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Though a few travelers enjoying their slightly heavier purses likely try to keep the source to themselves, it becomes more known that the colorful halfling at the Shack near the crossroads has and continues to offer small sums of gold or what food/drink she can provide for rumors, songs, and stories. It doesn't seem to matter if she's already heard them, for several offer that she paid them all the same even if she seemed to know their bits already, or if a piece of information seemed to matter little in the grand scheme of things.
In fact, what exactly is told or from whom it came seemed to matter not at all, so long as something was shared, though apparently higher quality would net a higher gain. Occasionally, by request, a story is paid with another story.
[SIZE=10]((Level of experience matters little, nor does it matter whether it is quest related or not. Particularly good for lower level characters that are starving and poor and are willing to gossip or spin a tale, as what is a good sum to an NPC or level 1 character is pennies to the rich well traveled adventurer. Lengthy info not required. Will be occurring on and off over the week or so, will post when she's around. Today starts: now, for the next few hours, even if no one is around.))[/SIZE]
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((Acacea is briefly led away from the Crossroads for some emergency or another - a small note is left simply saying in a scrawl "WILL RETURN!" but not much else.))
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The colorful halfling sits chatting at the Shack again, the offer still good for rumors and stories.
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After what can only be described as an 'interesting' session of banter, tales, drama, and unsatisfied curiosity (and probably a few too many drinks), the torch is snuffed at the Crossroads and the halfling steps into a portal and is gone again.
((Thanks to players and DMs that happened by to play with campfire sessions. Special thanks to Timulty for his tale.))
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Sitting with an old journal that shimmers slightly that she leafs through, giggling at old stick figure drawings, she waits with a pack of food and drinks and a purse of coin for any tale-tellers or gossipers that happen by, for word of anything from epic journeys to a woman's husband drunk at the Scamp wearing her best dress...
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Comers to the Shack find no halfling waiting unless they look up, where she is apparently sprawled loosely on an upper branch of the tree near the campfire, her things in a little nook next to her. There is some vague rumor about a drunken orc, but little else to explain the odd choice of passing out.
((Was only an hour, but have to run unexpectedly. Thanks Erugor for the orc play.))
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She joins others at the Shack to listen to gossip while odd alchemical creations are tried out.
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After what could be argued an overly eventful day, the halfling trots away with speedy feet and more gossip, the colorful scarf tying her hair streaming behind her.
((Thanks all those who gathered for one reason or another, and to Harlas for the unpleasant surprise! Sorry that several of us had to leave for quest, next time ;)))
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For a full third or more of the year the colorful halfling appeared not once at the Crossroads to hear the gossip of travelers with a smile and coins to offer, but after the missing posters had just started to appear, she arrives and swings down from the branches again to sit, as if it had been no longer than a day. After only a few moments, others drift by to talk or share, and the torch at the crossroads burns cheerfully.
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She curls up to take a nap next to the sleeping ferret, after food and stories and even arguments.
((Thanks everyone who was in and out.))
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A few tangles of black curls escape the head scarf as a colorfully dressed halfling jumps up and down with a large torch, trying to reach the unlit one at the crossroads... her bells and dangling keys at her waist jingle and clink together at the activity, until she finally pulls several things from draping sleeves and stacks them on top of one another to climb and reach.
Once lit, the torch at the crossroads burns cheerfully and she returns to hang upside down from a branch before the fire to see if any news feels like travelling...
((Probably be here for an hour or two, barring unexpected side journeys.))
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With debates flown from her head by it filling with grandiose plans for festivities and magic, she scampers up a tree and hops to another branch to entertain herself and plan for days to come...
((Thanks to those that dropped by, mostly Storold and Timulty for any length of time ;) And yay updates!))
[/SIZE]
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[INDENT]The oft-neglected torch at the crossroads burns for passing travelers as the leather-foot halfling sits in the lowest branch of a tree, feet dangling, and entertains herself with music and stories to the stream until visitors arrive, or don't.
If only she had the coin to give for rumors, but alas! Comers would have to be satisfied with pie, and isn't that much better anyway?[/INDENT]
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[INDENT]After some hours of lone singing, and more hours of company, the torch is dampened and a small group makes their way off... well, "That Way."
((Thanks for those that came by.))
[/I][/INDENT]
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[INDENT]From the campfire near the Stormcrest Shack comes the sound of a humming both weary and cheerful, that drifts and wanders in and out of harmony with the comings and goings of the breeze. A small halfling examines her bare feet as she sits holding them against one another, wiggling toes in some grand re-enactment of life's scenes in the form of Foot, waiting for visitors to come with stories or rumors, for visitors to come wanting stories or rumors, or for no one to come at all. The torch burns at the crossroads, whether or not it appreciates her entertainment.[/INDENT]
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[INDENT]Despite a night of laughter and old friends, the shadows linger on her sleepless face as she reaches up to extinguish the torch, leaving behind the memory of questions and scrolls, of hierophants and bad puns, and letting wandering feet find another path for the night to the sound of an ethereal music of the stars...
((Thanks everyone! Sorry for the rampaging children distraction I ended up with... Next time... ;)))
[/I][/INDENT]
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[INDENT]An indignant squawk and rapid fluttering of wings... a swearing halfling tumbling out of the branches above the campfire... with her "leaf chic" tangled halo of hair, the only possible explanation is it being mistaken for a nest by some hopeful feathered traveler. After dusting herself off and rubbing hands over weary eyes, the torch at the crossroads is lit to welcome travelers, whether they seek guides, the telling or hearing of stories, idle chatter, or only pass without stopping...[/INDENT]
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[INDENT]After many visitors, she finally unslings her staff and vaults her leather feet off in hops to dampen the lantern, singing to fill the space between road and sky with music that contrasts her worn and tired face...
((Thanks to JennaraSteelTribaCaerwynArgosAnnabelleSamTimultyFenthonandIdoran for coming by, good times! Next time more people will have to show up before 10pm so we can go somewhere ;) ))
[/I][/INDENT]
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[INDENT]Despite mechanical appearances to the contrary, the torch at the crossroads flickers lazily as a chiming and clinking halfling paces between the bridges near the Shack. She carries a runed staff over one shoulder and can be heard telling passersby that she is Troll Acacea (and will accept no other form of address) and will eat absolutely anyone that tries to cross her bridges without answering a riddle or paying a toll. "I'm a toll troll, you see," she explains helpfully at every opportunity.[/INDENT]
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[INDENT]After some goodbyes and partings are had, the torch is dampened again and a trio heads off for a distant northern forest, after riddles and stories and silliness...[/INDENT]
((Thanks to HedessaNi'haerValancaFeawenAnnwylRazandJennaraetc, especially those that shared a story or song.))
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[INDENT]With it being as remarkably rare as it is to see her in one location for more than a mere handful of consecutive days, she is soon away again from the city of gold and its many willing hands to aid. Not long after she disappears from the chaos, the torch begins to burn once more at the crossroads near the Stormcrest Shack, and a strange music is heard in the trees. She shakes a small purse of coins to make the recognizable sound of gold clinking against itself, and yet no one seems in any great hurry to attempt to rob her, despite her ragged appearance and muddy bare feet.
((On for at least an hour most likely. She will buy tales and rumors as always.))[/INDENT]
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[INDENT]After some talks of old times, shadows, and matters of the heart, some part and some stay. The belled-halfling wanders off and the torch is doused.
((Acacea's internet went kaboom, fun night those that showed))
[/INDENT]
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[INDENT]After disappearing for a few days in aid attempts at Palden lake, Acacea wanders back to the crossroads and swings from a few branches, looking around with disheveled hair and waiting hopefully to see if any news come bearing travelers or keys... the torch is a beacon in the areas near Dapplegreen, flickering and waiting for wanderers, tale tellers, gossipers, or any combination thereof.[/INDENT]
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[INDENT]After hours spent with subjects blurring and at times crashing into one another, a mix of old times, not-so-old-times, and recent times, three halflings are finally left talking amongst themselves before the belled and tattooed key collector dampens the lantern and makes her way back to the lake.
((Thanks to BuddyAndrewFrakkRagnarDarthiraeTribaJennaraTalanTod for coming and hanging out. Special thanks to Buddy for the rumor swap, and to Talan for coming out of an ancient hole.))
[/SIZE][/I][/INDENT]
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[INDENT]After a time remaining at the crossroads, when it is apparent that the handful are going to linger a time, Acacea hops from the ground and skips over to light the lantern so that it may at least draw passersby for more talk of circuses and stories.[/INDENT]
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[INDENT]After many hours, she finally leaves the dwarf beside the water and climbs up to dampen the lantern. She shakes herself off before going vaguely "that way," muttering about moose and blades and the letter E.
((Thanks to JennaraArgaliJaelleSamTyrianAndrewTimultyRazeriemAndAnyoneIForgot))
[/I][/INDENT]
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In a dramatically gloomy voice, the shadow at the crossroads gestures with her flickering lantern towards the shack. "We're ooopeeeen...."
(http://forums.layonara.com/photopost/data/100358/medium/LW004ShadowOpen.jpg) (http://forums.layonara.com/photopost/showphoto.php?photo=140862&size=big&cat=)
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The lantern is finally dampened when a bunch of insane people head for the coast.
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Clink, clink, clink... a small purse of coins makes its own music near the beacon at the crossroads, should any wanderers or tale-tellers find they have rumors to share... Between visitors her own entertainment is made, as ever.
(Around at the Shack for... dunno. Prolly an hour or so.)
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After talk of magic and Spark-hunting devolved into talk of which creatures on Layonara made the better pies, circling all the way back 'round to magic with a fallen snorer, visitors resume their journeys and the belled halfling climbs up to un-light the lantern.
(Thanks to Eril'lin, Iri, Steel, and Rose for dropping by.)
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The slit-for-climbing skirt is cerulean with bands of festive colors, the bodice a bright and laughing red. She's found clattering bangles to clink above her wrists and disguise the intent of the silver bells shackled there. The dress is much-mended and faded in some places and stained in others, but hugs the halfling like an old friend. The torch is lit, flickering and casting strange shadows over the crossroads; the fire is warm on an autumn evening, with empty seats around it; and she has tired of playing for the squirrels and the birds without gossip in return.
She settles herself primly in a jangle of keys and bells, dashing over her arm a night-dark cloak shimmering here and there with the forms of shadowed equine forms, and leans against the trunk of a twisted tree with her playful smile broadening in half-demand. "Tell me things...!"
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The pair of sparrows took flight as the fiery-haired tambourine master skidded onto the scene, and after an exchange of this and that there was a pause. The belled halfling looked over to the feathered one and raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Well...?" she said archly, leaning back against the tree and crossing one calloused foot over her shin. "Entertain me!"
"Do you like adventures? Of course! I have a story about an adventure!"
"Tell me your epic, O daring bard!"
*****"And so... and so we clobbered them!"
"Slashes of crimson across the blinding snows, smelly limbs tangled, heroes bruised but victorious!"
"Right! It's like you were there!"
*****"And then, near the far end of the chamber, one of them saw me!"
"Did you wave?"
"I waved my axe as it charged! It was not happy to see me, can you imagine?"
*****"And then some eyes started glowing! Just two, and positioned like they belonged to one head!"
"Wow! what timing! His eyes are glowing, too! And they are also on one head!"
"He's the prop I brought I didn't tell you about before!"
*****The Rofireinite woman stood, as though the werechicken comment were the last straw to this Pit-jumping tangent, and the bard called out to her. "But you haven't told me a story, yet!"
"What?"
"Didn't you come to entertain me...?"
"Wh... I um... you... me? Tell... tell a story?"
*****Protector Merritt blushed again and tentatively picked up again after the small interruption with, "Well, yes," but stopped again at the elvish words exchanged on another bench. The halfling shushed them with a play-scowl and a finger to her lips, and the woman finished awkwardly, "Um ...bandits."
*****"So when I was released," she said with a sigh, "and my fine was paid, I ventured out again. But this time, I followed the dwarf, who was very, very drunk. I ... I'm not very good at stalking."
*****After the woman was reluctantly made to accept a small pouch of coins for luck, Daniel asked, "How would you feel about a somewhat sad song? I cannot claim to be its author - that honor goes to my wife - but I will perform it with musical accompaniment."
*****He stilled the strings with his hand, speaking with a quiet voice like a prayer, "But comfort send to one he loved, and called with his last breath."
*****"Perhaps..." the wizard said with a grin. "But if you wish, I'd like to share it. Then I'll let you judge." A weathered scroll was pulled from a pocket and unrolled, and he cleared his throat... "The title is 'Rise'." He cleared his throat again uncomfortably, and then began to speak...
*****A small, embarrassed smile flashed across Celador's face as the others applauded his poetry, and he added, "As you see, it's rather hard to put to music."
*****"If I stand up and make a fool of myself reading poetry, then surely you can, Sehky."
She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. "Eh? Eh? Stories, songs, rumors, news, feats of archerdom?"
"Pull out an instrument, someone..." the hunter with the ornate arrows finally said after Daniel nudged him. "Strike up a somber tune... slow."
*****He grinned at Daniel, who stilled his strings and quirked an eyebrow, while the halflings applauded. "You and Samantha had me inspired of dragons and... more."
"Anirilln aey owm wmilvel wmailsla!" the bard thanked happily...
*****"It must be almost time for the lantern to go out! People drifting off, you know!"
"Howdy!" called Quenton, approaching the fire with a wave after tying his pony down.
"But soft! What steps approach? A visitor!" Acacea grinned, and told him with a teasing smile, "You're just in time for your story!"
"Oh! OK!" he responded, amiably. "So there I was! In the bush and hunting a great dire tiger!"
*****"Oh, I was riding Horace! Did I forget to mention that? Yeah, he's a semi-war pony!"
"Nice! Full war ponies are all stuffy, anyhow. Semis are prolly way better."
*****The fire has fed on stories, and it is sleepy and spent at last. The stars are closing their gem-bright eyes, and the sun will be out to call back the shadows. The grass has begun to remember the feel of her feet, all leathery scars and callouses, and she's coaxed stories from mouths other than hers for the night. The Shack doesn't know all her stories, not by half and not by a hundredth, but those she tells, well... those stories are like smooth river stones, well-worn and oft-handled beneath the streams. These ones were new, at least to this campfire.
But there is still some call for water-tumbled stories, the older ones that have been forgotten and newer ones made since. She hums as she dims the lantern, thinking of what she'll need to take to the forest if she's going to have any business taking anybody else. Putting the crossroads behind her, she giggles as she hears, "The cube drips shadowy people things! Well, not drips, really..."
((Thanks much all of you!))
(((Hehe, shouldn't copy straight from journal and include your notes to yourself when you can't remember people's exact words or ranks *shifty* Edited)))
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/// sorry I missed this! I'll be on and around tomorrow night, though! ///
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As the sun sets on the Crossroads, a familiar voice drifts down the road, singing nonsense words to common tunes. The familiar voice wears the shape of a familiar halfling, clad in faded clergy robes devoted to the goddess arcane and winding scripts and images inked or spelled onto her skin. She runs along the edge of the bridge and lights the torch with a wink to travelers before warming leather feet at the campfire. Lifting a hand to a squirrel paused halfway down the trunk of a nearby tree, she promises that while she may not have much coin to trade for gossip, she has any number of things so much more valuable for those that trade in stories...
((At the Shack for perhaps an hourish.))
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Once the dwarf had left ("he's got to see a saint about a scabbard") the conversation rapidly descended into a contest of vague and inappropriate euphemisms between halflings, some of which would defeat the purpose entirely. "I gotta see a tart about some tension would be the best, ever. So much for innocuous!" After trying repeatedly to leave in order to see a lawman about a ladle, or a Mido about a mongoose, the colorful halfling finally stood (once adjectives had fallen to things like "dukular" and "dutchestic"), looked to the bridge, and said, "I gotta see a treant about a torch."
Immediately backpedaling, she apologized to the nearby tree as the other laughed, saying, "Oops, that sounds threatening, doesn't it? I was just trying to, y'know, work the torch in and..." she trailed off with a few vulgar words she claimed she could also say in orcish, and hopped off to dampen the torch. Thinking on the news the dwarf had shared, she called over the stream, "I GOTTA SEE AN ORC ABOUT 'ORTICULTURE!" and was off.
((Thanks to Naldin and Iri for hanging out.))
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With the spring returns a familiar tangle of hair and ink wearing just her once-colorful shorts and mud up to her shins. Dripping clothing hangs from a nearby branch, as if the enterprising halfling somehow went swimming without managing to lose the mud. She makes a show of playfully turning her purse inside out for hopefuls that may draw near, but tries to get them to tell their stories, anyway...
((At the crossroads for awhile, multitasking a little while no one is around, so give me a moment to notice if you visit!))
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After inviting herself on the return to Center, Acacea heads off with captive audience, eager to freshen his memory of Bald, Bald Sir Storold.
((Thanks for putting up with her, Morus.))
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Even travelers unfamiliar with the shack at the crossroads notice that the torch they're accustomed to passing by is lit brightly in the Febra evening. Some uncurious souls continue on, while others venture closer to the distant firelight, their attention caught by strange song on the breeze.
((An hour, maybe more depending.))
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Though inquisitive two-leggers were in short supply this quiet night, the familiar voice at the Shack rarely lacks for company. Once the song moves on just before the dawning, a few others also depart in a flutter of wings or flash of delicate hooves. The torch waits once more, another object to be passed by all unknowing.
((Bedtime. Thanks to Timid Deer and Listening Bird for the audience ;) ))