conversations: human
conversations:  OOC here 
   
  
  Dusk crept on the town of Tourenne, and beacons were lit on the guard towers facing the river  Mineros . Although there were no monster attacks on the town for a few years now, the townsfolk had no intention of slacking off, and each tower was manned by two ruffle-haired youths, peering nervously into the huge swampy wasteland beyond the slow-moving waters.
  
  At the One Eared Goblin inn, five friends were gathered around a table, splitting the booty from their latest exploit. Crag's chair was creaking and threatening to give way at any moment under the Goliath's weight. Garth, bearded and unshaven, his dull clothes are criscrossed with stitching from repairs. In contrast, Orodreth's chain shirt was clean and gleaming, and his fearsome chain coiled beneath his feet. Korlin was sharpening his scimitar, not at all daunted by the prospect of losing a finger. The fifth member of the group was a skinny and bookish fellow, dressed in scholarly robes, whom the rest knew as Atalar.
  
  After the coin was divided into equal shares, always a source of argument, and so were the other precious items, only one thing remained on the table - a magical healing belt, which should have gone to Atalar by right of draw, but for some reason he did not pick it up.
  
   Fellows , the robed man started,  we had some nice adventures together. And I don't think I'm up to any more. It's time for me to retire. My uncle was always hellbent on having me live in his tower. Or maybe,  he jingled his purse,  maybe I'll try to buy my own. You can have this,  he pointed at the belt.  You'll need it more than me. Also this,  he added, tossing a wrinkled piece of parchment on the wooden surface.  Do with it as you will. I'm too old for this. 
  
  [[ the parchment is what you see above ]]
conversations: Vladislav:
conversations: human
conversations:  "The nature of the younger races, my friend - I've heard it called the 'Doom of Men' by others of my race, but that seems overly morbid. Life is what it is, and I thank you for sharing yours with us."  The elf bent over the parchment, the motion making his chain clink against itself.  "And what's this?" 
conversations: Esquire:
conversations: human
conversations:  Crag nods slowly to Atalar, a soft smile on his face.
    "You will be missed, friend."  
conversations: TechnoScrabble:
conversations: human
conversations:  Originally Posted by TechnoScrabble 
   Crag nods slowly to Atalar, a soft smile on his face.
    "You will be missed, friend."   
   
  
   I appreciate the kind words, but most likely, it's my magic keeping you alive that will be missed.  He smiles.
  
  
   
   Originally Posted by Esquire 
    "The nature of the younger races, my friend - I've heard it called the 'Doom of Men' by others of my race, but that seems overly morbid. Life is what it is, and I thank you for sharing yours with us."  The elf bent over the parchment, the motion making his chain clink against itself.  "And what's this?"  
   
  
   Doom.  He grumbles.  Don't talk to me about doom,  then continues, jabbing a finger at the parchment.  This is a little something I found in a book store, owner unaware of its value. It's a page recovered from  Jarella's Travels , a monumental journey log written almost four hundred years ago, when those wastelands were at least semi-civilized. Hopelessly obsoleted, of course, but some good information. I'm not sure exactly what the scale is, or where exactly is the map located with respect to us, but seems like those are the lands west of the river. Once we ... I mean, once  you  find one landmark, you will be able to place the others. I won't be joining you, of course, but wish you luck. 
conversations: Vladislav:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Well if there is treasure out there than I'm in. However much doom there is, it can't be worse than that dam grove I used to live in. Still... Leaving me with these meat heads as a team was a bit harsh don't you think."  Garth has a big grin under his disheveled beard.
conversations: Mangles:
conversations: human
conversations:  Korlin had been holding it back as the others said their goodbyes, feigning
  deep interest in the keenness of his blade - an unnecessary ponderance, as
  it was an heirloom, and as such, one of the few things he valued with any
  true seriousness - but as the old man handed them his prized magical belt,
  his carefully erected facade breaks... along with his emotional barriers; tears
  form at the corners of his eyes, quickly turning into rivulets; he sheaths his
  sword, lest he cut himself - or the old man.
  
  Truly bawling now, and with - what would be theatrical, if it weren't genuine
  - great sobs of sorrow, Korlin picks up his longtime friend and mentor,
  grasping him tight as if he truly believed he could capture some great part of
  the man, to have forever in his heart. And perhaps he had, for as he sets
  down the wizened genial, a small part of the ache in his heart had lifted.
  
  Slumping back into his seat, he mutters,
   "Truly thou art departing from us our merry group, then, verily t'ward ours own devices and faytes?" 
  he says with austerity, and then rising to mock the olden speech imparted
  upon him at an early age, with the 'peasant language' taught in the East,
   "We's be ded wit'n th'week I's rekkin!" 
conversations: chrisrawr:
conversations: human
conversations:  All red and now as crumpled as the parchment, Atalar finally frees himself from the big man's hug, and looks around, embarrased. Folk in the common room snigger at the outpour of emotions, albeit not too openly. You are, after all, armed adventurers.  Garth will be your adult supervision now , Atalar says.  I'm sure you'll do just fine.  He moves his chair and looks at the door with sudden urgency.  A carriage is departing toward the capital tonight, and I intend to be on it. Farewell, gentlemen, and if you ever decide to join me in retirement, look me up. With any luck, I will be known as Atalar the Boring. I will be happy to receive you, assuming I can manage the kind of tower that comes with a guest room. 
  
  He bows low, offers each of you his handshake, and turns to leave.
conversations: Vladislav:
conversations: human
conversations:  Crag takes Atalar's hand in his gigantic palm and shakes it, waves goodbye slowly, and turns to Garth, the poor chair beneath him moaning in protest of it's suffering.
     "You're the new Chief of the Exiles, then,"    he says, using his term for the group of adventurers,    "What do we do now?"   
conversations: TechnoScrabble:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Now we head west. This map should give us a better chance than anyone else beyond the river. Who knows what treasure we might find out there. But I think first we should have a drink."  Garth raises his glass.  "To Atalar. May his beard grow long and his retirement be as boring as he could hope for."  
conversations: Mangles:
conversations: human
conversations:  Crag nods and raises his glass to Garth's before setting it back down on the table. You'd figure a goliath wouldn't nurse his beer, but Crag's not that big of a drinker.
conversations: TechnoScrabble:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Right then!"  Kalimar gestures wildly with his hand, weapon still in it,  "A new adventure, full of glory and fame and    my   treasure!" 
  
  Just then, the men they'd hired to guard their  his   loot burst in, yelling,...!
conversations: chrisrawr: