So after a exciting trip to what could only be described as a toxic shit hole, how fair you?
Brief Refresher:  You are currently in the town of Black Rock, and you have just finished a job for the local mage, Mishra.  You notice that Stoic, his companions Oz and Garrow have left town while you recuperated.

On the third day, you find a note from Mishra:

~To Retnu, Zheosyth, and Ilsendre: Please come to my shop as soon as you recieve this note. I have a urgent job for you. I will pay well for your assistance.  Signed Mishra

This post was last modified: 10-04-2009 08:44 PM by Zhor.

[Ilsendre] Crawls out of his inn provided bedding to sit at the edge of the mattress while feeling groggy from doing way too much praying the cycle[day] before. In an appeal to Xamson he took his first bath this week only to be groomed by some locals who were mostly hesitant in providing the service to a Gnolladin[Paladin+Gnoll=FUN!!?!], but alas he is and always will be a paying customer according to the path he's chosen.

After a few moments of staring at the floor and recalling any kind of significant events and discussions he's overheard at the tavern he closes his literature to Xamson he apparently forgot to close and set aside the night before. "This day will be a grand one if not for I, then for these kind citizens of Black Rock. I am a strong determined herald to my Lord Xamson, by word and will be done I lift my--" in that moment Ilsendre notices an out of place paper in the room of the tidiest gnoll one may ever know [himself of course]. He goes to lift it from the floor, for who knows who "used" this room before him, it could in fact be important.

In this chain of thoughts he lifts it to a readable level and finds that it IS in fact important which sets a metaphor in motion. There are after all so many ways to say 'I want to do this' quite beautiful ways actually, like with poetry and skillful word play you might come across when meeting a bard. But the first string of words to come to his mind after reading this note from Mishra were "My life pool gladly deepens with this presumed flood of events waiting for me by meeting this Mishra, so bring the rains of experience to my shores, Xamson" granted this was something he would never say aloud without some before thought so it remains as it is; an ignition to his actions yet to come.

[in short, he prepares to go meet with Mishra even before breakfast, but not blindly forgetting about it either ]

Ilsendre, give me a Gather Information check please and thank you

Roll(1d20)+0:
16,+1 Int
Total:17

By the way, if anybody doesn't have a set of dice with them I suggest using this website

Dice roller

Ilsendre hears a lot of talk about a massive explosion in the north that flattened nearly a square mile of forest.  Someone also helped the town of Elengarde kill the local head of the magic guild, a Lich named Earl Gray

[Ilsendre] The chaotic news that rushes Ilsendre's ears is quite upsetting with the understanding that other terrible things may begin to occur in lieu of these events. But as a trained follower of Xamson it is his duty to share patience and good faith with his fellow denizens of the land, not their pain. For strength in body and soul is a pillar and a staircase to higher aspirations for oneself and for those that notice one's endeavors, for he was taught to set an example to all. Ideally he has the embedded notion that "There are many things to share in this world, so why bring something as emotionally outlandish like pain into the world to suffocate such a beautiful thing such as life?" But again, this was ideal, he knew of the periodic occurrences in the world that caused one to dissolve the beliefs of another through violence, and he was willing to endure them. After all, if he was a pacifist he would have joined a carnival full of selfish entertainers. The lifespan of a bard was well known by many of his gnoll~y kinsmen, it was actually rather funny and used quite a bit in Gnoll jokes.

G. Rassy Gnoll, a comic among his hometown's people once told a joke that went, " Once upon a time, there was a bard and a priest who grew up together as friends in the same neighborhood. The bard was famous for his song and dance and being a numeric revelation[ <--There Will Be Blood joke], he was wealthy beyond people's imagination...especially a peasants. He knew quite a bit the monsters that creeped and crawled in the wilderness and quite confident he could survive on knowledge of the dangers in the world and how to avoid them alone. And more than likely he could, he lived up to it and boasted it as well, in fact he told his friend the priest, "You know, healing isn't everything my friend, there are many things you've no idea about in this world, and its kind of ignorance thats going to get you killed some day...so why don't you stick with me buddy so I can protect you, eh?" the priest thankfully smiled and said," I suppose you're right, you are a good friend, you know me better than anyone."

So one day they set out through the forest to avoid the acclaimed monsters of the eastern lake. Absolutely sure there were no monsters, he KNEW there hadn't been reports of any angry beasts floating around because of his habit of making this kind of KNOWledge known to him. And he was right, there was no monsters in the woods because of the path they took, perhaps knowledge was the ultimate power in the world and this bard surely had it. He researched the river they avoided, the woods and the city after...BUT my friends. He did not think to research the 100 feet of barren field between the city and the woods that they would cross. Why would he? Nothing bad has ever happened there, so why would it now?

The bard and priest were lifted up by a mother roc that would soon bring them to her nest full of soon to be newborn baby rocs. They would starve and be ripe for the eating by the time the babies cracked open their egg shells. The bard knew that baby rocks were stupid bird brains like any other bird, so of course he could outsmart them because after all, he's read about countless battles against countless beasts, he knew what the heroes did to thwart them. He only had to wait for them to hatch so he could bring them down, this was just another notch in his belt.

He turned to the priest and said with a smug face, "Don't worry ,friend, I already KNOW the outcome of this situation." The priest smiled back confidingly. 4 Days passed them, today was the day that the bard said they would hatch because he read about the noises an infant roc makes before hatching. But he said that yesterday over a noisy, hungry stomach...today it he was weak with hunger, lying down in the nest like a diseased peasant. He says "Please my friend, heal me, I am weak. Soon they will be upon us and you a healer, you know nothing battle." "And neither do you, my friend." the priest replied. For today he did not share the bard's smile instead he introduced a new face of his. "I admit you know many things, my friend, but you do not know of this. I am not a priest, I am a thief, I do not know a god, I do not know a father but I do know what I know because of what I've experienced. Poverty, disease, love, hate, killing and...survival." with that the thief looted the weak bard of his money, his jewelry and instruments but left him his books. "I'm sorry but I can't say you know me very well at all." with that he tossed and readied a rope over the edge of the nest and left the bard to the now hatching eggs.

He felt weak beyond the chains of hunger rattling in his stomach, after everything he thought he knew he was ignorant, made a fool of by no one but himself, even if his friend was a healer and he had a rope to escape with, he had only ever read about the simple process of climbing he had never actually done it. All the knowledge in the world was his but not a single drop of experience ever reached his lips. That is what separated the bard and thief's powers of knowledge...experience."

It was funny to a gnoll like Ilsendre, he was constantly walking between a balance of knowledge and strength, that's what it meant to be a Paladin afterall, right?

This post was last modified: 10-05-2009 01:46 AM by Xamson.

Ilsendre: Mishra's shop, is a hub of activity.  As you walked there, you hear more and more about the explosion and the fall of Earl Gray, the lich.  Both were the work of a sorcerer, who is rumored to have been aided by a Githyanki and a elven paladin riding a giant cat.

A courier from the town closest to the alleged explosion describes a giant cloud shaped mushroom boiling up out of the Forest of Sorrows, and a blast of wind ripping through the town.

Zheosyth had for the last couple of days ignored any straining physical activity, focusing solely on aerobics and meditation. All the activity of her new past-time [Bounty Hunting] had left her more distant from her fellow monks with whom she had little social status among to begin with. This had made the short walk up to her quarters very brief with little time in between taking the note into her hands and reading yet another potentially dangerous job offer with good pay and little, if any, benefits...shocker.

In not a moments hesitation she had traded out her casual robes for her new outfit to sit folded on her pillow. A custom-made, pure silk, blood-red Gi with gold trim and belt now adorned her in place of her father's old outfit. Her thoughts permeated with how long she had worn that sickly-looking uniform. A dust covered, torn, stitched up, slashed, battered, stitched up, burned, and stitched up again white gi that had long since lost it's original shade of pure white. How she loved it so, and these thoughts continued on as she headed out of her dwelling and on to the streets to Mishra's shop. Sentiments would have to wait for another day, big girls don't cry.

{Sentimental mumbo-jumbo, skip if not interested in back-story}
Her father's outfit, it had been given to her when she decided to take up training under his guidance so long ago. The day she was ready was when she wore it for the first time; the first time she felt an overwhelming sense of pride, knowing that so much work was put into earning something so important. Over many dangers, trial and tribulations it had been the victim of much abuse and half-decent patchwork, the former being not entirely her fault. Now it was nothing really. A sorry excuse for a rag that had endured far too much and sat alone underneath Zheosyth's bed, folded into a box and retired for good. A pitiable legacy that could never be worn again.

Zheosyth:  As you reach Mishra's shop, her raven jeers at you from his customary perch on her sign.  Inside, you see Mishra helping a mud spattered sorcerer with a flea bitten rat for a familiar.  She looks up as Cornelius (the raven), mocks you into the shop in grand style, leaving you feeling both irked, and welcomed.

She nods to let you know she saw you and turns back to her customer.
As usual, the shop is overflowing with the usual assortment of magical items, scrolls, spell components and other arcane sundries.

After her current customer leaves, she motions you over

Having the slight irritation of the bird was welcome to her ears having heard worse comments regarding her race/appearance. Zheosyth would patiently stand to the side letting customers walk by with no issue. Upon the leave of Mishra's mud-ridden customer, she would walk over Mishra and greet her with a gentle bow. "A good day to you Mizshra, I hope that I am not too late on account that thiz notess urgenSSy zuggestz."

[Side note: Given the lizard lisp, you will notice excessive use of the letters s and z. Also having and oriental tone to her voice could be problematic, so no attempt to modify words further with that will be done]

This post was last modified: 10-05-2009 04:59 AM by bastardpie.