GMF's 5e Extravaganza (Inactive)

Game Master Fanguar

The Little Boar inn wouldn't be out of place in a city ten times the size of Jameson's Crossing. A three story, sprawling old heap of a building, it, and its associated outbuildings, take center stage in the small community, servicing the merchants and travellers waiting to cross the Stikine river. Busy at the best of times, the inn is currently bursting at the seams, due to ferry being down for repairs. Patrons are packed into rooms like sardines, and horses are being housed in the courtyard, the stables having long been filled. Already 4 days into a two day repair job, the mood in the common room is foul and tempers are short, especially among the merchants who are watching produce ripen and profit margins shrinking, day-by-day. Most drink with a kind of grim determination, seeking release in oblivion. Outside, a steady, continual drizzle proves sufficient to quickly dampen the ambitions of anyone hoping to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the inn. Most return in short order to pleasures of the common room, wet and muddy.

Here you wait, with your fellow travellers, for the ferry to resume its route and your journey to continue. With little to do, but drink and talk, you while away the hours in conversation, hoping for something, anything to break the monotony.

You can dot the thread, post a character description, describe how you've been presenting yourself to the common room, etc. Once everyone is present and accounted for, we'll get this show on the road.

Cole has been taking his respite at the bar in the common room, as he awaits the final ferry repairs. In the evening hours he is jovial and good-natured over several ales, and he does not appear to be as stricken with the morose of the others. He frequently steps outside, despite the rain and gazes across the river to The Duchy of Krain, his home - if it can be called that. He infrequently stays and is often on the road. He wonders what lies in store for him when he reports back to the Duke, eventually.

Cole is obviously a hard man and road weary. He is large well-muscled, and well-armed. He sits at the bar now, enjoying an ale and perusing the population of the common room.

A hulking figure in a patched cloak, still muddy around the hem from the weather conditions, sits in the most shadowy area of the inn, beneath the steps and behind a large cask. He slowly sips some steaming liquid from a mug, but his hood remains over his head, and it is difficult to see his face without intruding.

There is an occasional glance by some of the patrons in his direction, and the follow-up whispered conversation, but whether they've actually interacted with this individual, or are actually awed by his bulk is hard to determine.

Through a tattered rip in his soiled cloak the glint of chainmail shows through, and a large warhammer sits beside him on the floor, handle up for easy retrieval.

After several minutes a hesitant young barmaid brings the stranger a fresh steaming mug.

DC 15 Perception

A man enters the bar dressed in well worn home spun clothing of good quality in colors of green and brown. His hair is long and his beard has not been trimmed in months. His bright blue eyes seem to miss nothing while not specifically looking for anything. He is armed but in the way that a peasant might arm himself for walking along the road. He smells of horses. Waving to the barkeep he is heard to remark. Stable is clean. He takes a seat at the bar near the kitchen door and the barkeep shoots him a smile, ladles some hot stew into a bowl for him, and hands him half a loaf of day old dark bread. You do good work Lichen. And the horses like you. Eat up. the barkeep says with a pleased look on his face. The man begins to quietly eat.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24

Cole nods to Lichen as he eats, having recognized the fellow nature lover in his travels.

Cole also notices the scaled white hand of the large individual in the corner when he psys for his drink. Usually being the largest man in the room, he feels the need to introduce himself. He stops the barmaid as she walks back with the coin.

Excuse me lass, but the next big fella's drink is on me.

Cole stands before the hooded figure and raises his glass.

Well met, friend. Might ya be interested in some company? There's a seat at thr bar next to mine where we can share a few ales.

Sitting cross legged on the bar stool in a half meditative state a bald halfling with loose black clothes, unusually intricate tattooing and a neatly trimmed short beard takes note of the man quietly eating soup.

Rousing from his thoughts and eyeing the human next to him At least the soup hasn't spoiled yet!. I hope I haven't interrupted his meal or offended the man The halfling returns to his own thoughts and his small cup of tea.

Lichen tears a piece of bread from his half loaf and sops it into the stew. No, its quite good. he responds without looking up. What has spoiled for you my small friend?

Zask sips his tea and glances back to the man. The mood grows foul the longer this crossing is delayed. I hope for everyone's sake we can all move along soon Zask offers his forearm in greeting Zask Quickhand

Still eating, Lichen responds between mouthfuls Not everyone's business across the river is so pleasant they wish to rush to it, but I take your point. Perhaps he is indicating his persons reasons for needing to cross. Swallowing he reaches across his body to offer his own arm. I am known as Lichen, a wanderer and contemplative. Indicating the crowd he adds The room seems almost ready to burst. Might be best to go back to the barn where I better understand those present and how they might react. he adds. Considering further he offers There is space in the loft and the hey is fresh. You've more room there than here and in truth I find the smell better.

The bedraggled traveller who enters the inn next appears of average height and build - swathed in layers of dark cloth and pointed hood. However with each step he takes, those around him shift and move from his path, murmouring and making warding signs to the old gods.

The youthful face, framed-by-hood, smiles coldly as they clear the way, his cruel expression somewhat at odds with his angelic features. The crushed patrons left in his wake stare with contempt, while the more brazen spit upon the floor whence his steps fell.

As he passes closer you attempt to discern the source of consternation and rebuke generated around him: his light armour bears scorch marks, whilst a satchel, mace and crossbow skulk beneath his ragged cassock.

Held in gloved hand he bears a bound scroll; akin perhaps to that of a ducal messenger, save its gilding is more ornate... and the parchment edges appear scorched and burn pocked. Finally - above the brow of his hood, your eyes are drawn to an ashen symbol, and the source of discontent: the pentagram sigil of Hell and its servants...

As he reaches the bar, the man produces a gold coin, placing it upon the surface and addresses the innkeeper - his voice soft yet flat and emotionless:

"I have gold. You have wine. Let us come to a mutual... transaction yes?"

Considering Lichen's offer Zask agrees Indeed the stable's company might prove a bit more... welcoming than current patrons Zask nods in the direction of the robed man. At present I shall enjoy my tea and see how the night unfolds but I may seek the solace of the barn in time, friend Lichen.

The barman gives Vhaezil a dark look, "Aye, I can see the color of your coin and I have wine, but it might be best if you took your business elsewhere. Personally, I don't care if the ass you kiss is feathered or flaming, but I've got enough trouble brewing already and don't need anymore."

Vhaezil wryly smiles at the rejection;

"No rest for the wicked here then... Unfortunate, but understandable..."

As he re-pockets his coin the robed youth looks around the common room, locking eyes with first Lichen, then Cole, before addressing all and none within earshot in his monotone voice;

"Indeed trouble does ferment here. I can taste its familiar tang...."

He turns and slowly walks back out, once again enjoying the ripple of avoidance his steps create.

Daryl watches the drama unfold at the bar with interest. Seems he's not the only one drawing undue attention here... but what was the harm in serving the man. He didn't seem to be causing any trouble. Suddenly he came to a decision I'm tired of people holding what an individual's nature is from his race or what he does for a living.

The big Dragonborn motions over the serving girl that was brave enough to serve him, and orders a goblet of wine and two mugs. He then lurches to his feet, Slings his pack over one shoulder, hangs his warhammer in it's loop, and shuffles outside looking for the "wicked" man.

Zask frowns at the interaction between the barkeep and the robed man. His chakra is suppressed, strangled by a darkness . The monk tracks the robed figure as he leaves the room. That man seems more interested in your company than the residents of the stable friend Lichen. Quite the impression made wouldn't you say?.

@ Cole: You're right I missed that somehow.

Keeping his head lowered, except for a quick glance, the hulking figure answers in a low rasping voice. "You're kindness is appreciated, but I prefer to stay out of view as much as possible. It's just easier that way. Please feel free to join me at this table however".

The Dragonborn then extends his gloved hand... "I am known as Daryl".

Then travelling forward...

If Cole joins him at the table, he excuses himself for a moment to act as above. If he goes back to the bar to sit, then things play out as above.

Well crud. In the server turmoil of yesterday I seem to have lost a post. I thought Lichen had already left, but it seems that did not happen. Oh well. I shall roll with it. :)

The dark one? Did I miss some tell? I can think of no good reason to speak to him. He has made his pact and I suspect it is in opposition to, well, my direction. Then speaking more quietly he adds Do you see the big man there? His name is Cole. We traveled in together. Now he is one with whom I could share a fire and trust with my back. If thing go bad here I think you can trust him.

@Daryl: I think you missed my attempt to communicate directly with you above.

Cole shrugs as the large figure appears to ignore him and head to the door. He does notice that the newest stranger seemed to look direcyly at Lichen and him.

He walks to Lichen.

Hello, friend. Did you see that strange fella looking you and I over? I do not recognize him. Do you? Maybe we should head outside and have a chat. What d'ya say?

As an afterthought, he nods to the halfling.

Well met. I am Cole Hillman.

I was eating and failed to notice his glance Cole but Zask here noted his interest in me as well. He is gone now. That would be enough for me. But if your mind is set to speak with the dark one then I will go with you. Too crowded and stuffy in here for my liking anyway. The wanderer stands and as he does he feels drawn towards the door and the "dark one". Surprised he only notes Yes, this seems right. I should not close my mind to possibilities. Come with us Zask?

Yes, join us, won't ya?

Cole makes his way to the door.

As he exits the young man again speaks softly in his flat unemotional tone;

"Uti libamentis infernum magis frequens."

Outside of the inn, Vhaezil stoically stands in the drizzle.

He surveys the surrounding outhouses with a baleful gaze as he tucks his scroll upon his somber personage.

Zask accepts both Cole and Lichen's invitation with a shrug. Could use a bit of fresh air as well.

With grace Zask dismounts from his perch on the stool, landing lightly on his toes. Collecting his weatherworn quarterstaff and shouldering his modest bag Zask follows his new companions to see what awaits in the rain.

Daryl shrugs himself even more deeply into his cloak, and walks up to the shunned stranger, clearing his throat... "Here". He extends an empty mug to the stranger.

@ Cole. I did respond to you in my post above, trying to retro a bit.

Daryl, this is Lichen and Zask where did the new stranger get off to? Did you recognize him, Daryl? We did not.

You all going outside was unexpected...

Some shouts from the eastern side of town draw your attention, but the curve of the road blocks any sight of the commotion. A short while later a young lad comes splashing and sliding through the mud at a run. Not sparing your mottley group a second glance, he pushes into the inn. A scant few heartbeats later, he’s back outside headed back the way he came and in his wake follow the innkeeper along with a few of the other locals who had been enjoying a drink at the bar. They follow with haste, if not quite the lad’s reckless speed.

A few other patrons pop outside to watch them go. At a polite inquiry, one of the men, a merchant from the south, explains, ”The boy said that there’s been an attack on one of the outlying farms. Survivors just came in and there’s wounded with them.”

Another merchant says, ”Raids like this would never have happened in the old days. We’re living in dark times, I say.“ He spits in the mud, before heading back inside.

I assume at least some of you will investigate

Out of a sense of duty, curiosity, or boredom, you head after the others. A short way down the road you see a wagon outside the town’s small church. A tired horse is still hitched up, its head down and sides heaving. As you near, the wailing of a child can be heard from inside along with several indistinct voices, raised in argument.

As the group gather outside the Inn, a cloaked figure steps away from the nearby woods and strides towards them. His arrival is usurped by the small child slipping and sliding his way to the inn, then the patrons disgorging out of the place to follow the youth to the recently attacked citizens.

The cloaked figure looks at the inn, then the group, and finally back down the road where the victims are located. With a silent sigh, it turns and slowly jogs down the lane towards the rest of the townfolk.

Vhaezil watches the patrons heedlessly running to face danger with cold eyes.

At the merchant's comment, his focus breaks and casts his baleful gaze toward the man as he spits;

Dark times? You bloated worms know nothing of dark times.

Drawing forth his profane scroll, the warlock heads toward where the survivors have been housed, noting the distant hooded figure with interest.

However as he approaches the town kirk, Vhaezil stops short with a hard smile playing across his angelic features.

Voices of anger. The wail of the child. A siren's song to a servant of Hell..

Level one and we're already making you think on your feet eh GMF?

The wail of the child stirs a long since buried memory in Zask, his vision blurs for just a moment, transporting him to a long forgotten time.

Coming back to focus he notes that the robed figure has already started toward the commotion.

Lichen, Cole I do not know if we want to interfere in the local on goings, but I must be certain this one has no ill intention toward them, join if your curiosity matches my own.

Zask sets off an a light jog towards the commotion.

I'm with ya.

Lichen stops at the tired horse and looks at the beast, Only after a second does he also register the voices inside. Someone make sure those inside are ok while I see to the beast. he says as he looks over the animal.

Insight: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

Handle Anmal: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

Rhys pulled his cloak a little tighter agains the incessant drizzle as the nag he was riding slowly plodded up to the crowded Inn.

Shaking his head at the assembled horses, he peered out to where the ferry lay, cursing when all he saw was work men pounding away.

Sliding off into the mud, he watched as a boy ran into the Inn to re-emerge with the Innkeeper and a few others. A number of men who'd been outside also followed, one of them actually a halfling and one that appeard to be a Diabolist of somekind. Interesting Rhys thought to himself as he tied up the nag.

Pulling his pack down and up onto his shoulder, Rhys followed the boy and men, stopping at the wagon and the man tending the horse, "Well met. What has happened? " he asks, looking towards the chuch.

@Lichen: The horse has been pushed to its limits, but there is no reason to think that it won't recover from its ordeal. It's a sturdy looking animal and you can tell that its been well cared for.

If you go inside:

The local church has several small shrines, with a wide array of Saints represented. About two dozen people are inside, broken to small pockets. In one corner, several women try to distract a group of distraught children from what is happening on the other side.

In front of one of the Shrines is a laid out man in a blood soaked shirt, a black fletched arrow sticking from his chest. A sobbing woman clutches at him and a young man in a white cassock kneels beside her. You hear him say, "I'm so sorry Millie. I wish there was something I could do." An older man, squeezes his shoulder, "Nobody's blaming you Ted. It's not your fault that Sister Philomena is out doing her rounds."

Several other men stand together in quiet argument, you catch only snippets of "don't be a fool," "have to do something," and the like.

For the moment, your entrance has been unnoticed.

If the wounded man still lives.

Zask pushes his way through the crowd moving gracefully between space otherwise seeming occupied. His hand rests upon the woman's back who clutches the man.

I have some knowledge in the arts of healing miss, give me a chance to try to help you

Medicine: 1d20 + 2 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 2 + 3 = 10

If Zask stabilizes the man he addresses the older man:

Turning the older man who is nearby with an empathetic look.

What has happened here?

As he stands contemplating the sounds and scene before him, more men arrive; several of whom Vhaezil recognises from the inn;

The wild man tends the horse, but I do not recognise the lanky newcomer...

The warlock's contemplation is broken by the athletic halfling jogging past and into the church.

And a stout if I am not mistaken. Quite the checkered gathering...

He looks to the scroll clutched in his gloved hand and follows the humbly garbed halfling into the town's kirk.

Vhaezil notes the numerous shrines with interest as he mutters to himself;

"Sanctorum et peccator. Non tamen ut dignum iudicare."

The robed youth hangs back, content to listen and watch as this juncture.

Cole bursts into the room behind Zask.

Aye, who fired that black shaft arrow at yer man, here?

Erlmander enters the holy building and stands to the back of the room observing what is happening. He makes no attempt to hide, and simply leans on his longbow like a staff, watching the goings on.

Daryl joins the scrum towards the church, and gives a quick holy gesture of Thalvus Quick touching of in order ear, eye, nose mouth, then a fist to the heart. as he enters.

He approaches the crowd around the bleeding man, and kneels down as the halfling assess the situation.

He looks up keeping his hood pulled. "Does this one's soul still reside in his mortal form"?

If so...

"Please let me help. I will not hurt him, and may be able to help".

Daryl then removes the same glove he took off earlier, and with a firm pull removes the arrow, then quickly places his white scaly hand upon the wound, and mumbles a prayer under his breath.

Lay on Hands for 1-point of healing which should stabilize him if he still lives.

If the man is dead, the Dragonborn remains silent, and rises up to see what happens next, glancing around the room and taking stock of those who have responded.

Rhys nods goodbye to the man tending the horse and enters the church.
He immediately takes up station next to a tall man leaning on a long bow, but further inspection reveals the man to be an elf!

Rhys hides his inital surprise with a formal nod of greeting, then turn his attention to the unlikely tableau before the two observers: first the halfling advances to render aid to the sticken man, then the Diabolist enters muttering and ominious, then the dragonborn holy warrior with his laying-on-hands; with himself watching beside one of the Seelie Host.

Arching an eyebrow, Rhys comments to the elf, "A proper conjunction of paths, is it not? But, what does it portent...?"

Just a note. This is a situation that I'm not running things RAW. By the book, you either live or die within 18 seconds of dropping to 0hp, which is convenient for combat, but completely unsatisfying from a narrative standpoint. There will be situations where I may want to use the last words trope (ala departure of Boromir), so don't get upset if I tell you that a person is beyond help. In this particular situation, only magical healing would have been sufficient to save the man.

Zask's quick assessment is that the man is dying, his skin is grey and clammy, and his breathing is rapid and shallow. Before anyone has time to react to the halfling's intrusion, they are more unnerved by the large, cloaked form of Daryl. He places a scaled hand around the base of the arrow and it begins to glow softly. With his other hands he gently pulls out the arrow, covering the wound with the other. A few heartbeats later, the glow fades and when he removes his hand, the wound has scabbed over. The man is still grey, but his breathing has slowed and deeped. His eyes flutter and then open, "Millie?" He whispers, and she collapses on him in a flood of joyful weeping.

There is a mumer from the on lookers, "He's got the healing touch..." "Never thought I'd see the day... "As I live and breath..."

The older gentleman grabs Daryl by the arm and gently pulls him over to the group of men. He collects the rest of you with his eyes, inviting the curious to join them. As Zask and Daryl move away, they here the wounded man say, "Are the children ok? What about Rose?"

The older fellow hold out a hand to Daryl, "That's a mighty fine thing you did there, my lord. Tom is a fine man and deserved a better fate than that. I'm Joshua, the head of the town counsel." He waves a hand to indicate the other men. "I imagine that most of you know William, being that you're staying at his inn. These other fellows are Tim, Tom's brother, and other members of the town counsel, Stewart, our blacksmith and Stevens who own the general store.

Nods and handshakes go around, before Joshua continues,

"Now, I normally don't like to get outsides involved in local business, but Tim here is all set to go get himself killed, so if nothing else maybe you can talk some sense into him."

Tim's face flushes with anger, "They took my niece. If you're all two cowardly to do anything about it, fine, but I won't just give up on her. I can still hear her screams. I won't just leave her to those little devils. Even if... He chokes up a bit before continuing, Even if, all I can do if give her a proper burial."

Cole asks again.

Who fired the arrow? Who took the girl?I ought to be able to pick up their trail.

Vhaezil continues to hang back, watching the life giving healing, and the appreciation for it with a somewhat detached air.

However when tempers once again reignite, the infernal sage's interest seems piqued by the angry intent of Tim. He shifts forward and addresses the man in his flat, soft voice;

"Tim is it? "Little devils" you say? Devils. Yes?"

The youth's angelic features allow a smile somewhat at odds with his cold gaze and unemotional tone;

"I may be taking your ire literally. However if the abductors of the child are indeed diabolic in nature... You will require my assistance."

Seeing the scaled and clawed hand of the cloaked figure who saved the human, Erlmander calls out to him.

"Cyfarchion ffrind. Ydych chi wedi bod yn hir yn y byd y bobl? Yr wyf Erlmander, asiant y llys Seelie a vassal ffyddlon y Frenhines Tatiana a'i Consort Royal, Arglwydd Oberon."

I used Welsh for Draconic...we can always change this if you want Daryl, but I thought it might be a good stand-in

Cole asks again.

Who fired the arrow? Who took the girl?I ought to be able to pick up their trail.

Tim seems at loss for words, "I dunno, forest gremlins, or whatcha-ma-call em...Goblins? About yea high," he holds his hand to about waist height, "green and yellow with big ears. All teeth and claws. Rose was bringing in the flock and then she was screaming and the then the barn went up in flames. Tom, he runs after his girl and then he's screaming and the animals in the barn are screaming and..." Tim starts to breakdown. The blacksmith puts a calloused hand on his shoulder and leads Tim away to collect himself.

Joshua sighs, "Poor Tim. Blames himself, but he'll make it through. Him and Tom both. They've got their old man's iron in their veins. Shame about Rose though, she was a lovely girl."

Looking to Daryl for an instant in appreciation for his act of kindness. Zask studies his hands for just a moment Even after years of seclusion and study my aptitude for the healing arts escapes me. Master always did say I had a tendency toward the more volatile ways of the Brotherhood.

The halfling's grip tightens on his quarterstaff. "Cole, if what you say is true and you believe you can find these.. pests.. I will gladly follow you."

Noting his own tension Zask once again falls into a relaxed posture," It may also give us something to do while the ferry completes repair no?"

If the news that the raiders are goblinoid and not infernal in nature disappoints Vhaezil it does not show on the youth's stoic face.

When the halfling offers to accompany the wilds-man to hunt the creatures, he nods to himself, then turns to address the pair:

"Seems the Devils do indeed make work for idle hands..."

The diabolist's voice remains flat and unemotional, making it unclear if he is questioning or stating his intent;

"I too would accompany you both in hunting down the wretched Coboli."

Cole nods and walks out to the barn area to pick up the trail. He first searches for the goblin tracks.

Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18

He then looks to see if he can pick up the trail of the girl, which may be easier considering the amount of tracking his done of humankind.

Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12
Survival Adv: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

The giant figure rises to his feet, returning the glove to it's normal place. He groans a bit as he rises to his full height, and quietly acknowledges the thanks. "Thank not me for it is Saint Thalvus that both leads me to you, and gives me the ability to help.

"This Sister Philomena was lost to you when you needed her, and I was found".

"He will live, but is still not healthy. He will require care, and shouldn't be too active. I heard you say that a girl is lost? I will help. It is what I do".

Then walking over to the elf that just greeted him...
@ Erlmander
"Hynny yw iaith nad wyf yn defnyddio ddidaro.

The big individual then rises, and taking a gulp of a offered mug of water, walks outside to see what the human tracker can come up with.

I wonder who I can trust here. Seems that Thalvus has led me into their company when I was lost. And he has sent this tracker to lend the skills that he possesses and I lack.

Erlmander is surprised that the Dragonborn refuses to speak his own language.
Must be his contact with the humans., the Eladrin muses to himself.

With a shrug he follows the others outside to see if they can track the שֵׁדוֹן.

The farm is ~2hrs outside of town. If you leave now, you can reach it by full dark. Do you plan on tracking/following through the night?

Zask will follow Cole's lead and will differ judgement on this matter to him as it's his area of expertise.