Birthright: Promises to Keep, Epilogue thread

[ewancummins]

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(OOC: One post per player, short time frame, winter in whatever location makes sense)

thread closed

[alhoon]

Ugo wandered the halls of the huge house of the too-bigs looking for his cats Runcible and Madashan. He haven't yet been accustomed in this life; he still cringed when doors opened, he tried to shy away from too bigs and never participated in the discussions about who did what and how the weather was. He didn't see much point to them anyway.
He was not alone anymore, if anything, there were too many people about all the time. He haven't made friends and that was OK with him since he had his pets. He has learned quite soon that the people that saved him were very important people, not just very good in battle. To avoid drawing attention, he never mentioned to the other cooks how he came to be there. He assumed some of them knew from their superiors that Deke Dulvin saved him but he didn't know whether they knew about the Masters. Or what Ugo was cooking for them.

He remembered when he first saw this place that would be his home. He was dumbfounded. He couldn't imagine anyone would need a house that big, with walls, so many servants and a large number of armed men. This place was as big as he imagined towns to be. At first, Ugo was afraid he won't be able to cook for so many people but then he saw that there were many cooks. The Pantry they used was bigger than the kitchen he spent most of his life in.
The Too-bigs in this place used funny accent and had a lot of rules. Even the other cooks had hierarchy. They also had a lot of interesting tasty recipes. Ugo didn't consider himself smart but he found he could take on the recipes with ease and with time, he learned enough to not get himself trouble and not be an embarrassment to the Heroes that saved him. He chuckled when he remember the first day, when he wandered in the castle with a pie he made to give to the Lords of the castle. He still didn't understand why the kitchen staff was so scandalized and red-faced that he asked some armored men to speak with the Lords.


Life wasn't perfect, work was hard, he didn't understand the too-bigs very well but things were better. For the first time in his life, Ugo considered himself ... happy. The nightmares of Lord Runcible throwing him in the oven or him in a huge plate with the Masters around him were growing less frequent. His guilt over giving assistance to the heroes in order to defeat the Masters was subsiding too. He certainly was crying for the slain Masters rarely now.

[RocEter]

Foerde, in his prison cell.

Looking up at the spirit of the boy carpenter, Foerde smiles. "Death is not an option, not yet at least." He says to the spirit.

He looks at the chain around his ankle, it is anchored to an old petrified tree stump. Grabbing the chain with both hands, he stands up and picks up the remaining slack. He pulls with all his might, attempting to pull the chain free of its anchor. After a short while, Foerde stops. He only succeeded in tiring himself out, the chain remains firm in its position.

Foerde returns to a meditative sitting position, taking slow deep breaths. "We wait for morning spirit, then we make with my escape...."

[steveflam]

The door pushes open and Filbert walks in. A bell rings as he closes the door. Looking around he is in a small waiting room, a few chairs line the west wall. A door is on the east wall. It opens and a young man walks in, looking at Filbert with a smile. He is a little over his twentieth year, and well buiilt. A nice cloak covers part of a very nice leather armor that he sports. Filbert may have heard of this type of armor before but is very rare.

He beckons the halfling to follow him without saying a word. If Filbert speaks to him, the lad merely opens his mouth to show him he has no tongue!

Inside is a nice office and a black haired woman sits behind a desk, writing in a book. When Filbert enters, shestops her writing and lays the pen on the desk, closing the book.


"Master Filbert, welcome. Please have a seat. Don't look surprised, it is my business to know whom is who in Haes. That is my Manservant and Bodyguard GIMP." She beckons him to sit even as she bows slightly with proper etiquette.

A discussion soon ensues and Filbert finds she will be able to help him and in fact will be very useful. GIMP stands ever still and patient to the right of Domenica, behind her slightly.

Later that day, she and GIMP bring him to Atli the dwarf's shop. Here, Filbert spends a considerable part of his coin to find what he wants from Atli.

[ewancummins]

HAES,
NIGHT,
EARLY WINTER


“Just you watch how it’s done, lad.” One of the two city guardsmen, a heavy set older fellow, stepped forward and dragged the soiled vagrant up from the open sewer. “What’s all this then, eh?”

The younger, slimmer guardsman hung back, right hand near his dagger and his lantern held high ion his left to illuminate the cold, muddy street. “I don’t like this...”

The dirty beggar came up fighting, flailing in a wild, frantic dance. He retched as he leapt about, limbs shaking, and spewed sour beer and stomach acid all over the stout guard. The man’s gaunt face contorted in fury, his eyes burned yellow in the reflected lantern glow.

“Why—hey, now, none of that!” The bulky guard seized the drunkard by both shoulders and shook him.
The younger guard set his lantern down and rushed to help. After a brief struggle, they’d subdued the inebriated brawler.

While they waited for the drunk cart to come and bear off their charge, the two guardsmen sat on the low curb with the bound man wrapped in the younger guard’s cloak and laid out at their feet. They took turns holding the lantern to warm their hands.

'This is, what, the sixth one tonight?" the young man said. 'Isn’t that a bit much, even for Haes and a holiday just past? And the way he moved, that fever in his eyes…”

The older guard sighed. “You young fellows always have –what’s the word? Theses? Theologies? Anyhow, queer notions. But I’ll grant you the twitching was a bit unnerving, and he does seem to be burning with a fever. So that's something we've seen elsewhere tonight, it's true. But fever or not, it don’t look like any sort of plague to me. It's most likely these fools can't handle our stout beers. Probably came over the river from Lofton."

The younger man reached into his purse and drew out some bread and cheese. 'Snack?”
The older man nodded, and the two guards ate a cold dinner in the street, while the drunk groaned and rolled on the cobbles, still trapped in the cloak tied round him.

The stout guard used his knife to cut away some moldy bits. “Damned damp, chilly weather! Breeds the rot. It’s getting harder to find good food at a fair price. Someone ought to petition the Duke to fix that, maybe get him to put the screws to some of those greedy millers and bakers.”

The younger guard eyed his partner for a moment, and then ventured in a whisper: “I heard someone say the Young Duke dresses like a woman and holds orgies in the palace.”

The blow to the head caught him by surprise. When his vision cleared the stout old graybeard guard loomed over him.
“Bah, mind you don’t spread stories that could get your neck stretched, lad! You’ve got to reach a certain age in service before you can grumble ‘bout your betters, and you’ve got to learn how to grumble right.”

Cloth ripped. The drunkard jumped up and kicked the lantern into shards, spilling smoking oil on the sleety cobbles. The two guards jerked away, pulling clear of the fire.
They stared in horror as the madman bolted down the lane, smoldering , torn cloak flapping behind him and peals of crazed laughter ripping from his body with each bounding step. “The Worm’s Supper!” cried the lunatic as he vanished into the dark maze of the city streets.



THE END...FOR NOW

THE STORY WILL CONTINUE WITH

BIRTHRIGHT 3: THE WORM'S SUPPER