The Boar's Head Pub

[monty]

the mysterious figure seated them on the floor of the small hut, there being only room for an earthen bed and a small table in the corner. He left breifly and returned with a small bucket. From this bucket he served the purest water Monty had ever tasted.
VampiricDread remarked that the water tasted like it had certain properties versus evil and asked if he could fill a vial of the fluid.
The wizened creature, who had yet to talk, motioned VampiricDread to go ahead.

As the party drank, the elven lord explained that the larger house belonged to a Powerful Lord of the area, who had control of a cloudgate that appeared now near the top of the the tallest tower of the house.
"This being before you is the gardner of the House. He is a very ancient and wise being who has taken care of this part of the Land for many generations. No lord would try to remove him because he keeps the orchards producing, the grass green and the water pure, as you can attest to. He comes with the property, so to speak. He is kin to both myself and the dwarf. It is my opinion that he can help us gain access to the cloudgate."

"Wait a minute," Monty said, slightly confused. "I thought you said that this cloudgate was already paid for?"

The elven lord motioned the party to a small window that looked onto the larger house. "Gaze up at the manor house. See the flag flying above the main entrance? That is the flag of a new lord of the manor. My deal was with the previous owner."

"I know the device that flies," VampiricDread said, noting the red field and large black fist upraised in the center. "He is in league with evil Powers."

"Just so, VampiricDread, Just so. That is why we cannot approach the manor as civilized beings."
The elven lord reached into his bag and removed some elvish delicacies and passed them with both hands to the owner of the hut.
His eyes danced and a long tongue snaked over his teeth. Showing courtesy, the figure portioned the bread up into small pieces and passed it aorund for all to share. His breath smelled like freshly turned earth.

[monty]

Monty examined Drago's precious watch. "Maybe it's Mayan. 'Tis said that their ancestors came from Asia."

[VampiricDread]

"So what now?" I exclaimed. The elven lord seemed to be going catatonic, probably due to much of a previous heavy night, his dwarf friend just about the same.

"Allow me some room", I asked the others. I opened both their mouths, and dropped in from a small vial. Then I poured some of the water that was given by the Gardener.

Both of them writhed a bit, but were soon back to reality.

"What's going on?", were the dwarf's first words, going for his axe.

"Calm down", I replied,"you were poisoned. Probably at the Inn."

The Kender looked me up, as monty did, but Drago said:

"Ok, you two. Gives us some answers. How are we supposed to get into that?"

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I wish I had more time to adventure...

[This message has been edited by VampiricDread (edited 08 June 2001).]

[This message has been edited by VampiricDread (edited 08 June 2001).]

[Downunder Tom]

The Kender jumps up and says "with my skills , I will find a way, there's not lock that can't keep me out and no trap that can be set that I can't disarm, so lets stop thinking about and lets get on with it."



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Wth a little help from my frieds , we can make this the best RPG ever.

[Drago]

"It is not mayan. I had it inspected by a few linguists. It is an unknown language not from my home planet. Perhaps the elven lord recognizes it?" Drago replies.


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"My soul to nothingness: but I will strive against all doubtings, and will keep alive..." ~ John Keats's Sleep and Poetry

[VampiricDread]

" I think we all understand your... huh... special skills, Tom. But I'm more worried about the tennants in there," I said.

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I wish I had more time to adventure...

[Drago]

The elven lord replies, "Yes, I recognize that language on your watch. It's mordor."
Drago smiles and thanks the elven lord for helping him.

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"My soul to nothingness: but I will strive against all doubtings, and will keep alive..." ~ John Keats's Sleep and Poetry