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Author Topic: Burnt Offerings (Play)  (Read 43608 times)
paddyfool
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« Reply #30 on: September 02, 2010, 01:25:15 PM »

"I will indeed, Teo... although I would beg a moment more here first.  If there are interesting events afoot, it might be interesting to see if this earnest gentleman's fortunes will shed any more light on them."
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Krensky
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« Reply #31 on: September 04, 2010, 05:34:09 PM »

The old woman looks at Haldar for a moment and then shrugs again, shuffling her deck.

"So, you want to know why you are here... fine."

She deals nine cards onto the table in a three by three square.

"Pick a card."

Haldar picks the right most card in the middle row and flips it over, revealing a pickture of a formian queen wearing a crown and surrounded by her grubs.

"The Queen Mother knows all and reveals nothing without proper abasement. She represents the need to be part of society, or to bow to those with more experience or knowledge."

She gathers up the cards and shuffles before dealing the lay and flipping over the first column.

"Hmm... The past. The Eclipse, The Brass Dwarf, and The Waxworks. The Eclipse is self-doubt and loss of purpose. Waning of the influence of the gods or a loss of way. The Brass Dwarf is invulnerability to danger. Someone who remained hale while others fell. The Waxworks, helplessness and physical entropy. The mind is willing, but the body is frozen by horror, the card of torture and imprisonment."

She then flips the middle row over, and turns the first and third card back over.

"The present. The Locksmith. The keys to your destiny. The tools to a new location, clue, or treasure.... But not the knowledge of what it is or how and where to use them."

She flips the last column over and then flips the middle card back face down.

"The future. The Lost and The Beating. The Lost, emptiness and loss of identity. For those under it's influence, the world makes no sense and all is babble. The Beating, attacked form all sides, the dissolution of self."

"The cards have spoken, but it is up to you to give these portents meaning, Haldar."
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Krensky
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« Reply #32 on: September 04, 2010, 11:52:13 PM »

On the docks:

The guard still looks out of sorts and unsure about all this.

After a few moments the three people mentioned leaving the cathedral square and a kindly looking middle-aged man in robes carrying a staff walk up. The large man in armor looks at Weox and Paiter and then to the guard. He pulls the guard aside and says something harsh and sends the guard away.

The four townspeople look up at Weox. The middle aged man seems non-plussed, the Knight of Abadar looks concerned, the Sheriff's demeinor is pensive, and the attractive woman in pale yellow and black looks nervous but manages to smile dazzlingly at Weox and Paiter.

The Sheriff hesitates for a moment and then says,

"Good sir... Weoxgyld... We welcome you you our town and... um... beg your... understanding..."

The woman rolls her eyes and affectionately lays her hand on the Sheriff's forearm as she steps forward and smiles up at Weox, her nervousness disappearing like a face behind a mask.

"Thane Weogyld, we welcome to the Town of Sandpoint. We are honored by your presence at the dedication of our cathedral. However, we are embarrassed to admit that our town is not accustomed to guests of your size, and that shamefully none of our town's inns will be able to provide you with suitable accommodation as they are built with our meager dimensions in mind. We pray your forgiveness and beg your understanding. The ceremony is about to begin, might Sheriff Hemlock, Sir Korvaski, Headmaster Gandethus, and myself escort you there?"

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We can lick gravity, but sometimes the paperwork is overwhelming. - Werner von Braun
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paddyfool
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« Reply #33 on: September 05, 2010, 12:31:20 AM »

"Well, I think I'm ready to move along now," murmurs Argan to his companions.  Raising his voice, he continues: "Apologies for holding you back - but on the bright side, you've at least seen that the prediction could have been worse.  And on that point that quite fairly worried you, Teo - as she said, prophecy cannot be trusted.  Let us hope she was right about that, rather than the other.  Now let's get along to the cathedral... we can always discuss this over some beers later."
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Catodon
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« Reply #34 on: September 05, 2010, 12:45:27 AM »

Weoxgyld his attention on the diminutive woman:
“I would be honored by your escort to the sanctification. The warmth of your hospitality will be sufficient. Too long have my people been absent from the world, we have ourselves to blame should no hall hold us. What is your name Lady?”

Paiter Whitshoal’s eyes stray from looking up at his employer and linger overlong on the noble lady.
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« Reply #35 on: September 05, 2010, 01:45:19 AM »

The middle aged man and knight chuckle quietly and without malice at Weox's comment. This earns them a mild scowl from the Sheriff and an old fashioned look from the woman. The knight looks sheepish and slightly embarrassed, but the older man just smiles back at her, immune to her withering glare. After a moment she turns back to Weox.

"Lady? I'm a but a humble merchant, not an aristocrat, good sir. That said, you may call me Madame Tesarani."

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We can lick gravity, but sometimes the paperwork is overwhelming. - Werner von Braun
Right now you have no idea how lucky you are that I am not a sociopath. - A sign seen above my desk.
There's no upside in screwing with things you can't explain. - Captain Roy Montgomery
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« Reply #36 on: September 05, 2010, 03:09:36 AM »

Weoxgyld, warmly but perhaps just a little patronisingly:
"Be that as it may, it does not chill the warmth of your welcome. I remain a guest and therefore beholden to my hosts. My lady, men of honour, Please lead on. "

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Paiter looks impatiently toward the sounds and smells of the festival.
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« Reply #37 on: September 05, 2010, 05:16:15 PM »

The townsfolk lead Weox and Pater to the cathedral square, finally getting the whole party in one place. (Yay!)

Sometime after everyone arrives in the cathedral square the speaches start. Mayor Deverin is cheerful and excited, drawing the crowd in. It's as much stump speech as dedication and welcome. She thanks everyone, even the workaholic tanner Larz Rovanky, for coming to this joyous day and sharing in the town's progress.

She's followed by Sheriff Hemlock who reminds everyone to be safe, and then asks for a moment of silence to remember those who lost their lives five years ago in the fire that destroyed the old temple.

The next speaker, the man who had been standing with Sir Jasper Korvasaki, is introduced as Cyrdak Drokkus, proprietor of the Sandpoint Theater and a representative of the town merchants. Unlike the Mayor or Sheriff, he seems perfectly natural on stage as he entertains the crowd with amusing anecdotes and recollections of the funding, design and construction of the cathedral. He finishes up inviting everyone to come see his newest production of "The Harpy's Curse", especially sice the female lead is none other then the sensational Magnimarian diva Allishanda. Those not from around here likely don't react to that, but the crowd seems to think it's impressive. Eloise is certainly knows of the theater her, and of Allishanda. Cyrdak isn't putting on airs, the theater is famous and Allishanda is Magnimar opera's newest and brightest sensation having experienced a meteroic rise since her debut last season, and point to Cyrdak having strong and deep connections in the Magnimarian theater community.

Just before noon Father Zantus, the cathedral's Desnian priest, thanks everyone for coming and declares the festival open. After the cheering subsides, his acolytes wheel the large covered wagon into the square. The crowd quiets as Father Zantus recounts the short parable of how, after a viscous battle with Lamashtu, the Mother of Monsters, Desna fell to earth, gravely wounded. How she was nursed back to health by a blind orphan. How, in thanks, she transformed him into an immortal swallowtail butterfly as a reward for her aid. In this form, the child could fly forever, seeing all the wonders of the world.

The acolytes pull aside the wagon’s cover and thousands of swallow-tailed butterflies, the children of Desna, explode into the sky, momentarily blotting out the sun in the square in a cloud of iridescent blue as the crowd cheers. As the butterflies swirl through the crowd, some of them pause, alighting on the breast of some for a brief moment. Each of you, including the wolf, receive just such a touch of the goddess before the butterflies swirl away into the afternoon sky.

After the cheers die down and the butterflies disperse over the town, Father Zantus announces that lunch will be served presently and wishes everyone to enjoy themselves. Lunch is free, and the town's taverns and inns have done the best they can to outshine one another.

The town's people are content to spend the afternoon partying, the final consecration of the cathedral will happen in a few hours at sunset. Musicians in the crowd pick up their instruments and Varissian music bursts from fiddles, concertinas, flutes, drums, and the bells and bangles adorning the women's wrists and ankles.
« Last Edit: September 05, 2010, 05:29:36 PM by Krensky » Logged

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There's no upside in screwing with things you can't explain. - Captain Roy Montgomery
paddyfool
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« Reply #38 on: September 05, 2010, 06:44:20 PM »

Argan enjoys himself sampling the wares on offer, in between doing a bit of gentle networking with the local dignatories.  Down to his last couple of silver as he is, he isn't feeling too proud to pass up either opportunity.

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« Reply #39 on: September 06, 2010, 12:27:19 AM »

Weoxgyld remained standing through most of the speeches but on seeing the acolytes and wagon approach lowers himself to one knee and bows his head solemnly until the final cheers are well over and the butterflys are dispersed.
Interestingly, he did not seem to expect anyone else to act as he does. He does not even chastise the alternately slouching and grinning Paiter.
Getting up he addresses his guide “Paiter, silver for your lodgings as you have said is the custom here. Go, enjoy the hospitality until dawn on the morrow. I shall find some shelter in that larger ruin (pointing toward the old light). We shall meet at first light” Weoxgyld unwraps the last of his hack silver from his wrist and hands it to Paiter. He then proudly glides toward the with great fliun strides mayor.

Paiter to his fellow ex-passenger Haldar: “I think I stepped over the line earlier, he’s always so damn noble and generous when he is p*ssed. Now about those too many ales, I need to get an early start so I can sleep it off for an early start…”
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"I just do eyes"
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http://www.scribd.com/doc/84956575/Gullivers-Trading-Co-Grub
http://browse.deviantart.com/#/art/Gulliver-s-Travels-World-Map-294804331?hf=1
Mister Andersen
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« Reply #40 on: September 06, 2010, 04:51:34 AM »


Divia attempts to sit through the ceremony with the polite attentiveness recently instilled into her by her adoptive family, but she can't help fidgeting as the wonderful, tantalising smells of the feast begin to torment her sense of smell.

Fortunately Annie provides her with an excuse to move: she spots one of the town's assortment of cats, tugging on Divia's hand to point it out. He's a ravaged looking animal, his short blue-grey coat marred with numerous scars, ears tattered, one balefully yellow eye dull and blind. But for all that, there's a magnificence about him, something that incites within Divia a deep sense of kinship. In Annie, of course, it incites a deep sense of curiosity and she runs off after it.

Even though she still can't decide why, the idea of losing sight of the faux-child continues to worry at her. Trying to create as little incident as possible, Divia has no real choice but to follow.

By the time that little adventure is sorted, they're releasing the butterflies. It's quite pretty, but frankly it's not an observence that carries much weight with her. After all, it would have been simpler not to mention considerably less capriciously cruel for Desna simply to have restored the child's vision. But no, instead the goddess destroys the life of the poor fool that tended her, dooming her rescuer to a helpless eternity of being forever kept apart from anything except watching life pass by.

If Desna ever fell from the heavens at my feet, I'd happily let the bitch die.

But still, at least some good has come from the senseless tragedies that seem have Desna in common, inspiring these simple folk to celebrate the good things in life and to share that warmth so that even newly penniless vagrants like herself and Annie can cadge a meal.

Wandering through the throng, she scoops up a brown bottle bearing a Dwarven label that she recognises as one of the least toxic offensive brews they export to the human lands. Smart of the merchant involved, probably cheaper than dealing with flagons and barrels and cleanups. Running her thumb over the wax stopper, she slips it into her bedroll.

"My, but you two look half starved," a matronly grey haired human declares good naturedly, her face ruddier and broader than Divia would have believed humanly possible without Dwarf blood. Her bosom was as enourmous and stout as the rest of her, which was stuffed into an unavoidably jaunty looking dress.

"We are," Divia answers back as plaintively as she can manage, picking up a couple of bowls. "It's lucky we came across this place at al"

"Really?" the human asks, ladling out a delicious smelling stew. "I thought everyone knew about the dedication ceremony today."

"No," she shakes her head with a sad smile. A hunk of fresh bread is placed each of Annie's hands, and spoons  into the stew. "Thank you. Annie, say 'Thank you'."

"Thank you," Annie dutifully repeats.

"May Desna smile upon you both."

Divia just smiles again and nods, then finds somewhere away from the main throng that puts her back to a wall where she settles down to the serious business of savouring her meal, coat spreading out like the tail of a chaste peacock behind her. Possum, she decides after a couple of mouthfuls. At least it's not fish. I've had enough of that the last few days.

Next to her Annie samples a little of the meal, but as expected quickly loses interest. Divia is surprised the construct is capable of even taking a polite taste to begin with, even more so that she's shown no need to expel the sample. The long dead Elvish artisans responsible for the little girl's creation certainly had been masters of their craft.
 
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« Reply #41 on: September 06, 2010, 10:30:09 AM »

alden gets himself a plate, and takes a seat. leans his shield on the bench and eats in quiet contemplation, he allows his mind to warnder again as he watches the crowds.families all celebrating eating together enjoying the company,  it forces him to remember his own home, choking him up, he forces back the tears remembering that this is supposed to be a joyous occasion and nothing for tears. his face, (almost to young face in contrast to his silver hair)  taking on a shade of red from the well of emotions he is forced to fight.

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« Reply #42 on: September 06, 2010, 01:41:58 PM »

Shyla sits back and watches the whole ceremony with mild disinterest. She was never the religious sort and took more stock in the bound devils she COULD see, let alone the patron deities that she couldn't. Her mind wanders as she waits, hardly listening to the speakers drone on and on about this, that, and the other thing.

The only thing that snaps her out of her mental daze is when the butterflies are released, the sudden spray of color into the air momentarily dazzling her senses. Until one of the butterflies decides to land on her, which she irritatedly shoos away.

With the celebration officially begun, Shyla wades through the crowd, intent on doing something about her growling stomach. She moves from table to table, looking for something that suits her taste. She's almost ready to give up and settle on the roast mutton when she spots someone serving grilled shellfish, skewered with vegetables, and well seasoned with a blend of spices.
Shyla eagerly helps herself to a couple of the 'cabobs and grabs a cup of tea while she's at it, wandering away from the crush of people to enjoy her meal.

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« Reply #43 on: September 06, 2010, 02:46:16 PM »

Eloise isn't expecting to stay long so tries to soak in the atmosphere without getting to involved. The butterflies bring an involuntary smile to her lips.
Perusing the many varied seafood delights and laying the compliments thick (yet charmingly) with the servers she notes Weoxgyld in the crowds (how could you not really?) and is hit with recognition.

She's not entirely sure who he is - there were so many guests there that day - but it seems a little beyond coincidence that they'd turn up in the same place so far afield.

Once Weoxgyld and Paiter split up for the evening she'll discreetly approach Paiter and see what she can find out.
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« Reply #44 on: September 06, 2010, 03:12:28 PM »

Haldar and his lupine companion , after wandering in thought following the old Varisian woman's reading, spy Weoxgyld and Paiter and rejoin their company for the opening ceremonies.  The tallish young man sits on his heels for the speeches, not really listening as he continues to ponder the words of the crone while the ebon wolf sits beside him placidly.

As a flash of brilliant colors momentarily blocks out the sun, Haldar is pulled from his reverie, a soft laugh escaping his lips as the radiant cloud of butterflies scatters throughout the town, so different and yet much the same as the towns of his people.  He stiffens slightly, not daring to even breathe as one of the butterflies suddenly alights upon his breast, its wings slowly beating, another swallowtail visible out of the corner of his eye on the chest ruff of his companion, Víðrökkr. Moments later (or was it a lifetime) the butterflies flit off again, disappearing into the sky.

Paiter to his fellow ex-passenger Haldar: “I think I stepped over the line earlier, he’s always so damn noble and generous when he is p*ssed. Now about those too many ales, I need to get an early start so I can sleep it off for an early start…”

Paiter's comment brings Haldar's attention back to the present.  "Aye," he replies, slightly bemused, "He reminds me of my uncle Thelden.  Kept his temper hidden away in company, but when he got you alone, the thrashing he could give was epic."  He looks around and follows his nose to the tastiest of treats he can find in the festival, sampling whatever catches his attention and washing it down with a strong local ale. Toward the end of his feast his nose leads him to a new treat, a dark aromatic beverage served from steaming urns and laced with pungent spices.

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