<We dance magic’d that 1 wound away, no?>
Take coin
Thank’s buddy. Hopefully that orb won’t open a gateway to some hell dimension!
Go to Brass Lantern
+1
+1
“
Thanks buddy. Hopefully that orb won’t open a gateway to some hell dimension!”
‘Heh... maybe. Maybe not. I will find out though, believe You Me. Even if I have to climb the Mountain where the old speech was first carved. Heh. Heh...’
You leave His office, and enter the darkening streets of High Lent. The rooftops of buildings higher up on the slope of the hill loom over You, the sun having disappeared behind the vast, crooked Castle at the Hill’s peak. Greencloaks pass You by, carrying lit lanterns to be hung on crooked, ancient metal posts that occasionally line the streets. The square with the Hangman’s arch is mostly empty, though a fresh body now hangs from one of the nooses. The stink of rotting flesh makes You gag as You pass it by. You pass by the street sign saying Rook street. The wall it’s attatched to has a mural of a rook painted over the whitewash. Finally, the smell of Peat-smoke fills the air as You come to a building taller and wider than those on either side, with a gated arch at one end of the facade and a set of stairs leading to a wooden doorway at the other, a small brass lantern hanging over it. Thin, glass windows cover the upper floors, and at least three chimneys extend from the rooftop. You open the door, and enter.
Warm air fills Your face as You enter the building, leaving the cold streets behind You. You’re at the side of a long, rectangular common room with a tall, roughly vaulted ceiling and whitewashed walls, dimly lit by a peat fire at one end and what little light comes from a few small windows looking onto the street. It’s furnished few long tables and accompanying benches filling the centre of the room. There’s only a few People here right now, gathered together at the same table and chatting between themselves over plates of stew and mugs of alcohol. Sitting at the far side of the room from You behind a wooden counter, reading a leather-bound book, is a Seven-or-eight foot tall Giant in a massive brown coat, with a full beard and short hair, streaked with black and white. He notices You enter, raises a hand in greeting, and returns to His book immediately.
You aren’t
that hungry, but You have the noticable echo of Hunger yet-to-be before it arrives. You’re so full of tea and milk, however, that You don’t feel thirsty at all. It’s warm in here, and the smell of peatsmoke and cooking food fills the cosy atmosphere with an inviting sense of safety.
Cloth bag
Metal knife
Kight metal pot
Metal lantern
Firelighter
Fistful of root vegetables: (x1.8 )
Waterskin: Mouthful of water (x10)
Smaller bag: Fistful of flour (x4)
Salt box: Pinch of salt (x?)
Black Spherical Orb
Bedroll
Plate
Dancing method
Minor Telekenesis
Healing
Stirk’s suggesion was not used since the outcomes of the two suggestions were mutually exclusive, and the one used was more popular. Next time. Next time.