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Witch

Barathen's Bank: Timely Encounters

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Be sure to check out the mega-thread for Barathen's Bank, the Alliance township in phase 4127!

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    On the outskirts of quaint little Barathen's Bank, the body of a cow dangled from a treetop. Its hind legs were bound together by a rope and its stomach had been sliced open, causing its intestines to spill and form a puddle on the ground below. This was only the most recent in a string of macabre attacks on farmsteads, and Darien Pritchard was growing irate. As captain of the local militia, it fell to him and his twenty footmen to safeguard the good folk who called Barathen's Bank home.
    Derreck, a lithe soldier in his mid-twenties, wrapped his legs around the base of the tree and made the slow climb up. Elwynn Forest was known for its tall, bushy canopies, and it took several minutes for him to reach the branches and cut the rope with his dagger.
    Pritchard watched the beast drop to the ground with a thud. He gazed into its lifeless eyes for a moment and finally spoke. "Get a wagon out here and haul this off before the sun rises. Light willing, we'll prevent a panic yet."


    From his perch high in the canopy, Derreck watched the captain turn on his heel and depart. His chest rose and fell with a sigh, and he began his descent. He knew of a sizable ditch dug not far from here where the soldiers dumped these carcasses. As he slid down the bark of the tree, he wondered how long they could continue to hide these attacks from the farmers.
    Pritchard wandered the gardens of a luscious estate with a solemn expression. The first rays of the sun slithered over the horizon, and he knew that he would soon be made to answer for his latest failure. He found a bench by a polished marble fountain and allowed himself to have a seat and enjoy a brief respite.
    He closed his eyes and his thoughts soon drifted to the past. For two decades he fought behind crumbling walls, struggling to mete out an existence in the unforgiving wastelands of Hellfire Peninsula. By volunteering for the Alliance Expedition, he had left behind a wartorn world with one solace: knowing their sacrifice would save the rest of humanity from annihilation. Countless still were lost to the guerrilla tactics of the fel orcs, their monstrous adversaries who fed on the blood of demons. He had not expected to survive or to be here today.
    The persistent voice of a young girl drew Captain Pritchard from his wartime recollections. He blinked several times and immediately spotted Abatha Townsend, the daughter of the magistrate. She was a bright and cheery girl with rose-tinted cheeks, braided locks of amber hair, and fine silk dresses which implied her noble upbringing.
    "Why, if it isn't the Little Lady," Pritchard began with the hint of a smile. Although it was against his better judgment, the captain had bestowed this nickname on the magistrate's daughter whom he was charged to protect. He was not knighted in her service, but the prospect had grown on him, especially in the absence of children he could call his own.
    "Good morning to you, sir," she responded. Folding her hands behind her back, she arched forward on the tips of her toes. "Father has requested your presence in his study posthaste."
    "I should not keep him, then," the captain answered and rose to his feet. Abatha accompanied him to the foyer of the estate and then returned to her room, leaving Pritchard to cross the foreboding hallway leading to the magistrate alone. Once at the heavyset oak doors, he paused and took a deep breath. Then, he raised his gauntleted fist to the door and announced his arrival.
    "Come in," replied a hollow voice.
    Pritchard complied, pulling on the silver door ring. He entered an impressively large chamber lined with rows of bookshelves and mounted boar heads. The air was stuffy and a roaring fireplace bathed the room in an unsettling crimson light. Henry Townsend, the magistrate of Barathen's Bank, rose from a tall throne chair and faced the captain. Pritchard knew the magistrate as a shrewd and impatient man with narrow features and deep-seated eyes. He draped himself in flowing robes and, when angered, had a certain fondness for threatening to imprison his enemies in the Stockades.
    "Your latest failure speaks volumes for your ability to lead effectively," Townsend spoke, his dark eyes piercing Pritchard's with a glare. "I deserve answers, captain. Indeed, the good people of Barathen's Bank deserve answers."
    "These are unusual attacks, sir," Pritchard mustered in response.
    Townsend gave the captain an unimpressed huff. "You jest, surely! You mean for me to believe that a band of vagabonds who sneak about in the middle of the night have not been captured by now? Do you even know who you are looking for?"
    "Gnolls. There were paw prints in the field." Pritchard took a single step forward, narrowing his eyes at the magistrate. "We should petition the crown for reinforcements, and–"
    "Excuses!" Townsend roared. "You and your men are soldiers, captain! Meanwhile I am up to my neck with supplicants who seek to understand why their cattle have disappeared suddenly!" The magistrate's face turned red and the veins of his forehead bulged. "I do not know why these gnolls are harassing the livestock, and I do not care to know either. What I do know is that you will eradicate them or I shall have your rear end mounted to my wall! Am I understood, sir?"
    The captain nodded, which appeared to ease the magistrate's frustration. He watched Townsend sweep across the room in his long robes and pull a small jewelry box down from a shelf before beckoning Pritchard forward.
    "My dear daughter Abatha sees a great deal in you that I do not," the magistrate acknowledged in a condescending tone of voice. "Even so, I have chosen to give you one chance to return to my good graces. Make arrangements with Postmaster Drews to have this packaged and delivered to Goldshire one week from today. Do not disappoint again, captain."
    Accepting it from the magistrate's bony hands, Pritchard looked the jewelry box over. So far as he could see, it was a plain wooden box lacking any features. He knew better than to peek inside it, and quickly acknowledged the request. "I will see it done."
    "Excellent," Townsend sighed. He returned to his chair and waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal at the captain. "Begone, Captain Pritchard. I am certain you've much to do right about now.”

 

 

Edited by Witch

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On the outskirts of quaint little Barathen's Bank, Postmaster Drews has recruited a band of adventurers to make an unusual delivery in the dead of night.

--The event ad from Friday evening, March 2nd.

Thank you to everybody who attended our first event and made it a huge success!

I have been meaning to post screenshots but was busy until now. I apologize if some of the screenshots are less than optimal, but here they are!

Spoiler

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Edited by Witch

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Damn, sorry I missed it - looks fun.  I'll try my best to make the next one!


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That looks like a-game DMing with the /rw use. Very nice.

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