The Harbinger of Ferocity

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

Shuttering the thick wooden doors behind them with an audible boom as the goliath made her own place for herself removed from the rest, the priest calmly brushed his palms clean of the wood dust that lined his hands upon his humble robes. He smiled softly, genuinely after a the words of the half orc, realizing that at least some of the stranger members of the entourage understood what he had meant. He kept his voice low and as calm as he could manage, attempting to not be too distracting, as he replied to the elf and the other three with her while walking by.

"Erithar is a generous god, he is indeed not jealous, he allows us in his temple to address those other gods who are alike him, even those whose names I myself don't always know." As he turned to keep walking, the priest added, "So you may do as our orc friend has suggested, if you like of course."

Coming to the altar of the temple, he went about taking the as of yet unburned incense with him into a palm. Each sprig gingerly plucked from the metal vessel for it until none remained. It all went with him as he neared one of the two doors, this time the left, and entered into it; the audible creak filling the chamber slightly. It was not long before he returned with each of the humble, smoking plumes moving with him and being replaced into various holders. It was clear here on the frontier of the mortal world that the overt ceremony of everything was eschewed for practicality and meaning. After all, it only made sense that a fair, just, and good deity did not care how one really went about the process of showing submission and thanks, rather that it was honest. Or perhaps it was, truthfully, sadly, that the priest was far too young a man for his role to understand that the divines were not all so well meaning as history had told - it did, or so the story went, play a significant factor in man quite literally chasing their own gods off the Material Plane.

Once this seeming task was finished, time and again the priest appeared in and out of the only other room within the stone temple's confines. The whirl of smoke tracing around him as he did, the air now filled with the scent of clean, sweet ash, he reappeared until a small stack and bundle of arms, each wrapped in a woolen blanket were replaced. For a priest, a man who was not even allowed normally a weapon - not any more than any other peasant - he did handle an all too familiar unreasonably sized glaive well. Not in the sense that he could wield any of these things, but it seemed rather that now back in his element, his temple, he was much more coordinated and less disoriented than he had been at the prison; he wasn't near the shocked man of the cloth reading that all these figures were his responsibility anymore. A reasonable onlooker would have imagined this was thanks to the serenity and calm of this very simple structure, a believer in his power would rather claim this was the power of their god, and to an outsider, it was fairly evident he was simply making a special effort to not disturb any of them during the first real period of rest outside their cells.

@Lauder@BangoSkank

Post a random fact about yourself.

I have found that not owning and using a television on over a decade now has made no real difference to me in my life. All the things worth watching ended when the era of documentaries folded and television became almost exclusively "reality" or purely entertainment series.

Post a random fact about yourself.

One of the few sounds more unsettling than they ever should be is the ticking of a Geiger counter. A device on too high a sensitivity setting, or when poorly tuned, can often be an unintentional source of shock. Always be aware of one's instrumentation and how to properly employ the device.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

The idle conversation made among the five freemen, or as free as they would be for some time, filled the remainder of the travel to the village. They were accompanied by the priest at their side as the followed the so faintly worn earthen patch back down from the hill they had all been entrapped in; a few of the guardsmen were close behind them, the cart not far behind, and the rest even further back. They were poorly disciplined, to be expected of peasant soldiers - combatants in name only - and bantered between one another the entire brief journey, even as the entourage plodded through the outskirts of the village.

An occasional head peaked up from over the low stone walls that divided their farms, many others remained at work, turning the earth in dusted paths led by oxen or at best, horses. The air filled with the smell of the season to come, that the melt and runoff of winter here had kept the soil moist, and that the seeds being sown within the fresh ground would bring the promise of harvest to these people. But those same people were clearly wary of them and rightfully so - an orc, an elf, and a giant? Coming back from the prison? It went without question that had heard, if not seen the justice ride by only an hour's time at most ago. It bode well for the prisoners yet not for the town in that sense, that these obviously dangerous outsiders had been spared. Some spoke to one another, a man leaning to his wife and cupping his hand over her ear, while others just looked on until they were far enough away from their gawking to only be a memory.

For an elf of the woods east, this village was maybe all too discomforting as she drew nearer still to it, the same story likely told for the goliath who towered without lumbering over all the rest of them. It was quaint and humble enough but this place was among a clearing in the wilderness that had been expanded time and time again, and for Tracan, these people were they all too much closer to her peoples' ancestral lands, would have been marked for death. Even her exile could not hide that from her mind, knowing that likely by pure luck this entire place avoided a raid. For Vah'lux, however, the story was different in her own connection to nature, not as elf or elf-kin, or any beast of the wood, but these people were most removed from her. Aside from the stones that they built the foundations of their huts and buildings upon, everything was so refined, so distant so... removed from a sense of ownership and homeliness. They had burning hearths that kept smoke flowing from their crude chimneys yet even they seemed all too reminiscent of the orcs she languished in soul under for their amusement. They took from this land, the earth itself, and did what they willed, not even part of it. For the last three of them, the three men, the village itself was the closest they had been to civilization in weeks and months. Homely and familiar, although for Gorosk, little outside an isolated monastery was home although it was thankful this place was familiar enough that it made the prison less overwhelming in thought.

By the time de Bray and Beaumont set their boots into the mud of the road leading into and through the outcropping of civilization, the priest spoke up. He addressed them all as if there was not an entourage of soldiers following them, which only stood to reason as these two groups appeared removed from one another in everything short of circumstance. Redden cats are good cats.

"I am not sure if you know where you are but this is the village of Reddenbarrow."

The name only meant anything to the former horseman and the accompanying paladin, who both recollected enough that this was near the furthest extent of Dorrathar. There were a few scattered plots beyond this, collections not big enough to even manage a village, and the nearest garrisoned keep many days away by foot. For the remainder of them this was a foreign place, as foreign as it came at that, as aside from the few buildings that made up the heart of this place, there was not much else with only one prominent, clearly permanent stone structure; the temple, one not particularly lavish at that, barely ornate enough to bear such a name. Were it not for its humbled stone-craft symbol erected over its doors, that of Erithar, it would be a wonder to who it belonged to.

What stood out more to the keen eyed among them were the tracks of a man and a horse, having delayed here, then having traveled on west and away. Presumably the justice made this his only other stop before he departed, leaving them to the authority of the young, narrow faced man who followed the patron god of this place. Who, as the militiamen dispersed, some heading off down another path and the cart with its occupants stopping at one of the buildings, climbed the few steps and out of the churned ground. Producing a wrought iron key, he unlocked the door to the temple and offered them into it; a place clearly with little more than a few thick pieces of golden stained glass and far thicker stone walls.

"Please, do come inside, I will provide you your remaining compliment. After, well... I guess I should decide what would be a worthy trial for you all on your path to repentance in the eyes of the Marches." Marthan said, pocketing the key into a pouch on his belt, likely the same that held his spell components given the man had worked magic not all that much earlier.

"Do not mind your soiled boots, I will clean the temple when I send you all away. If you need time for prayer and offerings at the altar, feel no need to explain in the mean time. I will await you being finished."

@BangoSkank@Hellion@Lauder@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

Post a random fact about yourself.

I create bonds with those things familiar and pleasant to me, thus if I have a particular mineral or rock I am fond of, I tend to address it alongside the others when in their proximity; those things that are important and worth claiming. I rarely extend this to people, in which case they become "my" people, only a number of whom have ever lived.

Post a random fact about yourself.

While I have shared in the past I am heavily influenced by whatever I am listening to in mood, one another note is that listening to people talk hurts my ears. Something about voices and too much of them makes me wish for the noise to stop. If I have spent a large amount of my time listening to them speak, I will make a special effort to be in relative silence or natural ambiance.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

The justice stopped where he was, some paces down the lonesome central path that made up the only means in and out of the hold. He canted his head, ever so slightly back, his leather riding boots grinding into the grit of the floor as de Brey continued. His reaction, in comparison to that of the priest, was quite different. To the orc who could see him, there was no flush of red to his old face, there was no range of emotions or sudden indignant outrage at he, a judge, being challenged upon his judgment, or even the slightest twitch that would pull at the corner of a cheek. No, instead the justice maintained a certain focused bearing, while the younger man recoiled slightly at the outburst.

It was a tidal wave of words and emotion, perhaps held back longer than it should have been, and it shocked the much less seasoned of the pair. This was no surprise, truly, this priest was maybe well one of a handful that were sprinkled throughout the region and was too uninitiated to expect someone would reply to their resolved execution to come with such a thing. He folded the scroll and listened, looking over the obvious disparity in the two men before him aghast; the justice, however, remained where he was until the outburst ended. Then, with a decided pivot, he went from being mid stride to standing, to facing the other direction and all but taking his time to return until he stood imposing at the bars that held back the man and his radically different compatriot.

Hands tracing the outline of his close cropped white upper lip and beard, the slate stare held upon the prisoner who spoke up for a moment, but only a moment long enough. Behind his back he folded his hands against one another, the rich purple sash across his chest and official garb displayed more prominently.

"Then you will have no issue proving your innocence and valiance by performing the tasks set before you by the temple. Truly if your cause is as righteous as you think it and our god has seen to it that you are worthy of a second chance, this will be trivial." He replied in the characteristic manner he had displayed, leaning in ever so slightly after, he broke for a moment, "If not, your cowardice will be self-evident for all to see."

"But..." The justice began as he returned to standing just short of rigidly, "Only time will tell, will it not?"

The question was not aimed at any of the prisoners this time, instead it focused on the priest who had kept his eyes on the exchange. He nodded silently, in response as the justice then passed him by, pushing aside the large iron door and announcing only as he departed, "You will see to them being let out, Marthan. Be sure to deal with the elf too, she is your charge now as well."

Outside the sound of the militia idly going about bantering, with their work of offloading the wagon having long since been done, fell more quiet. For Gorosk, who had the minor luxury of a window behind him no bigger than his own head and barred, the justice casually mounted his steed and rode off without any sense of urgency toward the village. This left the four of them and their newfound warden of sorts there to themselves, in the after effects. It took not long for Marthan to reply either, seeing to it that the militiamen were called in, this time sans nearly as many chains, shackles, and weapons. Each door was opened for its inhabitants and they were permitted out, still under watchful eyes of the faux soldiers.

Once they were brought outside, at last free and in the daylight again for the first time in days, some cases weeks, they were almost casually returned their equipment - barring their weapons. It was only then once each chest was emptied that the men at work hauled it back upon the wagon while the priest oversaw. Or more accurately, stood awaiting them all to finish their individual shades of work. Some looked at the sorry four with some amusement while others were much more wary. The bolder ones among them clearly had mutterings of a "pool", betting of some variety, about each but none of them spoke directly to the lot before them. Rather it was only the priest who did, watching as they went about ensuring nothing was amiss.

"Forgive me, not all of your things are here as you can tell, His Honor ordered the men to keep hold of your weapons until we returned to the village. I am sure you can understand his reasoning."

Effects

Each character sees a return of all of their equipment and inventory except for their weapons and shields. No other items are missing and nothing is any worse for wear than it was when they were first jailed.

@BangoSkank@Hellion@Lauder@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

The suspicions of the man of split descent were wise to exist, human lands were rife with politics, the worst of which embroiled several of their kingdoms in a spanning conflict all along the southern border of their territories. Were it not for the fact man was so busy fighting himself in this manner, it would be reasonable to assume he would be expanding in some other direction and drawing the ire of those inhabitants instead. Yet never once would he manage this without internalized conflict all its own along the way. Gorosk knew, without doubt the more he thought about it, there was some likelihood they had been conscripted into something similar to deal with the affairs in this region - that their imprisonment was an excuse to those ends. This all was coming together quite clearly until something stood out to him.

The god, presumably Erithar based upon the rhetoric used by both justice and priest, saw them as innocent of crimes. Erithar was a good of good and law, that he would honor the laws broken of a land, even if righteousness and holiness were not tenants of it. So long as no evil was done, that seemed reasonable. Not only did the justice and priest seem to believe this, their laws seemed to follow this as well. They, all of them in this stone tomb, had broken the law, but not terribly enough to offend a god of good. It was not to say their charges were good acts, however, or that they honored the law.

This, truly, made matters worse more than it made them better, as not only now was their purity judged, so too now was their honor. Were they just all miscreants it could just be ignore and one would expect as much. But for someone who came from a temple of discipline and instruction? What about a man who clearly practiced the faith and just, in a single breath before Gorosk could crack his parched lips with reply, pledge their unyielding success? At least if they were criminals some of them would be punished and let go, others likely executed, but now they were to serve the temple to absolve themselves of the crimes. It was enough to make the orc grit his jaw, as either these two men believed what they had done was as right as it could be, as just and as fair as it came, or they had practiced this act - and the younger of the two in his crude robes certainly had not the seeming face to feign anything of that variety.

Yet while Gorosk struggled with the realization of how this was likely a worse outcome than just being say, publicly beaten and humiliated, Renault would find the justice's attention upon him. There he would see the man's skepticism fade with nothing more than the restrained pleasantry of a huff and light smile. For the time being he had been distracted from wordlessly scolding de Bray just beside the paladin, instead giving his approval to this reaction. Whether the justice believed it or not, that was debatable, but it was clear he was contented with the knowledge that at least one of the two men was not going to prove an issue. He turned away, following down the hallway to inspect the final two remaining figures and see if they dared issue rebuttal, leaving the priest to simply hold and read the scroll to himself.

@BangoSkank@Lord Wyron

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

With that sorted and without further delay then, we have our resolution to the issue of many, many, many glue-happy kobolds.