Tavern Knowledge (II) - post your rumours and gossip here

[Ithildur]

A trio of elven adventurers returned from the hills with grim looks on their faces; several humans descended as well some time later. The tallest of the elves carried an unconscious orc bound and manacled, slung over his left shoulder like a sack of hairy, smelly, ugly, rotten and rather evil potatoes.

The elves did not linger long in Rivermeet, only pausing to chat briefly with the guards before making their way eastwards for the estate of one Marcus Wands, with prisoner in tow.

Word spreads that they achieved what they sought to accomplish.

[rorax]

A badly wounded caravan guard arrive to high hold and informs the locals that the supply caravan he escorted from Silverymoon was raided somewhere near the great oak. All the crew men were perished, including few rangers who came out from the great oak temple to fight the raiders. The man could also tell that he counted around dozen orcs and few gnolls who took part in the attack.


((OOC Notice - spawns and loot are placed, recommended group of at least 3-4 players of medium levels ))

[johnlewismcleod]

Atop the gallows scaffold at High Hold keep Overblade Sir Rathalan Whitesword stands tall in polished Helmite full plate as he gazes upon the prisoner beside the hooded executioner. Although her figure is that of a comely young woman, her short cropped hair is disheveled and her face battered and discoloured. An orderly assembled legion company stands at attention, all eyes upon the Overblade in stark contrast to the unruly throng of commoners milling about, pressing forward and jostling for optimal position to see justice rendered.

The young women seems quite small and frail in her over-sized and un-tailored dungeon smock. Many in the crowd jeer up at her, and she seems to grow even more diminutive with head hung low and eyes downcast beneath the scorn of the crowd. But when the Overblade at last breaks the silence, his helm under his arm and his voice clear above the din, the cacophony of the crowd is quickly subdued by the authority of his tone:

"Fista of the Zhentarim, you are found responsible for the cowardly murder of legion guardsmen Waltrip Blunt and Hashan Gramble as well as the irregular legion scout Itishi Sumitsa. These crimes were committed beneath your direction by the enemies of our Confederacy and in collusion with the orcen horde that even now opposes order and peace in our Marches. You also are found responsible for the practice of black necromantic magics, the abomination of the dead and the creation of zombies and unnatural golems."

Sir Rathalan pauses a moment, gazing upon the frail figure sternly, then continues..."Raise you head and look upon the good people you have wronged and proclaim your wickedness and regret for your villainy."

Fista does not look up, but with a motion from Sir Rathalan the executioner grasps her by the hair and pulls her head erect so that the assembled can now see the swollen eyes and split lips. Sir Rathalan continues..."Let none say that we who stand in vigilant defense of our great Confederacy are without mercy. You are allowed this opportunity to beg forgiveness of those you have trespassed against."

Sir Rathalan motions and the executioner slips the noose about the slender neck and draws it taught enough to hold Fista erect and looking out at the crowd. She seems about to speak when a shrill shout is heard from the back of the crowd..."They are dead! Ware the keep!...They are dead!"

The throng parts to abide the staggering passage of a lone runner from the west. A young man staggers through, in the undergarments of a legion soldier but without the chain shirt and his breeches splattered with mud from a long trek. Upon his feet are the remnants of what appear to be house slippers. As he approaches the gallows, Sir Rathalan frowns down at him, "Your uniform is in unacceptable disrepair, soldier. To who's command are you attached?"

"They're dead, sir!"...the soldiers eyes wide and staring in alarm..."All of them! Beware and prepare!"

"Soldier!", Sir Rathalan booms, "Becalm yourself and order your thoughts. Who's command are you attached to and what message bring you here?"

"The Rivermoot encampment, sir"...the soldier stammers, leaning against the gallows steps..."Sergeant Wilson's encampment"

"Does Sergeant Wilson commonly dispatch messengers without the compliment of their chain and boots, Soldier?"...Sir Rathalan looks down at the soldiers feet with a frown..."What manner of footwear is that?"

"I wasn't dispatched, sir...I..I...I came on my own accord. These are me wife's slippers, sir. My boots were in for mending and I couldn't wait. I knew Sir Severen would wish to know of the calamity that has come upon us, sir."

"And what calamity is that, soldier?"

"It's the elven heroes, sir"...the shrill tone of panic creeping back into his voice..."The scouts Maeredhel, Elrien, and Laniara...and the dwarf as well! The orcs got 'em...they're all dead!"

A murmur of shock sweeps across the crowd, even the legion formation is broken as soldiers turn to one another in whispered conversation at the news. Sir Rathalan frowns, motions the soldier to silence, then turns to the executioner. A slow smile creeps across Fista's face as she looks up at Sir Rathalan.

With a stern nod to the executioner the trap is dropped and with a snap of rope and bone Fista is dead.

But no typical cries of exuberance greet the event. Instead only a hushed murmur as a vale of shadow creeps across the throng.

Sir Rathalan looks up to see a huge winged figure high above the keep looping in a lazy arc across the orb of the sun. It is a dragon. He watches it expressionlessly for a moment until, with a flip of its massive wings it recedes from view toward the mountains.

Sir Rathalan looks out on the assembled again, and with steady tone of measured authority speaks once more..."And so end all who plot and take up arms against Our Lady's Marches"

[rorax]

Rumor spreads among the silver knights that a battered musician arrived to the knights post south of Silverwood with terrible news. The musician said that his caravan was transferring musical instruments south to Everlund and that the caravan and the men escorting it were attacked by a large group of trolls and ogres few miles southwest of the bridge.

((Spawns and loot set in place , recommended group of at least 4 mixed medium level characters(7-8 or higher) -- be careful ! ))


With great risk come great reward!

[rorax]

A tall , dark haired bard travesl among the taverns and inns of Silverymoon singing the following song :




He saved the virgin from losing her pride
The man who attacked her, he shot in the eye.
The lady was happy she expected a kiss, alas
He raped her…he could not resist.

I'm Sywyn my desires come first!
They say I'm a hero , but I am a thief - nonetheless!
They think I've been fighting the orcs for the marches,
They do not know - it was for my purses.

He saved the old lady from being mugged,
The man who robbed her, he shot in the back.
The lady was happy, she gave him hug, alas
He punched her…..to take her bag!

I'm Sywyn my desires come first!
They say I'm a hero , but I am a thief - nonetheless!
They think I've been fighting the orcs for the marches,
They do not know - it was for my purses.

He saved the sheep from being killed,
The wolf that attacked her, has lost his teeth.
The sheep was happy, and offered him cheese, alas
He killed her…to sell her skin.

I'm Sywyn my desires come first!
They say I'm a hero , but I am a thief - nonetheless!
They think I've been fighting the orcs for the marches,
They do not know - it was for my purses.

[zilvai]

Akai'ye would stroll around the streets herself, offering a song of her own here and there should she acquaint a person or two, if not even a group:

Tugged on ropes which reasons of right,
Those whom he saved and others only heard of word, see him alright.
False tunes be set on caring man.
Cruel soul dared to mock and think he can.

Birds tweet of glory brought.
Purging threats even though he must not.
Thou sayeth a woman has been raped?
You leave my mouth agape.
Ill jokes for those of cruel.
I hope those like you never take rule.

So dareth I ask you to stop such song.
Maybe then, you will not spin to wrong.
If song shall linger,
It will make it's harbringer,
Sad and no more mingle.

Cross words with those that chirp of truth,
maybe you'll loose just another tooth.

Sywyn is right,
Sywyn is true.
A dove upon the sky,
lifting the night from it's gloom.

[rorax]

Eyewitnesses and travelers around Silverymoon talked about a strange scene. The war hero Sywwn, the recent subject of bard songs around the city, was detained at the gates by the knights who confiscated some items from him. Another man by the name of Jonathan managed to flee the scene in mysterious way , later on the following warrant was tucked to posts around the city.


"The man known as Jonathan, a tall man with dark brown hair should be detained for questioning , with force if required. The man is likely in possession of items that are property of the Fochlucan and already escaped from being questioned once.


*The warrant bears the official signature of the silver knights*

[Curmudgeon]

At 22 pages in length, this thread is deemed long enough. For new rumors and gossip, please see the new thread.