Magistrates of Qeneas

[estelle]

Beginnings | Story | Characters | Lore | OOC​

Highport is always bustling, and late summer is the last occasion for grand trade. The craftsmen and farmers from all around Qeneas come, trade, and leave, and the last large caravans of the year pack up for the journey back to the east. Every place is crowded, everyone is busy, and almost every item is up for sale.

The weather looks to be beatiful all day, with no clouds on the horizon in any direction. The sun is giving its best to warm the world before fall arrives, and the brilliant colors of leaves paints the country and the many parts of Highport like a work of art.

The duchess has requested the presence of the magistrates, who are due to present themselves at tenbell, probably to be assigned some task.

OOC

Please describe your morning until reaching the palace. It's up to you if your characters already know each other, and whether they meet (and talk) before arriving for the appointment.

 

[Gears]

Zyn woke up with a start, immediately scanning the room, the trap she had made on the door and window showed that no one had entered last night, or they had somehow managed to stop the ball bearings from falling from their bag and spreading across the room- she searched under the bed and writing desk and found none had been left there by a hasty clean up. She hadn’t slept long she she was confident no one had been there. She stretched as she grabbed her more important belongings from the room, leaving only clothing, the rest stowed in her satchel as she put on her heavy cloak checking that no one could see into her room before closing her eyes and summoning.

A green glow filled the room as a blade of light materialized in Zyns waiting hand, she felt the blade in her hand, testing the weightlessness with a few swings before dropping the blade as it shattered on the ground, the shards fading away as she exited the room, putting the cloak over her head as she walked through the streets toward the Palace.

She basked in the foreign smells as she walked through the market, after a second she decided to have some fun, watching for any rubes ripe for the taking- she didn’t often steal, certainly not major heists but she did on occasion pick pocket a few morons- in a way she was chancing them a lesson, such as paying attention or purchasing more sturdy coin bags.

(Roll for sleight of hand 7, plus Prof Bonus of 3)

 

[Sherwood]

Beginnings | Story | Characters | Lore | OOC​

Highport is always bustling, and late summer is the last occasion for grand trade. The craftsmen and farmers from all around Qeneas come, trade, and leave, and the last large caravans of the year pack up for the journey back to the east. Every place is crowded, everyone is busy, and almost every item is up for sale.

The weather looks to be beatiful all day, with no clouds on the horizon in any direction. The sun is giving its best to warm the world before fall arrives, and the brilliant colors of leaves paints the country and the many parts of Highport like a work of art.

The duchess has requested the presence of the magistrates, who are due to present themselves at tenbell, probably to be assigned some task.

OOC

Please describe your morning until reaching the palace. It's up to you if your characters already know each other, and whether they meet (and talk) before arriving for the appointment.

Grond starts his day deep in prayer in the humble room that the monks of the temple of Heironeous have set aside for his use. After putting his mind and spirit at ease, the large minotaur rises from the kneeling position, and goes out to the courtyard garden to go through the motions of his various sword katas, working himself hard to maintain his high strength and endurance. He keeps driving himself harder and harder, pausing only when one of the brothers of the temple approach to a safe distance and waits expectantly.

With a snort, the bull-man pauses and offers up a respectful bow. "Good morning, Brother Jost. How may I be of service to you and to Heironeous this fine day?"

Jost returns the bow and steps forward, producing a letter from inside his pocket. "My good sir, we just received this missive from the Dutchess and it is addressed to you. I brought it forth to you with no delay." He hands it over to the large warrior. He then says, "I must confess curiosity as to what is inside the envelope."

Grond chuckles. "You and me both. But I suspect that this has to do with my role as one of the Dutchess' magistrates, and this is a summons." He takes the letter and with a level of fumbling with his stubby fingers, he opens the note and reads. With a nod, he says, "Just as I suspected. This arrived in good time; I will be able to appropriately clean myself and prepare to present myself to our good Lady Dutchess as her station demands with little time to spare. Please pardon me, Brother Jost, but I must not delay or I shall be late."

With his mission to deliver the letter complete, Brother Jost leaves Grond to tend to his equipment prior to bathing.

Once he has successfully washed off the stink and sweat of his workout from his body, Grond quickly dons his armor. He has had this particular suit of armor for some time now, but he is continually surprised at how lightweight and easy to wear it is. With a final shrug to help set the links in place, he put on a colorful tabard that displays the holy symbol of his god on it, marking him as a paladin of Heironeous. Then, he slips his longsword, a blade he has named Singlestroke, onto his hip and places his shield on his back. After all, there is no need to look overly menacing, putting fear instead of hope in the hearts of those that see him.

Looking out at the sun, he realizes that he is nearly running late, and sets off at a healthy pace through the city streets, his hooves clopping on the cobblestones as he walks. Even with his appointment, Grond takes the time to share a nod or offer up a friendly wave to the residents that have gotten to know him in his time here at Highport. Soon enough, he finds himself at the gates of the Dutchesses' keep. When approached by a guard, the minotaur bows and offers up the letter. "Greetings and may the blessings of Heironeous be on you today. I have a summons from the Dutchess, to present myself to her at tenbell. May I please proceed?"

 

[Psychie]

Beria wakes to the horrendous pounding in her head as she struggles to open her eyes and lift her head from the cot she collapsed on the night before after a long night of heavy drinking. She groans as she sits up, the room spinning around her. After throwing up repeatedly, the little gnome takes another drink to wash the vile taste of her sick out of her mouth with another groan. Beria then goes to the baths in the inn that she's at to get cleaned up.

Eventually, the pounding in her head and the spinning of the room eases up, and after dressing, she makes her way down the stairs to the common room and asks for a bowl of stew. She then manages to climb her way up into a chair that is far too large for her tiny size and waits for the waitress to bring her the stew. Never again will I drink that much.

 

[RikuXIII]

Fizzy Moor studies her distorted reflection in the small hand mirror metal mirror she kept to check on herself. Other Verdan don't remember what it was like to be the goblin or hobgoblin they were before, but Fiz did. Well, sort of. She can remember flashes of the dark and damp. Of hideous pride of her dragon blood. Of the snarling face that looked back at her from still water. She sometimes still saw it for an instant when she caught sight of her reflection. So, she considers her now more human face to reassure that small part of her that the strange magics that turned her and her people into something new wasn't going to just stop working and turn her back.
Fiz stops herself before she loses herself in the never ending wondering of what lead to the Verdan, instead clinging to what her friend Zoba told her.
"There is no one so wretched that something does not care for them." He would say.
It was the wily djinni's cares for Qeneas than lead him to lend his power to Fiz, so that she could protect it and the other Verdan. A sacred trust was forged, now to be fulfilled. The small Verdan rubs the ring Zoba gave her for luck as she adopts the sparkling demenor that earned her the name "Fizzy". With a slice of cinnamon toast downed, Fizzy grabs her gear and heads out of her humble little cottage to report to the duchess as a Magistrate of Qeneas.

 

[Psychie]

Once Beria is feeling a bit more gnomish and less like a shambling zombie, she heads up to her room and dresses in her armor and takes the note with the summons from the Dutchess and heads out to make it there before the appointed time. She briefly looks up at the burning globe of light called the Sun and winces at the pain in her head at the bright light. Ugh. That's bright. Never drink that much again, Beria. Just don't.