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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 19:27:20 GMT
As you begin to tuck in to the wonderful food you hear the heavy clack of hobnails on tile.
The Dwarven inn-keep enters the room followed by another man with a star glowing even brighter on his arm.
The Dwarf carries in his arms a large folio with a matching symbol wrought in dragonsilver on the leather and bronze bound cover.
"Oi, I see we all be erm.. dressed and ready then?"
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Post by Finola the Bard on Jul 4, 2015 19:35:47 GMT
"Ye bet ye bloomers we are!" She downs a mouthful of sausage and bacon. "T'what do we owe the pleasure of your 'ospitality?"
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 20:21:16 GMT
"It be this" began the dwarf...
"O'er the last fortnight I be putin you in yer rooms. Ya comes in and have not a word to say other than Sairin Bardd"
he looks at his wife a moment...
" Now a short time back when I was first starting this here inn, I was givin a weddin gift. But with this gift I was told that one day five marked by the star would come and I was tae give yer room n board as long as was needed. Now he done give tae me a pouch n this here book"
he gestures at the large tome in the center of the table.
" Now I have me an idear or two on who he be, but well, It war not that long ago maybe sixty years, so I says to myself, debt paid."
the dwarf clears his throat
"Now the man, he tell me that the tome holds the clue"
The dwarf pushes off from the table and takes his gnomish wife into his arms where he pats her back gently.....
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 20:34:46 GMT
The cover of the book opens of it's own accord and a stitching scratch of quill on parchment is audible. Words form in a scrabbled hand on the blank page.
Tenebris surgit
De civitate caesorum
A me demergat fluctus quaerunt malum sanguinem innocentem in terra
et resurgere a vasis craterarum usque inferni
ad principum aeternum
Quis non facies aperuit ostium .
Erit stellarum aut servorum corpora
dis quoque non videre potest
cantor debiles dabit vocem iterum
Taliesin ap Myrddyn
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Post by Finola the Bard on Jul 4, 2015 20:42:46 GMT
After squinting at the text for a moment, Finola leans toward her companions and whispers not too quietly.
"... Anyone know how t'read that?"
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 20:54:03 GMT
The words sound vaguely familiar, but almost archaic.
All the other pages in the book are ... blank.
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Post by braden89 on Jul 4, 2015 20:56:34 GMT
Demetyr leans back quietly in contemplation.
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 21:02:06 GMT
Does anyone speak Tarnish, If not I would recommend you look for a scribe or find another option..
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Post by braden89 on Jul 4, 2015 21:05:16 GMT
"It seems we will not be finding the answers we seek in this Inn."
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Post by Finola the Bard on Jul 4, 2015 21:08:16 GMT
"Och, ye're tellin' me." Sighing, Finola looks up at the innkeeper and his wife. An eyebrow ticks upward, and she stands, strolling toward them.
"Beggin' pardon, sir an' mum, but would ye kind folks be willin' to lend a hand? See, we're findin' ourselves in good need of someone who can read this 'ere message, an' if ye could point us in the way of some such, that'd be mighty kind." She adds a flash of a smile for good measure.
(Persuasion: 9uI1N6oo+3+2)
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 21:11:09 GMT
Some of the words seem similar to some old ballads your master used to sing.. if you remember correctly they sound like very old Isagaardian or even Old Tarnish
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Post by Finola the Bard on Jul 4, 2015 21:17:39 GMT
"Ah, hah, you know, someone who would know Isagaardian or Old Tarnish really, really well."
(persuasion: uHdVhg57+3+2)
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2015 21:18:42 GMT
" Old tarnish be it" says the gnoma
"May I?"
it be saying
Darkness rises
From the city of the fallen, A tide of evil shall seek to drown the land in the blood of the innocent
They rise from the bowls of hell, the Princes of eternity
Who shall seal the door that should not have opened.
Will it be stars or slaves, not even the gods can see
The singer, shall give voice once more to the voiceless
Taliesin son of Merlyn
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Post by Finola the Bard on Jul 4, 2015 21:24:56 GMT
"Always was a fan o' riddles," Finola muses. "Thank ye, kindly." She resumes her seat.
"So! Looks t'me like we've been brought t'gether for some manner a' grand quest." She chuckles. "What ye think, lads an' lassie?"
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Post by braden89 on Jul 4, 2015 21:31:19 GMT
Demetyr is silent for a long moment, then speaks slowly:
"I would know who is behind such a task as this missive declares... if only to put an end to their mischief."
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