Karyst -- The Beginning

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OoC: This is the first installment for the Karyst 3E D&D online gaming sessions. Current players are Sprite, Slappy, Invoker, Capstone, and LordNocturne. Please confine your out-of-game remarks to the original posts in the D&D forum here: http://www.sorcerers.net/ubb/Forum8/HTML/000189.html.

DM:
Once again, battles rage across Bevylaam. The divided nations, and their equally divided noble families, have engulfed the land in war. Floods of refugees, fleeing the rampaging armies, have streamed into the Shadewatch Mountains, hoping to find shelter in Karsim.

In Karsim, the past winter was harsh and long, the snows lasting well into the spring. In the north, Bern suffered grievously as tribes of orcs and ogres were driven down from Elerak's Teeth, raiding village after village for food. Even Broas, the Duchal City of Bern, saw war parties advance through the surrounding hills, eventually to be driven back by the Duke's army. With the heavy snows and the recent spring rains, mountain streams have risen above their banks flooding countless towns and villages. And now, refugees from Bevylaam pour into the small towns at the foot of the Shadewatch Mountains and Koreth's Staircase. Ulsmeth, a small city-state in the foothills of the mountains, already facing difficulties feeding its own small populace, has sent out a cry for help: the refugees, many having wintered in the mountains, are in dire need of food and healing, and Ulsmeth is unable to meet their needs. Thousands have set-up ramshackle huts outside of Ulsmeth's walls, and hundreds more arrive with each passing day. The ruling Wyrdin family, in fear of riots and even civil war, has closed its gates. Still, the roads to Ulsmeth are lined with travellers in this troubled spring; healers wishing to give aid, merchants and mercenaries alike look to ply their trades, while thieves see a ripe opportunity. Many travel hoping to discover distant friends and even family members who may have made the journey across the hills.

And so, towns like Malvrin that straddle the trade routes between Dolem and Ulsmeth are alive with strangers. The normally placid townspeople, eager to receive travellers, have been replaced by grim-faced folk, looking for an outlet to their troubles...

Malvrin's only inn, the Wayward Merchant, is full to the rafters this evening, despite the steep price of rooms and a dearth of decent food. Amidst the collection of local patrons, nearly a dozen strangers have claimed a room this night, for the price of a mere gold sovereign. For 4 pieces of silver, another half-dozen will sleep in the stables. Halbryn, the owner, gruffly rushes about the large common room serving drinks and food while counting coins in his head. Elissa and Medira, Halbryn's waitresses, scamper from one table to the next, hoping that Halbryn will reward their hard work from the money he collects this night. With every table full, strangers are forced to sit together. One table near the door stands out in stark contrast from the rest: a warrior, a peddler, a priestly dwarf, a scholar and a halfling, each unknown to the other.

The door to the inn opens, letting in a much welcome gust of air, and with it a tall man with several days' growth of beard. Glancing to the table of outsiders, he sneers, and mutters under his breath as he walks by: "Thieving outfolk". He heads to the next table and, pulling a chair for himself, is greeted by one of the three other men at the table: "What say you, Egars? Any sign of the sow?"

"Aye, Col, there's a sign alright. I was looking these past two days, when I found her in the woods. Damned thing too -- insides turned right out. There's bits o' pig all over. Probably still got some on me." Egars shudders, turns to glare again at the strangers, and continues, "I don't mind saying, it was a nasty sight. I've butchered pigs all my life, but I ain't seen nothing like that."

One of the other men at the table, a stout, rough-looking man, leans towards Egars. "Evans' boy, Hared, still ain't come back. And Veril's had three of 'er cows gone missin'. Found a fourth outside of town -- same shape as your sow." The third man, his heavy jowls quivering under his chin, breaks his silence: "I hear there's a sickness over in Cennerwach." He stops to glare menacingly at the strangers. "One them folk from Bevylaam brought a plague with 'em."

Egars speaks up again: "It's them damn outfolk, bringing all their troubles to us. More of 'em everyday." The other men mutter in agreement, including others around the room. Halbryn and his waitresses watch warily from the sides. The jowly man stands, his right-hand raised in a fist, and advances on the table. "D'you hear? We don't want your thieving kind here!" Before Halbryn can intercept, the man grabs up his mug, and throws it, smashing it into the wall behind the strangers.

 

As the mug goes flying across the room, a burly half orc enters the common room. He's dressed in travelstained, but sturdy woolen clothes and appears unarmed. After glancing around the room, he turns to the owner: "I'm back for my kit, barkeep. But first some food and ale. In a mug, not on the wall. Heheheh" Chortling to himself, he scans the room for a place to sit.

 

Zey sees the mug fly towards his table, ducking and watching it float over him. He mutters to himself about foolish idiots, making a mental note to relieve them of their gold. He turns around to get the Barkeeps attention and sees The Orc enter. "Why must you people be so big?" He nearly yells.
The halfling is less than half the Orc's height, and probably a quarter of his weight. He looks at the others at the table, "I'm going outside for some air. Mainly to get away from their vile strench," He nods towards Egars and his group, "Anyone care to join me?"
Clad in black leather armor, the halfling is obviously one who works in the night. His hair is a short, brown mass of unhruly hair. A Three Foot Long Staff-Like weapon is in a unique scabbard, round, narrow and long, crossing his back from left shoulder to his right hip. Crossing his back from right shoulder to left hip is a 2 foot long blow gun. On his belt is a pouch containing forty blow darts. Over his weapons is a back pack, which would seem to make it difficult to draw his weapons, is designed not to. He has no facial hair, and his eyes are hazel, looking green.
He waits for a moment for a response, then turns to leave reagardless of who comes. He stops looking at the Orc, muttering a curse and making his way around him, not caring to come near to someone who can step on him withuot noticing.

 

A figure with a fair complexion is sitting at a table by the door, shifting uncomfortably, oppressed by the heat, sweating mass around him, constant grunts and the lack of fresh air in the tavern. He has a dark grey robe covered by a black, worn travellers cloak with a light crossbow attached on his back. He lets his dark, shoulder-length hair fall before his green eyes, leaning forward. He lands his elbow on the table and scratches his chin as if contemplating.

The breath of fresh air sweeping through the opened door sends a wave of pleasure through his mind. He casts a furtive glance at the newly entered man, amazed, yet repulsed by his brawny figure and his lack of manners.

The scholar sighs as a mug races past his head to smash the wall behind, splashing ale on his cloak. Taking a prolonged sip from his wine, Juhn leans back and aims his eyes at the now glowering man.

After a nonchallent cough to clear his throat, "Surely, sir, your anger is misdirected. I am but a scholar and a scribe." pauses shortly.. "And it is not a hobby of mine to perpetrate crimes against farmhouse animals." he adds with a snicker. Then with a fake concern masking his face, leans toward the bearded man and points at the half-orc who just walked through the entrance. "I wouldn't know about him, though" in an attempt to divert the man's wrath.

 

The dwarf mutters,"shameful waste o'beer!", then stands to address Egars, tugging nervously at her reddish wisp of beard as she speaks.

"I surely am sorry to hear about the cows and the pigs, sir, but ye can hardly think it's unfamiliar faces that causes such things." She pauses for thought, then says, "In truth I'd like to know what causes such things. In my years as a healer I've heard many tales but nothing like that."

Sitting back down with a demure grunt, she glances shyly at the ragtag band of travellers sharing her table. "None of you hurt, I trust?"

Her eyes pause on the peddlar sitting next to her, and she gently flicks a needle-sharp shard of broken tankard from his shoulder. "Pardon me, sir, but it was fearsome close to your throat."

 

The crowd of patrons, stunned by this violent outburst and fearful of the reaction, waits in expectant silence. Halbryn, clearly shaken by this event, moves to stand between the two tables. His quivering hands raised in appeasement, he speaks in a nervous voice. "Now, Ollie", he begins, addressing the mug-thrower, "there's no need to go threatening my guests." He eyes the strangers at the table warily, noting the weapons at their sides. "I can say with certainty that they've only just arrived. Now, how about a round of drinks, on the house, just to show there's no hard feelings, eh?" He gestures furtively to his waitresses, who quickly set about delivering fresh drinks.

Ollie plumps back down into his seat. Although he grumbles as he re-adjusts his bulk in the chair, it seems that he too has noticed the well-armed nature of the strangers. The men at the table huddle together, deciding it best to keep their grievances to themselves.

Halbryn, a hopeful smile on his face, addresses the strangers at the table. "I'm terrible sorry about that. I trust no one was injured, yes?" He wrings his hands nervously. Looking to the studious man and the dwarf, he says "And thank's to you both for yer...patience. It's nice to see there are some folk who're ready to show restraint rather 'n rush right into trouble."

Glancing over his shoulder, he addresses the half-orc. "Yes, um..one of the girls'll bring your belongins' to you...though you'd be better to just pay for a room." Seeing the halfling about to leave, and a potential coin or two with him, he hastily adds: "And sir, please, don't mind these folk. Stay, have a drink...my Bella can fix you something to eat, if you like."

As the room seems to calm a bit, he continues in a quieter tone. "Look, truth is, there's been quite a bit of trouble round here lately. People like Ollie and Egars, they're a little upset, and more than a little scared. They're good men, just worried. You see, there's bad things happening - and dead pigs is just the least." He leans in and his voice takes on an urgent tone. "The dead, they walk the streets of Malvrin!"

 

"huh, I thought your rooms were full. Not sure they are worth a sovereign anyway. So, why are the dead walking around Malvrin? I doesn't seem like that interesting a place to come back to. Though the ale's not bad."

 

Zey stops, turning to look at the bar keep as he addresses him.

"All right, all right, but if anything is thrown at me again, someone's gonna regret it." In his mind he silentlty adds it will most likely be him regretting it.

He moves back to the table and sits again, looking the dwarven lass over, making a mental note to catch her name.

"I'm sure none of us here did anything to your precious pigs. As for the walking dead, some people just don't know they're dead yet." He shoots a meaningful glance at Ollie as he says this. "But that does sounds like something to investigate." Looking to the others at the table, he questions them, "Anyone interested?"

 

"That is unnerving indeed. Of course, it seems there's a fine line between life and death nowadays. What with the raging war and refugees of all sorts constantly pouring." A dry smile crosses his face for a fleeting moment. "But this is way over what I had in mind."

He stares emotionless for a while into empty air, then abruptly turns to the halfling and eyes him with a sudden interest.

"Why, you certainly have an attitude little man." he says with a wry smile. "Or should I say little friend? I don't think we've met. I am Juhn"

 

Mr Devious

Slowly Mr Devious' eyes, which had been raised up in alarm, return to something closer to normal. Turning to the Dwarf he speaks (in Dwarfish)'Thank you kindly my good lady it is nice to meet someone more sociable than some of these locals. I must say I had forgotten how colourful life on the road could be.' He shakes his head and carefully touches his neck and collar checking that there are no injuries or remianing shards.

He then returns to checking the contents of a small backpack while studeously avoiding looking in the direction of Egars. 'There goes any chance of earning some coin tonight - bugger'

As the landord defuses the situation, Devious sighs with relief and starts to relax. However, as soon as the word 'undead' is uttered he visable flinches and muters under his breath 'on no, not again.' recovering himself with an effort he looks up and smiles at Varg. 'Yes my good fellow, come and join us and enjoy the Landlord's hospitality. I see Master Juhn has started making the introduction and it seems we are all united in being outsiders in these troubled time. My name is Mr Devious, Peddler of repute and adventure on occaision. Perhaps you'd care to see my card.' With that he places a small card in the middle of the table. The card show a coat of arms and bears the inscription - "Mr Devious esp. - Trader par excellence. You've got it I'll but it, or you want it I'll sell it. All items dealt with, pins ribbons and household utensils a speciality. - Why deal with the dodgy traders when you can deal direct with me."

[This message has been edited by Slappy (edited October 22, 2001).]

 

The dwarf turns to answer the halfling, "I was on my way to Ulsmeth, to see how I could aid the wounded. But if the dead are restless in this town, surely my Lady would wish me to stay long enough to assist the good people here."

Addressing herself to the barkeep, she added, "Please, good sir, could you tell us more?"

 

The halfling nods, turning to the entire group. "I am Zey, an herbalist by profession. I've never been too fond of the living dead, so let's get the bottom of this and let them rest in pieces."

 

"Well, I got no problem with putting down some stiffs that can't stay where they belong. But there are plenty of nightwalkers that would be right hard to handle with plain steel. What sort are we talking about here?"

 

Sitting in a chair against the wall is a tall figure of a man. He weares a long black overcoatthat goes down to his knees, and a piece of black material that covers his shoulders, and comes up to form a hood around his face. All there is to visibally see of his face is his ose protuding out from the darkness.
He watches silently the debate going on between the farmers and newcomers. When it looks like it could get out of hand he silently pushes back his hood. His features show someone that is only in their early twenties, but he has greyed, silver hair, and an air of wisdom arround him. He doesn't appear to be elvish, so he must be presumed to be human, even though he is a very handsome man. He pushes the hood down onto his shoulders, and moves the overcoat slightly to the left and rests his hand on the hilt of the glinting blade that was revealed from under his overcoat. The hilt has a large green pommel jewel resting at the end of the handle, and the blade is a clean metal colour, disturbed only by the runes and etchings that go down one side of the sword.
As the barkeep steps in to interupt the fight, he loosens his grip on the sword, but only covers it up again when drinks are brought around by the barmaids from the barkeeps humble gesture to stop the fight.
He smiles at the barmaid and takes the beer from her, whilst watching with interest after the blushing girl that left him in a hurry.
When the topic of the undead that had recently been plaging the towns streets was brought up he groans inwardly and and walks over to the huddle of people talking about the subject...

 

Mr Devious -

errrm undead you say, well let's not get too hasty. You know how these local folk tend to exagerate things and what with all the other things happening and all the new faces trudging through the town, it's probably just idle gossip or wild scaremongering. If we start sticking our noses in we could just add to the rumours and worry. Probably not worth our time and bother. Besides, who are we to judge the undead, if indeed there are any, maybe they are not harmful. In my expereince they tend to keep themselves to the night while the good people of the town keep themselves to the day, so not a problem is it. Live and let unlive I say.

 

"I see your point. Yet, I know for a fact, that raising of the dead is quite possible and not a hard task, mind you, for a skilled dabbler in the black arts."

Juhn picks up Mr. Devious' business card and reads it through with a muttered 'hmmm'. Then absentmindedly puts the card back on the table to resume speaking.

"So you see, dear Mr. "Devious", considering the fact that the townsfolk are overly agitated, I'd say there's a good chance undead are skulking about." "And they sure are not as pleasent as you are my friend" he adds with a grin. "Not that I've actually ever seen one, of course"

Then he turns his attention to the dwarf:

"How about you Mist.. ahh lady ? I take it you are a priest ?" He says leaning to take a closer look at the slightly bearded figure.

 

Zey listened to the conversation intently. "I never said Kill the undead, merely suggesting we investigate their source"

 

The tall figure walks over to the group hudled over the one table. He counts one troll, Maybe a half troll, he can't quite tell, a dwarf, a halfling and a few humans, but the way they were huddled he couldn't quite tell.

 

Devious looks up at the tall new comer and seems to consdier him carefully.

'Welcome Sir you look like a man who knows his way around an expedition such as these kind folk are proposing.'

 

The stranger nods at Mr. Devious.
"My name is Drazhar, I'm and assasin, and i can't say that haven't got any experience with using magic either. To your question, yes i have have have had a few" a pause, "expeditions" he smiles, "with the undead."
He takes a chair from the nearby table and pulls up to the groups table. He sits down on it slowly, and looks up at the group of faces. So what is the plan. Are you going to get rid of the menace, link it to rumours to explain the troubled times or are you going to get rid of the dead?"