The Boar sits at a corner stool reflecting.
« on: Feb 26th, 2003, 9:13pm »

Sitting at a corner stool in the pub, the cleric looks at the ceiling taking long drags on his tavern pipe full of pipeweed.
"Ack....it's bin a long time since I'd actually thought abou tha day."...........
Walking into the noisy smoke filled pub he notices a large boar over the hearth and a merry faced friar behind the bar. He heard his old friend Credic was hanging his hat here in Glastonbury but could not find hide or hair of him.
"This be the kind o place he would come teh teh relax fer sure. Barkeep a beer please!"
Suddenly a drunkin highlander walks up to him with a full mug in each fist.
"Ello there young cleric, ye'll nay pay fer ye first drink 'ere." The brute hands the cleric one mug and grabs another. He drains both mugs two fisted at the same time and looks down on the seated cleric.
"Care teh play some darts, or are ye as bad as me at it?"
" Worse most probably since i 'ave ne'er played 'afore. I came lookin fer a man named Credic, would ye 'appen teh know his whereabouts?"............

" Now why did i head out in search o Credic all tha' time ago?"
The village in the highlands was much like any other, cool, damp and foggy. The baying of sheep and the bark of dogs was heard from the pastures and the clop of hooves in the four streets.
The Wallace family lived outside the village on a small barley farm, the barley being for the family still.
Rhendadd was a young one then newly married and still in amazment at his newborn son named Culhan. The day was bright as Rhen worked in the field on this planting day just after the spring solstice.
Now this village was far north in the highlands and not but ten miles from a larger seaport that had been around since the bindin of the clans by Arthur's father Uther. The King's death though had left the port with very few armsmen to gaurd it against the coming raid by the Midgaran pirates.
The town was razed and in due time the vikings turned south to strike further inland bolstered by trolls, dwarfs, and kobold hoards.
Looking up from his tilling the soil the young man noticed a column of smoke arizing from the village and then rush home to the sound of drumbeets and measured footfalls.
Diving in the house he cried to his wife, "Flee teh the forest and raise the alarm in the next town. There be monsters 'eaded our way with fiece norsemen leadin them, I'm sure it can nay be good!!"

Rhendadd


The changing of the guard
« on: Apr 7th, 2003, 2:47pm »

The castle sauvage had been quiet for some time, and the guards tried their best to stifle their yawning. The third watch it was, the time most favored of those watched over by shadow.

From the trees walked a woman, tall and willowy, and though she was clad in a bandit's tattered fighting leathers, her grace could not be ignored. Twin daggers swung at her hip as she made her way...lazily...down the road to the castle, and blue eyes flecked with a sharp, light brown smiled at the guards as she passed between them....

...some time later, Aienn of Anakiir remembered to breathe. Sparing a glance up to the sky, a sky lit by the same full moon, she approached the stablemaster.

"Like a ticket, if'n ya don't mind, srr." Five silver made themselves known to the man, who nodded once in reply.

"Where ya goin', then, lass?"

Aienn's lips curled up in an impish smirk. "To Camelot. I'm gonna learn me some dirty tricks, I think..."

Aienn


Yulian Arisen
« on: Oct 27th, 2002, 9:51am »

The tower had grown cold....the coals had been banked and the lamps extinguished. Strange winds howled through along the cobbles of Glastonbury this eve, keeping most of the respectable citizens near their hearths. The figure moving silently, almost ghostlike, throughout the spire was less than respectable. Despite the shadows he seemed aware of every detail. A jar, a quill, precious memories...every item selected in careful fashion before being packed securely in the travel sack. One last look at his beloved village, his steadfast friends, and the tower he called his sanctum and Yulian began his journey north.
Time had taken it's toll on the once proud mage. The pressures of the Glastonbury township coupled with the everpresent threat of the Troll and Elf bastards had become more than he could endure. With sad heart he strode north, looking for a peace that had always been elusive. He was through with the wars. Glastonbury had grown into a fine town. His presence was no longer needed. Solitude was his only desired companion.

As Yulian marched north a new feeling washed over him. It was as if a weight had been removed from his breast. He no longer needed the trappings of a Defender and his simple travelers garb was all that was required. His belongings, robes, weapons all packed so carefully he laid by the edge of the road, casting off his past. Confident and renewed the now former death-dealer walked through the gates of Snowdonia Keep and into his new life.

His explorations took him far from Glastonbury and eventually his curiousity was his downfall. Wandering through the province known as Odin's Gate he never even saw the trolls approach. With no staff, no golem, and no warning he was easily taken. Yulian then learned an important lesson; one could wash his past from his own memory, but enemies would never forget past transgressions.

Tortured and ridiculed, Yulian spent the next several months in the clutches of the hated monsters. Escape was inconceivable. He had no idea where he was and no means to defend himself. His best plan was to keep quiet and hope he would be forgotten. This, however, was not to be...

Every pain, every plague, every suffering was visited upon his now wasted frame. The trolls never grew tired of trying to break his stoic visage. The more cruelty they inflicted the deeper Yulian retreated into his soul. His torn flesh was nothing to him. The broken bones were forgotten. All that remained was a burning, too bright to quench. When, finally, his limp form was removed from the pit he had solidified himself. Yulian had mastered his pain and overcome his sorrow. He now knew his folly and what must be done.

The Cabalist's battered body was thrown into the Sauvage Forest and left for the wolves. From the lichen-covered floor of the dark woods Yulian summoned the last of his waning strength. Though he was unable to move, his mind was focused. A sending was needed. A call to one who would be listening was his last hope. He focused all his energy into one seething ball of despair and hatred and thrust it into the night sky. Hundreds of leagues distant, in the hamlet of Glastonbury, in a dark tower, his sending was answered. The echoing scream burst through his entire body. Yulian smiled for the first time in months, and rolled over to sleep, and wait......

Yulian Dragosani


Shailiha, then known as Sinestro, was having strange visions of late.

With the spirit world wracked in termoil from Morgana's foul doings, the ethereal world grasped and lashed out to those sensitive. Some saw visions, heralds of the new allies, the Inconnu. Others saw great hardship, of beautiful cities laid to waste and overrun with dragon-men.

But this day, Shailiha's refined senses picked up the pain and suffering of not thousands, but one. The visions came wafting through the spirit realm, like feathers on the wind. Faint yet poignant. When the visions became more pronounced and defined, she immediately summoned her guildmates.

-------------------------------

They left hastily when confronted with her telling of dire visions wrought with pain. Onward they traveled, to Castle Sauvage and the wood beyond.

Shailiha's visions were getting clearer now, almost too much for her to handle. She told the band of particular visions, and they knew were to go. Bandits among the forest. Ettins. Giants. There was only one place where these foul creatures and men mingled in Sauvage Forest.

When they arrived, they began searching. The evil woodsmen wandering the valley would need slaying if they were to go any further. And then,... a grave!

T'was no ordinary grave... for upon the headstone read the name known to all present:

"Yulian Dragosani"

Ex


The ghoulish figure watched as the militiapeople stumbled across the bedraggled Cabalist, deep within Sauvage Forest. They raised their voices like the living are wont to do when elated. The battered mage was provided clothing and hearty sustainance from their travel packs. As the Cabalist's spirit returned to the flesh, Nephrix hissed in disgust.

"Perrrhapsss Minion Nephrrrix wait... Wait and watch... watch and lisssten... walk among zem even..."

The sickly necromancer cackled softly to himself. With a long incantation, he sacrificed his body to transform into an undead servant, taking his rightful form among the spirits.

Minion Nephrix


Glastonbury Borne
« on: Apr 21st, 2003, 1:29pm »

Coming in from the freezing rain, Eartwulf shook his massive head, spraying a fine mist throughout the tavern. It was a small one, not yet finished in it's construction, but he was proud of it.

"The Laughin Lion was me home for many a year before the great Destruction, an' Glastonbury were me town," he said to himself and the mangy boar that lay asleep in the corner. "Wot wunce was great, so shall be greeat 'gain, metinks. Glastonbury shall rise, an' shall be know fer it's kindness, it's courage, an it's strenght ter aid those wot needs aidin, er die tryin'."

Eart chuckled. "Oh, an we's gonna drink lots o ale..." He yawned, and headed for the brew that was percolating in the basement. "Mayhap I'll git one or two ter come wit me."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Deep in the night, or perhaps shallow in the morning, 3 lone beings stood on a cliff overlooking the strait. They were quite, but not solemn... just reflective. Glastonbury had nearly died once. Now they had planted the seeds of what could be a new beginning. There was life in the air, and hope, and honor. The Minotaur took the keg off his back, cracked it open, and poured 3 mugs.

Earthwulf


As the sun sets in Glastonbury...
« on: Apr 1st, 2003, 12:56pm »

As the sun sets behind the small township of Glastonbury, a figure makes its way to the back of The Laughing Lion, heavily burdened.

The rear door to the kitchen of the tavern burst open with a loud bang. A tall highlander walks in, turning sideways to allow passage of his burden, a large deer carcase. With a heavy thud, he tosses the skinned and cleaned deer onto the large central table.

Doragar the Cook, busy at the stove, turns toward the man, wiping his hand on his dirty apron, "Well lookie here! A fine slab of meat Toe. And just in time. A band of the king's men stopped by earlier and made quick work of my stores."

"King's men eh?" Toedric questioned as crossed his arms and leaned up against the counter. "Must be trouble brewin' up north again.", he said gruffly. "I been noticin' there be fewer deer up around Gossmar Lake, which be unusal for this time o' year. They must know somethin' ain't right. War is on the wind."

Droagar nods as he draws forth some silver coins from his purse. "Indeed, i don't mind the business now mind ya, but nothin' good comes from it in the end." He passes the coins to Toedric with a nod. "Go grab yourself an ale Toe. I am glad ta have a fine hunter like you around, else i'd be servin' beans and bread every night!".

Toedric nodded in thanks and headed toward the kitchen exit. He rested his hand on the door, pausing for a moment to gather himself. He did not care for crowds. Too loud, too "disruptive" to his senses they were. But, he could tolerate for short periods, especially when a frothy mug of the house special was in his hands. "Just a quick one for th' road", he thought. Little did he what fate had in store for him....

Toedric


Araendor, a new face, but something familiar...
« on: Feb 13th, 2003, 8:00pm »

<Araendor>

<Walks>

Araendor


Hola los de Glas-tonbury
« on: Jan 16th, 2003, 10:16pm »

My amigos call me Rodriguez. Yo soy, how 'jou say, a traveler from el Sur - the es-South. Mi pais is Espania. I camn' to Camelot to fin' adventuras and aid 'jour countries cause.

Today, I came across a citizen of 'jour billage...oh forgive me accent, I am es-still learnin' 'jour language. Anyway, I was told 'jour town could be a place for a
es-stranger to be welcome.

I look forward to meeting more of 'jou.

Hasta luego - until again.

Rodriguez


Goblin Wine
« on: Dec 28th, 2002, 7:59am »

*Izdihar wanders into the tavern, smelling of rum and lavender.*

So. Ah. Well. Yeh. I ah - I ah, found this goblin wine. The, ah, the kindest goblin gave it to me. He gave it to me and then, ah, tied himself to the ceiling like some children's toy. I took a stick to him, only because it would seem like a waste otherwise. But, ah. Yeh.

*Izdihar then places the bottle on a table and ponders it a bit.*

It's, a... yeh, it's a good vintage, methinks. Brought it here for the lot of yeh. Just curious who's eager to actually have the first glass.

*She then opens the bottle - a foul odor wafts from the mouth of the glass jug, causing Izdihar to cough violently for a minute or so. She then takes a mug, and turns the bottle to it...

The wine has a consistency of mud, at best, with pebbles and other unidenfiable stuffs as well. The viscous concontion takes a full minute to pour from the bottle enough to fill the mug. Satisfied, Izdihar turns the bottle back, plugs it, and grins weakly.*

So, ah. Bottom's up. Who's first?

Izdihar


As Carac watches the liquid ooze out of the bottle, she is reminded of all the days spent in the caverns of Tepok's Mine...

"I used t'drink tha' stuff all th'time!!"

And with a nostalgic look in her eyes, she nearly reached out her hand to take the mug, but another hand reached it first......
Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion
---
Earthwulf sits at the table with his two hunting companions. "Ah, them was th' days, eh, Carac? Why, jes saw Teapok tother day, an ee were quiverin' in fear! I'll ha' me a mug, thar Izzy, iffin ye dinna min'. h' gobbie tied imself ter th' celin', ye says?"

Earthwulf


Aye.. those were th'days...

Carac


<Jonn>

Drink? Did someone say drink?

Brother Jonn


<walks>

Now yeh donnae 'ave t'old back b'cause yeh 'ad jus' th'one bottle, Izdihar!! 'ere, let me pour yeh a glass!

<sets>

'appy new year t'yeh all! T'another great year with th'lot o' yeh!!

<tips>
Donnae be shy Izdihar... Tha' mug's jus' fer yeh! All t'yerself!!

<nudges>
Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Erm, Deady? Tha 'he' ye be talkin aboot be Izzy's simarcaplinum... she's hidin behin' tha' big grey ape...

Earthwulf


<suddenly>

Here ye go!

Just thought id...bring it over to ye.

Deadus


His Divine Shadow falls upon Glastonbury
« on: Jan 6th, 2003, 4:58pm »

For weeks now the newcomers had blended into the mundane town life of Glastonbury. No one suspected the motives behind their daily actions. Every day that passed on the bright surface world the minions worked methodically towards their goal. And that goal was soon to be realized with the arrival of their leader.

The day was bright and the townsfolk were busy talking about something. The four strangers walked into town, their faces hidden within hooded robes. Two of the figures were short, barely reaching the waist of the other two. They all wore grey and red robes with a black skull in the center.

The four companions moved to the center of town and noticed a crowd gathered around the tavern known as the Laughing Lion. They had noticed that something was always happening in that place. Mostly it was filled with drunken people that called themselves the Irregulars. The minions had studied the Irregulars and assessed their abilities and prowess.

The smaller figure in lead turned towards the Lion.

Outside the tavern a Cabalist simulacrum held in its arms a figure of a woman. As the four companions stood nearby a figure, in robes standing in front of the simulacrum, turned to others behind him.

"Thar be nothing I cin do fer her. She be beyound thar Lord's reach." He lowered his head for a minute.

"Ye are correct, Cleric!" The figure in lead spoke in deep and cruel voice.
"Yer god cannot save her now. She requires the attention of one of our priests."


<Right>

"Hail Glastons!
Greet ye Ah do with open hand. Ah am Saltheort Bytholanysbryd, Overlord of the minion ye see with me and others. We have been sent to yer Upperworld to lend aid in defeating Morgana and her Drakoran allies.

Aware ye must be of what has happened to Avalon. Perhaps even ye know the pact Morgana has forged with the Drakoran. Here Ah stand with my bretheren seeking to form our own alliances. Command those Ah do are known as Divine Shadow. Few we are, but a force nonetheless. Our forces combined we may be able to turn back the forces of Morgana and the Drakoran.

Ah shall let yer elders speak of this proposal to become allies against a common enemy. As a gesture of our intention to aid ye, we shall take this woman and repair the damage that was done to her by Morgana. <snicker> Aye, Ah do know what has happened to her. Ah have seen it before."

The figure, calling himself Saltheort gestured to the figures behind him. One of the figures began to cast a spell. Strange words and sounds came from the depths of the hood. The air began to crackle and dust began to stir. Then suddenly the figure seemed to disappear and in his place stood a figure nearly nine feet tall. It's skin was ashen. It's limbs were grotesquely elongated. It moved toward the simulacrum, bent it's boney muscular arms and took the woman in it's hands. The elongated fingers wrapping themselves around the body like a predator holding a meal.

The now three cloaked figures and the giant walked out of the town, with the limp form and more importantly the proposal for an alliance.

The grey and red cloaks with the black skull fluttered in the wind as the figures left the town.

Saltheort Bytholanysbryd
Necromancer
llywodraethu ar, Divine Shadow

The Missing Son of Glastonbury, part 1
« on: Dec 5th, 2002, 1:33pm »

Many years ago there was a simple family of cloth weavers, the Mowgens to be exact. There was nothing all that special or out of the normal about them. Marylynn and Mikiah Mowgen lived in a small house raising their only son, Dahrnkiel. A small, but loving family living in Glastonbury, and constantly on the road delivering their woven goods to other nearby cities.

When Dahrnkiel was 4 years old, however, this all changed. Only a mile outside the borders of Glastonbury, on their way back from a sucessful sale, a group of bandits jumped the Mowgen family. Mikiah being the blockheaded and stubborn fool he was tried to stop them, noly to find a bandit's sword thrust into his chest. Dahrnkiel watched in horror as his father turned white, then collasped in front of him, turning to his mother in time to see another bandit decide to slash her throat open, her blood spilled on the ground before him, Dahrnkiel could only open his mouth and could not muster any sound. The bandits looked at the shocked kid and laughed, decided to leave him there with the bodies of his parents and they fled into the night with the money the Mowgens earned earlier.

About 7 hours after the attack as night was beginning to fall, a patrol of guards who have heard of groups of bandits roaming the area decided to take a look. They soon after came across the horrorific scene of the Mowgen cloth weavers dead, with their son, covered in his parent's blood kneeling there on his knees, unmoving, and eerily quiet still. A funeral was held the next day for Dahrnkiel's parents, and the Church agreed to take the son in, who has still not said a word, nor even shed a tear. Perhaps with their love and care he'd once again have a chance to lead a normal life.

Over the course of the next half year Dahrnkiel made no changes for the better. While still mute, but seemed to wake up shivering horribly, even in the summer months, and generally felt very cold. He eventually did regain his voice, but the child only mumbles to no one in particular, talking about dreadfully dark things like, death, and spirits like he was having conversations with himself. The priests grew fearful Dahrnkiel was becoming possessed by some sort of demon in his strange ramblings. They tried to purify his spirit buy each time met with failure. It seemed to darken all the moods in the Church knowing the boy couldn't be helped by anyone.

As the ramblings got worse and worse, Dahrnkiel stared out of the church windows and into the horizen, always in the same direction as before. Then one night, while the priests were all asleep, the child snuck out of his, and slipped out the church doors in the midst of night, in the direction he was staring to. And after that, no one from the church saw him again.

Dahrnkiel Mogwen


<shudders>

Tha' ent somethin' I like t'ear 'bout 'appenin' 'round our own back door, if'n yeh know wha' I mean... But it kinna sounds like th'lad Dahrnkiel 'as some settlin' t'do with all th'bandits tha' lurk 'round th'landscape.

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


A Common Foe
« on: Nov 25th, 2002, 12:20pm »

A few weeks after the alliance between Morgana and the Drakoran was formed. The armies of undead and dragon-men marched upon the lands of Albion.

Avalon had fallen, the celestial order in chaos, the future of Albion uncertain.

************** *************************

Hail Glastons!

<Right>

"Greet you I do with open hand." The dark figure stood at the edge of town, upon the road leading out or in. Behind the person that had spoken stood several strange figures. They seemed to be all dressed in a similar fashion. A gloominess seemed to follow them.

"Aware you must be of what has happened to Avalon. Perhaps even you know the pact Morgana has forged with the Drakoran. Here I stand with my bretheren seeking to form our own alliances. Command those I do are known as Divine Shadow. Few we are, but a force nonetheless. Our forces combined we may be able to turn back the forces of Morgana and the Drakoran."

The figure and those behind moved off the road and waited for a response. Their grey cloaks with the blood red chevron and skull fluttered in the wind.

Anysbryd
Reaver
llywodraethu ar, Divine Shadow


Eyes flicking
back and forth, looking around him, alert for any that might want to do him harm, Our Hero steps up to the doors of the Laughing Lion, and steels himself. And is then knocked rightly on his arse in a most unseemly manner by two patrons, rauciously exiting Afore Mentioned establishment.

Sitting there in the mud, Our Hero looks up sheepishly, and states in his most nobly affected voice "Och, tha' 'appens e'ry time I get near on' o' them door tingys..sigh."

The Two Companions look down perplexedly at the lad sitting there in the muck. The woman in Plate and the obvious Sneak Theif start to snicker.

Wulfred


<with>

'ere yeh go lad!

Pulling the mud dripping Wulfeye to his feet, Carac exclaims, "ACK! Yer light as a feather!! I nearly threw yeh back int' th' door!!

Putting an arm around the shoulders of the mud caked lad, Carac leads him inside the doors, and sets him down in a chair near the fire.

Oy Daylan! Yeh bes' be startin' somethin' warm t'brew an' in th'mean time... I'll buy this lad a few ales...

Carac wanders up to the bar to retrieve the ales, setting a small purseful of coins on the bar...

Bes' see tha' this boy ent walkin' outta 'ere til 'es good an' ale-soaked.

Grinning, Carac returns to Wulfeye at the hearth...

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Our Hero greatfully accepts the companionship... and the ale. Especially the ale. Really, the ale is what keys his interest...

"Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, an' I does appercerate yer kin'ness... but what might be th' honor o' yer name? I be Wulfeye..."

Wulfeye


Carac's m'name... Donnae listen t'wha' this lot calls me.

<hides>

Carac'll do jus' fine. Drink yer fill m'friend, I left 'nough coin on th'bar fer a whole days worth o'drinkin'! (e'en fer me)

<refills>

Flyin' Friar's finest ale 'ere... Tha' boy Daylan can make a fine brew 'e can! So, wha' brings yeh ta Glastonbury? I do love a tale wit' m'drinks!

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


How can ye not have heard of Carac!

Shes almost as famous and mismatched as me <grins>

Deadus


Our Hero stares thoughtfully into his 3rd mug, after having spilled one and broken another. He is not what one would call the embodiment of grace. Looking at Carac and the new one, Deadus, he grins.

"Well, I dun 'eard that Glastonbury
ha' drunken sots an thick ale slurry
An nights with friens most Irregular,
So I thought I'd stop in, ma'am 'n sir.
Wi' tales o' folks that doth begin
Of friens wot stick through fat an' thin
Be it in times o good or times o bad
Tis said th' Irregs are th' best to be had
I wan' ter try me hand, me friens,
At this guild wot seems ter last til' th ends."

Blushing, he took a quick drink and sat on the cat, mumbling into his cup "Or something like that..."

Wulfeye


<clapping>

If'n tha' ent th' best I 'eard in a long while!! Ver'nice lil poem yeh 'ave there, Wulfeye!

Whispering to the lad behind her hand... "Mebby we'd do best t' glue yer 'and t'tha' mug, yeh know... jus' in case."

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


...following a wayward breeze...
« on: Nov 4th, 2002, 8:56am »

<Along>

Salutations to you, Irregulars of Glastonbury. I admit I had not...intended to be visiting your fair city, but, thinking on the words of good Sir Mordru, and young Eathan as well, I...thought I might pay my respects, and see where it takes me.

I am Mildred, a Friar of no great skill, though I have been wandering the realm idly for many months. Joining a guild is...not truly my intention at this time, but nonetheless, I have found great company in several of your number. Have any of you need for me, know that my services are at your disposal.

<curtsey>

Mildred


"Welcome t' the Laughin' Lion tavern, young friar! I am sure yer company is well regarded by fellow Glastons, fer the travels arduous are oft' softened by a friendly companion."

<Excelsius>

"Rest ye here a while, share some tales! Perhaps some o' them ye've met along yer path will wander in an' say hullo!"

Ex


<Yet>

"Greetin's, sister Mildred! What can I get for ya? I guarantee ye, I stock more exotic brews than any other barkeep in Albion, and I have some fine home concoctions too - what's yer pleasure?!"

Mildred


(the door bangs open, revealing a large bag that seems to be squirming around, supported by a pair of blue boots............Prioress drops the bag in the middle of the floor, where it squirms, squeaks, and generally behaves as if it is full of unhappy small people)

Hail Irregulars!

I were just over at the Friar's pub.......one o the regulars taught me a really interesting game using, of all things, Lurikeens....

(the bag makes a particularly unpleasant squealing, and a small hand snakes out of the neck of the bag and feels around on the floorboards)

OI!! down ye buggers!

(Prioress smashes the bag repeatedly with the butt end of her staff until it stops squirming, and just lies there gurgling)

What have we here? a new face? and a friar at that?

Delightful!

Welcome to the Lion, Miss Mildred, a pleasure to see ye stoppin by......

Now if ye all will grab hold o' that sack and drag it outside, I'll show ye how this game works.......

Prioress


Warwulf sees the young lass walk into the Lion. With drinks in hand and puffing on his pipe he staggers towards the gathering crowd.

Not seeing the squirming bag on the floor, Warwulf trips and slides to the foot of the young friar lass.

Sounds of snoring and gentle chirpings emanate from Warwulf as he falls asleep where he lay.

Chiraghdin


<Somewhat>

Thank you all, I...

<Her>

I...uhm...Lurikeen?

Mildred


<awakes>

Welcome teh Glastonbury lass hope teh see ye round in the future.
<looks> Lass we need teh take this out back in the yard fer more room....i'd like teh learn this game.
<drinks>

Rhendadd


<pokes>

Hello i am Deadus...yes, the famous one.

Deadus


Famous? Ye mean that trick with the cow got out?

Lorric


A note is tacked high above the door to the Laughing Lion, pinned to the wooden framework of the inn. For those curious few who take the time to decipher the eloquent Avalonian script, it reads:

Dear Mildred,

If you are reading this, you are here, which is good, because that means you are not violating the First Law of Unitary Dimensional Location. It is also bad because there is an ale spill behind you and you are a wee bit off balance from reading this.

Now that you are back on your feet, I will be brief.

My apologies for not being here in person to greet you. My order has me quite busy defending the realm, and a personal quest of mine has left me quite drained. I have been forced to act sooner than I wished in both regards....

...but that is neither here nor there, so to speak. Welcome to Glastonbury! As warm and friendly a burg as you will ever find, you will rarely have recourse not to smile and laugh here. There is ale a'plenty - though don't let Daylan buy you one, or Lorric, they tend to run up a bill - and coffee under the counter if you prefer it.

Stay away from the Cabalists, they're nothing but trouble, and be wary of wild horses at night, and be mindful of cryptic notes written by tired Theurgists that think too much of themselves.....hmm...ignore that last bit.


Signed, Myrthemne Maegis'leigh

P.S. I minored in Astrological signs at Lethantis, if you were wondering.

P.P.S. Yes, I failed that course. Stop snickering, Daylan.

P.P.P.S. One of these days I will make a study of Low Britton, until then, I hope you can understand my High Avalonian script. Fare thee well, Mildred, my best wishes are with thee.

<Daylan>

<It>

Such warm greetings...I see that Sir Mordru's claims of this fair town were not amiss. I look forward to meeting more of you, as...time...allows.

Mildred


<Walks>

"Majicians! ...'ere then, nuthin a quick mop can't cure"

<waves>

Ex

Donnae call Danae a barwench Excel! Yeh know she'll do yeh in fer tha'!

<snickers>

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Greetings, again. Sort of.
« on: Oct 31st, 2002, 12:52am »

It has been some time since I first came here, if I even spoke at all, I'm not certain. I'm Ethann, also known as Eathan. I was of the Crimson Band, and then the Wayward Band... but they seem to have thinned out, and I seek more numerous companions. I've known some of you for some time, and have travelled with at least one of your number, Mordru, recently.

I am curious as to how one takes up residence in your village, as I'm in need of a new home. I have fond memories of your company, and would like to at least learn more.

Eathan, friend of the earth
---
Hail Eathan

Aye, I think everyone must have noticed the decline of the Band. I've just recently rejoined the Irregulars myself, but I'm sure that you'd be welcome in Glastonbury <smiles>

Elorian


Daylan!

A Round of Ale fer Eathan, Elorian, meself and ah what the hell, the whole Tavern! Get them all what'er they wish.

And yes, put it on Lorrics tab.

<hiccup>

Frederyck, the Surly Carpenter


<Daylan>

"Lorric has given ye permission ta' charge to his tab? I hope ye know, the sneak is runnin' up quite a bill here, and if'n he doesn't pay, I'll be sendin' Carac out to toss him about some. Ye be sure ta' tell him he owes a heap o' coin, aye?"

"Oh, and Ethann; good ta' see ye! I b'lieve ye knew me old friend Caerlyon way back, he has mentioned ye and yer little rock friends. He also mentioned that they skipped quite nicely across the lakes in Lyonesse, but I dinna know much about that. Welcome to ye though, mate!"

Daylan


Ah, yes, I believe I remember him... if vaguely. It has been much time since I've been that far south, I must say! And much has happened in the meantime. Some good, and some ill, but all likely necessary in the grand scheme.

Eathan


"Greetin's an' welcome, Ethann!

Aye, ye come t' the right place. Drinks first, eh?"

<chuckles>

"Aye th' well-bein' o' the Band weighs heavy on me heart, mate. Ye are more'n welcome t' stand among us, or at least sit a spell an' enjoy some libations."

Ex


<stomps>

Where is he!!!

FRED!!! WHERE YE HIDN!!!


If any o ye see him...tell him I'm lookn fer him, aye?


<leaves>

Lorric


<sees>

Daylan


<wonders>

And what instrument do ye play, good sir?

Ah, no matter......i donnae think there is enuff room fer a stage in the Lion right now.

I do hope ye all will play a tune er two fer us once the rest o yer bandmates arrive, perhaps we can set up a bandstand out back fer ye.

Prioress


<sneaks>

Ello again Daylan! remember that code i told you about a week ago? <shows> heh, seems the wenches be talkin to each other <grin>. I didn't even know that last lass what slapped me and said NO! <wink>

Lorric was here? An his shorts was too tight? Wonder what that sneaks problem is. Oh, his tab, well that aint my problem, he didn't say fer me to stop using it did he? heh, good.

<Yells> Another round fer the house! Compiments of Lorric!

<chugs>

Well, I best be going, take care friends <wave>

Frederyck, the Surly Carpenter


<offers> Welcome teh our tavern me friend o hope ye ave a good time here.
<passes>

Rhendadd


<smiles>

I'm glad ye found yer way here Ethann

Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars


<Myrthemne sits in the corner of the room facing the fireplace, perched on a thin stool and balancing his staff sideways on his head. For a moment he has the oddest look of concentration on his face - then he hears Eathans' name called out, and collapses in a great crashing of staves, stools, and shouting>

From the ground Myrthemne groans out "Ah, hello again Eathan. Pull up a chair, if you like....and help a man up, would you?" with a grin.

Myrthemne


<helps>

Please, let me help you... what precisely were you doing with your staff, anyhow?

After having a bit of a look about, I think I may do with something of a small home in the hills to the northeast of the town proper, if that is suitable to the town. Where might one purchase supplies for building?
<looks>
Cheaply?

Ethann


<accepts>

"I was concentrating, Eathan, on a problem. Well, more precisely, I was trying to ignore the problem by concentrating on everything else...it was going quite well for a spell too!"

<ponders>

"You could fetch them yourself, by slaying a few of those Carniverous Trees, or you could perhaps ask one of the Paladins to chop down a few normal trees for you. (If you tell them its for a wonderful good, like sealing up a demon, they go right for it) For nails and such, just see the village blacksmith."

<Myrthemne>

"I must go....I would recommend starting your home quickly, or simply staying in the inn a while..."

Myrthemne finishes with no traces of humor left on his face. "....It seems a storm is coming."



Myrthemne


Myr... i wouldn't go to far in belitteling the paladins of god... <smiles>

Tyrfnir


<Replies>

"I have never in all my days spoke badly of a truehearted Paladin! Now, stop listening to private conversations, young Tyrfnir, and go help Eathan construct his four-walled wooden demon trap."

Myrthemne

So....this is the Laughing Lion eh?
« on: Nov 4th, 2002, 6:07pm »

*The door swings open, revealing a short, hooded figure. The figure walks in silently and sits at the nearest booth. As the waitress approaches nervously, the figure slowly removes his hood, revealing a bearded Saracen face, and a devious grin. The Saracen reaches in a pocket, and pulls out two gold coins, tossing them casually on the table.*

"Give me the largest portion of the best ale you have. I am weary from my latest job, and need some liquid to soothe my soul. or perhaps you might be more soothing, madame'?" The Saracen said in a casual, yet focused tone.

The waitress smiles as she turned and heads to the bar. The Saracen, takes his Main Gauche, unsheathes it, and places it carefully on the table, making sure to spread the towel he carried with him on the table first. The weapon is still wet with blood from his last job, so he takes special precaution not to get any on the furniture or floor.

He wipes the blade clean, then takes out a small stone and began to sharpen the blade. As he is sharpening his blade he says to himself:

"So this is the place Rhoane spoke of. Nice digs, for sure. I'd think I wouldn't mind operating out of this town. I'd think it'd be a bit easier to get my jobs and payments in an out-of-the-way town like this one. Wonder who runs this joint? I'll ask Rhoane next time we meet, if i remember and am not busy....aww great. time to exit stage left."

The Saracen utters this last remark as he watches two guard-like Britons walk into the building. He notices the emblem on their shields, and on their cloaks. It is that of the Cotswold Guard Patrol, the police unit of Cotswold. He gathers up his belongings quickly, strapping his Main Gauche to his hip, and a Gladius to his back, while quietly standing, and mkaing his way to the back of the tavern. He replaces his hood, just as he walks past the two Guards. The Saracen takes two steps past the guards, and stops briefly to eavesdrop on them as they speak with the Bartender.

"We're looking for a Saracen Mercenary. goes by the name of Meyvon Alarein. seen him? no? you sure about that? ok, i'll take your word for it. but if you do see him, report him to us. He's suspected in the murder of a Cotswold Noble earlier this evening. We got an anonymous tip that he'd be in this area, so keep your eyes open."

The Saracen stands quietly as the Guards walk past him and exits the tavern. He then looks at the bar, locking eyes with the bartender, who gives him a knowing glance.

The Saracen thinks to himself:

"The bartender knows. Why he didn't give me up is beyond me. Well, now is not the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. Now is the time to find the snitch who ratted me out. I will start with my employer. I smell a set-up."

The Saracen Mercenary exits the Tavern quietly, keeping his face hidden to all. He looks up at the night sky, and grins beneath his hood.

"Well, time to go back to work."

Meyvon


<looks>well lad nice teh meet ya....here ave some whiskey

Rhendadd


Daylan leans casually against the bar and watches the mercenary leave before he turns back to the glasses and mugs he was polishing. A slight grin flashes across his face as he remembers the look on the saracen's face when Daylan got rid of those guards. An interesting character, that mercenary; perhaps he would be at home here in Glastonbury.

Of course, it was likely that Meyvon would be quite happy anyplace where officers of the court and the royal guard were unwelcome; and Glastonbury certainly fit that bill.

Well, if Meyvon were ever looking for a place to be safe from prying eyes, now he knew that the Laughing Lion would be a safehouse for him.
Daylan, Barkeep of the Laughing Lion
---
Offer him some of your coffee when next ye see him, Daylan. Maybe then he would stay a little so we can get to know him.

Nazia


I 'eard tha' Meyvon was about?
I wish I'd 'ave been 'ere t'wish 'im well... As tough a mercenary I've e'er seen, but when I met 'im 'round th' bridge t'salisbury plains, 'e seemed ver'friendly!

Well, may as well 'ave an ale or two whilst I'm here!!

<Rhoane>

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Daylan pours a frothy mug of chilled ale for Rhoane before putting on a fresh pot of coffee, with a nod to Nazia.


Erm...ah...hello
« on: Oct 20th, 2002, 1:19pm »

A loud creaking followed by the squishing of wet boots and dripping clothes, along with a chill draft emanating from the door, alerted the more astute regulars of the Laughing Lion that a newcomer had arrived. Or, atleast, the more or less sober ones.

The stranger was at the moment a smallish huddle of soaking robes, out of which protruded an old, bent staff. After a few awkward moments of wringing, shivering, and some irritated mumbling, a brief flame erupted around the strangers staff, covering everyone nearby in a thick cloud of steam.

Emerging from his own fog, the stranger looked around sheepishly as he took in the room full of bemused expressions and drunken scowls.

"Ahem...ah...you see... this Daylan fellow, nice chap and all, invited me here...I'd always wanted to see your lovely burg. Truly it is lovely, even with the rain and cold and marauding bandits and all... ah, hello?"

Myrthemne


<swoops>

Greetin's t'yeh Mthmnrmane (trips over the pronunciation and mumbles)! Good t'ave yeh! Come 'ave a seat by th'fire an' warm yer bones with th'stout an' th' fire. Daylan's usually tendin' th'bar, but 'e 'as a way o' makin' 'is rounds fer 'ellos.

<smiles>

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


<Deadus>

Glenin turns from the bar and says ' As Daylans nae here ? alright ta get me own ? ye look mighty comfy by the hearth . Ill leave some coin behind the bar '

<nips>

'Anyone else want one ?'

<surveys>

A pint o' Flyin' Friar Stout, if'n yeh'd be so kind, Glenin.

<grins>

An' I'll jus' move this pile o' green platemail outta th'way so's Me.. meth.. mumble can sit 'ere by th'earth...

Carac


"Myrthemne. Mere-them-knee. Well, close enough."

The obviously worried and somewhat out of place traveler takes a nervous seat next to Carac, balancing precariously on his seat to stay both near the fire and a proper gentleman's distance from the lass.

"Th-thank you for the fire, its bloody cold outside." Myrthemne peers around with a curious expression.
"I dont suppose there is anything, other than spirits to drink? And perhaps a spot of food? I can pay."

The traveler begins to relax a little, thinking to himself - Perhaps Daylan was right - these people seem to be a good sort, if a little rough. And perhaps a smidge dirty. And there is that dreadful accent. But, we can't all grow up in lethantis, he reminds himself, forgiving them the slight of their birth.

"Well, you all know my name, more or less. I am a magus from the Lethantis Association, in training defend our realm. I have come here to, ah, meet some of your citizens and see if you live up to the reputation a good friend of mine has given you - you may know her, the good friaress Prioress."

A brief frown creases the Theurgist's face. "I really need to find a better title for that lass."

Myrthemne


At a break in the conversation, a hollow thud sounded from the room directly behind the bar. A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a young friar in disheveled robes, his hair flattened on one side and poofed out on the other. He looked around a little groggily, then his eyes lit on the newcomer at the bar.

He smiled slowly, the look of confusion on his face gradually being replaced with a bright grin.

"Ahh, Myrthemne! Good t' see ye! Ye'll have ta forgive me, I was takin' a bit of a nap in me room; I were dreamin' that a troll was about t' toss me from a keep wall, and then I awoke face down on th' floor."

Daylan smiled a little bashfully, and then noticed the empty bar before the mage.

"Eh mate, be ye wantin' some drink or food? I recently met a traveller from saracen lands who taught me how ta make 'Coffee', and he sold me a sack of his best beans. None o' these blighters will try th' stuff, but it might be just right fer a magus, eh? An' I can whip ye up a nice leg of lamb and some roasted potatos if ye want too!"

With that, Daylan struggled to straighten his robes and smooth down his hair as he began to bustle back and forth between the bar and the kitchen.

Daylan


<Solitiri>


<Rhendadd> Welcome ter Glastonbury lad.
<Rhendadd> I'll take some o tha coffee....goes good with the whiskey.
An i'll be needin a few travelin bottles agin...seems someone watered mine when i was nappin.
<Rhendadd>

Cookies and ale Soli? What a revolting combination
Elorian

<Deadus>

<Deadus>

Daylan began fussing with his new grinder and coffee pot, obviously enjoying serving his friends.

"There ya go Rhen, an' I have heard that it goes well wi' a bit of yer spirits. Oh, an' Myrthemne, yer lamb and potatos will be right up, and thanks t' Carac I have some fresh vegetables t' put on th' side!"

<Excelsius>

"Myrthemne, aye I noticed that name in me travels just recently. Serindipity 'tis, fer ye have found this tavern an' the folk within. Yer name made me curious when I passed ye a few days afore..."

<Excelsius>

<Warwulf tries to swoop next to metha...mither...someone's knee, trips over a green hunk of armour on the floor...falling to the floor and lay there snoring>

Strangely, the bottles of whiskey did not spill a drop.

Warwulf

<The> Greetings M'lord. 'Tis good to meet a friend of our young Prioress. And we certainly can use more people of the magikal sort! <She>

Daylan, I should be more than pleased to share your coffee, it is something I have missed greatly in these dank lands. While the tea is enjoyable, coffee is a taste of home. And I must say that Cait's cookies would be excellent with a good cup of coffee!

Nazia


Daylan was a veritable whirlwind of activity, brewing steaming mugs of coffee and turning juicy legs of lamb on a spit over the massive fire.

As the Irregulars came in from the driving rain one by one, none sat long before a cup of strong coffee, a steaming mug of mulled spiced cider, or a hot tankard of rum appeared in front of them. The young friar was busy, but his face glowed with a bright grin as he met the needs of his friends.

"Aye Nazia, I am glad t' have found some'at that ye like t' drink, and I thought of ye when I bought these beans from that saracen trader!"

<Prioress>

Well now, tis about time ye got here, Myrthemne, been telling these folk lies about what a fine person ye are.....

Sorry i weren't here right off when ye arrived, I were ummmmm...taste testing the cellar stock....can't have it going bad y'know.....

<takes>

<Carac>

Ent no need t'get yer plottin' look about yeh... Yeh jus' need a bit more ale, methinks.

<Carac>

(to keep both hands busy)

Har!!! Tis good ter see so many friends in the tavern....
course who would like ter be ou' in tha'.
<Rhendadd>
MMMM...tha be a taste tha goes a long ways,specialy on a cold wet day as we ave in these parts alot.
<Rhendadd>

Glenin takes a tentative sip of the steaming mug.

'Hmmm it does taste good! and hot too !'

Wraps her hands more tightly around the mug

'Hmm Daylan, please can I have one of these things of Coffe ? and Rhendadd some of what ye poured into it' <grins>

Passes the mug back and waits for her own.

/looks up from the corner table where she has been scribbling by candle light

/smiles at Myrthemne and waves

/walks up to the bar and leaves a big plate of cookies for all to enjoy.... and to dip in their ale of course

/walks back to the corner table to continue her scribbling and hopes for chance to finish and join her friends
Cait

<Deadus>

Thankyeh Rhen...

<Carac>
<Carac>

Tha' stuff would nay be 'alf bad, if'n yeh jus' took th'coffee outta it!

<Carac>

*A fresh faced nun peeks in...
« on: Jun 29th, 2002, 5:22pm »
...timidly at first, her mood changing like quicksilver*

"YOU! Jes because yer a singer now don't mean ye can be missin' Mass!"

*storms over to Doil, attempting to drag him outside to howls from the patrons and a showering of ale*

>splutters and sinks to pray<

"Dear Lord, I see the task ye've laid 'fore me. I pray ye give me the strength...."

*rises up to release her old friend and meet her newfound companions*

Moiree

.....

Lorric

<Rhendadd> Hey what're ye doin ere lass i ave no seen ye in an age.<Rhendadd> Ere
try some o me brew,<Rhendadd> It be the Lords own recipe fer whiskey now passed ter me in a revilation from Himself.

<Excelsius thought he spied the young nun floating through the Lion's hallways...>

*Carac wanders up to the nun with 2 ales behind her back, gently puts an arm around the nun's shoulder and offers Moiree one of them*

Carac whispers in the nun's ear, "here, this oughtta help tha' fresh face o'yers, yeh donnae want t'be too innocent lookin' 'round 'ere!"

*Carac looks around at everyone, raising her mug in toast*

Greetin's t'yeh all! Seems like years since I 'ave seen a friendly face! Good t'see a whole room full o'em atlast!

*Carac pulls up a seat at the bar with a signal to the bartender to keep the ale flowing*

CARAC!!!!


<faints>

Lorric

*Carac revives Lorric with a sip of flying friar's finest*

Hya wee one! Good t'see yer still a pushover.

<Daylan>

Carac! So good t' see ye again!

Hmm...

Since Carac and Lorric are twins, they better stop flirtin!

Or else the friars round here gonna have a tizzy fit!

Frederyck

*Carac tosses back another ale while embracing Daylan in a bear hug*

M'ammer does all th'flirtin' I need done, Fred... an' I ent introduced poor Lorric t'bessie-the-hammer.

tis good t'be back in th'tavern, though I ent wandered int' th'lands o'Albion in ages!

sure good t'see yeh all initiatin' new boars all th'time!


*Deadus waits for a bear hug*

<Carac>

<Deadus>

<Deadus>

An Introduction to Cait!
« on: Sep 26th, 2002, 12:59pm »

Hello my new friends. Thank you for inviting me to your town. I am thrilled to be living here and I look forward to sharing a laugh and a pint in the near furture. I thought I would say hello and offer a few words about my history and nature.

Cait first stepped Albion, Nimue in the somewhat incongruous form of an Avalonian Cleric known as Sula. Naively, she invested her starting skills, not in piety which would have been most suited to her job description, but in intelligence and charisma because she wanted to be smart and have people like her. Surprisingly, perhaps, Sula grew to 33 seasons in the company of several fine friends, notably a brave and most-loved companion scout named Tatau, a noble fellow cleric named Throne LeStat and her fine Guild, The Sisterhood.

Soon however the Northern climes called to her and she began a new career as a mighty Thane in Percival where she was known as Sula Stormcaller. She considers herself fortunate to have made many friends and comrades and has come to love her family of Fallen Souls and her brothers and sisters throughout Midgard. Recently, however, after battling bravely for 50 seasons Sula Stromcaller felt the need for a new challenge. She has returned to Albion, Nimue as Cait - stronger, wiser and in the form of a Briton Scout who enjoys, enormously, her ability to move about undetected.

Cait, is happiest when her friends like her cookies since baking is the only part of being a girl that she ever got right. Her tender soul is gaurded only by studded leather armour and her sense of community. She is fiercely protective of the latter and you will likely feel a chill surround her if she puts to use her "insta-mood flash" ability. This special gift was provided by her trainer for protection against the "bigger-faster-more types" that threaten the realms. While you will find Cait, to be playful and kind you will also find in her a firmly defined set of ideas regarding fair play and the nature of respect - simple ones really: share your toys, be humble, lead with compassion and by inspiration and live like the revolution has already happened.

Cait


Well met Cait Archer!

<bow>

I am proud and happy that ye have found a home in Glastonbury.

Chiraghdin


*Deadus waves*

pass the cookies this way!

Welcome t' Glastonbury, Cait!

Please 'ave a look around, our halls are littered wi' notes an' such posted t' the tavern walls.

Ex


<smiles>

Welcome to the Irregulars and the Alliance
Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars


*Deadus gives Glenin a cookie*

Be wary of that one <points> He's an unscrupulous Paladin.

<glares> Stay away from this girl. I don't want to see you charming her with your foul intentions.

Sinestro

Aye lass careful o tha one he be Sinestro's
<Rhendadd>

An watch ye purse round Lorric he'll git yemoney an give it back ter ye like nothin e'er appened.
Most o all thanks fer the cookies
<Rhendadd>
They been keepin me a we more regular with all the whiskey i drink

WELCOME TER THE FAMILY
Rhendadd Wallace

hello

<Solitiri>

<Cait>

<pours>

Welcome to the Irregulars. No do nae let these men corrupt ye, for they certainly will try!

Nazia

<Waves>

Hello lass, I am Frederyck, Carpenter and Scout fer the irregulars. Look me up. I have some bows and thousands of arrows made special for you.

We can also go for a walk in the woods to some of the most secluded and private hunting spots. Bring some cookies, we may be camping there a while <wink>

Frederyck
Surly Carpenter - Glastonbury Irregulars

Soli!

*Deadus gives Soli two cookies*

Oh and Sinestro, why do you seek to make me look bad everytime a young lady enters our tavern? Its almost as if ye fear competition
---
<Steps>

Well First of all I'd like to welcome ye the ranks o us Glastons.

Now fer some explain, ta ye on a few o our more colorful folk.

First o all. <Steals> I am not quite as untrustworthy as some folk would make me out ta be. <Glares> I am well known fer me good intentions and wit.<steals> Glennin here is a good friend o us Glastons and many o us hope she makes us her home here someday. <Thinks> Now Sin here. <steals> Rhen here tho rarely sober is a good cleric and cin fight a bit too.<steals> Nazia here be good in a fight and she keeps the rest o us in line.<frowns> Solitiri here is a fine warrior and a good one ta have back amongst us.<hands> And that brings us ta Excel. He be the best Captn we could hope fer. <wonders why Excelsius doesn't have a cookie to steal so he places one in his pocket and then steals it jus to keep in practice> Well that’s only part o the Glastons but I think ye find we goodly folk.

Well me friends I must be off fer Odin’s.

<Leaves>
Lorric

<Glenin>

I would be honoured to join ye and mayhaps in the future, who knows.

I have currently been given charge of the band, though I nae be sure I want it. <smiles> I have a lot of thinking ta do

<grins> Thanks Deadus for the cookie !

<growls> Its mine Lorric
Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars


<Daylan>

I certainly hope ye like ale, for nothin' goes better wi' cookies!

I am Daylan, th' Flying Friar, and mostly I tend bar in th' Laughing Lion. I also heal an' bash a bit, but I will be glad to serve ye an ale any time ye need somethin' to wash down a cookie.

<Daylan>

Greetin's t'yeh, Cait! I am ver'glad yer 'ere in Glastonbury with us all! Th'more th'merrier!

<grins>

Fer th'boar! An' fer Glastonbury! An' fer ALE!

<lifts>
Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion

Carac!

*Piles cookies onto Carac*

I made a special appearence in albion today but didnt see yeh
Deadus

Ale!!!! Lemme ave some.......<wonders>
/yell Blast.....who's bin at me stash!!!
If I find tha bugger who did this....<raises>
<asks>
Hmm...tha be better
Now Deadus....I need ye advise on fashion<thinks if anyone could make a Troll puke just by making them look at them it's Deadus>

Rhendadd

BAH !

<grins>

Deadus is fine just the way he is
Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars

Seriously....I need ter find a way ter baffle them Trolls an make them fall o'er laughin.
I call it my Troll mirror tactic

Rhendadd

An Introduction to Cait!
« on: Sep 26th, 2002, 12:59pm »

Hello my new friends. Thank you for inviting me to your town. I am thrilled to be living here and I look forward to sharing a laugh and a pint in the near furture. I thought I would say hello and offer a few words about my history and nature.

Cait first stepped Albion, Nimue in the somewhat incongruous form of an Avalonian Cleric known as Sula. Naively, she invested her starting skills, not in piety which would have been most suited to her job description, but in intelligence and charisma because she wanted to be smart and have people like her. Surprisingly, perhaps, Sula grew to 33 seasons in the company of several fine friends, notably a brave and most-loved companion scout named Tatau, a noble fellow cleric named Throne LeStat and her fine Guild, The Sisterhood.

Soon however the Northern climes called to her and she began a new career as a mighty Thane in Percival where she was known as Sula Stormcaller. She considers herself fortunate to have made many friends and comrades and has come to love her family of Fallen Souls and her brothers and sisters throughout Midgard. Recently, however, after battling bravely for 50 seasons Sula Stromcaller felt the need for a new challenge. She has returned to Albion, Nimue as Cait - stronger, wiser and in the form of a Briton Scout who enjoys, enormously, her ability to move about undetected.

Cait, is happiest when her friends like her cookies since baking is the only part of being a girl that she ever got right. Her tender soul is gaurded only by studded leather armour and her sense of community. She is fiercely protective of the latter and you will likely feel a chill surround her if she puts to use her "insta-mood flash" ability. This special gift was provided by her trainer for protection against the "bigger-faster-more types" that threaten the realms. While you will find Cait, to be playful and kind you will also find in her a firmly defined set of ideas regarding fair play and the nature of respect - simple ones really: share your toys, be humble, lead with compassion and by inspiration and live like the revolution has already happened.


<many>



<Steps>

Well First of all I'd like to welcome ye the ranks o us Glastons.

Now fer some explain, ta ye on a few o our more colorful folk.

First o all. <Steals> I am not quite as untrustworthy as some folk would make me out ta be. <Glares> I am well known fer me good intentions and wit.<steals> Glennin here is a good friend o us Glastons and many o us hope she makes us her home here someday. <Thinks> Now Sin here. <steals> Rhen here tho rarely sober is a good cleric and cin fight a bit too.<steals> Nazia here be good in a fight and she keeps the rest o us in line.<frowns> Solitiri here is a fine warrior and a good one ta have back amongst us.<hands> And that brings us ta Excel. He be the best Captn we could hope fer. <wonders why Excelsius doesn't have a cookie to steal so he places one in his pocket and then steals it jus to keep in practice> Well that’s only part o the Glastons but I think ye find we goodly folk.

Well me friends I must be off fer Odin’s.

<Leaves>

Lorric


<Glenin>

I would be honoured to join ye and mayhaps in the future, who knows.

I have currently been given charge of the band, though I nae be sure I want it. <Glenin> I have a lot of thinking ta do

<Glenin> Thanks Deadus for the cookie !

<Glenin> Its mine Lorric

Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars



<pours>

I certainly hope ye like ale, for nothin' goes better wi' cookies!

I am Daylan, th' Flying Friar, and mostly I tend bar in th' Laughing Lion. I also heal an' bash a bit, but I will be glad to serve ye an ale any time ye need somethin' to wash down a cookie.

<smiles>

Daylan



Greetin's t'yeh, Cait! I am ver'glad yer 'ere in Glastonbury with us all! Th'more th'merrier!

<grins>

Fer th'boar! An' fer Glastonbury! An' fer ALE!

<lifts>

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion



Carac!

*Piles cookies onto Carac*

I made a special appearence in albion today but didnt see yeh

Deadus


Ale!!!! Lemme ave some.......<wonders>
/yell Blast.....who's bin at me stash!!!
If I find tha bugger who did this....<raises>
<asks>
Hmm...tha be better
Now Deadus....I need ye advise on fashion<thinks if anyone could make a Troll puke just by making them look at them it's Deadus>

Rhendadd



BAH !

<grins>

Deadus is fine just the way he is

Glenin Tanriel, Armswoman, Vivum Imperium
__________________________
Terrel Dellon, Cleric, Glastonbury Irregulars



Seriously....I need ter find a way ter baffle them Trolls an make them fall o'er laughin.
I call it my Troll mirror tactic

Rhendadd



In the hills of Snowdonia...
« on: May 24th, 2002, 9:52am »

Darkness was being beaten down by the morning sun, its rays touching each blade of grass that braved to stick up through the snow. Daylan the Friar was happily trapsing along the hillside, stopping occasionally to pick a flower, lost in his own thoughts. Absent-mindedly he twirled his staff. As he topped the hill, a lone ray of sun temporarily blinded him, forcing him to run into the camp of a young wizardress and her armsman friend. Stumbling through their campfire, scattering it to the four winds and nearly knocking the armsman over. Had the young armsman not been wearing his armor still, the bruises left by Daylan's twirling staff would have been far worse.

With a hop and a skip, Daylan jumped aside and begged forgiveness, attributing his clumsiness to the rays of sun cresting the hill opposite him. Seeing the two were still considering whether to be angry with him, he quickly sat down and pulled a small cask from his pack, filling three small mugs. "Nothing cures like ale," he thought, his face brightening with his most winning smile as he handed the mugs around. In relative silence, they drank their ales, Daylan savoring his mug with such relish that the other two were wont to disturb him, muttering to himself of the ale's overall goodness.

Full morning approached, and the three sat around the campfire sharing a friendly conversation about Glastonbury and its finer points, when from behind a distant tree the form of a man appeared, approaching at fair speed. The three, not wanting a repeat of the earlier fiasco, attempted to step out of the way of, upon closer inspection, a mercenary with shining blades. The crazed mercenary ran toward them and stopped mere feet from the adventurers, shining mithril in his hands, poised for attack.

With a crazed laugh at the clouds in the sky, the mercenary eyed the three, laughed again, ran in circles around them, then ran again for the tree he was hiding behind. Confused and not knowing what else to do, they sat down again and had another ale, ale also being the cure for confusion...

--
<clears>
ahem, wizardress, armsman and mercenary...
edit: verb tenses OY!

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion

Daylan stood to his feet, wobbled slightly, and then beamed at the two still seated. With a flourish, he bowed in the general direction of the tree behind which the odd mercenary was hiding. "M'lord sellsword, ye are welcome to join our little meeting here; we are lacking the opinion of one of your profession on the virtues of this ale we are contemplating." (Daylan tended to get a bit verbose when he was particularly drunk) "And it seems that ye will fit right in with our little group here, for we are staggering drunk, and ye are staggering mad!"

With that, he dropped back to his seat against a fallen log and took a long pull on the flask they were sharing. He grinned as the mercenary dropped from a tree branch overhanging the campsite and landed right between the other two.

Daylan


A Chance Encounter...
« on: Mar 25th, 2002, 7:43am »

While travelling through the hills last night, I came across a rather shadowy pair of strangers who appeared to be engaged in a bit of a dispute. One was a dangerous-looking dark-haired gent (and I use the term 'gent' loosely) by the name of 'Mujahir', while the other seemed a bit loath to venture out of the shadows enough for me to get a good look at him. Mujahir addressed the fellow by the name 'Xalabar' and by his accent the name seemed appropriate.

Well it appeared that the two had happened across a family of tree-hugging Filths from Hibernia and had managed to dispatch the parents to the obvious distress of an infant in their possession. Given the local bounties, they had claimed a right ear each from the parents but could not decide who had rights to the child.

Well, as we were travelling in the same direction and I know how a good rhythm makes the leagues go quicker, I invited them to travel with me.

Eventually, the tedium of their arguements got the best of my nerves and I reached back into my fairly broad repository of stories and began singing the ancient tale of a great king who when faced with two mothers each claiming a child decreed that the child should be split down the middle.

Well, before I could get to the part about the true mother revealing herself by relinquishing her claim on the child, Mujahir had silenced the little Hibern native with a single cleaving sword stroke and claimed the left side. With the arguement settled, I obviously felt no need to continue the story and let the silence they obviously preferred carry us the rest of the way to Camelot.

In the final miles I gave plenty of thought to my companions and their actions. "A good pair to have around in a fight", I thought even as I made sure that I travelled behind the two. In the very depth of night we arrived at the lights and respective shadows of Camelot.

As we parted company, Xalabar mentioned this tavern as a place of friends and adventurers who might find a fresh song or two welcome and perhaps a new face in their fold. My feelings were obviously mixed considering the previous journey. A warm tavern and a captivated audience (their coin as well) is always welcome to a minstrel such as myself, but the dark red stain at the base of Xalabar's pack gave me a bit of a chill.

I stood for the moment in the darkness, suddenly alone while struggling with whether to follow the two who were already disappearing into the night. At last, a single deciding thought crossed my mind:

It was only an elf.

I picked up my pack of instruments and ran into the alleyways knowing that while I had no chance of spotting Xalabar and Mujahir, the smell of a roasting pig and sound of a crowd would be directions enough to any tavern.

'Tis indeed a crowd worth knowing.

Euphony m'Lodius - Minstrel of Rapidly Passing Seasons


Greetings Euphony!

If such a grisly introduction didn't send you into the hills then perhaps you'd enjoy more of our company. If you'd like to pledge yourself to the Irregulars you may speak more with myself, Xarielle or the other Adjutants- Sixtus, Dru, Danae, or Aragoth and continue to hunt with those you mentioned.

While you rest between your hunts feel free to sample our ale.

Xarielle


The ale is outstanding (by that I mean in front of me), but it is the company that will keep me frequenting this location!

Last night, I had yet another wonderful experience with a mystical type named Wallter. While I had previously enjoyed his company, I did not realize until last night that he was affiliated with you

Euphony


While Euphony is a very talented and lovely musician, I assure you her tail is rife with inaccuracy. Mujahir and I would never consciously slaughter even an elven child so brutally. You see, it was so tiny, we assumed it was lurikeen.

Luckily, the bounty was the same either way, and I find the elves to be much more savory in a fine barley and carrot stew.

Welcome to the Irregulars Euphony! So glad to have you.

Xalabar

An average day in Glastonbury...
« on: Mar 15th, 2002, 6:07pm »

Carac walks heavily into the Laughing Lion, soaked head to toe, followed by her soaking wet travelling companion, Galy. They saunter up to the bar and order 2 mugs of ale and promptly down them, almost in time. With a satisfying, "aaaaaaah" from both of them, they order a second mug each and a meal, as they scan the room for a table near the fire.

Leaning on the bar, a puddle of water gathering around their feet, they notice they have the attention of a rowdy bunch of common-folk in the center of the room. A wry grin creeps across Carac's face as she speaks.
"What!? ent you lot e'er seen a pair o' wet armsmen (or women)?!"

Breaking into a fit of laughter, Carac drags Galy to a table near the fire, just a chair away from the group, now rowdy with laughter.

More than a few sets of eyes following her, Carac slinks out from under her wet cloak, hangs it over the back of a chair near the fire, turns to the group and says,
"Me'n ol' Galy here <Galy> was jus' gettin' into town after a long horse ride from the south. In all th'days we was on our quests, notta once did I see ol' Galy nip off fer a bath... So, we was standin' on that bridge just over the way from th'pub 'ere, an i gave Galy a shove off the edge... Thought maybe a good dunkin'd wash the smell o' some o' those miles off 'im! Wouldn't yeh know it, the badger grabbed me on his way down... Yeh can imagine how glad we was teh see the lights from this 'ere pub when we crawled outta the water! Roarin' fire, good company, an' the best ale I had in DAYS!!!"

The crowd cheering with much enthusiasm at the compliments, tipped back their mugs and laughed...


As Carac finished her story, the barmaid stepped up to the table with their ales and meals, she quickly set them down and headed back for the bar. Grinning at the jovial, ale-soaked crowd (and how they reminded her of home), Carac yelled to the barmaid, nearly across the room, "And a round o' yer finest t'all in the house, on me!"

The room erupted in cheers, and the nearest folk, clapped her on the back more than a few times.

Settling into her seat, listening to the sounds of laughter and the conversation of good friends, Carac relaxes for the first time in weeks, the weight of her own thoughts lifted, for a time....

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


Hmm... I think that's how Bowar gets his baths too, must be an armsman thing. <grins>

Welcome to the Laughing Lion! With any luck, the fire and food will have ye feeling warm and dry in short order, and the ale will have ye not caring in even less time. <laughs>

I'll let ye get dried out in peace, but if ye need to speak with me I'm always 'round the tavern someplace... just give a hollar.

Sixtus Anticetus
Cicero DeSonius
Sandore


Startling awake, Carac yells, "Ale!" in the direction of the bar, then quickly gestures to the startled barmaid to ignore her request. Rubbing her head, she wanders to a bulletin board near the door, and reads a notice posted about Glastonbury Irregulars. Nodding as she reads, a smile forms on her face, as her head fills with thoughts of home. Thinking aloud, she says, "I'll hafteh make a point of meetin' more o'these Irregulars."

As she walks over to the bar to settle payment for the night's indulgence, she notices that her friend is no longer at her table. Shrugging, she heads over to the table and gathers her things to go find a bed for the night. Upon reaching the door, she turns around and yells out to the few friendly faces remaining in the common room, "If any o'yeh are e'er in need o'me hammer an' me arm, consider 'em yours! I'll see yeh all again, i'm sure." and with a wave, she exits the Laughing Lion.

Carac turns down the street in search of an inn that will take her in at this time of night, and checks her pack for quill and parchment. "I'm really lookin' forward teh tellin' me sister about the Glastonbury Irregulars, " she muttered aloud, as she walked into the first inn she came to...

Carac Dhun
-Armswoman for Albion


"Carac, THAT was yer name!"

Buford sighs and scribbles something on a parchment real quick and gives it to a wee lad along with some coins. "Go give it to the soaked lass who just left."


----------------

Carac,

My humblest apologies for not hunting with you last eve, as life decided to become very busy. This eve, if you like, you can have me all to yerself, if ye so wish.

Yours,

Father Buford
Cleric of the Irregulars


Excelsius
« on: Mar 6th, 2002, 8:13pm »

A traveler is caught in a winter flurry deep in the Black Mountains. Nightfall approaches, and the stinging cold wind is unrelenting. The traveler spies a soft glow in the woods ahead... 'tis the window of a small cottage, cut in the shape of a cross. As the traveler approaches, a solid oaken door creaks open suddenly - through swirling snow and squinted eyes, the traveler sets eyes on a kind-looking fellow in unassuming robes, the attire of a hermit monk or holy man....

"Greetings, friend! Please, come in and take shelter from the cold! I am Excelsius, welcome to my humble home!"

<Excelsius>

"Sit a spell and share some of my new brew! ...'Tis a batch I affectionately label "Friar's Special Reserve".... I brew it after the harvest in fall and let it ferment through the winter... most of it till Spring, but one must make sure the batch hasn't gone bad, no? The secret is letting the grains get a little ergot on 'em - don't worry, my brewing process filters it out. <ahem> It's merely for the underlying taste..."

<A>

"Ah, 'tis a lonely road we sometimes travel, but many friends are met along the way. Just as ye have found yer way to my humble stone and sod domicile here the Black Mountains. I watch over the good peasants of these hills, and travelers like you who need a little help... or refreshment, eh? HA! Hehehe."

<Several>

"...The winds of battle stir once again, ravens gather in the frontiers to feed on the fallen, and I fear I must soon venture forth to watch over the spiritual and earthly health of our realm's folk."

<Yet>

"Where am I from?" <chuckles> "Now that is a good question!"

"I was born far from here, during one of King Arthur's campaigns,... yes, that's right! "Artorus Rex" by the lost tongue of the Roman invaders. The monastary taught me many things, including that dead language - well and me own Nom d'Plume eh? HA!.... But back to yer question. <Excelsius> My father was an armsman in the King's army, and well, it must've been a long campaign... When the battles halted and the quest was secured, he returned to Camelot with my dear Ma..." <Excelsius>

"What's that? Oh yes, my parents were wonderful, and I had me a kid sister to tangle with too... <Excelsius pulls another tankard of Friar's Special Reserve from the cask, leans back in an old chair worn comfortable by many years of liquid theology> Yes, but they are gone now... Gone for some time really. I was raised up at the monastary near Swanton Keep."

"How'd I wind up there? Well after me Ma and sister passed from the plague, I reckon me Pa thought I was a handfull... Oh, no, it's quite alright, that was many, many years ago."

"Well, so, me Pa never did fit as a family man, being a soldier and all. And well, the priests thought I was a handful too - so they sent me to the monastary." <Excelsius>

"Well I'm here to tell ye, that was probably the best thing fer me. <Excelsius> My family was gone, and the Friars of the monastary, well they became me family. I knew I wanted to help people, and... there are certain advantages to being a Friar."

<Excelsius>

"I took after me Pa, and ventured forth with the armsmen and Knights of the kingdom early on. Being a holy man of the peasants, it didn't bother too much to march through the mud and filth of the battlefield. Aye, there's no royal blood in this Albion's flesh! <chuckles> I'm a holy man of the people, give me the downtrodden masses, the peasant farmers and travelers, pilgrims and sinners." <A>

"Well, the oil in me lamp is gettin low, and I've bent yer ear long enough. Have me cot, traveler, while I go gather some more wood for the night's fire. The winter nights up here in the Black Mountains are quite bitter."

<Excelsius hands the traveler a thick woolen blanket, and heads out of the creaking cottage door, wind and snow flurries twist into the room for a brief second as the door crashes behind him. The traveler settles in for the night, full of Ale and the strange monk's tale. A short while passes, and the traveler is awoke from the start of sleep by a clamorous series of sounds, some thick and some sharply wooden. Before the traveler can rise from the simple cot, Brother Excelsius quickly enters the cottage with a bundle of firewood under one arm and a long gnarled branch in the other hand.>

"What's that? Oh, 'twas nothing for you to worry about. Eh? Well, if you must know, it seems a small band of goblins thought they were going to disturb the good citizens of these hills tonight. No, no, more than that. Eh? hehe maybe a score, I didn't bother counting."

<Excelsius tends the fire for the night, spends a long silent while in prayer and meditation, and sits back in his favorite gnarled wood and leather chair, eyes slowly closing in the dim orange glow of the fire, one hand on the worn, twisted staff leaning against the corner.>



Can you yell 'Friar' in a full Inn?
« on: Feb 21st, 2002, 1:10pm »

The door opened, leaving a sillouetted form in a robe showing. He looked in on the gathered people, his self-confidence rapidly leaving him. He straightened up and strode in the large room , his staff thumping on the floor as he crossed it to the bar. The inkeeper nodded to him at first ,then bowed his head a little more when he saw the brown of the robe, and the quarterstaff more clearly. Carven in his staff were words, such as righteousness, faith, smite, and repent.

"Welcome ,father, to the Laughing Lion Inn. How may I help you?" He asked politely of the brown bearded man. He was of the cloth after all.

"Please, call me Brother Jonn. I seek two things. I understand that a excellent ale may be found here, in this inn of Glastonbury. I am always looking for a good ale, so I would like to try it. One mug if you please." The friar's voice was steady as he placed his order.

"Certainly Fath.. Brother Jonn. One mug of the best in Albion." He turned and filled a mug with the brown ale. " What was the second thing you were seeking?"placing the mug before the friar.

Brother Jonn looked at the mug, holding it gently, almost looking as if he was savoring just the scent of the ale as he gave thanks over it. He slowly raised it to his lips and sipped a little, then a little more. Finally he took a long draught, draining 3/4's of the mug. With a satisfied look, he faced the inkeep. "Great gifts have we received from on High, and high among these are barley and hops. I am glad I was not told wrong, this is good ale." He set the mug down. " As to the second thing I seek. I am led to believe that the Glastonbury Irregulars are wont to meet here. I have been sent from the local parish to aid them in their fighting for the kingdom. The priest said I may be better used helping here, than in the church."

"Aye, they are here often, and you may find them at any time, friar. There is one thing tho', you may have been sent by the parish to help them, but it is up to them whether they will let you do so. You will have to ask them before they will let you join."

"I see." The friar looked worried for a moment, then smiled. "Well, who must I talk to so I may join. I am willing to pull my weight, and I am sure any group of men loyal to the king and church will give me a fair chance."

Brother Jonn
I can smite, I just have to be next to my enemy to do it


Two hours later ...

Brother John had been pleased to meet an Irregular, and the ale they had shared was perfect. But this was too damn much.

"I saw that card not five minutes ago," he snarled at the armsman. "I don't mind passing time in such idle ways, but at least you could play honestly."

Macheath looked up with his best imitation of innocence. "Tis but a friendly game of Shank the Pillar, a longtime favorite of the Irregulars. Why whould I cheat ye? Och, and ye owe me another five silver."

Brother John picked up his staff and stood. "I'll play no more cards with you, Macheath, until you admit to cheating me of almost twenty silver."

Mackie leaned back in his chair. "Yer new best friend Mackie, cheat at cards? Now there's a good one. How well do ye think ye will get on with the Irregulars if ye make such wild accusations, eh?"

Brother John did, indeed, want to meet the Irregulars, but there were limits to what any man would endure. With a swift motion he brought the staff down on Mackie's thick skull, sending the armsman tumbling to the floor. John stepped around the table, ready for more, only to find the armsman was out cold.

"Hmph. Well, surely the rest of the Irregulars will be cut from better cloth than this cheating scum," he said, as he walked back to the bar, cradling his tankard. "My good man, pour me another!"

"I'd like nothing more, m'lord," the barkeep smiled, "but first ye must settle the tab."

"Tab?" Brother John sputtered. Macheath had assured him that all the drinks were courtesy of the Glastonbury Irregular Found Friendship Fund.

"Aye," said the barkeep. "I'd ask old Mackie, but ye have knocked him out cold. So I'll have to ask ye for the full five silver before I pour ye another."

Brother John stood a moment in thought, then turned back to the supine form of the armsman. A moment's digging through Mackie's leather sporran found the coin, as well as several duplicate cards. Holding up the coin, he returned to the bar. "Here you go, my good man. And please take this five gold for your good health."

The barkeep bobbed his head. "Thankee m'lord, ye are most generous, most generous indeed."

Brother John would wait for another Irregular, or for Macheath's recovery, whichever came first.

MacHeath


After sitting for another tankard of ale, Brother Jonn began to feel bad for having hit the highlander so hard in the head. The word 'repent' was clearly raised on his forhead from where he had been struck. It was part of the reason he had been sent to the Irregulars. He had a real need to work on his temper. Deciding that he should repent off his hasty actions, he knelt beside the prone figure.

"Oh Lord bless this poor wayward sheep of of your flock, and heal his cracked, thick skull, so that he might better serve you in defending this chosen kingdom. Forgive him, as forgives others, and let him learn from his experiences, that cheating a man of the church is not wise. Amen"

He felt the healing blessing flow though him and into Macheath, helping to mend his head, and sober him up some. Faith could only do so much, and self inflicted illness fell outside of what could be healed. As the highlander tried to awaken, Brother Jonn lifted him off the floor (with some effort) and set him in the chair.

Macheath blinked his blurry, bloodshot eye, trying to reset his mind as to what happened, and then fell unconcious again as the effort of awakening was too much at that time. He slouched in the chair heavily and snored.

The friar, sat back at the table across form his unconcious drinking mate, and began to play a very one sided game of Ship/Captain/Mate with a set of dice he pulled from his pouch.

Brother Jonn




Four strangers in search of companions
« on: Feb 13th, 2002, 2:06pm »

Cousins, they be, walking into town, three laughing, jostlin' an' carryin' on, the fourth... tall an' a wee bit aloof.

Earthwulf is th' obvious leader, the eldest - and a Highlander. He follows th' mercenary path, yet his heart is anything but mercenary...

Wulfling is his younger brother, a Cleric for th' Goddess, kind, gentle, and concerned wi' th' ills o' others...

Dragonwulf, the Briton, son of the brothers' aunt, has a mischevious glint in his eye, an' will swear tha' he is but a mere merchant, though he looks as if he could slip in anywhere...

Finally, a step behind, Trolfriend, a beginning master of the Dark Arts, and Avalonian by nature. He wishes revenge on the murderous beasts from the north tha' slaughtered his family, an took his name to lull them into a sense of... complacency. He will destroy every last one of the trolls and there ilk... he swears it.

They look around, ondering... have they finally found a home? Have they foun' a people willing to ally themselves wi' th' likes o' them? Only time will tell...

Earthwulf


Welcome to the Lion, fellows... make yourselves at home and enjoy the food and ale, as well as the warmth and the stories!

We have a description of the guild tacked up near the door in the common room, so those follish enough to wander in here can get a better idea of the rabble they are trying to join. <Sixtus grins>

Apart from that, seek us out in the wilds and try to get in on some of our hunts... with a bit of ale to bribe us with it shouldn't be a difficult task!

Sixtus Anticetus
Cicero DeSonius
Sandore


The cousins confer for a moment after reading what this illustrious band o' merry travellers be about. Earthwulf steps forward, throwing his cloak on th' rack an' some coin on ther bar an shouts "Barkeep, ale fer all! We ha' had a weary road an' ha' weary tales, bu' mebbe we coul' sit as' talk a wee bit wi' ther locals..."

"And mayhap learn some proper form of speech," grumbles Trolfriend, darkly.

Earthwulf


“Ye all should try and get in on a few hunts with some Irregulars... just bring some ale to share with us and you'll always be welcome!” Sixtus offered.


"Aye, that we ha' done, wi' both Voerym an Eulum (i be truly sorry good Infiltrator, fer my spellin' leaves many scratchin' their heads...)," Earthwulf grins as he hands a bucket o' ale to sixtus....


A man comes seeking Bowar.
« on: Feb 16th, 2002, 2:37pm »

Arguyle MacFadden rides hard to the camp of the Glastonbury Irregulars with a matter of some import to discuss with Bowar. He had spoken to Bowar through correspondence only but he had grown fond of the man. His gruffness and straightforward demeanor was oddly comforting, especially after dealing with the beaurocrats of Camelot for so long now.

As he approached the camp he could tell that there had been many men in and out of the camp. There were bloodied bandages and broken cruches strewn about and he prayed that all was well with the Irregulars. When he reached the gate he leapt from his horse and was shocked when he was not stopped by any guards when he strode through the wide open gate. The camp was in disarray and Arguyle felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. This sloppy camp was not normal, especially with a battle hardened crew such as the Irregulars.

There were men gathering up their belongings as if they were packing up and returning to the farms that they had worked before joining Orec's band. He stopped one and said, "Where are you going man? The battle continues. The Crown needs you."

The man glared at Arguyle and for an instant Arguyle thought the man may draw his blade. But in that instant the man's face sunk and he pulled his gaze from that of the highlander.

"Well, if'n the Crown be needin' us then it surely has an odd way o' showin' it", said the soldier.

"What are you saying? Where is Bowar man?" replied Arguyle.

"He be in prison by now I am sure. Him an' the other officers o' the Irregulars. It seems the Crown has a funny way o' payin' its heros." stated the man.

With that Arguyle grabbed the man by the shoulders and looked into his face saying, "What do you mean 'in prison'? Did something happen?"

"That high falootin' Racius came an' arrested them all this very morn. Said that they were all traitors to the Crown and ordered the rest o' us to disband." said the soldier.

Arguyle slammed one fist into the other, "By God! That is nonsense. What has gotten into the man? Can't he see that he is acting blindly?"

Arguyle grabbed the man and any other he could find. He placed some gold in their palms and said, "Gather up your army. Ride just east of Snowdonia Station. There you will find my country home. Wait there for me. My man will put you up. Do it without delay. Do not let even one of these men believe what has been said about Bowar. Do not let the Irregulars disband."

With that Arguyle mounted his horse and reigned it around toward the Camelot Hills. As he spurred the horse he heard the man call out, "What of you? Where are you going?"

"I ride to Camelot! I ride to Bowar!" shouted Arguyle.

Lord High General Arguyle MacFadden
Order of the Red Lions
Paladin of the 24th Circle
Riddle Master of Albion


A deal gone bad
« on: Feb 14th, 2002, 1:11pm »

Lorric stood looking up at the sign of The Laughing Lion. 'This looks like a good place to get lost for a bit.' He thought.

Strolling up to the door he checked one last time to make sure he wasn't followed. The mage hadn't liked the fact he had sold him a wild horse, and after bucking him off and running away, had sent his pets looking for Lorric.

After entering Lorric looked around, seeing a variety of patrons. Warriors, Priests, farmers and townsfolk, even a few of the roguish type. Suddenly he felt a bit self conscious standing there looking around the room.

"This is no way to blend in" he muttered.

Moving up to the bar, he found a good vantage point and set to watching the door.


"What ye have lad?"Lorric twitched at the barkeeps question. 'I gotta relax'he thought

"What ye got?" Lorric said trying to look as normal as possible

"Ale"

"Well I guess I'll have ale then." Reaching into his pouch and realizing that he only had some copper left. Tossing a few he had left on the bar. The flight from the Mage had drained almost all his funds including what he had saved up. He was going to have to find a way to make some cash. Looking around the room he quickly decided that this crowd was not ones to scam, even the farmers looked tough. Maybe some information would give him a lead.

"Hey bar keep, who owns this place?"

"Why the Glastonbury Irregulars do."

"Ok I'll bite, just who are the Glastonbury Irregulars."

"Ye haven't herd of them? They're a bunch o' the local folk trying to protect the realm form those that would do us harm."

Lorric looked at the door one more time.

"They hiring?"

Lorric


Sixtus spoke up from his spot at one of the tables near the fire.

"Nay friend, the Irregulars are not some business with workers. Tis more of a... volunteer position, ye might say."

Sixtus paused to take a few gulps from his mug.

"We've a guild description tacked up near the door in the common room. If ye read that and are still interested, I can answer any other questions ye might have. Until then, enjoy the food, drink, and warmth of the Laughing Lion!"