First Post

If One didn't look too closely, One might assume that it was a fairly average day in Doerstadt. In fact, One would not be too horribly mistaken, which is surprising, given that when it has not been an average day in Doerstadt, One definitely hasn't noticed. Right now, though, One is simply shivering, because he's cold. This is not surprising, given that it is the middle of winter, and One doesn't have much in the way of metabolism (most halflings don't). He's on his way to buy some frozen fruit for his grandmother right now, because his grandmother enjoys taking such fruit and mashing it all together with a bit of cow's milk. His grandmother calls these concoctions "frushies," because they're made of smashed fruit. One would never admit to it, but he thinks his grandmother is a little odd in the head.

This is not One's tale.

As One shuffles his way across the snowy cobblestones towards the marketplace (frozen fruit is a popular crop during the winter season), a very distinguished-looking gentleman strides in the opposite direction. Of course, One doesn't notice, but we've already established that One's powers of observation aren't Thrynn's finest. In this case, it makes no difference, because the gentleman pays no attention to One. The man strides down Edgware Rd, scanning numbers on houses. "415… 416… 417…" he mutters to himself. The man is well-dressed, with a fine black top-hat gracing a sharp forehead framed by curly locks of black hair. Black eyes pierce through the frosty winter ear. A long black winter coat falls down to his feet, where polished black boots are sharply tied. He is wearing black gloves and carrying a black cane. Upon any other man, the sheer quantity of "black" might be imposing, but in his case, for some reason, it isn't.

"Ahh… Here it is," he says, to no one in particular, pausing in front of building 429. He glances up at the sign briefly before ascending the steps and pushing open the door, snow swirling around him. He approaches Roland quickly; "Mr. Kelethor?" he asks. Without waiting for a response, he says, "It is with great sorrow that I bring you this message. However, it is my solemn duty to a gnome I respected much. I hope this does not come as too great a shock to you…" Without waiting for a response, he swivels sharply on his heel, and strides out of the store.

The message reads as follows:

"Dear friends and family of Kersey Kelethor, Gnome extraordinaire:

We regret to inform you that this most noble gnome, Kersey Kelethor, has recently passed away due to natural causes. His last request was that you, being his last surviving kin, would please attend his funeral on this coming Tuesday at 10 o'clock in the morning in this year 831 S.A. Furthermore, Kersey has named one Roland Gerard Kelethor as executor of his will, officiator of his estate, and all-around trustworthy person regarding this matter.

Thank you,
The Butler."

He continues down the street, stopping twice more. Once at a musical instrument shop owned by a man named Ae'Ven Verbes, and once at a butcher shop owned by a slender woman, Lome. Both times, he repeats his message, hands over a small slip of paper, and leaves. After his last errand, he walks a brief way down the sidewalk, and looks both ways before crossing the street. Halfway across, there is a faint wave of his hand, and he disappears, just as One is returning from his visit to the fruit market.

If One weren't thinking so much about the glorious weekend that was to begin tomorrow, he might have noticed. But, One figured that he was so good at being unobservant — why stop now?

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