From: Naron (naron_at_dodo.com.au)
Date: Fri Mar 26 2004 - 10:22:37 GMT
<A couple of things before the post.....>
<The game is going to have to slip to weekly posts whilst I am in University. The workload that I am going through at the moment is completely unexpected but I have to devote myself to it. I also work on most Sundays now and Wednesday is not good due to Uni. About the best time for me to do my posts is now on Friday nights so that is when I will be doing them! When my semester ends and I have some time we will go back to bi-weekly but until then I have to think of how great a computer programmer I will be at the end of Uni! Sorry if this dissapoints.>
<Secondly, I did not introduce Mark's (our new player) very well so I will see that I give him an intro to be proud of (although it would be hard to top Maerath's for those of you who were involved)...>
<So, on to the post. Erica and Jhez, I will be sending you some separate emails.>
You watch Farli as she chases Suskin down the hill. You note that the bear is now near full size though most of you have not noticed the growth through your travels. He is sure to scare the locals somewhat but the bear has grown very close to Farli over this time and seems to respond to her every wish so you are sure that any disruption caused should be easily cared for with a little coin in the hand of any aggreived parties.
As a group you make your way down the last of the hill and are greeted by the guard at the hut of welcoming. With your artisan skills proven you are allowed further passage into the seaside community.
The wharf is alive with colours and smells. Unfortunately the smells seem to defeat the colours hands down with the town smelling of fish that has sat in the sun for just a little too long. The locals dont seem to mind so much and you see that much of the colour is because of the locals dress. T'skrang swarm around the wharf so much that you are almost surprised to see a member of another race when one moves through the crowd. The T'skrang swarm over the rigging of the seven boats that are on the wharf or near it and also leap into the water irregularly to disappear below the surface for minutes at a time it seems.
The town seems warm enough and there are many that have a kind word to say in your direction as you move along the wharf but you are still uncertain. There seems to be some tension unchecked in the air and as you pass alleys you see that they seem to be fuller than the main causeway. None of the occupants seem to be doing anything ill down the alleys but in a way it is that fact that makes you a little nervous.
Leading the horses along the wharf you finally come as close as you can get to the Serpents Tooth before you have to start pushing through the throng that has spilled out of it. Shalandra and Lenora spot a merchant who seems to be making just as much money looking after beasts of burden of others as he is from the golden heads of corn that he has for sale and move to get the horses settled with him. After a short period of barter the horses are left in his care and the pair return to find that you have only made it a few short yards into the throng.
You can hear a thin piping of a tune coming from inside the inn and a strong elven voice accompanies it. The voice sings of a haunted forest ruled by a T'skrang god who makes his home amongst the swamps of the servos and few pay attention to the song although the performance is exceptional and the music has obviously gone a long way toward garnering so much custom from the merchants and sailors that have stopped here.
Finally your group manages to force your way to the open doorway that marks the entrance. Pean and Ayoë make it to the door just in time to hear a large roar and a bout of laughing. You have no time to wonder at the noise as an elf, chained to a post that seems to have once rested at one end of the bar, smashes into Pean and Ayoë. The result sends them and yourselves sprawling as they crash into you and you into others. Many fall to the ground spilling drinks and cursing at the top of their lungs like skittles before a bowling ball. As you seek to collect yourself and get up from the dust you see an ork step up to the door. He stands at six foot eight inches and at least four feet across his shoulders. He has black leather armour strapped tightly to a very muscular body, his red tattooed grey face, topped by a black topknot of hair is twisted in fury.
"Ya see pointy ear I dunnot need nun of me insuferior weapons ta smarsh yor scrinny hinie from pilla ta post!!!" You all hear a raucous cry from inside tinged with laughter that seems like it may come from a larger group of orks. "So take ya pointy bits and go Caerdcha before I pin 'em ta a tree!"
<Your move guys. Say hello to Mark. He is the elf tied to the post>
<Mark, run with it - any reason to be in this situation is OK with me>
<Cheers>
<Mark>
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