Hallow's Peak is a small farming town located in the outskirts of the Roselian Empire. Every year, during the annual harvest season, a massive celebration is held known as the Summer's Yield. You stir in bed, awakened by the sounds of birds chirping, children playing and builders rushing to get everything ready in time for the festival. Who are you and why are you in this town?
[Meta: I am very bored lmao, play this like a high fantasy dnd-esque story- so elves, dwarves, even tieflings a-okay, but anthropomorphic humanoids, weird tentacle creatures, inanimate objects ehhhh maybe not, ]
*Hallow's peak was one of Strange's favorite towns. He did not attend the festival every year, that would arouse too much suspicion, but he made time for it when he was able. Often he found himself on the other side of the empire, and that distance could not be crossed in a season! But when he'd been in the capitol for too long, he'd head here to the outskirts. The town itself was charming. The people here actually cared enough to put on a decent festival. They bothered to erect new structures and pavillions, they saved up their treasures and luxuries, and they put together a bazaar that rivaled towns twice the size. The free flow of libations helped as well.
Strange was a wanderer by nature, and by necessity. He traveled to and fro, collecting rumors, secrets, and plying his trade. Festivals like this were good for him for many reasons. A chance to make some coin, gather secrets, and let off some steam at the same time. So it was he strode up to the open gates of the little town. Carts came and went, as did multitudes of exotic folk. Strange did not create much of a stir, despite his flamboyant garb. Strange dressed as a landsknecht. He wore a large feathered hat of red silk. His breeches matched and were trimmed in silver. His leather chest piece overlaid chain, and red silk tassels hung from it. He maintained the air of a slightly foppish wanderer. Of course, he was armed. A kreigsmesser hung at his waist in a loose harness, a katzbalger was strung across his back. A stiletto was shown without care in his boot. This made his occupation clear, strange was a duelist. A traveling swordsman who made his living as a hired champion and information broker.
His garb made him look a touch less scary, which was good for someone so heavily armed. It was doubly good for someone with cold grey skin, and glassy eyes. He was an unsettling man to look at for too long, as he made one feel a terrible uncanny valley effect. Hence why he preferred festivals like this, where one could disappear into the crowd. Partially due to this, and partially due to the town's jovial atmosphere, strange quickly got past the overwhelmed guards at the gate, after swearing a solemn oath that he would only use his weapons honorably.
He did what any reasonable traveler would do first thing in the morning, and made for the inn. *
He was simply known as Drewson. No one knew if it was his last or first name, and frankly, many didn't care. All he did was act as a servant at the local inn, called "The Elve's Widow".He was a jack-of-all-trades, since he served as teller, room service, butler, barkeeper, and waiter, to name a few, at the inn. But he did not mind; it paid well and he loved his job anyway.
He had grown up in Hallow's Peak as the son of a local merchant. He had planned to carry on the business, but family complications made that impossible. Needless to say, they effectively disowned him and had never once contacted him in his 3 years at the inn. He was 15 when he had started, eager to work and stay in his hometown. Now, at 18, he had grown used to a simple and calm life, living in the servants quarters at the inn, and getting a day off once a month.
He stood behind an oak desk inside the inn, staring boredly at the open door. The sunlight streamed in and made his unruly dark brown hair look auburn. It twinkled in his brown eyes and danced playfully. It did nothing, though, for his pale complextion, unfortunately. He was wearing a simple brown cloth shirt and his pants looked as if they were made of a burlap sack. His leather shoes were quite comfortable and he wiggled his toes in them. Drewson stood full stature at 5"3 in case someone came in, smiling as he always did. He learned long ago never to seem depressed in front of a potential tenant. It wasn't that hard anyway; he was usually in a good mood and was a nice enough and trustworthy fellow.....except for redheaded women.
@strange2
Being familiar with Hallow's peak, you make your way into one of few quaint little inns that you've frequented before. The weathered oak sign that reads "The Elve's Widow" greets you like an old friend. As you enter the inn, you're greeted with the smells of succulent roasting hog and sweet mulled wine. The inn seems rather populated today- after all, it's Summer's Yield. Behind the desk stands a short man in simple clothes, smiling at you.
There's a small troupe of bards playing away at their instruments at the corner, getting tossed a couple pieces of spare copper here and there from the other patrons. All the tables are occupied by villagefolk, except one.
A dusty haired, brown-skinned human eyes you from his table. A crossbow seems to peak out from the side of his beige trenchcoat. He downs his tankard of ale and beckons you closer.
@IMTheDrew
It's been a busy day at the inn so far. You've had to service a lot of regulars today. Lots of chat over the upcoming Summer's Yield, excited chatter fills the room as more and more locals start to indulge in a couple of drinks prior to the festivities. A few people of interest have caught your eye however:
Firstly, the small bard troupe that came in was always a relief. It's a rarity to get travellers in a small town like Hallow's Peak. Even better, strangers often bring news about the Empire. Village life can be quite stagnant so it's always a delightful change of pace to have someone (or something) of interest to ponder over. That's part of the reason why Summer's Yield transcended beyond a mere harvest celebration into what is it today.
Then came the "Slinger" (or at least that's what the patrons at the inn called him). A dusty haired human that looked like a charismatic bandit described only in stories and song. He came over to you and asked for an ale, which you handed to him as usual. The Elve's Widow is known for it's strong brew, yet he gulped it down in 3 seconds flat, before requesting for another and making his way to the nearest empty table.
Finally, an interesting man walked through the door. Dressed like duelist, the bright colours of his garb contrasted against the flush grey washed-out colour of his skin. You notice how he surveys the room, before being beckoned by the Slinger. You get a feeling in your gut, unsure if it's anticipation or fear, but you get a feeling you should watch this interaction with a keen eye.
(sorry i forgot to subscribe to the thread lmao i didn't realise people responded)
Lindalia Lohan was all like "This thread is ghey af. Know what, it don't even matter because you're just going to get rekt and forget what you were going to write anyway. Not only did I kill your drunk in the most humiliating way possible, I did your own story better than you so get rekt. Good luck on your scool stuffs tho. Srs.
Zakir Bendsen was just a normal 16 years old farmer boy, son to a normal farmer in the normal farmer town Hallow's peak. He was average height, had short hair and a normal paled skin. The only special thing with Zakir was his flame red hair that was very unusual in this part of the land. He worked at his fathers farm everyday with harvesting, sowing seeds and feed the animals. He was the youngest brother in his family and that was why he needed to work for his father because he was going to get the farm when his dad died. The festival was one of the few times Zakir had the chance to be a normal teenager and do what ever he wanted. He didn't need to feed the cows or watch out for wolves, he could hang out with people in his age or watch at the different people that came to the festival.
He milked the cows on the farm to get that special blue milk that his father was famous for. They wher going to sell hallow's peak special blue milk at the festival to get some extra cash. Zakir looked out over the green grass fields watching for uninvited guests like wolves and bears. The sun was burning his skinn and it was hard to do anything on this hot day. Zakir dreamed to be an adventure like his oldest brother and to wander in the forrest and the mountains, to find new adventures but he knew that he needed to carry his fathers buisness on. It didn't matter that he hated the work on the farm. When he was done milking the cows he walked to the nearest apple tree to hide away from the sun and to take a siesta in the cool shadows. I didn't take long before he fall asleep.
*Being beckoned by a stranger was hardly abnormal. Violence? Perhaps, the man was armed and his coat suggested an unsavory lifestyle. Business? Also perhaps, though strange doubted this man had the coin to buy his time. He began to move towards the man table, and spoke across the bar, to the young man behind it. His voice was raspy. *
Barkeep! I thirst for a wine, if you would be so good!
*Strange then looked to the man beckoning him. Strange stood at the edge of the small table he had staked out for himself, and did not seat himself. Not yet. *
Who are you, good fellow, to bear arms in such a jolly inn? You are not clad as a soldier, nor a mercenary of any sort. What brings you here, beckoning strange men to your table? *Strange said, half challenging the man, half with a smile on his face. *
Drewson had noticed the strangely dressed man come in, but didn't pay much attention to him,as many travelers were seen around the time of the festival, although the weapons did concern him. He certainly didn't want any trouble, at least not during his shift. Anyway, he was much more interested in the band of bards. He loved music, and bards were quite rare, so they were always welcome. He lightly tapped his foot to a lively tune that had begun.
He was doing so when he heard the traveler yell for a wine. He looked and saw him go toward a very shady looking man. Again, he felt a sense of foreboding. But, again, he ignored that and busied himself in looking for the wine. When he found it, he also made yet another ale for the shady gentlemen and made his way toward the table, weaving through tables and patrons.
@Isacassi
A large gloved hand grabs your shoulder and violently shakes you awake. You look up to see 2 men towering over you, completely blocking your sight. They are both dressed identically in an outfit you can't really recognise. They have large curved iron helmets that obscure everything but their pitch black irises, sat in a sea of yellow. A simple blue and yellow striped cloth tunic is laid over their armour, with a large emblem of a flower sat in the middle of their chests. You now recognise the symbol to be a crest of one of the noble houses in the Roselian Empire, their name escapes you right now but you would recall your father complaining about how the nobles had put all "honest farmfolk" into a position of debt bondage. You can somewhat ascertain that these individuals are guards of some sort but a few things catch your eye...
You notice, oddly enough, that these guards seem to be rather... peculiar. For a start, they don't seem to have any weapons or shields like you would assume a guard would have. The way that they're standing also seems quite... stoic and rigid, almost like they're moving with metal in their bones. Not to be rude either, but these guards have a strong stench emanating from under their masks...
Before you can stare for too long however, the two guards part to reveal a tall, lanky man dressed in very fine apparel. He lifts his crimson bycocket ever so slightly before bending down to meet your gaze, his snake-like blood-red eyes pierce right into your soul, sending a cold chill down your spine.
With a voice as smooth as silver, the strange man asks you, "I'm sorry to disturb dear boy, my party and I appear to be lost. Could you point us in the direction of Hallow's Peak?"
@strange2
A large grin shot across the man's face, "Well indeed, I do beckon 'Strange' men. Some of which wish to keep a low profile," he leans on his arm closer towards you, "but when you deal in secrets, you sometimes forget that there are those who know more than you, Strange." He slyly winks at you and pulls the sleeve of his arm up slightly to reveal a symbol of two intersecting griffons. You recognise it instantly, the mark of a man from the Hybrids.
The Hybrids. An underground organisation that no one truly understands, even it's own members are unaware of the influence it exerts. There was talk that the last Great Pretrian War between the two neighbouring empires was the result of direct meddling by the Hybrids into their domestic affairs, but that's something that most attribute to just being conspiracy. Even now, you still aren't too sure. For the most part, the Hybrids are a non-issue, they have their own moral code and will only cross those who they feel are a danger to progress. Nonetheless, a Hybrid member revealing himself to you is curious to say the least.
"I like you," he leans back in his seat and lays his boots on the table, "I really do."
***"My advice," his face is overcome with sudden seriousness, a dramatic change from his usual cool stupor, "leave town before Summer's Yield... or else you are going to die."
He chuckles, "Well not if I can help it, but I don't know if I can." He picks up his drink and raises his glass to you before downing it. A glass of wine is placed on the table in front of you by the barhand.
@IMTheDrew
As you're making your rounds around the inn, you overhear bits and pieces of conversation here and there. Bringing a glass of wine to the strange traveler, you are suddenly privy to talk of death (read from *** onwards in @strange2's pov to see what you overhear). Again, a feeling of foreboding washes over you, why would there be talk of any harm in Hallow's Peak?
You place the glass of wine down on the table in front of the strange traveler.
Zakir looked at the strange man and thought about his choice here. He could either tell the right away for these noble men or he could tell a wrong path that would lead them away from Hallow's peak, just because that they where nobles. He didn't want to risk anything so he telled them a correct but longer route to Hallow's peak. "Follow this road until you comes to a big old oak. Here you will take the right way beside the birch forrest. It will take two hours with foot but it is much safer than the road through the small forrest. They have sighted bandits there" This was not entirely true. It has existed bandits there but his oldest brother and his friends killed them a year ago and now that shorter route was used by all the farmers in this area. Zakir didn't want to make it to easy for these nobles and that was the reason why he gave them a longer way.
Zakir was curious why the man and his guards had bothered to come to Hallow's peak and what their intentions was. He had a plan to get the information he wanted. Zakir picked an apple from the tree and took a bite before he gave them a smile and said "Why don't you come in to my and my fathers farm and enjoy our apple ale or our famous blue milk and some apple pie before you will continue your long trip" If he could make them drunk it would be me much easier to get the information he wanted. He wasn't sure how his dad would react but if he would get the information he needed, his dad wouldn't care about that these men where noble.
*edit: redacted*
Drewson was now nervous. He had just heard the shady man threaten the strange man. Suddenly, that bright music was a fair contrast to what he felt right about now. But, it seemed the strange fellow was unfazed by the blatant threat as Drewson put down the wine, but maybe he was just in shock, or perhaps very good at hiding his emotions.
As Drewson put the wine down, he looked at the tattoo the shady fellow had discreetly been showing and paled even more than seemed possible, thanks to his skin color. Regardless, he knew he had to keep his cool; he certainly didn't want a secret society of killers after him. However, he didn't feel right just leaving this man to be threatened and possibly killed. He stood there for a few moments, then calmly replaced the ale the other man had just drained in one gulp.
At first glance Jerrec appeared as a tall, well built, mountain of a man, a dark forest green cloak with a hood bunched around his shoulders and obscured his chest and lower body which were covered in a sort of leather armor, made to provide mobility over defense. His arms and hands appeared to be covered in sun-dried, caked on dirt that seemed to cling to his skin harder than any dirt held a right to. His eyes were a brilliant green that he kept angled down yet if the sun were to catch them then one might noticed that they appeared faceted like a cut diamond.
In truth Jerrec wasnt a man at all, he was an Oread, a hybrid between man and any number or earth spirits. In Jerrec's case his father was an earth elemental. His conception had not exactly been consentual so when his mother died in childbirth, his fate was sealed. The family tolerated him as an infant but as he grew older and began to show more signs of his mixed parentage their hatred boiled to the surface quite often.
These days Jerrec found work as a mercenary and sellsword and that was the reason he ventured into Hallow's Peak on this day. Having completed his most recent job he had been given instructions to recieve payment in this town during the summer yield festival.
As he approached the northern entrance to rhe town he may have been a somewhat intimidating sight. He rode a quite large black stallion, large enough to accomadate hid weight. A pare of forged cestus hung off the rear saddlebags and clanged against them occasionally, signaling more metal inside. Across his back was a large two-handed axe that had two symmetrical half moon blades at its top.
*Strange scooped the wine up from the table, and took a sip. His manner was unperturbed. *
Surely, you must know that I am in death's presence on a regular basis? *He refused to show his surprise at being recognized and the man's allegiance. He was surprised, of course, but it would not do to play one's hand so easily. * If you claim to protect me, then I must ask, from what? If it is so great a secret that I cannot know, then why inform me at all? What interest do you have in my living?
But alas, so many questions. *Strange's demeanor cooled. He became more jovial. * Speak of secrets if it pleases you. But know that I am not easily killed. If you cannot discuss what it is that you hint at, I offer you a trade. Tell me what has brought you to this festival, and I will tell you what has brought me.
*The sun rises in sky to its highest point, it is noon and there is a quarter-day left until Summer's Yield begins in Hallow's Peak.*
@Isacassi
"Oh you are too kind, my dear boy, but my friends here..." A smirk shoots across the man's face, "aren't hungry right now."
He gestures over to the two guards who are standing rigidly straight, staring down at you with great malice. The fine dressed man tosses you a gold piece, "Courtesy of the Violessa's. Your help is much appreciated."
He curtsies before mounting a ghastly black stallion that you somehow seemed to have completely missed up until now. He kicks off into a gallop followed by his two guards, both riding steeds that look to be draped in cloth, obscuring their rides' details. You notice, despite your false warning of bandits, his party are headed straight for the forest.
@IMTheDrew
Seeing the sign of the Hybrids, which you thought was mere urban legend- something that mothers would tell their children to scare them- it makes you reconsider what else in fiction is really truth.
It was odd though, the dusty-haired man in front of you did not look particularly fiendish or evil, yet he made such a blatant call to harm this stranger, who also seemed to just be minding their own business. Staying within earshot, you manage to pick up some of the following conversation.
(Since you're listening in, just read the convo from @strange2's POV)
...Vorgauk?"
Who? That's a name you have never heard before. Also liches!?
"Were those even real?" you wondered.
...How do you go about doing that?"
You honestly have no clue what he would be referring to.
...between you and me, I'd rather not fight an undead version of you?"
Again more questions fill your head, what the hell was that supposed to mean?
You've started to be less perceptive towards the other patrons in the Elve's Widow, you didn't even notice that the bard troupe started playing one of your favourite songs. Your curiosity is peaked and you can't help but stare a little longer than usual at the two men sitting at the table.
@strange2
The man sitting across you eyes you down with a serious glare, "You remember the archlich, Vorgauk?"
Indeed you do, a skeletal elf who was 4000 years old when he was ruling from the shadows. Beyond mortal comprehension, Vorgauk would hatch plots that required great amounts of time and wealth to succeed. They never failed. Some say that weak necromancy spells only exist today because Vorgauk felt the need to teach his minions how to dispatch of enemies without bothering him in his studies. Being an experienced duelist, you know that even though these spells are considered 'weak', they inflict overwhelming pain and duress on their victims. Your last tirade with cultists down in Jurmarie's Cavern that left you bedridden for a week is proof of that.
Luckily for you and, although unbeknownst to most of them, everyone else dead or alive today, Vorgauk was trapped in a perpetual timeloop by the secret High Mage Council in the heart of the Icespire Mountains almost one century ago. As far as you know, Vorgauk will no longer ever be able to directly insert his influence again. Why then was this man still mentioning his name?
"Imagine you were a disciple of his. Problem is, he's gone now. You, however, still need to sustain your master's power on the material world. How do you go about doing that?"
Realisation washes over you. You would continue using the school of magic that Vorgauk perfected: Necromancy. It is ever so subtle, but the man sitting across you acknowledges your eyes widening in response to the thought.
"Now, where would be the best place to start 'exerting your influence'. A big city with strong adventurers that could oppose you? Or a small farming town that gets populated with overwhelmingly common folk every year in time for a festival?" He raises his eyebrow towards you.
"I'm here because I've caught wind of a nefarious plot. Someone who you may know is coming here to mimic Vorgauk's power. Between you and me, I'd rather not fight an undead version of you." He picks up the glass of ale and downs it once more, "So tell me, Strange, why are you here then?"
You notice now, two sets of eyes on you, one from the man in front and another from a pale barhand behind you who is trying to appear unfazed and nonchalant.
@volcanic_xr
You get glances from the common folk and small number of guards as you make your way to the point you were instructed to pick up your money from. Little children stare and point, asking if you need a bath. Little do they know, the dirt on your body won't wash off no matter how hard you try. Along the roadside, you spot a donkey with bales of wool on its back and reigns around its neck that seem to be detached from whatever it was once pulling. You also spot a few inns that you could get a warm meal and a belly of ale from. It's unlikely to find a smithy here in this small town, but you could try to find a general store if you are low on wares. You have about 3 hours to spare before your patron is to arrive to pay your dues. What do you wish to do?
Drewson is now a lot more than nervous, in fact, he's downright terrified. Talks of a dead people and killing from a member of a secret society you thought to be a myth can do that to you. He drowned out everything else, suddenly intent on finding out what these men were talking about. He listened carefully, but couldn't make heads or tails of the meaning of their conversation. But then, the strange man looked directly at him, glass and mud colors meeting in eyes. Drewson realized he had stayed to long. He now wanted nothing to do with this, fearing what these men may do to him if they found out he was listening.
He realized the bards were playibg his favorite song, a perfect excuse to move away. He briskly walked toward the band, and reached into his pocket. He then dropped a few coins into a hat in front of them and smiled as he stood watching them, trying to look as normal as possible. He hoped those men would just forget about him, but deep down he knew that was not the case.
Zakir is suprised that the men dared too take the path through the Forest despite his warnings for bandits.
Even though he had wanted to know why they where heading to Hallow`s Peak he had much more important things to do. He needed to take the horse and a cart filled with various products to Hallow`s Peak before the festival started. He walked to the stable where Their Three horses lived. He choosed the Black steed called Cairn.
When he where done with mounting Cairn and to attach him to the cart Zakir walked in to the house to get the Products on the table in the kitchen. Zakirs fathers house was a big house made in tree. When he opened the door he was met by the kitchen. Zakirs mother was cooking something that smelled like apples. The Products was in baskets on the oak table and Zakir picked them up and started to walk to the door. He said goodbye to his mom before he opened the door and walked to the cart and his steed Cairn. Zakirs family was one of the richer farmer familjs in Hallow`s Peak but that didn`t mean that they where rich compared to the nobels.
Jerrec's interest piqued for a moment when he noticed an unattended cart. As he considered what to do his stomach grumbled loudly, having eaten the last of his food almost a full day ago. Jerrec didnt typically hunt while on jobs, he did jave a few snares and such for catching small game but he had been intent on reaching Hallow's Peak on time.
Deciding he wouldn't starve due to a small delay Jerrec dismounted his stallion and approached the donkey. It seemed calm enough so he decided he could lead it to town and perhaps leave it at a guard outpost for them to deal with. Once he'd relieved himself of the lone donkey he planned to head straight to an inn and get a very large meal.
*While the Griffon-agent spoke, strange's eyes were locked on him. As the boy tried to move away subtly, one of Strange's eyes followed him. It twisted all the way around until there was only a perfect white orb showing. The other eye remained locked on the speaker. Strange at last sat down. *
If it is a story designed to entrap me, then you may consider it successful. *His harsh voice rasped out.* It has the nigh-unmistakable ring of truth to it. I bear no love for the dead-kin, and they have less for me. We can discuss the reasons why another time. I do not think you truly expect me to run from this precious little burg at this news though. I believe you would prefer to have my help. Likely you may need all the help that you can get. *More wine was consumed, and both eyes remains fixed on their targets. Strange didn't seem to blink much when he was interested in something. * You will have to speak to the boy I think, about the dangers of a loose tongue.
As for me, I came to the town for the usual reason. The duke of Vestfold's son insulted a lady in the capitol. I will spare you the details of how, but I can assure you that it was vile. She has paid me in silver to demand satisfaction from him. He got word, and immediately retired to the countryside, but he is a foppish man, and retired to this festival with a train of servants. Mayhaps he thought that I would not pursue him, and that his fleeing would count for honor satisfied. He will learn, in a matter of hours, that this is not true.