(029) Return to Ket

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Gustave, Dieter, Koch; The Plough and Furrow

"Yes, three," Dieter says looking up from his ale.

"And we'll need ham sandwiches, about 30 of them, for our comrades."

"Cigars and sandwiches," repeats Albert, slapping himself on the forehead. "Roight you are, and thirty of them!"

He hurries off into the kitchen as the three unclean warriors pull deep drafts from their tankards with great satisfaction.

And soon enough Albert appears with a cigar box and a lit taper, "Cigars, moi good sirs!" he declares, and leaves the box and burning taper upon the long table before them, then scurries off to the kitchen, presumably to begin assembling thirty sandwiches...

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Ulric, Victor; The Holdfasts

"Hello there!" Ulric calls out to the farmers. "We are looking for some friends of ours, the Huberts. Could you direct us to their farm?"

A few of the farm folk scratch their noggins, behinds, or crotches, respectively, as they ponder this complex piece of phraseology.

"Huberts, ya say?" repeats the nearest fellow; an old geezer in ridiculously muddy coveralls.

(1d6=5)

"Huberts, they sez," repeats another farmer, as like as not to be the old geezer's son, though he himself is well into his middle age.

"If ya means old Dell Hubert, you's way orf yer mark," the old fella surmises.

"They's way orf south," concurs his son.

"Way orf south," chips a younger lad of perhaps a dozen years, cheerily. He might as well be the old fella's grandson.

"You's gotta git down thar ova that there rise," the old fella continues, with a wave of his calloused hand. "Then you'll sees Hubert's place down tha back paddock,"


"Won't help ya none tho'," says the son.

"Nope," chimes the grandson with a beaming smile.

"Tha dang Snorks cleared 'im out last jus' week, they did" explains the son, with a grimace of pent up frustration.

"Cleared 'im all out good," beams the grandson, not really comprehending his own meaning.

The old fella puts his hand on the boy's head and hocks a great spit ball to rival one of Victor's.

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
A Mile Outside Ket

The rest of the company are beginning to grow impatient...

Ale and baths await... not to mention division of the treasure!

[waysoftheearth]

tonneau wrote:
Gustave hoists the cigar reverently to his lips, applies the taper and eases back into the rickety chair, puffing voluminous clouds of blue smoke.

"Duke Muzli of Piquette would not be impressed", he muses, "but for now, it is worthy of a sermon or two."

He puffs a few billowing rings expertly into the already smoky air of the tavern quietly, then is up. "Still we cant linger too long, business to attend to no?"

He wanders to the door of the kitchen where Albert plies his hand at a small phalanx of sandwiches, and draws deeply on his cigar.
"My good man", he interrupts, vomiting forth a dense fog, "I dont suppose you have a spare cloak lying about that I might borrow a moment?"

[waysoftheearth]

danhem wrote:
"What exactly do you mean 'cleared them out'?" Ulric asks. "What has happened to them?"

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Gustave, Dieter, Koch; The Plough and Furrow

Albert and his kitchen staff (an enormously fat woman, who might conceivably be his wife) look up from their sandwich preparations, clearly surprised that one of their patrons should have found his way into the "back shop".

Albert hurries over to the doors and forces himself and Gustave back into the common room awkwardly as he explains...

"Cloaks, sir? My, my, we ain't a tailor's shop here, no sir I'm sorry. Io guess we do 'ave a cloak room, as such, but oi couldn't rioghtly loan one of me guests cloaks, now could io?" he stammers, wiping sweat from his bald pate. "We 'ave got a lot of old tater sacks out back that moight serve..?" he offers hopefully.

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Ulric, Victor; The Holdfasts

"Witches, they sez," replies the old fella, as if that alone is enough to explain everything.

"Warlocks, it were," corrects the son.

The old geeza dismisses this with a hand-wave embellished with an ear-rattling fart. "What eva, we always knew them back paddock folk were queer,"

"Queer as Elves 'n hares," agrees the son knowingly.

"Elves 'n hares," chimes in the grandson.

"If they was friens o' yers, you'll 'av ta look farther than tha back paddock for 'em now," says the old fella, with a grim snort. "Who know where they's at now...?"

[waysoftheearth]

tonneau wrote:
"Tater sack..." muses Gustave, eyes partially glazed in cigar bliss, "hmm...I wonder if you could turn your deft hand to cut a few eye-holes in it for me?"

[waysoftheearth]

danhem wrote:
"Well that is sad news," Ulric says. "We knew them to be good and honest people."

"My friend and I are in need of a mule and perhaps a cart. We lost ours on the road to bandits. You would not happen to have either for sale would you?"

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Gustave, Dieter, Koch; The Plough and Furrow

Albert coughs and waves his hand about his face to clear the air somewhat...

"Io holes, you say sir?" he scratches his fat chin, with a worried expression upon his face,
"Io don't quite follow ye, sir, I'll admit ta that,"