Hakka
New Member
Posts: 4
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Post by Hakka on May 4, 2016 8:31:54 GMT -5
On the wall next to the wanted poster and other posts, there is now another note that reads:
----- A notice to those who practice the smithing arts.
I, Hakka, am interested in forming a smith's guild. Please find me or leave note at The Singed Wolf's Smithy (also consider this a minor announcement that the forge now has a name). I will discuss member fees, benefits, and such on an individual basis.
Hakka -----
Stamped at the bottom of the letter is an anvil crossed with two swords in dark red wax.
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Post by mulcibaer on May 4, 2016 17:22:13 GMT -5
Those who visit the help board would note a conspicuous absence - The notice from the Necromancer's guild was taken by Jace following the drunken revelry of dinner. Those who stayed in the central tavern following Domhnal's forced expulsion may have seen it, unless they were too drunk to care what a simple healer and mage would do with a Writ of Bounty.
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Post by Raphael Relelhart on Jun 14, 2016 16:40:11 GMT -5
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~ Join the Adventurer's Guild Today ~
By registering with the Guild, you will receive the following perks: * Keep all the treasure you loot. By the law of the land, this belongs to the local Baron. * Gain leniency with the local courts. Do something that's against the law unknowingly, and the courts might understand. * Participate in specific Adventurer's Guild quests that are exclusive to members!
The cost is 5 Silver Coins a month. Please see Raphael Relelhart.
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Post by Raphael Relelhart on Sept 1, 2016 8:46:42 GMT -5
Raphael enters the Tavern, acknowledging no one. He puts a paper up on the board and abruptly leaves. It reads, "WANTED: The Priestling Nahem
For Crimes Against the Settlement
Reward: 20 Silver Coins"
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Post by Tannim on Sept 1, 2016 14:20:58 GMT -5
Tannim walks over to the wanted poster and adds also known as scapegoat for the order of the four pointed star and the adventures guild
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Post by Q'tar on Sept 3, 2016 6:42:20 GMT -5
Q'tar looks up from his vegetable chopping, watches Tannim write on the bill. He frowns, shakes his head, and goes back to chopping.
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Post by mulcibaer on Oct 18, 2016 16:43:13 GMT -5
(Written with crisp, neat lettering amongst the miscellaneous flyers and odd jobs, a bill for summons)
"Late on Sunday before last, the home of Mr. Alberht Giltcoat was looted, and his wife slain. The murderer was seen casting necrotic hexes, and fled south with a number of gems and tomes. Perpetrator was around 5'9", cropped hair of a reddish shade, fully bearded, last seen in tattered green robes and cloak. If you see the individual, or have information on his whereabouts, bring it to the attention of your local Necromancers guild representative."
Torn down by Raphael and promptly reposted once the lich was taken care of. There is an addendum at the bottom:
"Interference with investigations related to ongoing necromancer's guild business is seen as a crime punishable by imprisonment or near death hanging."
Rather than a signature, there is a stamp of a 9 pointed star piercing a circle superimposed over a book.
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Post by Raphael Relelhart on Nov 2, 2016 13:34:09 GMT -5
Raphael enters the tavern and approaches the board.
He places a poster on the board, turns and towards the exit.
The sign says,
"To the Oni who would jest about chopping my hands off when surrounded by his companions. I hereby challenge you to an honor duel. Let us see who has hands at the end of this."
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Post by Moltrin D'Iceni on Nov 2, 2016 17:33:31 GMT -5
Moltrin wanders into the Lounge later that day… wanders over to the bar… orders a tankard of ale from the serving girl… and moves over to a corner to pick up his lute…
And then pauses… sniffs the air… and recognizes a smell(1) that he is familiar from earlier that week.
He stands up, sniffing, following his nose, until he notices the daintily written poster on the well.
Moltrin pauses, puzzled.
And falls to the ground. Spasming. Writhing.
In horror, the serving girl rushes over, wondering what she can do, how she can help. She reaches down, rolls him over…
Sees tears pouring down his face.
A huge grin on his face
And, as the huge Oni catches his breath, the tavern is filled with raucous laughter.
On and on he laughs, finally getting himself back up to a seated position, before falling over again, the laughter ripping through him.
Eventually, some minutes later, he stands. Wipes his tears. Pulls up a seat. And reaches into a backpack for quill, ink and parchment.
He throws down prose, words flowing forth, taking form as he puts his thoughts into words. Quickly the page fills with flowing characters.
After a moment, he leans back on the stool and reads that which he has written. Adds a few footnotes. And then walks up and places his reply above that to which he was replying.
With a final laugh, he tosses back the last of his ale, slaps a few silvers on his table for the bar staff, and saunters out. Laughing still.
As the sound of his chortling fades, the serving girl goes up to the note, and reads the script written thereon.
“Dear Raphaelle,
Thank you for your little note. It made me smile and that is, in itself, a gift in these dark times.
Allow me to address a few misconceptions you appear to have.
Firstly, on my suggestion that, if you could not be bothered to get off of your useless arse, that chopping off your hands might motivate you. You might also recall I also suggested just killing you and hunting for the crystal ourselves.
Apparently, such was not clear. Maybe I used a three-syllable word? Allow me to clarify.
The entire party was ready to face the threat posed to the town. Ready to stand up for what is right. Ready to defend the town and all those within.
But Raphaelle stood in the way. Raphaelle put his own well-being above the hundreds of souls in the town, above that of his companions, new and old.
Such smacks of utter and loathsome self-interest. At best.
More likely, it would be considered cowardice. Passivity in the face of danger while others stand up to fight for you.
Seem familiar?
It should. It was the second time I observed that since entering the town.
The first time was when the undead herald came to the games. Challenge him, you said, see what he is made of.
Oh, ‘Brave’ and ‘Noble’ ‘Paladin’ sending forth others when too afraid to take a stand himself.
Fortunately, some brave soul was willing to stand up and face the invaders, putting no thought to his personal safety in doing so. Such a shame that the ‘paladin’ was not man enough to do it himself.
The irony? The exquisite and beautiful irony? The same cowardice, passivity and shame you demonstrated so aptly as you feared that ‘something might go wrong’ or ‘what if it doesn’t work’, as you hid the crystal for yourself, manifested itself not an hour later.
As those who call you colleagues, those you have known you, fought for their lives in the presence of Xerxes, you stood by. Arms crossed. Sword sheathed. Trembling like a little girl.
But even such is not fair. For there was a lady, one of tender age and slight build, who stood in front of you, holding the reins to a trap that might have cost her life. Even SHE stood before you.
Coward.
In the Oni homelands we have a name for such a person. Such a coward who would push others to fight, yet not have the strength of heart to draw his own steel. Such a “doo’ché”, in the language of my home. I believe that it can loosely be translated as hypocrite, in the common tongue.(2)
But why Moltrin! Why stoop to illustrating the ills of this being, would my companions say!
Simple. Because I, doo’ché, am a Bard of the Old Tradition. I speak truth, and call out lies where I see them.
The first lie? A mere suggestion. An amusing one, actually.
The suggestion that I only proposed harm to you because I was ‘safe’ in the protection of my comrades. How ironic. Ironic that you knew none of those whom you would have considered companions prior to our entry to town would have stood by you.
Ironic that you felt I would not happily do the trivial job of making you talk myself.
The second lie? A misdirection.
An ‘honor duel’ you call for.
How amusing.
Honour, my dear doo’ché, is an earned thing. A thing granted to those who stand firm. To those who act with such.
And a thing that those who cower behind little girls, who cower before undead lords while others fight, who cower before even the herald of a storm, forfeit.
You. Have. No. Honour.
They tell me that you are a 'paladin'. They tell me that you are without emotion.
Cowardice is an emotion, doo’ché. You certainly have more than enough of that for the entire town.
I laugh at your ‘honor duel’.
If you wish to fight me, take a swing.
That would be with your sword, doo’ché… you remember how that is used right?
Or is stun, slap, stun, slap all you have left? All your ever had, you loathsome excuse that disgraces even the word 'paladin'?
How amusing.
Thank you for brightening my day.
With an utter lack of regard or respect for he who deserves none,
Moltrin D’Iceni Bard
Footnotes 1. That smell I smelled? Fear. I smelled it when we first met. I smelled it again when you asked me to challenge the herald. And again, and again. The air was rank with it when Xerxes approached. Fortunately, by then, I could pinpoint its origin. Raphaelle the Coward.
2. Other translations could describe this as a cleansing product used by females. Referring to a person in such a way would normally be a ‘doo’ché waffle’. I would name you such. But even a doo’ché waffle serves a purpose. Has value. Is something other than an utter waste of space.
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Post by cjsolo on Dec 19, 2016 7:58:31 GMT -5
Sharara steps into the Lightning Lounge with a rolled piece of parchment in hand. After stepping up to the message board that is tacked with several pieces of paper, she tidies it up a bit removing those parchments that no longer apply or serve any purpose. She replaces these with one of her own.
It reads:
Adventurers and people of Cinderfall,
It has been asked of those who wish to participate in sharing a personal tale or experience to write it down to be made into a compilation to be sold to those in the north that would like to hear our story. The merchants wanting to do this will be giving payment in return for the compiled work.
If you wish to participate and have a compelling tale to tell, write it down or have it scribed for you. Then submit it to me. Those authors whose tales are put into the compilation will receive a portion of the payment received for the work.
-Squire Sharara Huyana
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Post by Zodean Ironhand on Apr 18, 2017 19:07:01 GMT -5
Zodean quietly steps into the Lighting Lounge with a small piece of parchment looking for a place to put it up on the message board. After posting his parchment on the board Zodean leaves as quietly as he came.
The posting reads as:
Now ready for services both mundane and medical. Ironhand Medical and Alchemical Goods is now open. Basic medical checkups and most services are 1 silver. Potions and other services vary on current market. Free room and board for the wounded and their company to be served on per case basis.
All are welcome and none will be turned away if aid can be provided.
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Post by Zodean Ironhand on Apr 24, 2017 19:52:08 GMT -5
Looking into Lighting Lounge keeping a eye on the comings and goings for the brief time Zodean is in here to place the current parcel he is holding.
To all who read this, a warning of safety and or caution is advised. If you encounter or are forced to fight bandit members of the local gang that has moved in the area as of late known as the Black Rose. Take heed it is known that members of the band are infected with lycanthropy and have been infecting their upper leadership. Currently I am only able to provide a minor vaccine for base contact and a cure for the first stages of lycanthropy but currently my vaccine numbers of vary limited due to the rarity of the herbs needed.
If in need of such aid please seek out Zodean Ironhand or one of the untoched as they now have a sample of the vaccine as well.
Sincerely, Zodean Ironhand.
Safety, and your gods guide you.
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Post by Vex Amastacia on May 11, 2017 10:08:18 GMT -5
Vex perused the postings, his eyebrows shot up at the bounty notice and the incredibly eloquent rebuttle. He nodded approvingly at the bard's vicious wordplay.
There were many other postings that irritated him visibly only because they drew his attention away from what he was looking for.
He passed over the Blacksmith Guild posting, blacksmithing wasn't really something had ever shown any proficiency for. Though it did make him wonder if Ronin was still looking to start that Alchemist's Guild.
When he saw that Zodean's shop was back up and running he nodded and dashed off, hoping to catch the priest both in shop and in a teaching mood.
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