Friend or Faux

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Loman

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Friend or Faux
« on: April 08, 2019, 09:48:17 AM »
The mounting mercantile dispute in Oaknoll seems to have tapered off after the timely intervention of a group of adventurers including, Orlpar, Delia Ravenheart, Quinlan Stomorel, Torgrim, Gor-Azag and Eryka. A diplomatic solution between the two aggrieved parties seems to have been reached, for Aranella Webster still makes her way into town a few times each week to hawk her wares with prices more in line with what other merchants charge and her fine works seem to have found their way into the hands of other merchants in the town, that they might have a share in the profits of this new venture.

For now, calm returns to the quirky village of Oaknoll.

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Deep in the woods of the Cormanthor, but a few hours away from Oaknoll, Aranella and her family flourish. The toil of their craft keeps her and her kin mostly occupied; the spinning of silk, the processing to turn it into the fine sheets that will eventually be taken out to the noxious dyeing vats set well back from the run-down old home she has made her abode.

With an indulgent smile, she keeps watch over the slowly increasing swarm of Aranea young from her brooding chamber as they practice the skills that will become so important in keeping this place secret and safe in their later lives.

Predation on the smaller forest animals continues and rises as their numbers grow, but they are true to their word and seem to not kill wantonly, only for sustenance, and make good use of the hides and skins of their prey.


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On the outskirts of Oaknoll, Arvin Hale casts a furtive look about himself before slipping into the dingy structure he calls come and bolting the door behind him. Licking his lips, he approaches the sole book-case in the small abode, picking his way past stock crammed against one side of the room. With almost callous abandon, he roots through the contents of the bookshelf, cursing and cursing until he uncovers what he's looking for.

Even here, locked away in his home he cannot help but glance around fitfully as he takes the sheaf of dog-eared and much-read papers from inside the heavy tome on horticulture and lets the volume tumble away to the floor with a thud. He kneels beside his bed, spreading out the parchments atop the thin, stained covers.

Each paper holds a different name upon it, someone living in the village. Each paper holds a list of their secrets, those the world should never know. Those he can use to his advantage if he can. He finds the almost blank sheet titled Aranella and scribbles down the note "Dealt with. For now. Need more. Need SOMETHING!" and underlines it multiple times.

He sighs, sags a little, and shuffles over on his knees to the paper folding screen in the corner. He draws it back, revealing the small altar concealed behind it. Rough, featureless stone without marking or glyph presents itself to him. Its only identifying feature a small animal skull with a single, curved horn in its centre.

Clasping his hands fervently, Arvin lowers his forehead to the cold, rough stone of his master. "I
will find out more. I swear it, my lord. I swear it..."
But just think how cute he will look with a little saddle and stirrups.