I guess I'll just echo everyone else by saying nice job frairtuck! I'll definitely continue reading. I've never actually heard of putting two fingers up being termed the longbowman's salute before, so on top of being entertained I also learnt another term for an insult - never a bad thing in my book.

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The chemistry must be respected.

I second the motion. Please continue.

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Ash: [talking to mirror] I'm fine... I'm fine...
[Mirror Ash jumps out of the mirror and grabs Ash]
Mirror Ash: I don't think so. We just cut up our girlfriend with a chainsaw. Does that sound "fine"?

Love that new page smell. I'm really not one to rail against derailment. It leads to fewer images to load per page. Even better is suggestions/commentary/questions/speculation/reference spotting, etc.

Muro- Glad to hear it's coming off fresh! Hope it continues to leave a good impression.

Smuel- You're excellent, and so was your derailing effort.

Jojobobo- I love archaic and creative invective. There's more to come once these characters hit their stride.

I've done another two installments just today in the excitement from seeing the stir this caused (work's light at my hagwon because the middle school kids are off for spring exam study), so here's an extra update:

#3: Ty'Ler: Troubled Souls


Ty'Ler and Virgil, sent by the ghost of Charles Brehgo, walk to the home of the priest Arbalah. Next to the house, they see two exquisitely carved headstones bearing the legends "Jamilah, Beloved Wife and Mother" and "Saif, Beloved Son."
: Be careful, sir. I don't trust that Brehgo fellow at all, but that was still a nasty curse.
Ty'Ler approaches to knock on the door, which swings open before him. In the center of the room stands a half-elf in stained robes with red, tearful eyes, wearing a grimace.

: Excuse me, sir... Are you alright?
: [This wizened old priest seems to be in some pain.] I am Arbalah, [he winces] and you are?
: I am Ty'Ler Do'Urden.
: Well, Ty'Ler, what brings you to my humble farm?
: I've been sent here by the cursed spirit of Charles Brehgo.
: [He smiles. The gleam in his eye is frightening to behold.] He's dead already? How...sad. Has he sent you to finish what he did not?
: He tried to, but it was pretty clear he was lying to me. I've just come to ask what all this is about. He claims he was a monk, and that you made his friend kill him.
: I am surprised his path ended so soon after...after he shattered mine. After I had offered them food and drink, he and his friend, Fahrkus, I believe his name was, ransacked my house for whatever they could find. When they finally found my one object of any value, a sacred, holy artifact, they...killed my family. They left me for dead, as well...
: So you cursed them?
: [He winces in pain, once again.] I retired from the priesthood some years ago, but it was all I could think to do, in my pain and grief...their souls will never leave this plane of existence!
: (Never? Isn't that rather harsh?)
: Right. And the curse of madness that caused Fahrkus to kill Brehgo?
: Curse? No, I believe that was the curse of greed. If I had to guess, Fahrkus decided he didn't want to share the ill gotten gains with anyone. Despicable people...
: I am sorry for your loss.
: Thank you for your kind words...but there is something else. I need to recover the sacred artifact they stole...it is very important to me. I need it to pray to my gods effectively. Did Brehgo say anything, give any clue as to where it might be?
: No, he did not.
: [He hobbles a bit closer to Ty'Ler.] I know it is none of your affair, but could you assist me in trying to locate what is rightfully mine?
: It is the least I could do. Any idea where I should start?
: Excellent...perhaps our friend, the late Mr. Brehgo, would have some information he could impart to you regarding the location of my sacred possession...[he smiles warmly].
: ("Our friend?" That smile seems a bit twisted to me, sir...)
: (Easy, Virgil. It's an elf thing.)
: I appreciate your kindness, though I regret I have nothing to give you for your help.
: That's quite alright. I will return when I have retrieved your property, sir.

They make their way back to the cave.

: I, uh, need to talk to the "friend" that killed you...
: Hahahaaaagh...the pain...[he composes himself.] So, you spoke with Arbalah...instead...of killing him...bravo...my friend. I applaud you...
: Tell us where Fahrkus is!
: Why should I...tell...you that?...I will still be here...for eternity...
: Don't you want revenge on your killer?
: Why...would I care...I would have done the same...to him...if he had not been faster...regardless...I will still be here...
: I have convinced Arbalah to release you if you help me.
: ...[Stares at Ty'Ler]
: You would, wouldn't you?...If there is one...thing...about you noble...types...is that you'll do the right thing, even...if it kills you...very well...anything to be released from this...pain...[he points to a location on Ty'Ler's map]...Fahrkus is...here...
: Thank you. By the way, I lied...you still get to rot here forever!
: Aaaaaaaaaagh! No...it cannot be!...The pain!...Please...I will haunt you...I will curse...your loved ones...please...release me...

: Remember my face, hellion. If ever some unjust god should smile on your unworthy, maggot-harrowed and free you to oblivion, rest uneasy. This is the face of the man who would drag you back. [Ty'Ler turns and leaves, Virgil in tow.]
: Really, Ty'Ler? It doesn't bother you to leave him like this?
: There's not much choice. I know a few things about curses, and that one's going to stick around until Arbalah dies or dispels it. I'm not about to kill a priest just to save this bastard from a few years of righteous torment. Besides, Arbalah will probably change his mind eventually, once he's had time enough to forgive.
: [Seems to stop himself saying something else.] Well, I hope so. ...Sir.


It's a short trek to Fahrkus' hideout. He's heading out toward some bushes when Ty'Ler and Virgil arrive.

: Are you Fahrkus?
: [The surly looking fellow appraises Ty'Ler suspiciously.] Who wants to know? What are you doing in my...[he looks around]...house?
: I am here for Arbalah. You will return what is his, or you will die.
: [He suddenly looks very unsure of himself.] What...what do you mean? I, uh, I have no, uh, idea what you are talking about.
: [Grabs him.] This is your last warning, you spineless worm! Do not fuck with me!
: Here! Here it is! Please, don't hurt me! [He hurriedly hands you the artifact.]
: Thank you. You may live, for now. Come on, Virgil.
: [Hangs back.] Listen. Try to make peace with the priest. For your own sake.
: Yeah... yeah, sure.
: And you might want to change your trousers. Good day.


Back at Arbalah's...

: I have retrieved your artifact. [Gives it to him.]
: I thank you, as do the spirits of my ancestors. I must admit to having lied to you before as well...[he smiles a kindly smile].
: I do have something to give you, something of immeasurable value. I bestow my blessing upon you...everyone you meet will now react more favorably to you than perhaps they did in the past.
: Thank you, sir. Best of luck in future.
: Okay, Virgil. Let's go visit this Elder Joachim of yours.


Several hours later, they arrive in Shrouded Hills.


Edit: Thanks, Smuel, but I'd just planned to use the edit button.

I'm just posting this so that fruitrack doesn't make the fatal error of double-posting.

This is very nice, friartuck! So far, so good.

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Most excellent! Bravo!

This line doesn't make sense.
The bandits not only stole sacred artifact, but also fucking MURDERED almost whole family for no apparent reason. I don't think there can be a peace in this situation.
Though it may be that Virgil is just retarded, he has 7 INT at the start of the game, after all.

_________________

Priests are generally more forgiving than your average folk and even a murderer can redeem himself. Something as simple as honest regret and committing the rest of your life to helping others can do wonders.


A fair point, here. Fahrkus and Brehgo are scum and deserve punishment, but eternal torment for murder? In a world where life itself is suffering compared to the calmness of the afterlife? Who's the real monster here?

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Where we're going, we won't need eyes to see.

I think it's Yuki. She doesn't say much, but I get the feeling she'd happily murder us in our sleep if we got in her way.

Glad to see it's kindling some discussion. I was never comfortable with the Arbalah quest. It always seemed to me that negotiating with the priest to lift the curse in exchange for the artifact would be the best possible solution, but even a persuasion master can only lie about that. Ty'Ler, of course, like his namesake, has no such qualms, but if anyone in the game thinks there's a wisdom of forgiveness, it's probably Virgil.


Edit: And here's the next update, in which Ty'Ler's low perception becomes more apparent.

#4: Ty'Ler Do'Urden: Shrouded Hills

Virgil and Ty'Ler make their way to the Shrouded Hills Inn, where the young priest has been staying with the Elder Joachim for the past couple of weeks. When they enter the room, they find a scene out of Virgil's nightmares.

: Good god! What's happened here? These men... I've never seen them before...
: Calm down! Okay, we can figure this out. Let's look around. There must be some sort of clue to what happened somewhere. Maybe if we look through their pockets we can find out who they are, or if we look for footprints, maybe we could track your man, or--
: Or maybe we could read this note with a detailed explanation, signed by Elder Joachim himself.
:
: Well, yeah, I suppose that would work, too...
: It seems Joachim has discovered something...these individuals [He motions to the corpses on the ground.] seem to be a part of some larger plot. A plot against YOU...
: It looks that way. Tell me Virgil...who exactly is this Joachim?
: [Virgil seems a bit uncomfortable.] He is...well...someone who helped me out when I needed it. I met him in a small village, at a Panarii temple. I was...uh...a bit down on my luck. [Virgil looks away.] He showed me that you don't always have to take what life gives you...that there's always a better path, and that it's always your choice to travel it...
: What do you mean, 'down on your luck'? What had happened?
: I'd rather not talk about it, anymore. [His face hardens.] But Joachim is a great man, well-versed in the ways of the Panarii, and also in the ways of the world. If he thinks we're in trouble, then we are. Let's get out of here, and get to Tarant...
: Alright, Virgil. Perhaps we'll talk more of this later...
: [Virgil is silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then he grabs one of the corpses on the ground, flipping it face-up.] Look...
: Oh! Those amulets...
: Yes...they're the same amulets we found on the ogre in that flying machine...the one who shot down the IFS Zephyr. Did they somehow know you were going to be on that blimp? The Elder Joachim seems to think that they know who you are..I mean, who you REALLY are...
: And who am I, Virgil?
: I told you I'm a bit new to the Panarii, but there's this prophecy. A great elven wizard who lived in the Age of Legends was to be reincarnated, and that passage about the wings of fire was meant to help identify him when he came. He had fought to save the world from a powerful evil sorceror, and I think they both died in the battle. But the Archaeon, the Panarii holy book, says they'll both come again.
: I see... and you think I'm this reincarnated wizard?
: Well, I don't see how else to interpret it. Besides, Joachim seems to think so. I know it all sounds strange, but--
: No, no... Not really. In fact, that would explain a lot.
: Really?
: Well, yes. I always felt like there was something different about me, like I knew what was best for everyone, and I had to protect them. Yes, This makes sense. I am a holy warrior...
: ...I see. Well. Either way, uh, sir, maybe we should work on getting to Tarant, like the note says.
: Maybe. I want to find out more about that ring the gnome gave me, first. Besides, it's late. Let's get a room for the night.


Having done so, they turn their attention to the bar.
: Come on, Virgil. It's been a rough day. Let me buy you a drink.

: What can I do for you?
: I'd like a drink, please.
: That'll be 2 coins.
: No problem. So, anything happen hereabouts?
: Such as?
: Well, I hear there was something of a commotion in here earlier.

: There's been strange folk around here lately. Been asking about the Panarii prophecies and whatnot.
: Really? Why would they come out here for that?
: You don't know? This is Shrouded Hills. There's an old Panarii temple here...the Elder Joachim told me that it was once a very important place to the Panarii.
: Ah. you're one of them, ain'tcha? Well, just you keep your nose out of trouble, that's all I'll say. We got ways of dealing with trouble in these parts.
: Oh? How's that?

: Well, Constable Owens might strut around here like a spring rooster, but everyone knows that old Doc Robers is the only real law in Shrouded Hills.
: That a fact? And who is this Doc Roberts character?
: Bona fide hero. Why, just this afternoon, he took out the whole Bowen gang when they tried to hold up the bank. What I hear, he was all on his own, 'cept some no-account half orc he pulled in off the street.
: Impressive. We'll look out for him.
: Don't bother, stranger. If'n you need to see him, you can bet he'll be looking out for you.
: I see. Well, have a good night, sir.
: And you do the same.

: [Whispering to Virgil] (I don't like the sound of this Doc Roberts, not one bit. Clearly some sort of vigilante. And dealing with half orcs?)
: (Easy, sir. Let's not cause trouble here. We don't need the attention.)
: (True, but I also don't want trouble finding us.) Hmm... Come on.
: Where are we going?
: I want to make our side known just in case anything happens. Let's find this Constable Owens. Maybe he can help us.


: Excuse me, sir, are you Constable Owens?

: Who are you?
: My name's Ty'Ler Do'Urden. I'm just passing through.
: I see. Can I help you?
: I've just been in the most terrible blimp crash, sir!
: Good God! You mean the IFS Zephyr? I thought I'd heard something...where did this happen?
: Just up the hill. I'd recommend you bring the coroner.
: Oh no! What about the local surgeon? Are there any other survivors?
: No. It seems luck has favored only myself.
: A lucky soul you are. And you've come to the right man! Being the local constable, it will fall on me to take action! We'll have to send a party up to the site as soon as possible!
: Good idea, sir. But first, I'm afraid I have something else I need to tell you.
: What is it?
: There are two dead bodies in the inn!
: [He looks a bit shaken.] W-w-w-well, uh, there's quite a few drifters through here, uhm, I ah, try not to get involved in such things, you understand....
: I see. Yes, of course. [To Virgil] (This Roberts bastard's clearly involved. The constable's staying quiet because he doesn't want to endanger us.)
: (Uh, if you say so, sir.)
: In that case, sir, may I ask a few questions?
: Certainly.
: Can you tell me anything about this ring?

: Hmmm. Looks a bit fancy to me. I'd not be the one to ask. You might want to try Ristezze the Importer...he's got a shop in town. It's just northwest of here, by the smithy's.
: Thank you. Might I ask you a few more questions?
: Of course.
: Can you tell me a little bit about Shrouded Hills?
: Surely. This is a mining town through and through. As far as towns go, it's pretty old, but we've got most of what a soul might need.
: I understand the Panarii have some interest in the town?
: Yes... Seems they think something strange is going to happen around here, so they're always going up into the hills to wait for it.
: What exactly do these Panarii believe in?
: [He eyes Virgil, seeming to notice him for the first time.] I think your Panarii companion there would know a lot more about it. Why don't you ask him?
: I'd rather hear from someone impartial, and you're clearly a wise and sophisticated gentleman.
: [What chest he has puffs out slightly.] I see. Yeah, well. A weird lot, those Panarii. [Virgil scowls.] Present company excepted. Believe in all sorts of things...Elven gods and the like. Don't know much about it myself.
: Would they happen to have a temple around here?
: Not an official one, anymore. You may have noticed a large temple on your way in, but that serves as our Town Hall here in Shrouded Hills, and houses our steam engine. It might've once been a Panarii temple, but no one around here can remember when it was...
: I see. Not much use to us, then.
: Just curious, but why do you ask?
: Oh, well it's a funny story, but Virgil here seems to think I'm his god.
: Sir!
: I see...
: So I thought, just in case that's true, I'd better find out a bit more about myself and my religion.
: Er, right. Well, if there's nothing else...
: Just one more question, sir... I'm going to be leaving for Tarant in the next day or two. What's the best way out of town?
: Ah...well, that's a sticky situation. You see, there's only one bridge to the east of town, and currently that very bridge is being held by a group of thieves...
: [Ty'Ler's ears prick up.] Please continue...
: We are building another bridge further down the river, but these thieves are making anyone who crosses the bridge pay a heavy toll. Needless to say, the locals aren't happy.
: Who exactly are these thieves?
: Just some brigands who blew into town. I'll, uhhh...dispatch them, err, tomorrow...right after I take care of that...um...other business...
: I'm sure you're very busy. Perhaps I could help?
: [To Ty'Ler] (What?!)
: (Shh. This is our chance to prove ourselves. Then maybe he'll trust us to deal with Roberts.)
: Really? Oh, I mean...not that I need it...uh, you seem fit for the job...always thought about getting a deputy. Sure! If you're willing, I suppose I could give you a chance.
: I'd be honored to remove them. What's the pay?
: You are an amateur, but I suppose I could see my way to paying you 50 gold pieces for the job.
: Done. You won't regret this, sir!


: What a brave man. A real pillar of the community. Hmm. We may need a little extra muscle for a job like that.
: Well, I suppose we could ask the constable if he has any likely lads...
: No... it's impossible to make a name for yourself if you just hang out with an established local hero like our friend Owens. Ahh, I know... [Virgil follows Ty'Ler back to the bar.]
: Hello there, old chap.

: Hmm. Don't think [HIC!] I like you much, stranger...
: Excuse me, good ogre? Why such harsh words?
: Erm, sir, this is a half ogre. If he doesn't like us, it may be wise to be elsewhere.
: Nonsense, Virgil. I'm sure we've just got off on the wrong foot. Isn't that right, Mister...?
: [The ogre looks angrily at Ty'Ler through half-closed, blood-shot eyes.] I jes don't [HIC!] like you much, stranger. I sugges' you just [HIC!] leave me alone and go 'bout your business....
: Sir! Please! Perhaps I could buy you a drink...?
: [The ogre's brow unfurls, and he smiles stupidly.] Now you're talkin' muh language, fren'! Sure, you can buy me a drink! You're not such a bad bugger [HIC!] after all!
: Yes, let's get to that in a moment...might I ask who you are?
: Me? [The ogre sets his ale cup down, puffing out his chest. Pathetically.] I am Sogg Mead Mug!
: Oh, brother...
: (Shh!) 'Mead Mug'? I'm sorry, is that your family name?
: [The ogre turns his glare away from Virgil.] A' course! Don' you know anythin' [HIC!] 'bout ogre names, stranger? Ogre names tell 'bout the person, or the family who's got 'em. [Sogg looks away, seeming a little confused.] Come to think of it, maybe that [HiC!] ain't muh real name. But it's what people call me around here...
: I see. Yes. So, Sogg, can I ask you a few questions?
: Sure. What do you [HIC!] want to know?
: What are you doing here in Shrouded Hills?
: Me? Oh, not much. I work doing odd jobs, making a little coin when I [HIC!] need it. Mostly I spend my time in this here fine Inn! I tell you fren', [HIC!] I been to just about every Inn and tavern in Arcanum, and I think this [HIC!] is my favorite!
: I see. What can you tell me about Shrouded Hills?
: Shrouded [HIC!] Hills? Not a bad place, a little borin'...[He wavers slightly. He looks about ready to fall asleep.] Can't go nowheres right now, though. There are some bloody thieves at the bridge who won' let anyone [HIC!] out of town! Chargin' a bloody toll, and I ain't got no money...
: Perhaps you should join me. I'm looking to get out of town...
: Oh? An' who are you to be askin'?
: I'm Ty'Ler Do'Urden, and this is my traveling companion, Virgil. Do you know Constable Owens?
: Skinny human? No chin?
: That's the chap. He's offering 50 gold if we can get rid of those louts at the bridge. So what do you say, Sogg?
: Sure! Sounds [HIC!] like a good idea! Two heads are better'n one, [BURP!], even if one of 'em is as drunk as mine! Ha! Let's get outta here!
: Excellent! Welcome to the team, Sogg!
: Yeah. Terrific.



After a round of drinks, the trio retires to their room for the evening. In the morning, they head straight to the shop of Ristezze the Importer.

Hopefully we'll see our heroes put an end to the tyranny of the vile doctor and his evil, evil moustache.

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Where we're going, we won't need eyes to see.

#5: Ty'Ler Do'Urden: SHUT THAT BLOODY BOUZOUKI UP!


A devilishly handsome human gentleman wearing an extremely tasteful mustache looks up from his work. For some strange reason, though there is none in sight, his whole shop smells of cheese.
: Hmm? What do you want?

: And you are, good sir?
: I am Ristezze, importer of fine goods and rarities from the all over the world. No where will you find a more incredible assortment of fantastical oddities from the four corners of Arcanum and beyond! You're looking for something specific, yes?
: Fascinating. Could you answer a few questions?
: What can Ristezze do for you?
: What could you tell me about this ring? [Show it to him.]
: Interesting. Hmmm. A finely made piece of jewelry. What exactly do you want from Ristezze?
: Do you know who the initials G.B. belong to?
: G.B.? No one that I know. Plus, it's IMPOSSIBLE that someone in SHROUDED HILLS would own such a high quality piece of jewelry. More likely they'd melt it down and use it for nails...oh, the thought! How Ristezze has languished here, my friend...
: To be sure, Ristezze. So what do you think a piece like this is worth?
: Wait just a minute, friend. Perhaps Ristezze has some questions for you? Like where does someone like yourself come across a piece such as this?
: It was given to me by a victim of the blimp crash.
: Blimp Crash? What blimp crash? Has no one the decency to tell Ristezze when tragedy strikes? Are you alright? Were there any other survivors?
: No. It seems I'm the only lucky soul.
: I see. Well, Ristezze is always one to help those in need. Take this small donation. Ristezze is a business man, but he has a heart as well. Tell, me...were there any objects there that seemed...well...unclaimed...?
: I'd think most of what is there will need to be sent to relatives...
: Of course! Of course! I'm only asking for the sake of the poor deceased. Ristezze would never think to rife through the objects of the dead. Now, if someone else were to bring things to Ristezze...
: Yes, yes. Business is business.
: Ahhh! A man after Ristezze's heart! We can talk more of this later... Now, was there anything else?
: I'd like to ask about the imprint of P. Schuyler & Sons...
: P. Schuyler & Sons? A very important piece of this puzzle, eh, my friend? Ristezze has been very free with information, no? What have you to offer Ristezze?
: You've been nothing but helpful...and VERY knowledgeable!
: Ah, yes. Flattery will get you EVERYWHERE with Ristezze. But Ristezze is not so easily thwarted, my silver-tongued friend. Now, about what Ristezze might need in return...
: Let us forget business for a while. Let's talk about you...
: Yes. My favorite subject. What exactly would you like to know? There's so much to tell...
: What sort of wonders have you beheld? And where?
: Oh, the things Ristezze has seen, my friend! The deepest of the old Dwarven caverns, where diamonds hang like great chandeliers, and the gold runs in veins as wide as rivers...
: Utterly fascinating...your descriptions are enchanting...
: You think so? Let me tell you of the elves, and their carved homes in the boughs of the old forests, where shadows hang thick like leaves and the air is like earthy perfume. Melodic voices like sunlight, quick figures draped in wisdom and grace...
: Give me a moment...I'm overwhelmed...
: And the cities, my friend! The cities of man! Old Caladon, where the ancient and austere Panarii temple is a marble testament to man's reverence, the old stone docks which have withstood the oceans fury for a thousand years...
: And you, Ristezze! They must know of you in these cities!
: They all know of Ristezze! Ristezze, who once rode in the gem-studded carriage of the Garringsburgs, walked in the terraced gardens of old Arland among barons and potentates, threw lilies at the wolf hunts in Huntington Dale...
: And among men of commerce, you shone like the sun...
: Yes! Ristezze was a god! The Willoughsby banking dynasty were like children to Ristezze, asking for toys. Ristezze once held the most favored spot at the Meloren Bazaar, where the concubines pay for their silks and perfumes in rubies and diamonds...
: Tell me more...there must have been others like yourself...
: There were so many! The Derringers of Cumbria, the Beaurigards and the Wexels from East O'Banion, the Kiplings of Great Bend...
: Tell me...where are men like yourself most powerful? Caladon?
: No! In Tarant! The greatest city of them all! Tarant, like a great beast slumbering in the shallows of the gulf of Morbihan. Tarant, battle-scarred and bold, its roads and boulevards a haphazard mesh interspersed with castles and monolithic buildings of merchantry!
: Please, tell me of the men of industry...what are they like?
: Like royalty! Kings and Princes, their ships laden in goods and resources, tribute from lands both near and far!
: Your story is so compelling. Who are these great men?
: There are so many in Tarant! The Moores, the Prestons, the Tarrelon-Dunnes. And the Schuylers of 44 Devonshire Way! Those strange Schuylers who, like myself, deal in the rare and the uncommon...
: That sounds so intriguing. I'd love to travel to Tarant...
: Oh, you must. If only once, to look upon her rivers and her bridges, her factories, her skies adorned with flying machines and her bosom stitched with the tracks of roaring trains...
: I'm not sure where Tarant is...could you mark my map?
: Of course. If you see her, tell her that Ristezze sends his greetings!
: I certainly will. If we could address business now, there are a few odd trifles I think you may be interested in...
Ty'Ler and Ristezze spend some time haggling over the objects from the crash site. As a technophile, the camera particularly tickles Ristezze's fancy, and he offers a princely sum. Both men are smiling when their business is concluded.
: Fare thee well, my friend!
: And you as well, Ristezze. Say, before I go... You have a lot of imports, right? Do you ever get any animals in?
: Of course, sir. Got a strapping new Stillwater Blue parrot in this week. Would you like to see it?
: No, I don't think so. Another day, perhaps. Good morning.
: That... was incredible, sir. I'm in awe.
: You just have to know your audience. Come on, we've got work to do.


On their way out of the shop, a pudgy, youngish gnome dressed in a well-made suit calls out to Ty'Ler.

: Excuse me, sir, but I couldn't help but overhear you telling the good constable that you were the sole survivor on the IFS Zephyr. Is that true?
: (Couldn't help but overhear a private conversation in the middle of the night?) Yes, I was.
: Are you sure there were no other survivors? [The gnome looks crestfallen.] My older brother...he was on the blimp. A gnomish gentleman of some years. Did you happen to see him, sir?
: I did meet a gnome. What did you say your name was?
: The name is Radcliffe...William Radcliffe. My brother's name was Preston...did you know him, sir? Perhaps he's at the crash site even now, alive..?
: I spoke with your brother. He died shortly after. I'm sorry.
: [His face goes pale.] No...not Preston. [He is silent for a moment, looking away.] I see. Thank you, sir. You've been most helpful...
: Wait! He told me to "find the boy" and give him this ring...!
: I see. [He looks longingly at the ring.] It was his...a family heirloom...[He looks on the verge of tears.] Even in death, he was thinking of his family first...
: He seemed very upset...said he'd escaped from somewhere...
: Really? [The gnome seems surprised...a little nervous.] Yes, well...Preston was getting on in years...sometimes he had a little trouble remembering exactly where he was. He was overseas...[he lowers his voice]...receiving "treatments"...
: Hmmm. If you're carrying identification, we'll give you the ring...
: Virgil!
: We have to be careful.
: [He seems hurt by Virgil's implied doubt.] Sir! This is a difficult time for me...I haven't my passport, I've lost it on the way here...[He looks angry, frustrated.] I'd just appreciate it if you'd give me the ring, please...it belongs to me...
: Perhaps you could just describe the ring in detail...
: [His face turns red as he gets more flustered.] Listen, I've come a long way...its been years since I've seen that ring. [He sets his jaw, exhaling.] Look, I'll pay you for it...
: Where are you travelling from? You arrived here awfully fast...
: [The gnome's mouth drops open, as if to say something, then shuts. His eyes narrow, and he takes a step forward.] I recommend you give me the ring, friend. You're a stranger here, and you can be assured that the town constable will see things that way...
: Oh, really? Perhaps we should go speak with him...
: [He takes another step towards Virgil, and then moves back, seeming to think twice of it.] Fine, stranger. Have it your way. You're making a big mistake. I'll have that ring one way or another...
: Perhaps. I bid you good day.
: Virgil, that was uncalled for.
: I don't like the look in his eye, and his story just doesn't sit right with me. That bit about treatment overseas...
: Okay, Virgil. But if the Schuylers corroborate his story, we're marching straight back here so you can apologize.

Suspension of disbelief ruined, Virgil is too smart.

_________________

Silly Ty'Ler, didn't even look at the lovely plumage.

_________________
Where we're going, we won't need eyes to see.

#6: Ty'Ler Do'Urden: Damn Yer Eyes, Radcliffe!

Ty'Ler, Virgil, and Sogg, their preparations complete, walk to the bridge northeast of town. A lanky human stands before it, flanked by two leather-clad half ogres.

: (Okay, now we'll have to treat this delicately. These men are clearly capable of trouble. If possible, let's just sneak past.)
: (Right you are, Virgil.) [Shouting] You there! Who are you?
: (Gods damn it...)
: Who am I? WHO AM I? I am Lukan! Lukan the Witless! Where I roam, the masses quabble in pertubisiveness and trepidunction! You dare pretend not to recognize me?
: Witless. Quite apropos, I'd have to say...
: Oh no... [Claps a hand over his eyes.]
: Yes, don't you think? My two vehementuous companions gave it to me. Witless, you see! Without humor! Without laughs! My irascibanality is unmatched!
: [Smiling] Yes. You truly are without wits, Lukan.
: Thank you so much. I can almost forgive your churlinity with comments like that.
: [Gapes] (Sir, let's not belabor the point...)
: Now, now, Virgil. It's rude to whisper. [Turning back to Lukan] And your fearsome friends? Where did you meet them?
: At university, where I became disenchortled with the drudgery of the structured, academedial life. Of course, these gentlemen were cooks at the cafeteria...but we all shared a common hate for authority and a honest day's wage...
: University. Ah. I should have guessed...
: Yes, but my mind outgrew their subterraneous teachings! I bent not to the will of tyrantulocity! And so Lukan the Witless, thief extraordinelle, was born! The Scourge of Shrouded Hills and beyond!
: Your vocabularity...Good god! Now I'M doing it...
: Yes, it's not uncommon that my eloquentology rubs off on those around me...oralization like my own is almost preterlateral in its uniquity...
: Uh...please, I can't take it anymore.
: Do you question the validition of my verbostity?
: Never, never. Just an errant thought. Now then, Lukan, about crossing this bridge...
: Ah yes, the bridge...that's a different matter. You see, my friends and I have found it advanatarious to require of travelers a small toll for the use of our bridge...you can be assured the funds are benefiscal to our little group here...
: (Look, sir, he's an idiot, but that's not so bad... We have the coin, and we really shouldn't risk a confrontation.)
: [Waves Virgil off.] Hmmm. I may be able to persuade you otherwise...
: (Oh, gods...)
: Really? What could you possibly tell me that would change my mind about taking your money?
: Why, I'm a thief as well! We share a common bond.
: Is that a fact? You don't seem much of a thief to me. I'd peg you for a tourist, or aristocracy. Nothing like the degenerals I usually keep company with...perhaps you'd better just cough up the toll.
: This is my disguise. I'm posing as an outlander...
: I suppose its possible...your dress seems fairly non-descrepit. Hmmm. If you are a thief, what are you doing HERE?
: The word gets around...you know how it is...
: Oh! So you've heard about us through the Thieves' Underground! Fantabulous! I knew it was only a matter of time before we were noticed!
: Yeessss...Thieves' Underground. Right. They sent me here.
: They did? Splendid! Which organization are you from? Tarant's? Caladon's?
: Tarant's, of course. We're the best informed of them all.
: I knew it! I knew the Underground in Tarant would hear about us if we tantalized Shrouded Hills long enough! Things are looking up, boys! We're going to be famous!
: Believe me, your TERRORIZING here hasn't gone unnoticed...
: Of course not! I know the Underground sees all...and I made very sure not to step on anyone's toes here in the area. I know the Underground is VERY careful about keeping members out of each other's territories.
: Yes. Actually, that's the reason I'm here...
: What? Oh no! We've gone and trespassed on someone's territory, haven't we? Believe me, good man, we'd never do such a thing intentionarily! You must believe me!
: [Eyes widen.]
: Hmmm. I'm not so sure...
: No! Please...you must tell the Underground that we were unaware of any activity in the general vasectomy! We would never DREAM of moving in on someone else's business!
: Okay, Lukan. I believe you. But we do have a situation here.
: Y-y-e-s-s...b-b-ut I'm sure there's something we can do about this, right? I mean, we could leave right away! No one would be the wiser! And you could tell the Underground that Lukan is a man who respects authority...
: Apart from academia, yes. Hmm... Yes, there might be a possibility. There are, of course, reparations...
: Of course we'd pay whatever the Underground thought necessary! I've collected quite a bounty from Shrouded Hills. Yes! We'll just pay what you think is fair, and get out of here!
: That sounds fair. Let's call it 200 gold pieces.
: 200 it is! [He hands it to Ty'Ler.] Oh, thank you so much! And again, please send my most humiliatory apologies to the Underground in Tarant. We would hate to ruin our chances for membership in the future...
: This money will go a long way towards clearing your name...
: Thank the gods they sent someone as patient and understanding as yourself. And with that, we're off! We'll cause no more troubles in Shrouded Hills! Here...take the key to the bridge gate with my thanks...[He hands Ty'Ler a key...]
: Take your time...but I don't want to see you here if I return.
: Understood! Farewell, good sir! You're a tribute to the vigilance and voyeurism of the Underground!
: Thank you...I think. Good day, Lukan.
: (Sir, that was amazing! I can hardly believe it! And you ended the whole thing without bloodshed!)
: Yes... Oh, Lukan, that reminds me... [Ty'Ler punches Lukan in the nose. Blood streams down his face as he screams in sheer, animal surprise.] Die, thief!
: Oh no.
: Right! [Charges forward to attack one of the the former cooks with a boot to the saucepans.]

Seconds later, it's finished.

: Are you insane?! We could have been killed!
: [Wiping blood from his gauntlets] Virgil, you will learn to trust me. A righteous man has nothing to fear.
: But... but you said... I can't--
: You'll learn. The gods provide for men like us. Come on, lads. Let's go get our reward.


After looting the corpses for useful weapons and armor, Ty'Ler and his band return to Constable Owens, who hands over 50 gold and a heap of praise. After exchanging some of their bounty for coin and some of their coin for wine, they set out for the long walk to Tarant. Spirits (and attitudes as well) are high as they unlock the gate and proceed over the bridge. At the far bank, a familiar face is waiting.

: Hello...I thought we'd run into each other out here...
: Ah, Mr. Radcliffe. What is it you need?
: [Looking around] Careful, sir.
: Virgil, please. Give the poor fellow the benefit of the doubt, will you?
: The ring, stranger. Its mine, and I won't ask for it again. Refuse me, and things won't go well for you...
: What interest do you have in it?
: Virgil! For heaven's sake!
: That's really of no concern to you. Just give me the ring, and I'll go on my way...
: Look, I'm sorry. I have no idea what's got into him. Here you go...[Gives him the ring.] [Aside, to Virgil.] Really, you and I need to get a few things straight...
: Thank you so very much... [He pockets the ring.] Oh, there was just one more thing...
: Yes...what is it?
: [The fat gnome's hand comes out of his pocket with a dagger, and he plunges forward at Ty'Ler's heart.] Your death...
: [Virgil's staff lands hard on the gnome's wrist, then swings up to catch him under the jaw.]
: [As the gnome staggers back, Sogg seizes him by the throat. After a sickening crunch, he's dropped, bleeding, to the ground.]
: [Using his staff, Virgil pulls the gnome's shirt collar down and hooks an amulet. He glares at Ty'Ler.]

: Er... Yes, thank you, Virgil. Sogg. Um. [He goes through the gnome's pockets, pulling out the ring and a folded note.]

: ...Oh. We may be fucked.

Edit: Had another switched image. Let me know if you see more.

So, it seems that Ty'Ler is your typical meta-player.
I bet he will find stolen Garringsburg Painting even before attending quest from Madamme Toussaude.

_________________

Ty'Ler's good at persuasion and a self-righteous bastard, just like Tyler Durden (also why he starts out fighting unarmed). It only makes sense that he'd deal with Lukan that way. He's not a player, he's a character, and that dialogue would be easy for any smooth talking asshole who's familiar with the region (as he is after his earlier conversation with Ristezze). That attitude's bound to lead him to some trouble eventually, though. Ty'Ler's not my favorite character either. Fortunately, he's not the only survivor we're watching... (I like Polly. She's largely based on my wife.)

#7: Polly Perkins: Paranoia Laid to Rest

1.15.85
I have never known relief like this.

These past two weeks, I've thought myself hunted. Every shadow in this strange land could hide a mortal foe, every snapping twig might be the approach of death itself. For one like me, who has lived most of my life the invisible threat, this was deeply disconcerting. I know how easily a life can be snuffed. I know how many places an assassin can hide in a bare patch of scrub, let alone the forests through which I've been traveling. And the Hand is not some lowly, untrained gang or noisy, indiscriminate death squad. They are the best. That's how they found me, and that's why I joined. If they had betrayed me, I thought it a wonder that I was not yet dead. And it would have been, if they had.

I now know I had been operating under a foolish assumption. I was not the target of the crash of the Zephyr. I assumed the worst when I saw the Hand amulets on those ogres, but it seems I was merely incidental. The real target was some dwarf, apparently, by the name of Radcliffe. A high-profile, high-risk target with a strict deadline, according to my contact. The client who took out the contract is apparently a local power player, and this was some big operation. It had better have been, to be worth risking my life.

My contact here in Dernholm is Vollinger, a prissy little gnome with too much time on his hands. We may have got off on the wrong foot; we met with my knife at his throat. It didn't take long to sort everything out, though. He thought I was dead in the crash his boss orchestrated, and I thought he was trying to kill me. Could have happened to anyone. A few hours of drinking, and all was forgotten. I think I like the greedy little pig-eyed bastard. He's smart, and he thinks before he speaks. My sort of fella. Another thing-- he may be the cleanest person I've ever met. Shoes shined like he thinks he's going to a funeral, never a speck of dust on his jacket. He smells like soap and hair treatment. This could be a great partnership; I like to have a good distraction available when it's time to make a killing.

Vollinger's sent word to Laier that I made it. He's just been placed on an active assignment that he couldn't tell me about, but my arrival may change things a bit. Until we hear back, I'm to stay at the inn here on the Hand's dime. It could be worse. Dernholm's a hellhole, but it's as good a place as any for whiskey.

PP

At first I wanted to ask how did Polly circumvent Lukan and his muscle duo on her way to Dernholm, but then I realised she's probably not the kind that's afraid of getting wet and simply swam of the other side of the Shrouded Hills river.

_________________
Where we're going, we won't need eyes to see.

Agreed. I'm sure she could handle it. Up next: (Link in title)

#8: Lionel: Cumbrian Girls Approximately


: Well, at least I'm out of the woods.

It's been a rough few days for Lionel. Though his journey was mostly uneventful, he had to put down an angry black bear a few hours outside of Shrouded Hills. His journey south has finally landed him in Dernholm, the once-proud capital of Cumbria, a dying nation. The hour is late when he arrives in town, but he never considered spending the evening back in the woods and coming into town in the morning. Filthy, worn streets are dimly lit by the occasional flickering lamp, and there is a pervasive smell of rot that reminds him of his youth in the Tarantian Boil. Still, figuring that anything's better than another night spent under a damned tree, he walks up the street until he sees the shingle of an inn. The walls are filthy and caving slightly under a dangerouly sagging roof, but as he sees through the windows light and people and the promise of a bed, Lionel walks past a booze-saturated pile of old rags that almost certainly contains a person somewhere and into the warmth of the bar.

A few heads turn when he enters, but most turn back with just a simple sneer in his direction. Lionel takes stock of the room. A leather-clad half-orc in the corner nurses his beer with an expression that labels him no one's friend. A destitute human woman with angry sores on her face massages her bruised arm and doesn't make eye contact. In the back, a reasonably well-dressed woman who must be the innkeeper doen't even look up from cleaning a stain on the floor. The bartender wears a mask of indifference, his eyes sunken and tired. There are three people at the bar. A man in a dark jacket is talking to a curly haired blonde who may be a half-elf; by the looks of her black leather, the man's name is John. Next to them, a gnome in a ridiculously rustic suit and top hat glares with beady eyes straight at Lionel, his left hand in his jacket. Lionel knows trouble when he sees it, and after years as a body guard, has learned how to deal with it in a place like this. He walks to the bar and turns deliberately to face the gnome in question.
: Evening.

: I've no interest in anything you'd have to say, half-breed.
: [Speaking loudly enough to attract some attention:] Sir! We've only just met and you say such things! [He spreads his arms wide, tactfully opening his own jacket just enough to reveal his holstered revolver.]
: [Glancing around, slightly off-put by the watching eyes] I find your very presence distasteful, to say the least.
: Please, I only wish a moment of your time.
: [The gnome gives Lionel a strange look.] Hmmm. Maybe you and I should speak...
: Er, thank you so very much? Might I ask you a few questions?
: I suppose...
: What do you know of this place?
: Aren't you just full of questions? Can't you let a bloke enjoy his ale...?
: I didn't mean to bother you. Just asking a simple question...
: Yeah? Well, here's a simple question for YOU. What is someone like you doing all the way out here in the middle of this disreputable kingdom? Not exactly the kind of place that someone goes for a holiday...
: Do I look like the sort of man who takes holidays? I'm looking for work.
: [The gnome appears to have lost interest in Lionel.] Well, you came to the wrong place. Haven't you heard? There's no work anywhere in this pissant little country.
: Well, that's a shame.
: It is at that. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be returning to my ale...
: By all means.
This business taken care of, Lionel turns to the bartender.
: Hello, sir.
: [His tone and his expression flat] What'll it be?
: I'll have a beer. [He hands over 2 coins.] Say, friend, do you know a Sarah Toone?
: Sure. Moved here a few years back. Some sort of family trouble.
: I've got a message for her. Any idea where she lives?
: [His face scrunches up.] A message from who? That girl don't need any more trouble.
: It's nothing like that, I promise you. It's to do with her mother's will.
: [The bartender glares at Lionel coolly, then shrugs.] She's on the main street, about a block that-a-way. Boarded up stone house.
: Thank you, sir. [He buys another drink.] So Ms. Toone's living alone out here?
: 'Fraid so. No one much to turn to, either. Her daddy was a technologist, built mining contraptions, so no one in these parts wants much to do with her. Apart from Jayna, of course, but she's no better off.
: Jayna?

: Oh, have you met Jayna Stiles? Poor girl, living all alone the way she does. And always studying her books... says she wants to be a healer!
: I see... Well, you have my gratitude, sir. It's about time I turn in.
: Right you are. Innkeeper's around the corner.



Lionel rents a room for the night. He's charged double the usual rate, being a half-orc. In the morning, he followed the barman's directions to the home of Sarah Toone. The woman stood alone in a dark room, mopping the floor.

: Excuse me, Ms. Toone?

: [She looks up disdainfully and her tone is acidic.] Go away, half-breed. I don't need your aggravation.
A man can have dignity, or food. Not both.
: Please, excuse my presence, madam. I mean no offense.
: [She sighs heavily and sets her mop against the wall.] No, I must apologize to you. There is no call for me to treat you that way, no matter who you are. My name is Sarah Toone. Pleased to make your acquaintance.
: Likewise, I'm sure. Are you the daughter of Bessie?
: [She suddenly looks very sad.] Yes, yes I am. Why do you ask?
: I am trying to find a way to free your mother's ghost.
: Oh? And why, may I ask, are you doing that?
: Your brother is rather upset, understandably. I offered to help.
: My brother? Upset? Why? He should be happy, the dog! He got what he wanted, after all.
: He told me you didn't like him.
: "Not like him"? That is an understatement. Do you know what he did? He convinced my mother to sign the mine over to him, and then he sold it to those thugs in Tarant! She killed herself over that!
: How did he convince her to sign?
: She always wanted me to run it, as my brother was notorious for bungling things. He convinced her that "for legal reasons" it should be in his name as she was getting old, and I was not yet of legal age. She resisted at first, but my brother always was able to wear her down. He was insidious in that way.
: But why did she kill herself over him selling it?
: Her only wish was that the mine stay in our family, as it had been for more than three generations. It was our heritage. She often told me that she would rather be dead than to have anyone else but a Toone run it.
: Did you know she's calling your name? Why is that?
: Yes, I had heard that...I don't know why. I think she realized that I was the only one she could trust. Perhaps she wishes she had come with me...or...[she chokes back tears]...or she feels I deserted her when she needed me...I just couldn't stand to watch her life being ripped away from her.
: Can you tell me who owns your family's mine now?
: I can't recall, offhand, but I think I wrote it down somewhere...[she shuffles through some papers]. Yes, here it is. Stanton Importers, 25 Lion's Head Circle, Tarant.
: [He writes this down.] Thank you. So, what was your brother's excuse for selling the mine?
: He concocted some story about the buyers threatening his life if he didn't sell. I think he owed them money, actually, but he would never admit it.
: That bastard... The whole damned town was dependent on that mine...
: Believe me, I know.
: So why did you move here? This place has seen better times.
: I knew what my brother was going to do as soon as he "stole" the mine from me and my mother. I couldn't bear to watch. I tried to get my mother to come with me, but she wouldn't leave her home. I moved here because I had nothing...I don't even own this place, it was deserted.
: Your brother wouldn't help you out? He seems to be well off.
: Are you serious? I would never ask for his help.
: I see... Listen, Sarah, would you be interested in owning the mine again?
: Of course I would...but I thought you were working for my brother.
: I was, but I don't think I like him much anymore.
: Hah! Join the club. You know, I am beginning to like you. [She sighs.] I can't pay you for your help, you know.
: Ah. Well... [He thinks of Doc Roberts, and he sets his jaw.] No. That is quite alright. I want to help you out.
: I thank you for that...but I realize the strong appeal of money. I want you to know I would hold no ill will towards you if you decided to help my brother instead.
: Don't worry. I'll be setting out for Tarant later today.
: Thank you. [She picks up her mop and sees Lionel to the door.]
: Oh, before I go, I understand you have a friend named Jayna?
: Ms. Stiles? Yes, she's a nice girl. Studying to be a healer. I worry about her though.
: Why's that?
: Well, let's just say her studies aren't very popular around here.
: Can you point me towrd her home? [Sarah looks unsure.] I may need some medicines for the trip to Tarant.
: Oh... yes, she lives in a wooden house on the southern edge of town, just by the docks.
: Thank you. I hope to return with some news shortly...



Lionel finds the healer's house with ease, knocks, and enters. The walls are lined with book shelves and drying herbs. The woman of the house is obviously a half-elf. She's young, and though pale and a bit skinny, is quite attractive. Lionel trips over his own tongue as he speaks to her.
: I, ah, that is... Erm, so--

: (Oh gods, a half-wit half-orc.) I do not have time for half-orcs. Please leave.
: [Regainging his composure] Madam! Did I hear you correctly? What have I done to offend you?
: I don't mean to be rude, but I just don't like you, sir. Please, just leave me alone...
: Madam! Please! Can't we talk in a more civilized manner...?
: [The woman seems a little embarrassed at her words.] I'm sorry. Sometimes I don't think before I speak. Perhaps we might start again?
: I'd like that, madam. Are you Jayna Stiles?
: Yes, I am. How can I help you?
: Your friend Sarah told me you're a healer. May I ask, what are you doing here in Dernholm?
: Oh... You know Sarah. [She relaxes.] What am I doing here? Well, what does anyone really do in Dernholm? Not much to do in this town...wasn't always this way, to hear the way my parents used to talk about it. [She seems a little sad, sighing.] Yes, I guess you could say I'm a healer, if I'm anything at all...
: What sort of healing do you do?
: Well...I don't really do any of it very well. There hasn't been a decent doctor around here for a very long time, and our best midwife died not too long ago. I really want to learn, but there's not really anyone to learn from. [She gets a determined look in her eyes.] But I'm still trying! You see, it's really important to me that I become a great healer....
: Why is that, Jayna?
: Well...[She looks to the ground. Lionel sees that this is difficult for her to talk about.]...there was a disease that came to Dernholm a few years ago. As I told you, there hasn't been a doctor here for a long time. We didn't have any medicines, and shipments from Tarant are very scarce...
: And so?
: Well, my parents got sick, you see...[Tears well up in her eyes.] They were so brave, right up until the end...but they died. Many others died here as well. No one around knew how to deal with such sickness, and so all we could do is sit here and watch our loved ones pass away. [She dries her eyes.] And it was then that I decided...
: What did you decide?
: I decided that I never wanted to watch people die that way again. I decided to become a great healer...to save others from the pain I felt when I saw my parents die. And so that's what I've been trying to do...
: I see. How are your studies progressing?
: Not too well, unfortunately. As I said there's not anyone to learn from around here. I have a little healing skill, but I'm just no good at magick. [She lowers her voice, leaning towards you.] Actually, I'm very interested in some of the newer, technological practices...
: Really? [His eyebrows rise slightly and he smiles. She flinches back, almost unnoticeably.] Do you really think technology is better?
: Shhh! Keep your voice down! Don't you know? You can't even talk about such things around here...it's the law! King Praetor got it in his old noggin a long time ago that technology is terrible, and he doesn't want anyone even thinking about it. [She looks about.] You see where THAT has gotten us...
: Yes, well... Do you know much about...er...THAT sort of healing?
: Not a whole lot. I've read a few textbooks...I have to keep them well-hidden, mind you...but there really just isn't much to be learned around here...
: [With growing excitement] Well, why don't you leave? Go to, erm, Tarant, maybe?
: [She sighs.] I can't really afford to. My parents weren't wealthy people, and I don't make much money here in Dernholm. Plus, it's not all that safe for a woman to be travelling all by herself. I'm afraid that I'm stuck here, for now...
: Hmmm. Maybe you'd like to come along with me...?
: [Hope flares in her eyes, mixed with fear.] What? What do you mean?
: Well, I'm...er...travelling. I'm going to Tarant to help Sarah Toone get her family mine back. I'm a bit of a technologist myself, and I could really use a scientific healer...
: Really? I mean...I don't know very much...I don't know how much help I would be...
: Perhaps we could learn things together...?
: [She laughs aloud, clapping her hands together, and Lionel's stomach feels suddenly light.] Oh yes! That sounds just wonderful! [She looks Lionel in the face again, and her smile fades somewhat.] I mean... Well... [Her face becomes determined.] Yes. Any friend of Sarah's is a friend of mine. I'll work my very hardest to learn while we're abroad...you can count on me, sir! I won't let you down... [She takes a few things from her wooden chest, grabs two books from a shelf, puts them in a rucksack, and turns back to Lionel.]
: So... you'll, er, come along, then?
: Yes! I would love to come with you! I'm ready to go right now!
: Well! Wonderful! I-- Er... Yes. Then let's do so.



On their way out of town, Jayna is practically skipping. Though she seems slightly leery of Lionel's company, she teems with excitement at the thought of leaving Dernholm for good.
: So, Jayna, What can you tell me about this place?
: Well, that's a long story. You see, Cumbria was once a powerful kingdom...I don't know a lot of history, but I do know that Dernholm was once as powerful as Tarant, or Caladon...
LI:So I've heard. What happened?
: Well...King Praetor decided long ago that he would tolerate no technology in his kingdom. He was, well...influenced...by his mage "counselors". King Praetor assumed the throne at a very young age, and he was very impressionable...
: Please, continue...
: Well, eventually there was a war between Tarant and Cumbria, and Tarant was victorious. The Dragon Knights... King Praetor's Elite guard... were almost all wiped out in the final battle. Dernholm crumbled, deteriorated into what you see here today...
: I see... Very interesting. Thank you, Jayna.
: So... we're really doing this, then? We're going to Tarant?
: Of course.
: Well, come on! [She laughs, and runs along past the end of the road. Lionel takes off and passes her.]

I'm curious - how much do you tailor what happens to your characters due to random in-game events? Or do you mostly ignore them (even if you die, in which case you reload) as you know in a fairly asciptive sense what is going to happen next? I haven't read too many LPs, most mentionable is DE's epic one, so I'm not too sure how authors decide how things are going to play out?

_________________
The chemistry must be respected.

I ignore most of the random events because I've plotted out most of the story in advance, but that's not the case with all LPs. Most of the ones that are about gameplay rather than roleplay go through random events in detail.

There will be a few deaths which actually happened during gameplay, though, and I've worked them into the plot. Likewise a few of the random encounters (more would get redundant fast) and equipment changes. There weren't very many deaths, though; all three main characters have strong builds.

Well it's nice to hear you have put so much forethought into your LP, should make for it being very interesting in the long run as it has been already.

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The chemistry must be respected.

Hope so. Thanks for the vote of confidence!

Like your descriptions before and during the pub scene and the atmosphere they created.

Another thing, the latest update shows that Lionel apparently has more compassion than I anticipated.

Figured he would choose Percival's coin over working towards returning the mine to the rightful owner. He also appears to actually care about the welfare of the people of Shrouded Hill and how it was affected by Percival. Didn't expect that from a cynical half orc.

Then again, so far it's nothing more than words. Half expecting it will all turn out to be deception and that 500 coin will be worth screwing over Sarah and Jayna for him.


Not sure how this situation is supposed to be interpreted. What exactly was going on in Lionel's head when he thought about Doc Roberts? How did that influence his declared decision?

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Where we're going, we won't need eyes to see.

Half-Orc is emulating Doc Roberts, whom he hero-worships. Duh.

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