The Campaign Builder's Guild

[ic=Garcin Leblaque]"Oh excellent.  Master Archer's mighty shot that felled the great wolf must be made note of."  He searches in his bag for some paper and begins scribbling down a note.  "Well now, I suppose it's my turn to tell a story.
â,¬Å"I was onceâ,¬'you might say privileged, you might say blightedâ,¬'to spend a time in the company of the pagan elves of the great forest to the East.  It was one of my earlier travels as a matter of fact.  I had happened to be in a spot of trouble with the authorities in Teneret.  Thatâ,¬,,¢s another story, but I came to find myself in the forest, which was not really where I wanted to be, but it was the trees or the block, so I figured Iâ,¬,,¢d take my chances with the trees.  Now in retrospect, that was probably a good choice, but I came to regret my decision more immediately, as I began to encounter the forest.  The men pursued me into the woods; I could hear them behind me, and I could see the trees thickening ahead of me.  It was becoming difficult to find paths through the trees, and those that could be found were growing more and more difficult to navigate.   I felt my foot catch and I fell.  But I didnâ,¬,,¢t hit ground.  I continued to fall.  I hit something tall and hard, a wooden spike in the ground to spear victims.  Luckily I was only dealt a glancing blow.  I could hear the screams of my pursuers, and as one toppled into the pit beside me his arrow-riddled body was impaled upon the spike beside me.  But I was not safe yet.  A wicked boar with razor sharp tusks lay in wait.  It charged at me.  I leapt away, but was grounded and knew I could not long avoid the beast without being gored.  Standing up, I made a running start as best I could and used the spike to spring myself high as I could to make my way out of the pit.  I missed, but caught an exposed root and was left dangling.  A painted face looked down at me.  It extended a long supple arm which I took.  I was lifted from my awkward position and arose out of the pit to find myself surrounded by spear tips.  So it seemed I was a prisoner.  Though I remember a distinct loss of consciousness which I figure was due to a weak poison smeared on the spikes that to incapacitate those that survive the initial blow.  
â,¬Å"To my surprise I awoke on a rather comfortable bed.  I found myself attended by an elven maid.  She did not wear the paint the others had worn.  In fact she did not wear much of anything.  Her tangled hair was long and covered her quite adequately.  She spoke to me in words that seemed to suffer, though her eyes bore no hint of pain.  I knew not what she said, but felt compelled to listen.  It was a long time in the woods before I would come to know the language of the sylvan folk.  I still couldnâ,¬,,¢t speak it worth a hasting.  My accent would butcher it beyond recognition.  When I had recovered enough to walk, my attendant led me to the door and we went outside, where I observed the elven town, similarly dressed.  At this point I felt rather ashamed at the formality of my peasantsâ,¬,,¢ clothes.  I quickly forgot the state of my wardrobe however, upon looking down.  I found that the entire village was suspended nearly a hundred feet above the surface. . . â,¬Â
[/ic]

[ic=Ilio]"Very well. If you wish to back down, I will go along with your choice. We will continue this at a later date, though."
Ilio holsters his pistol and, picking up his now empty drinks, walks into the bar as Garcin is getting started into his story. "Above the ground? So the stories about a city in the trees are true. And you've actually been there? I envy you, sir." [/ic]

[ic]"We are free to do as we please after our dinner date," Jelma'c says, "perhaps we could visit there ourselves, provided Master Garcin's story is not too horrible."[/ic]

[ic=Aldabrat]Aldabrat nods. "So we will." He follows Ilio inside, pistols holstered.[/ic]

[ic=Garcin Leblaque]"Well friends, if you should choose to make a stay amongst the trees, I may caution you a few suggestions: Harm not the trees, for the elves are vengeful protectors of the woods.  If you must make camp, and must burn something, find dead wood if you can.  If you must harm the trees, 'tis best to offer up apologies and show you are repentant.  If you show that you care for the forest, they may well forgive you.  Claim not devotion to the One God.  He is disliked in the forests.  Praise not the sun either.  He is disliked.  If you avoid their discontent you may find you stay quite relaxing.  Offend the elves, and you may find yourselves on the end of a spear."[/ic]

[ic]"I will be sure to keep that advice in mind. There is no possibility of you postponing you trip, is there? I for one would be grateful to have a knowledgeble guide along with us. You could travel with us to the feast, and once our time there is finished you could journey to this marvelous tree city with us. What say you?[/ic]
 [ooc]Shall we skip it ahead to the big city and the feast therein?[/ooc]

[ic=Garcin Leblaque]"Nay, I truly must be off.  Though your entreaties flatter me, to tell the truth, I may not be one you'd want to have around going into those woods.  The elves and I know each other, perhaps a bit too well.  But that's a tale for another time.  When next we meet!  And we shall.  Until then, my friends, adieu!"  You are unable to get another worthwhile word from him.  He makes ready to leave and bids a final goodbye at the door to the Lagerhead.  He gives the place a deep bow before vanishing into the world.[/ic]

 [ooc]So we're gonna skip ahead a bit.  Anyone who want's to say their goodbyes may do so.  Then onward--TO KOMMENAP![/ooc]

 [ic]Kommenap:  The City Castle.  Great Gothic arches of heavy stone mark the entrance to the city.  Carved granite gargoyles and towers jetison upwards watching over the city with a majestic pride.  It has not pretty opulence, but rather grand impression.  This is not the place of some fop atop palatial ponies dressed in whimisical finery and glandiloquent livery.  This is the place of a king.  The palace butts against the eastern wall with the river for its shield.  A trough is dug just west of palace proper drawing a canal of a moat across the western face of the edifice to enclose it.   In the north lies a hill upon which rest a lesser stronghold called Dunsinore to defend the Palace.  The royal road is draped with pastel greens and blues, invoked as it can be such things are rarely invoked without due occasion in bright constrast to the stony exteriors of the surrounding buildings.  So it seems a monarchical procession has gone by, presumably proeceeding very briefly your arrival.  The city is quiet, the air seems still, like the whole of the place holds its breath, waiting for some triumph or disaster.  Here you are, in the City Castle: in Kommenap.[/ic]

[ic=Ilio]As he walks through the great gates and past the sweeping arches, Ilio looks around at them and gives a low whistle. "Now this is a city. A real city. Not one with fancy little frills on it, but one built by a man of purpose. If i could meet the man who designed it, I would shake his hand." He looks around a bit more, then continues, "Now I'm not really one to set down roots in any one spot, but I could almost see myself here. You all must admit. It's impressive to say the least."
[/ic]

[ic=Aldabrat]Aldabrat snorts derisively. "'Tis nothing compared to my homeland's cities."[/ic]

[ic]"I have seen better," Jelma'c says, "This city is so unnatural, rising up like a chiseled mountain from the plains. I would much prefer a city of earth and wood than this of stone and iron.[/ic]

[ic=Aldabrat] Aldabrat turns to Jel'mac and laughs. "Before Issachar, all will one day fall. Even the Bizhens rely on us for commerce and trade, and your forests will be cut down before the might of industry!"

Aldabrat leaps up onto a nearby raised space and throws his hand up into the air, holding his hat within it.[/ic]

[ic] "Perhaps," Jelma'c Concedes, "But if you consider that elves are the longest-living race, and they they are the closest to nature, one might draw a connection."[/ic]

[ic]Hollow streets surround you, vacant with celebration.  A multitudinous torrent of festive silence prevades the ubiquitous air.  The present pallor of a lively death instills the city as it's absent habitants congregate about the castle.  As you speak there comes the sound of a horn from a herald on horseback.  He rides along the path in your direction for the palace at speed, he is prededed by a carriage of some status coronated in the colors of Corbin with a grandeur like they it were the King's itself.  As the carriage passes a voice within expels imperatives "Haste, haste good Horace.  We mustn't keep our quarry waiting!  We are tardy as it is!"[/ic]

[ic=Ilio]Stepping to the side to avoid the Carriage, Ilio tries to catch a glimpse of who was inside. "Huh. Quarry is an odd thing to say. I wonder who that might have been. Defenitely some rich, high-up."
[/ic]

[ic=Jelma'c]"Speaking of odd things, where is everyone?"[/ic]