to have. Then there is the last youth. At first you though it was another youthful lad, eager to venture out. As you approached, you realize that it is a short-haired girl, no more than twenty. She is small and seems to stand away from the others, as if afraid. That is when you notice the telltale collar of an indentured servant. She is fidgeting with her fingers and you can see soot stains on them.

Roland turns to Griswold, anger evident, but in a well practiced maneuver, Gerard blocks him as Chris squares up with the squire. "While my friend doesn't appreciate the offers of help, I do. I'm not as prideful to think that we are just as well off as a knight in training and his retinue. We are locals and yes we were lucky that Roland has read the histories of the major orders, but these trials are to test us. I think not just our physical and mental skill, but our resolve as well. Should there be time, I will take you up on the offer. I cannot speak for my fellows and Roland speaks for Farrissa," Chris says with a indication towards the smaller woman.

In the background, Roland looks absolutely bristling at Griswold, but says nothing. His anger seems to be making Farrissa more and more uncomfortable. Brother Sul is finding that the wine and food are excellent and everyone is getting their fill.

The Brother accepted the food graciously, agreeing to go with the White wine at the ogre's suggestion. He had not been a particularly strong drinker in the past, and had indeed only really started once he left the monastary, and thus had just taken what was available. He admitted the wine was excellent, but he had little to compare it to. Instead he focused on the delicious meal that was given. It had been a long time since the man had eaten something this good.

His ears twitched as the squire spoke with the others, but he payed it little mind as the leader of the group seems well enough and not wanting a fight. His words carried wisdom and Sul was appreciative of that fact. It would defintely help them in the coming trials.

Though his last words drew his attention as he eyed the fearful girl, and her collar. He was never one to like the idea of indentured servitude. Though we all cary the sins of our forefathers, free will to choose our own paths was something he believed in. But he understood that it was something many would have to fight for, and his own quest needed to be kept. Still, her fear stuck with him as he continued eating...

[Private to GM: Passive Perception 20, Passive Investigation 19, Insight 15.
Besides Roland's obvious anger, anything else i can note from that group? And what she might be afraid of besides him taking his anger out on her?]

Wrenn set in quickly on the food and drink, and listened to the others talking around him. He was half-surprised at Griswold's offer to train the other group, but only half.

At hearing and seeing that there was a slave in their midst and that Roland was the one in charge of her, Wrenn spoke out. "Roland? How much for the girl?"

Having done his best to stand in and personally serve his team the choicest portions available, applying advantages of mass and reach to thwart the efforts of other servicemen and women where applicable, Brimir accompanied the others into range of Griswold and the locals. The summons at his trouser-seam brought him to a standstill, the ogre planting a fist of calloused knuckles on the ground for balance as he did what he could to reach eye-level in order to talk with the boy.[Private to GM:  "Go to the Broken Dagger inn and ask for the ogre's chest from the stable, then bring it to me here. I will see to it that the Lady Inara pays you for your service. Show them this ring."] Brimir returned to his feet after imparting his message, working the ring free from his left ring-finger and holding it out in his palm; when the boy reached for it, Brimir's hand closed around the child's.

"If you do not return within the hour," Brimir made a show of studying the youth's features, "I will find you. You may need a barrow, or a friend." With that he moved closer to where the two teams were mingling, just in time to catch Wrenn's question. Brimir eyed the servant-girl up and down.

"Arch-magus," Brimir began, sucking in his stomach in the presence of youths rather leaner than himself as he tapped the gnome heavily on the shoulder. The ogre lowered his tone to a dull rumble; loud enough to carry above the revelry and entertainment in the tent, but quiet enough that those who wished to turn a discretionary deaf ear could do so. "I believe this girl is paying a debt of honour made due by herself or a family member. She cannot be 'bought', and it is ignoble to suggest so. Her master may accept payment of her wergild or transfer of the work-debt to another. If she is registered as a team-member she may still be required to compete with that team, even if you pay her remaining debt." Although the first part seemed delivered confidently by rote, Brimir's inflection of certainty seemed to snag upon the final point.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:53, Sat 08 July 2017.

Wrenn looked at Brimir, his face displaying a look that clearly said, "What the $#^& are you talking about!?" mixed with a fair amount of anger and annoyance.

"Apologies for the interruption," Brimir's bow was akin to the gradual toppling of a standing stone, down as close to Wrenn's level as possible without losing balance. "I did not know if you were familiar with local custom." Righting himself Brimir retreated sideways to stand nearer Griswold.

"Is everything in order, Squire?" Brimir almost managed to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

Griswold had been watching the situation unfold with uncertainty.  He'd been wracking his mind for an answer as he was uncomfortable with all types of slavery.  Taking Wrenn and Brimir aside, he whispered:

"I hate this, but I agree with Brimir.  I don't think there's much to be done right now.  Though, Indentured Servitude is different to slavery.  The masters have a duty to their charges' safety and this stuck-up prick has apparently willingly allowed his to enter into a competition that, though perhaps not life-threatening, is certainly harmful."  The squire rubbed his still sore arrow wound meaningfully.   "And if that strange magical spying spell was in action for all the groups, then there will be hundreds of witnesses who can attest both to the girl's participation and the challenge's very real dangers."

It wasn't long before Roland could not be held back by Gerard anymore and can forward in a rage. He points at Wrenn, heedless of Brimir or Griswold. "You insult me and my family with your ignorance, wretched cur. If you apologize now, nothing more will come of this insult," he demands with a sneer. In the background, the girl looks mortified and the others are intensely watching Brimir and Griswold, appearing to be ready for a fight.

The other group has stopped what they were doing and the older human is now watching the exchange as well.