It is evening in Ravengro - the evening before Professor Petros Lorrimor's funeral. It is a dark, cloudy night, but the air is warm and the rain has mercifully ceased.
Not that you minded the rain too much, as you've found solace at The Outward Inn, a small but pleasant hostel positioned with several other buildings around the town square. It's relatively full at the moment, with many people gathered in the basement tavern for a drink and a meal. It's clear that they know each other as they sit huddled in small groups, laughing, whispering and very clearly behaving as if they're uninterested in including others.
The inn's owner, Sarianna Vai, and her serving maid, Sarai, scurries around, keeping mugs filled and patrons happy. You can overhear them talking about this being the first time in recent memory that rooms upstairs have been occupied.
A young man sits in the corner and begins playing a mournful, but pleasant tune on a lute. His baritone voice softly fills the room with songs the locals obviously know, as they chime in frequently.
In one corner there is an older woman wearing bright silk clothing mindlessly shuffling cards. She is accompanied by a bored-looking younger man with dark hair and eyebrows.
Just waiting for tomorrow, he thought.
Dmitri focused his gaze on the small table before him and the ale and stew before him. The barmaid had nearly tossed both the mug and the bowl at the table, skittering away as fast as her feet could carry her. The wooden chair groaned in protest at the half-orc’s weight, but it had done so for the past two nights as well and had not yet collapsed. Like everything else in Ravengro, it complained more to complain than any other reason. The locals complained about the food, the drink, the weather, their lives, their spouses, and their health. Dmitri could at least agree on the weather, the spring rains had made the carriage ride here an excruciatingly long ordeal – but it had, at least, made the exorbitant price the coachman had charged more worth it.
He had been here two days and had exchanged about a dozen words with the locals, more than half of those on his first day as he got a room. Dmitri was accustomed to folks having to warm to him, but these folk seemed to need to warm to one another first. They organized themselves in camps, only communicating with enemy encampments via suspicious stares. He had attempted to communicate via that oldest of male signals, the quiet nod. This had not yet proven successful in getting anything other than a sudden turn of the back or a sullen glare, but Dmitri was nothing if not stubborn.
His eponymous blood-filled eye watched the door and the stairs. He presumed others would come for the Professor’s funeral and he hoped to find someone to talk to among that group: if nothing else, they would at least share the title of stranger. He sipped the ale, strong and bitter, and leaned back in his chair, provoking a new set of groans from the wood.
Reusten stands leaning against one of the taven walls, mug of ale in one hand, the other absentmindedly fingering the small wooden scarab hanging from his neck. From under the wide brim of his hat, his eyes constantly scan the crowd and dart to the stairs whenever newcomers enter from the inn above.
Too crowded in here... Still, nice to be somewhere dry. Hope the rain holds off a bit longer though... getting sick of these damp clothes.
He was neither surprised nor saddened to learn of the Professor's death... disappointed, maybe. He fondly recalled the many days spent learning from Lorrimor and had hoped to possibly meet with him again to discuss further about the plague of undeath or tenets of faith in Pharasma. But Lorrimor knew that we all belong to the Lady of Graves in the end. The final step of his long journey.
A familiar face caught Reusten's eye... a face someone could never forget. Huh... should have figured that half-orc would be here... what was it... yeah, Dmitri. Surprised they even let him into the town, though. Better keep an eye out and make sure no one gives him any trouble. We're both strangers here, after all.
A diminutive figure with flaming red hair burst through the door with a wild grin on his face. "I made it! Barkeep, next round of drinks on me!" The wild look halfling hurries over to the bar keep and drops a couple of gold coins on the table, then grabs a small wooden chair off behind the counter, probably made for children, and deposits it at the table with the fewest patrons, namely that of the large half-orc's. "Hail there!" He smiles up at the large creature. "You look like you've some stories to tell friend. Barkeep, another ale for my friend here, please!"
"Hail there!" He smiles up at the large creature. "You look like you've some stories to tell friend. Barkeep, another ale for my friend here, please!"
The half-orc's ruin of a face runs through panic to confusion to thought, his mouth opening several times before he actually speaks.
"Thank you, sir. I...I'm not accustomed to telling stories. There was the time that Anya Boriseevna was corrupted by rot grubs - she exploded in gore on the steets of Lepidstadt, screaming for her papa. But...that is not a good story."
He takes a long drink from his tankard, emptying it before the new one arrives.
"I beg your pardon, sir. I am Dmitri Kuznetsov. It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the ale."
The halfling chortles. "If I had realized my question as such a difficult one, I might have given pause before asking it! Pleasure to meet you Dmitri, I'm Walthus." The halfling leans forward to offer his hand to the half-orc before rummaging in his back pack. "Where did I put- ah ha!" Walthus pulled a pipe and a tinder twig out of his pack, leaning back with a contented sigh once it was lighted and securely placed between his lips. "How about a toast to this Anya. Not all are as blessed as we, eh?" The halfling speaks with a sad smile, a puff of smoke, and a raised glass.
Nadiya sits quietly in the corner, reflecting on her most recent travels and the news of Professor Lorrimor's death. She looks up from her woven blue and white shawl wrapped loosely around her long mess of black hair, eying the new arrivals in turn. Never such a diverse group in one place has she ever seen. She eyes the half-orc warily---her past experiences did not speak well of orcs--but he seemed uninterested in causing trouble. The flamboyant halfling's arrival startles her, with his grin breaking the somber mood.
"Rot grubs... what a fate, poor child," she says softly, drawing a shape with her finger, a superstitious gesture to drive away such curses. She raises her own tankard with the halfling, though her mood remains pensive. "May all brave souls find peace in the next realm."
"How about a toast to this Anya. Not all are as blessed as we, eh?" The halfling speaks with a sad smile, a puff of smoke, and a raised glass.
Dmitri lifts his tankard, nodding solemnly. "May our innards not explode in the street."
"Rot grubs... what a fate, poor child," she says softly, drawing a shape with her finger, a superstitious gesture to drive away such curses. She raises her own tankard with the halfling, though her mood remains pensive. "May all brave souls find peace in the next realm."
The half-orc gives a sidelong glance to the gypsy in the corner. "Some said she was fortunate to have died so early in the outbreak. I cannot agree with such thoughts...it is a failing of faith, I think."
Eavesdropping from afar, Reusten slightly raises his mug before taking a swallow of the bitter liquid. Ah yes, Dmitri did have a way with words, I remember now. Says it like it is. I can appreciate that.
After several seconds of watching the group some more, Reusten laughs quietly to himself. A half-orc, a halfing, and a human walk into a tavern... I'm sure there's a joke there somewhere. Well, I suppose they're here for the funeral too, and Lorrimor didn't choose his friends lightly... With one last swig of ale he sets his mug down on a nearby table. Might as well say hi.
Reusten approaches the table, giving a slight nod to Dmitri before addressing no one in particular, "Evening. Here for the funeral too, I assume." He takes an empty seat and leans over the table. "So how'd you all know the Professor?"
Nadiya raises an eyebrow at Dmitri inquisitively. "Faith in what, exactly?"
She nods at Reusten. "He was researching the origins of old legends in the village where I was at the time. We exchanged many stories. You?"
"He passed through Tamrivena a number of years back. Heard a lecture of his, asked some questions, and I guess he took a liking to me. Taught me most of what I know. Shame he's gone... could've learned so much more. Looking to get tomorrow over with and head back to continue my studies, to be honest."
Reusten quirks an eyebrow as he looks at the halfling. "Heard you asking about stories. What's yours?"
The lone figure sitting at the at the bar is a striking young man, possessing well above average looks and presence. His posture and bearing are perfectly erect, making it clear he carries himself with a strong sense of self-importance. Having left his armor, most of his weapons and all of his gear upstairs in his room only a simple yet well made and well worn dagger rides his hip, snug in it's belt sheath. His only piece of outer clothing is his longcoat. It very obviously had once been a garment of the very highest quality. Most likely it had originally cost more than most of the villagers present might earn in an entire year, and the way he wore the it made it clear he was very aware of that fact. Yet despite the magics he possessed which allowed him to easily keep the coat clean and in good repair, time and his many moons upon Ustalav's roads and countryside had taken their toll. The once fine coat, much like it's owner, was merely a shade of what it once had been.
From the time he had come down from his room he had shunned all others in the tavern, choosing to keep to himself. His aura of unapproachableness had allowed him to remain quiet and undisturbed for the entire time, several hours worth now, that he had been sitting there. At the moment he was nursing his fifth cup of mulled red wine, his thoughts a continuous downward cycle of rage over the Professor's death, pain over the loss of his dear mentor and friend, and, most of all, guilt that he had left when he had. A tormenting, devilish voice at the back of his mind kept remorselessly tried to convince him that had he not last left the village when he had, the professor might still be alive today. After all, he had saved the Professor's life once before, hadn't he?
The bursting into the tavern of a particularly boisterous Halfling is the first thing to rouse the young man out his dark and gloomy thoughts since he had sat down. Looking up more in annoyance of the interruption of his private misery than curiosity he watches as the Halfling's arrival seems to be the catalyst for the gathering of several other patrons at the table of one of the ugliest half-orc's he had ever laid his eyes on. Just as the young man is about to turn his head and descend back into his private emotional spiral surrounding the Professor he hears said departed's name raised at the newly formed table.
Turning back again to gaze at the small gathering this time his curiosity is sharply peaked, and a dark frown hardens his features. Perhaps it is the wine, perhaps it is a deep need to hear others speak well of his departed friend and mentor, or perhaps it is Fate itself giving him a gentle nudge, regardless the cause, he suddenly stands and makes his way over to the table.
You see before you the young man described above. From his dress it is quite difficult to tell what his profession or line of work might be. Truthfully, he looks nothing so much like an 'out of work noble', a sight more and more familiar in Ustalav of late. He holds in his hand a nearly empty cup of wine. His tone is sharp and his uncomfortably direct gaze, while not exactly hostile, is neither particularly friendly when he asks those at the table in a strong, confidant voice "You all knew the Professor?" He, rather pointedly, has not sat down, instead apparently preferring to loom over the rest of you while he, ever so slightly, sways on his feet.
Nadiya raises an eyebrow at Dmitri inquisitively. "Faith in what, exactly?"
Dmitri looks pointedly uncomfortable for a moment, taking a long draw on his tankard and looking over the rim at Reusten. This can only go well, ah well.
He then sets it down and looks at Nadiya. "The priests in my orphanage would tell me that most deaths are ordained by the Lady of Graves and that it was not my nor any other person's place to question them. At the same time, thousands of people in Lepidstadt looked to the City Watch for protection and I felt an inexplicable rage and sadness while Anya was dying. I believe that, perhaps, we should fight for life - our own and others. I am unsure if the men and women who raised me would agree..."
His answer is cut short as the young man comes to glower over the table.
His tone is sharp and his uncomfortably direct gaze, while not exactly hostile, is neither particularly friendly when he asks those at the table in a strong, confidant voice "You all knew the Professor?" He, rather pointedly, has not sat down, instead apparently preferring to loom over the rest of you while he, ever so slightly, sways on his feet.
"It seems most of us did. May we help you with something?"
His tone is sharp and his uncomfortably direct gaze, while not exactly hostile, is neither particularly friendly when he asks those at the table in a strong, confidant voice "You all knew the Professor?" He, rather pointedly, has not sat down, instead apparently preferring to loom over the rest of you while he, ever so slightly, sways on his feet.
"He passed through Tamrivena a number of years back. Heard a lecture of his, asked some questions, and I guess he took a liking to me. Taught me most of what I know. Shame he's gone... could've learned so much more. Looking to get tomorrow over with and head back to continue my studies, to be honest."Reusten quirks an eyebrow as he looks at the halfling. "Heard you asking about stories. What's yours?"
The halfling puffs happily on his pipe as he sees folk join the table, and smiles at the realization that all these people have come for the Professor's funeral. "I'm proud to have known the professor, as is the rest of my family. As far as stories go, I've only a few, but most of them involve old Lorrimor!" The halfling beams up at Reusten. "He taught me just about everything I know about the arcane arts, and if wasn't for him, I may never have been born in the first place. He helped my family escape from their enslavement down in Cheliax to the Palatinates." The diminutive creature with wild hair smiles broadly, and raises his glass to the others. "How about a toast to our late professor my friends?" Walthus scrambles up to stand on his chair and raise out his mug to the bar. "Here's to a good man, a good friend, and lover to the lady life herself!"
At the offering of the toast to Lorrimor, a woman stands and proclaims, "To Professor Lorrimor!" She hesitantly approaches the table, mug in hand. The people at the table she abandoned look at her in near disbelief. "Hello. I am Jominda Fallenbridge, and I was a friend of the late professor. I am glad there are some who have traveled here to pay their respects."
Reusten shifts in his chair, uneasy at all the attention being drawn to the table. "Er... it seems the professor was quite a popular fellow. While we shouldn't question the will of the Lady of Graves, I am... sorry... for your... or should I say our loss." He nervously rubs his wooden scarab pendant as he struggles to find the right words, trying to avoid offending those who might not be familiar with the tenets of the church of Pharasma.
When the Hafling and the woman make their toast he seems somewhat surprised but then nods and says with a grateful tone in his voice "That is indeed something I will raise my glass to." and he then drains his cup in a sibgle gulp. Turning to the bar he raises his finger, moving it in a circle to indicate another round for the table.
He ramains standing while the serving girl brings the drinks, but then, beginging to feel foolish he finally sits and takes another big gulp of wine saying "I...apologise for my manner. I am not...having an easy time with the professor's death." From the stiffness in his voice it is claer he is not used to apologies to sharing himself with strangers. From the surration to his words it is also clear that the drink has begun to significantly affect him.
Finally he looks up to the woman "I believe I have seen you before. How did you know the professor? And do any of you know exactly what happened to him? How he died?" The answer to these questions seems very important to the inebriated young man
The halfling lays a gentle hand on the gaunt shadowy man with a sad and understanding smile, and gestures to the woman to pull up a chair.
"My friends, I believe that the professor would be happy to bring together such a diverse group of people with his passing. I would hope that when I die, my own death might bring more beauty into this world. It's a pleasure to meet all of you, and I will be happy to mourn a good man's death together, as well as happy to celebrate his amazing life." The halfling looks around at the other patrons and smiles wistfully.
I think the professor would have been happy to bring a little warmth to such a cold place, even in his passing.
Nadiya also raises her tankard again with the others. "It's a testament to the Professor that so many come to grieve, and remember."
She waits on hearing Jominda's answer to the man's question before adding anything else to the conversation. As she shifts, the astute might notice that the voluminous shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders starts seemingly to move of its own accord before settling down again.
After sitting quietly, pondering various subjects, Soval raised his cup to Nadiya's toast. To the Professor! May we all carry on a bit of his thirst for knowledge and discovery. I know I for one will miss the conversations I had with him that revolved around the simple things. When he shared his thoughts on the more complex theories and problems, it was astounding to watch and be a part of.
He turned to Lomar with a shake of his head. I'm afraid I do not know what happened. Given his nature, I would imagine it was an accident or such while he was trying to discover more about the world around us.
[Ooc]@Walthus: gaunt and shadowy? Not sure where you got that from. This pic maybe? But actually I think I like it so let's roll with it ; )
@Soval: I think I missed Soval's entrance. Was it in the recruitment thread? Or was he sitting with Dimitri the whole time?
When the halfling actually places his hand on him, the gaunt young man's instinctive reaction is to flinch away. It had been so long since he had even had even the most insignificant physical contact with another that even such a simple gesture of sympathy had become uncomfortable for him.
The wine loosening his tongue far more than normal he slurs an apology "I...am sorry. I am not used to being...touched. My name, by the way, is Lomar." He then looks back up to the local, Ludmia, very much wanting to hear whatever news she might have of the Professor's death.
Dmitri, slightly lost in the barrage of various comments and toasts, silently drinks and watches Jominda, wishing to know more about the circumstances of the Professor's death.
"You haven't heard?" Jominda begins. "It was awful. He was exploring...and...well...he was crushed. A large gargoyle fell on him, crushing and killing him. Apparently, he was nearly unrecognizable."
She stops herself and begins to shift uncomfortably. "I am sorry. I...should have stayed over there. I...I don't know you. See you in the morning." She nods to the group and heads back to her table.
"Wait!" the young Lomar calls, standing up. "What do you mean 'nearly unrecognizable'! Who found his body? Who identified him??" the sudden hope, no matter how slim, that perhaps there had been some mistake, that there may be a chance the Professor was still alive, brought a flush to the shadowy young man's cheeks.
Jominda turns back to the table. "I mean the gargoyle crushed his head." Her discomfort appears to switch to annoyance. "I don't know who found him, but his own daughter identified him. What are you getting, young man?"
The half-orc's eyes narrow and he mutters darkly into his tankard, "Certainly a gargoyle fell on him...and I am secretly a fairy prince." He finishes his ale and stands, stretching to his full height and looking toward the hall to his room.
Reusten flinches as Lomar calls to the woman. Being with loud strangers is not the best way to remain inconspicuous, especially when they've had a few too many drinks.
He speaks quickly as he stands, "I must take my leave. Pleasure to meet other acquaintances of the professor. Dmitri, Walthus, Lomar, ... and others... Until the morning."
As Reusten leaves the table, an old woman in a corner catches his eye as she shuffles a deck of cards.
Still, he approaches her out of pure curiosity.
Lomar stands a moment more, clearly wanting to say something else as disbelief and annoyance begin to form on his own features, but the weight of his sadness finally crushes him back into his seat and he says nothing.
All of his focus fastened on the cup before him, he does not respond, nor does he even seem to notice, when two of his 'new table-mates' leave, .
You don't recognize her. She appears to be one of the countless Varisian gypsies that roam the lands.
The older woman adorned in bright silk stands as Reusten approaches and greets him with a wide, toothy grin. "Ah, yes, I knew it would only be a matter of time before one of you spotted me. Please, return to your table with me." She moves past Reusten and calls out Dmitri, "You there - half orc - stay but a moment."
Absently shuffling cards in her hands she approaches the table where you all sit and says, "Hello. Might I trouble you for a moment?" She continues without waiting for a reply. "The spirits speak loudly here. Yes. Very loudly. My steward and I - that's him over there in the corner - are simply passing through town. But it is no accident we have arrived on the same night as you fine travelers. I am being tasked by the spirits to provide each of you a card from my deck before your adventure begins. Let us start, shall we?"
Again, without waiting for a reply, she begins spreads the cards in her hands and extends them towards you all. It is clear you are supposed to draw one at random.
Nadiya watches Jominda leave. "Strange woman. She shouldn't have brought up the subject with strangers if she didn't want to discuss it with them."
When Reusten groups her with "others," she notes, "Nadiya. See you in the morning, sir."
Upon the offering of the cards by the woman in silk, she does not yet reach for a card. "And which spirits have tasked you? Some spirits are quite mischievous."
"Adventure? I'd hardly call attending a funeral for an old friend an adventure!" Reusten looks at the woman and cards with disdain. He speaks wryly, "But if you were tasked by the spirits, well we wouldn't want to disappoint, would we?"
Muttering a small prayer to Pharasma under his breath, he hastily draws a card.
Walthus smiles and puffs on his pipe, reaching out a hand to draw a card with a bemused smile on his face. "May the blessings of the Dawnflower be on you, friend. It would be a pleasure to become more familiar with you and your steward, if you'd like to share a drink with me."
He had watched sadly as the cold and discomfort of humans pulled apart what would have been a good and loving celebration in his halfling community.
She is completely harmless and honest about her intentions. She simply feels compelled to give you a card.
Looking down at the card, you see you've drawn The Wanderer (NG, Intelligence).
Looking down at the card, you see you've drawn The Carnival (CN, Wisdom).
Nadiya shrugs at the woman's benign smile, offering one of her own. "Very well, I would neither like to turn away a spirit who means well."
She stands, pausing to balance herself as if she were a bit top-heavy (specifically as if something was weighing down her shoulders), and reaches for a card.
Darkeye glowers at the cards for a moment, considering the odd magics therein. Nevertheless, he draws one.
"Magic...hmph"
She stands, pausing to balance herself as if she were a bit top-heavy (specifically as if something was weighing down her shoulders), and reaches for a card.
Darkeye watches Nadiya's movements and the odd shifts of her shawl. He begins watching her shawl suspiciously.
Looking down at the card, you see you've drawn The Cyclone (CE, Strength).
Looking down at the card, you see you've drawn The Dance (LG, Dexterity).
She stands, pausing to balance herself as if she were a bit top-heavy (specifically as if something was weighing down her shoulders)...
Wonderful. Another drunk.
Nadiya raises an eyebrow at her card before tucking it into a pocket sewn into her skirt.
Or not... maybe I'm the one who's had a bit too much... Reusten's deductive senses must have been dulled from the ale. How else could he miss obvious cues? Embarrassing.
Dimitri's eyes widen for a moment, then he shakes his head and stalks off toward the stairs, staring periodically at the card as he goes.
Walthus smiles and tips his drink to the woman, before pocketing the card with a warm smile.
He gazes happily at the bundle on the witches shoulder across the table. "Either you've a companion I've yet to have met, or you've managed to grow yourself a tail, and a few extra pounds around your shoulders, friend."
The halflings face is surprised at first, but is replaced with a sad resignation after a puff of smoke. He nods gravely, but is smiling again before he can help it. He speaks softly and respectfully. "It's good to meet you Lomar, and-" the halflings eyes briefly fade into remembrance, his smile turning wistful as someone who is reliving a fond memory. "I'm sorry for your loss. I feel it, too."
Nadiya smiles at Walthus, and says to her shoulder. "You've been spotted, Mishka. If you want to go into public places with me, you must get better at this."
A little head pokes out from under the shawl, that of a small adult tabby cat. Nadiya continues. "Last tavern kicked us out." Mishka sniffs, as if offended by the memory.
"I'm not sure I caught your name. I am Nadiya. Mishka here deigns to let me travel with her, so that someone may tell of her adventures."
Lomar nods in recognition to Walthus' words but is unable to speak through the lump in his throat Damn this wine for making me a drunk and emotional fool!' he rails at himself. Then, smiling in recognition irony at his own pitiful state, he takes another drink.
He watches dully as the others take their cards, little to know reaction showing on his features. Finally, as the woman turns her disarming smile upon him, the morose young man sighs and disinterestedly draws a card
Soval hesitated at the drawing of a card, but finally reached for one.
"I'm not sure I caught your name. I am Nadiya. Mishka here deigns to let me travel with her, so that someone may tell of her adventures."
"Oh! Names... forgive me. I'm used to finding the names of others, not giving my own out. Reusten."
Glancing at the cat, "Mishka here would do well to heed your advice. While many superstitions of the people here can be useful, old women with cats should be the least of their worries." After a second or two, he realizes how that might have sounded and grins sheepishly. "Er... um... not to say that you're old! No... I was just thinking of stories of old crones and witches who come to steal away misbehaving children."
Reusten pockets his card as well and nods to those still at the table. "Well like I said before, a pleasure to meet you all. I have a long journey back to Tamrivena after the funeral, so I think I'll get some rest... heh... unless another crazy person claiming to see the future stops me again." With that, he heads to the stairs.
Walthus grins and chuckles at the Inquisitor's awkwardness. "This ones a real charmer, isn't her?" Walthus chuckles at Nadiya. "Pleasure to meet you both, and Reusten as well."His emerald green eyes sparkle and seem to smile for him. "Rest easy, friend." He calls after the man as he heads off the the stairs.