(039) Dusk 'Til Dawn

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
The Cloister
(Josiane)

(Josiane has no need to remove her armour, only to hide her sword)

After dubiously laying down the weapon in the grass several paces from the door, Josiane is mildly comforted to see that it is in fact quite well concealed from sight.

This done, she hears no fewer than three heavy bolts being drawn back with various thunks and clunks before, finally, the heavy door creaks open just far enough for a person to enter.

"Come, once-sister, enter and be at peace," becomes the matronly woman within.

The cloister is cool and dim and smells strangely... clean.

The sister is dressed in a simple, white habit and a grey apron. A long string of wooden rosary beads hang about her neck. She closes the door with some effort (she is clearly of advancing years) and shunts the bolts once more before indicating that Josiane should follow her into the cloister.

"Now tell me, once-sister," she says as she hobbles down the austere corridor, "What is this need of yours that is so dire you would lay down your precious weapon?"

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:

OOC: I think that were are all spread out in time as well as space. Ulric spent most of the day (~6 hours) in study. Perhaps a dinner assembly is in order to go over our next objective?

Ulric is an afternoon ahead of the others, but a dinner-time meet up sounds ideal to me [img]images/smiley/smiley.png[/img]

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:

"Goblin watchmen; that'll be the day..."

But they have excellent night vision [img]images/smiley/wink.png[/img]

[waysoftheearth]

tonneau wrote:

"So..." Desmond says, between mouthfuls, "Where to next, Gustave? Back to the hovel, is it? Or do we need any further equipment for 'cleaning out our basement'?" he asks with a wink.

Dorgan starts to think aloud.

"I wonder how many of our crew have bows? Should be able ta pepper that thing with arrows or bolts and not get touched."

"I dare say, dear chaps, that our comrade with a propensity for shooting fire out of his fingers would be most interested in providing a demonstration on a pertinent approach to achieving that goal", muses Gustave in reply, sipping on his wine with a less-than-totally-impressed visage.

"As for our nest move, I believe that some weed was mentioned", he continues, raising a brow toward Dorgan.

"Once we are thus suitably attuned, and unless our fortunes change dramatically in way of the arrival of some suitably lusty wenches, then I propose a return to our lodgings and bed", he says, leaning back in his chair and continuing to verify, with critical eye and tongue, that the wine is indeed, below standard, "We can attend to the house cleaning on the morrow."

[waysoftheearth]

ehiker133 wrote:
At the appropriate time (i.e. lamb stew and wine and beer are done), Desmond will head back to the house.

[waysoftheearth]

sulldawga wrote:

"I dare say, dear chaps, that our comrade with a propensity for shooting fire out of his fingers would be most interested in providing a demonstration on a pertinent approach to achieving that goal", muses Gustave in reply, sipping on his wine with a less-than-totally-impressed visage.

"As for our next move, I believe that some weed was mentioned", he continues, raising a brow toward Dorgan.

"Once we are thus suitably attuned, and unless our fortunes change dramatically in way of the arrival of some suitably lusty wenches, then I propose a return to our lodgings and bed", he says, leaning back in his chair and continuing to verify, with critical eye and tongue, that the wine is indeed, below standard, "We can attend to the house cleaning on the morrow."

Dorgan opens his mouth to mention that it's barely noon, with the entire afternoon still available for centipede hunting, but he can see that Gustave is anxious to relax after the unfortunate events in the cemetery yesterday.

Instead, he says, "I'm still lackin' a pipe but ain't no reason why we can't roll our own cigars instead." And he passes the robust smelling tobacco leaf to the fighter.

Against his best judgement, Dorgan will indulge in a second mug of beer. He will be sure to inquire as to whether or not the establishment has anything... stouter than the previous pint.

Unless some money-making scheme presents itself, he'll be ready to head back home after the beer and cigar run out.

[waysoftheearth]

doctorx wrote:

The Cloister
(Josiane)

(Josiane has no need to remove her armour, only to hide her sword)

After dubiously laying down the weapon in the grass several paces from the door, Josiane is mildly comforted to see that it is in fact quite well concealed from sight.

This done, she hears no fewer than three heavy bolts being drawn back with various thunks and clunks before, finally, the heavy door creaks open just far enough for a person to enter.

"Come, once-sister, enter and be at peace," becomes the matronly woman within.

The cloister is cool and dim and smells strangely... clean.

The sister is dressed in a simple, white habit and a grey apron. A long string of wooden rosary beads hang about her neck. She closes the door with some effort (she is clearly of advancing years) and shunts the bolts once more before indicating that Josiane should follow her into the cloister.

"Now tell me, once-sister," she says as she hobbles down the austere corridor, "What is this need of yours that is so dire you would lay down your precious weapon?"

O.O.C: How strangely is strangely? Is it just that she hasn't been in an environment like this for a fair few years, or is there something unusual about the smell?

"The need is not mine directly, sister," Josiane replies; "I come on behalf of a comrade fearfully injured while undertaking a task at the behest of the Holy Church of Thuul. He has suffered the touch of the Undead, and his wounds are beyond my power to heal. I beseech the aid of your most holy order, and ask that you attend on him with all the haste you may."

[waysoftheearth]

tonneau wrote:

"I dare say, dear chaps, that our comrade with a propensity for shooting fire out of his fingers would be most interested in providing a demonstration on a pertinent approach to achieving that goal", muses Gustave in reply, sipping on his wine with a less-than-totally-impressed visage.

"As for our next move, I believe that some weed was mentioned", he continues, raising a brow toward Dorgan.

"Once we are thus suitably attuned, and unless our fortunes change dramatically in way of the arrival of some suitably lusty wenches, then I propose a return to our lodgings and bed", he says, leaning back in his chair and continuing to verify, with critical eye and tongue, that the wine is indeed, below standard, "We can attend to the house cleaning on the morrow."

Dorgan opens his mouth to mention that it's barely noon, with the entire afternoon still available for centipede hunting, but he can see that Gustave is anxious to relax after the unfortunate events in the cemetery yesterday.

Instead, he says, "I'm still lackin' a pipe but ain't no reason why we can't roll our own cigars instead." And he passes the robust smelling tobacco leaf to the fighter.

Against his best judgement, Dorgan will indulge in a second mug of beer. He will be sure to inquire as to whether or not the establishment has anything... stouter than the previous pint.

Unless some money-making scheme presents itself, he'll be ready to head back home after the beer and cigar run out.

Noting Dorgans pause, Gustave checks himself, scratching his chin and staring into his wine. Clearly his sense of time has become clouded by his desire for weed or, perhaps, his subconscious had planned a rather more enduring encounter with the fruit of the vine than he had anticipated...

The matter clearly needing deeper analysis, he pours himself another glass and sets about rolling a cigar to aid in pondering the issue further.

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:

O.O.C: How strangely is strangely? Is it just that she hasn't been in an environment like this for a fair few years, or is there something unusual about the smell?

The cloister is hygienically clean in an otherwise grubby medieval world.

[waysoftheearth]

ehiker133 wrote:

Noting Dorgans pause, Gustave checks himself, scratching his chin and staring into his wine. Clearly his sense of time has become clouded by his desire for weed or, perhaps, his subconscious had planned a rather more enduring encounter with the fruit of the vine than he had anticipated...

The matter clearly needing deeper analysis, he pours himself another glass and sets about rolling a cigar to aid in pondering the issue further.

"Fine, fine," Desmond rolls his eyes impatiently, "But after this one, we need to head back to the house."