Achaean News
You Are What You... Drink?
Written by: Anonymous
Date: Monday, October 26th, 2015
Addressed to: Everyone
Months had passed since the closing of Lord Adryn's festival, and Diron, the assistant vintner of the Keep, had made painstakingly slow progress in his search.
Unbeknownst to anyone official, a strange and initially foul-tasting brew had been briefly placed for sale at the festival grounds. Drok, it had been labelled, and Diron was making certain that his head was not the one to roll when responsibility was finally doled out.
The plain brown bottles gave no clue, the Theran glassmakers proudly marked their wares, and there was nothing special about the shape of the stubby receptacles. Nary a brewer claimed knowledge of the dubious contents; Hashan's Harris and Berford, the renowned artisans of the Eventide Alehouse, proclaimed the ale undrinkable. All Diron had to go on was the painted labelling, 'Drok'. But what could that mean?
With unfortunately serendipitous timing for the culprit, inspiration hit Diron in the middle of Mayan, 696 AF.
"Could it really have been so simple?" The apprentice vintner asked himself, rubbing at his forehead with chagrin.
After a few quiet questions about the lands, the location of the man responsible was given up.
A cold winter night shrouded the town of New Thera in chill shadows. Delighted squeals and terrified screams from the haunted town and the Griesly manor played a strange backdrop as Diron finally caught sight of a swirl of black cloak.
"You sir have some explaining to do, what in all the names of Hell did you think you were do..."
Diron's shouted tirade cut off short. Somewhere in the distance a bell tolled the midnight hour, and, beneath the moonless sky, the vintner's form warped and turned to stone.
A great gargoyle stands on Spring Lane now, the strange addition captured mid fist-shake.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Summary: While investigating an unauthorised drink placed on sale during Adryn's Festival, Diron, the assistant vintner finds himself turned to stone, and is now a gargoyle stood at New Thera's Spring Lane.
Penned by My hand on the 9th of Sarapin, in the year 697 AF.
You Are What You... Drink?
Written by: Anonymous
Date: Monday, October 26th, 2015
Addressed to: Everyone
Months had passed since the closing of Lord Adryn's festival, and Diron, the assistant vintner of the Keep, had made painstakingly slow progress in his search.
Unbeknownst to anyone official, a strange and initially foul-tasting brew had been briefly placed for sale at the festival grounds. Drok, it had been labelled, and Diron was making certain that his head was not the one to roll when responsibility was finally doled out.
The plain brown bottles gave no clue, the Theran glassmakers proudly marked their wares, and there was nothing special about the shape of the stubby receptacles. Nary a brewer claimed knowledge of the dubious contents; Hashan's Harris and Berford, the renowned artisans of the Eventide Alehouse, proclaimed the ale undrinkable. All Diron had to go on was the painted labelling, 'Drok'. But what could that mean?
With unfortunately serendipitous timing for the culprit, inspiration hit Diron in the middle of Mayan, 696 AF.
"Could it really have been so simple?" The apprentice vintner asked himself, rubbing at his forehead with chagrin.
After a few quiet questions about the lands, the location of the man responsible was given up.
A cold winter night shrouded the town of New Thera in chill shadows. Delighted squeals and terrified screams from the haunted town and the Griesly manor played a strange backdrop as Diron finally caught sight of a swirl of black cloak.
"You sir have some explaining to do, what in all the names of Hell did you think you were do..."
Diron's shouted tirade cut off short. Somewhere in the distance a bell tolled the midnight hour, and, beneath the moonless sky, the vintner's form warped and turned to stone.
A great gargoyle stands on Spring Lane now, the strange addition captured mid fist-shake.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Summary: While investigating an unauthorised drink placed on sale during Adryn's Festival, Diron, the assistant vintner finds himself turned to stone, and is now a gargoyle stood at New Thera's Spring Lane.
Penned by My hand on the 9th of Sarapin, in the year 697 AF.