Re: ALL THE THINGS (ATT: A D&D RPG) - Let's get ready to rumble!

[NinjaWeazel]

Xun raises an eyebrow at the panicking fire spirit.  "Surely one such as yourself has little to fear from an ordinary bird.  Are you not a living piece of flame?"

[Ryqoshay]

   "Bird?" Yvonne asks, her head popping up. "Did I say bird? Oh..." she laughs as she gets to her feet. "I thought I said 'dragon.' Yeah, I thought it was a dragon." The fire Lirai dusts herself off before taking to the air and exiting the wagon. "Of course, one such as I is not afraid of a stupid bird." She flies back toward the front of the caravan, keeping close to the wagon side and other objects along the way. "Why, I used to hunt arrowhawks back when I visited the Plane of Air." She makes her way over to Elia and alights upon the healer's shoulder. "Let me tell you, Four-wing Fricassee is absolutely delicious."

[st4rw4k3r]

Elia picks up two stones and throws them near the hawk to drive it away. The hawk annoyed by the stones flies away from the area, to hunt somewhere else. Elia then heads back to where she was walking.

[EmmaNigma]

((Yea))


Hogarth strides forward and reclaims her greataxe from Rhyhorn. "Ah, a truer friend I've never had! And thanks to you, Rhyhorn, for your might and power in today's battle!" She guffaws as she kicks the orc guts over the bubbling, acidic remains of the hobgoblin, using the guts as a stepping stone to retrieve her throwing axe. "The fools didn't even have a chance to run away in fear! Did you SEE that head? BOOOOOSH" She grabs a few stones from the ground and offers them to Ryhorn. "Tell me, firebug, about this flamed bird! I've never had a meal on fire before." Her eyes shine like a shark's. No attempt is made to wipe any of the orc blood away from anything but the axe, and even then, only the blade. The hilt remains stained.

Hefting the coin bag onto Ryhorn's cart, she takes out 10 SP and puts it in Ryhorn's money chest. "I figure the orcs can cover the bother of having you haul away all their blasted coins!" She walks over to Seap, and rests a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You may be small and cowardly, but your song is enough to make me like ya!" She laughs mightily, and slaps Seap on the back a bit too hard for the lad to take. Nodding to Xu and Elia, the only way a fellow warrior can properly recognize others of her talent, Hogarth stomps toward Lejun, and flashes a wide, toothy grin, speckled with orc blood. "We should be safe, for now. I look forward to any other detours!"

Placing the axe back in its holster on her back, and slipping the recovered throwing axe on its well-worn spot on her belt, she takes her place at the caravan, utterly content with the thrill of battle.

[Ryqoshay]

   Yvonne laughs. "Flamebird? Ya' mean a phoenix, right? I don' think ya wanna eat on'a them. Might give ya a bad case of heartburn, ya know? Bu' as for the arrowhawks, lemme tell you, the chefs of Mistralia in the Plane of Air make the best use a' the four-winged vermin. From their amazing fricassee stews to the mushroom demi-glace they use on some a' their signature dishes, they truly add the only elegance the critters will ever get. Because, le's be honest, the only good bird is a dead bird. An' the only great bird is a cooked one, well seasoned... maybe a nice glass of Starfall's finest vintage..." The sprite drifts off as thoughts of food fill her mind. "Ya' know, the main reason I came to this plane was ta sample the wine from the vineyard on Starbane Isle. The finest wine in Sephyr they say."

[EmmaNigma]

Hogarth, upon realizing she wasn't going to eat a bird that was on fire, spaces out through the rest of the fey's speech. Her glazed stare penetrates dimensions and realities until hearing about fine wine, when Hogarth snaps back to this reality.

[Celdia]

Scene 2 Start

          The rest of the evening continues on uneventfully, leading to Lejun calling a halt and pulling the wagons off the trade road at nearly full-dark. "I want to be moving again at first light. I'll leave it to you all to decide who goes on what watch through the night." Seemingly weary with the day's travel, the gnome climbs into a small space behind the wagon bench where he curls up in a bedroll to sleep, as does his assistant in the other wagon without a word.
          Morning dawns without incident and the small caravan gets moving again without much sound beyond that of the ever-verbose Yvonne and the creaking of wagon wheels. The temperature is still mild enough for everything to be coated in a thin layer of dew and not yet be frosted over, but even that doesn't last long under the force of the sun.
          The second day of the trip is blessedly quiet, the only other living things the party sees being a few wild deer some distance from the road and another trade caravan coming back North, but the teamsters seemed disinclined to say anything more than a cheerful greeting as Lejun pulled the wagons aside to let them pass. Stopping earlier in the day to break for camp, Lejun calls everyone around to give them a short warning. "Stopping here for the night should put us at the border to Verun come about mid-morning. I'd keep on for a bit longer but I don't want to reach the checkpoint there too early in the day." He directs his gaze to Elia, saying, "And you lass might want to slip that holy symbol of yours away somewhere before we get there. I'm afraid your god isn't looked well upon by the officials of that kingdom. If you don't want to bring more trouble down on yourself than necessary, I'd hide your faith for the time being." Nodding to himself, he continues, "Alright. You all get a good night's rest. I don't trust the Border Patrol as far as I can throw an orc, and with us coming down out of Highland with the way things are I trust them even less."
          Your gnomish employer does see fit to open a case of food from one of his wagons that has some preserved meats and a couple loaves a bread which he hands over for you to share amongst yourselves, perhaps as an apology for the extended travel and short camp of the night before, but he seems otherwise disinclined to discuss matters further, waving off any questions with a vague answer of "You'll see why on the morrow."

          As promised, the morning of the third day did in fact bring the party to the border checkpoint. The lightly forested area near the trade road gives way to clear-cut land on both sides and far ahead, even from nearly a mile away, the high walls of a fort can been made out on the horizon. The trade road widens here, easily wide enough now for a quintet of full-sized wagons to pass each other unrestricted, and it leads straight ahead into a set of huge gates through the fort. Most of that space on the wider section of the trade road is occupied by all matter of cart, carriage and wagon trying to continue their journey South. As you get nearer, up behind the crenelated battlements, you can make out Guards in the colors of Highland carrying what look to be powerful longbows. Below them by the gates are several functionaries with the look of clerks - boards and parchment in hand with small tables beside the hewn stone walls to hold ink vials and quills. They are questioning people in each caravan coming South through the checkpoint and taking down notes as they do so. Occasionally, they pull someone's wagon or cart aside and escort the driver through a small door into the fort for a few minutes, but it seems they always return unharmed to continue their journey forward through to the Verunian side of the border.
           As the queue slowly advances, Lejun produces some paperwork out of a scroll case beneath his wagon's bench and holds them ready for the clerks. He indicates to Rhyhorn to stay to the leftmost side of the road as they near the gates, then begins waving his papers at the elderly clerk there while calling out, "Seid! Seid! You old goat, come get these so I can move on. I've got a schedule to keep!"
          Seid, a human with graying hair, wrinkled skin and a seemingly calm demeanor calls back with little emotion, "You and everyone else here, Master Berus. You and everyone else." The old man signs the paper on his board and hands it up to the driver of the wagon beside him and waves him along. "Last trip of the season, I assume. You have all your forms in order I'll wager." He walks up and takes the paperwork from the gnome, looking over each sheet quickly, nodding and murmuring to himself as he does so.
          "Don't I always?" Lejun says with a grin. "So, what's the word around here on things? I'm surprised to see so many people headed into Verun right now. Usually there isn't this much traffic here this time of year. I don't suppose you've got any information for an old friend such a me, would you?" You can see a small pouch slip from the gnome's hand into the human's pocket, jingling softly. If the clerk noticed, he gave no sign of such.
          Seid speaks in a low voice, "Almost every person that has passed these gates in the last two weeks has claimed their destination is Kellem. If I have to say more than that, then its a wonder you've stayed in business these many years, Master Berus." With a flourish of his quill and a snap of the papers, Seid hands the short stack of forms back to the gnome. Raising his voice, he continues, "It appears everything is in order, as usual. I wish you well on your journey and safe passage on your return." A practiced smile comes to the old man's face as he makes the same waving motion to Lejun as he did to the wagons before, which you belatedly realize is likely also a signal to the guards above.

          Once inside the gates, you can easily see that the fort is really more of a stone-walled tunnel, some thirty feet high on either side and a good five-hundred feet deep. The traffic is still nearly at a standstill between the walls, for at the head of the queue are Verunian Patrolmen inspecting paperwork and even searching wagons, some few teamsters being forced to unload their wares and open crates and chests for further inspection. You note that there are another set of small doors at this end of the fort, but those few wagon masters you see get taken into those small doors don't return, their wagons instead being driven ahead and around the outer walls of the fort by one of the Patrolmen.



I feel there is plenty of potential in this Scene for something to happen. But then I'm also known for setting my torch too close to a fuse to be healthy. ^_^ Since this will likely require some interaction from me as well for the NPCs I'll try to keep updated as I can with responses. Let's try for a longer Scene this time and some more in-depth interaction. Feel free to post questions to me in OOC/(()) tags as necessary if you want to make observations about the surrounding area or anything else for that matter. Remember, you can attempt anything, just like in battle. Success or failure is all dependent on your character's abilities.

Posting for this Scene will close in about 48 hours. (Thursday, Nov. 17th, 2am EST)

[EmmaNigma]

Hogarth contemplates how far she can throw an orc.

[Ryqoshay]

   Yvonne sighs. "Stupid tunnels..." she grumbles, not caring who hears her complaint. "If I wanted ta go through tunnels, I'd'a gone ta the Plane of Earth..." She fidgets around, flitting back and forth around the caravan. She glances loathingly at the ceiling. "Stupid tunnels..."

[Celdia]

The ceiling of the tunnel is arched down the entire length of it, unornamented and very utilitarian in appearance. High up in the walls on either side are balcony-like walkways manned by both Highland Guards at the North end and Verunian Patrolmen at the South, most armored and armed with longbows. There are a few unarmored soldiers up there that you would assume are possibly cowardly wizards or some other form of magic-user. Clerestory windows set into the walls behind those walkways shed no little light down into the tunnel, where some magical torches are affixed to the walls at regular intervals, further illuminating the stone passageway. The air is hot and stuffy, stinking mostly of horse, donkey, the leather of their harnesses and their droppings on the ground.

[Ryqoshay]

   "Esra's taint, this place reeks..." the fire sprite continues to bemoan the situation. "How much longer we gotta stay in 'ere? I swear to Bel that the Maggot Pit smells better'n this stupid tunnel... "

[RavenOfRazgriz]

Rhyhorn slowly leads the caravan of carts through this Ye Olde Boston Tunnel checkpoint, keeping a close eye out for members of the crowd with... stickier fingers than one should reasonably have.  He then peers around the high walls of the checkpoint, taking note of the security on the catwalks high above.  Rhyhorn's gone through several checkpoints in his time, but something about this checkpoint seemed... off to him.

(OOC: I'd like to perform a Knowledge Check, trying to remember if I've been through this specific checkpoint before and if there's anything in particular I remember about it, based on my history as a transporter.  If I've not been through this particular Checkpoint, I'd like to alternatively Knowledge Check based on the kinds of Checkpoints I have been through for particulars about how this one differs from them, again focusing on any suspicious differences if possible.)

[Celdia]

(Knowledge Check answered via PM)

Even desperate cutpurses aren't stupid enough to try anything between these walls with no quick escape and under the watchful eye of both Guards and Border Patrolmen.

[Ryqoshay]

   When a particularly large caravan approaches the Verun checkpoint, the line behind it grinds to a halt. Boredom reaches a peak as Yvonne realizes her group will not be moving for a good while, so she flies up toward the walkways above. Paying no heed to the guards' tabards that display their kingdom, she instead selects one of the 'prettier,' unarmed guards and approaches with a smile. "Hello, fellow mage-type-person!" She greets warmly. "I'm Yvonne Scintillae Incendam. You look 'bout as bored as I am. I hope yer a bit more used ta this smell than I am though..." she laughs lightly. "So, what kinda magicks do ya do? Me, I like fire. But, I've seem all kin'a caster-types in my days. Mentalists, elementalists, illusionists, disillusionists... uhm, I mean... Well, in any case, what sorta magicks you use?"

[Celdia]

The mage approached by Yvonne, wearing Verunian colors, immediately begins to make arcane gestures with one hand while pointing downwards to the stalled traffic below, a deep scowl shaping his features. "Get back with your caravan, pixie. You don't approach a Patrolman like this unless you want to forfeit your freedom or your life. If I see so much as a spark out of you I promise you I'll personally put you in an anti-magic cage until you go mad from magical deprivation."

[RavenOfRazgriz]

Rhyhorn, stuck in the South-bound line, pulls up his chalk and chalkboard, beginning to write on it, recalling the warning that Lejun gave earlier and combining it with knowledge of his own.  After a moment, he places the chalkboard into his mouth, turning to Elia and nudging her with the chalkboard to get her to turn down and read it.  Rhyhorn gives her an extremely serious look as he holds the chalkboard for her to read, and sloppily written on it are the words "Trust Rhyhorn.  Give him Symbol."  He notices Yvonne fly up toward the catwalks, and his eyes flicker a panic for a moment before regaining their seriousness and waiting on Elia.

[Ryqoshay]

   (1) Yvonne's eyes are drawn to the guard's hands. "Alright, alright I get it, I'll go." she says disheartenedly. "Ya don' gotta be rude about it though." She huffs disapprovingly.

Actions
1: Spellcraft check on guard.

[Celdia]

(Spellcraft answered via PM)

You can't help but notice that your group now has the mage's undivided attention while waiting in the queue.

[Ryqoshay]

   "Wa'n't gonna cast anithin' aniway..." the fire sprite grumbles, flying back to the group. "No love 'mong the mages 'ere in Sephyr, eh?"

[NinjaWeazel]

Xun sighs softly.  "No bother guards.  That job very important, niceness not...", he founders for a moment, "... not needed.  Best to just wait, line will move in time."  He folds his legs beneath him, suiting deed to words as he perches on a cart.  "No cause trouble, get through faster."