First, lol
Whether you are from Tahldor or a foreigner, you find yourself in the middle of the kingdom. Tahldor’s people consist mainly of humans, dwarves, and elves, although travelers of other races are not unheard of. The country is known for its knights and jousting as well as its mead. From what you’ve seen so far, the people are mostly content, even the farmers. The land is at peace.
Corby’s Crossing is a small village thriving on the coin of travelers who are constantly going through it. Two main roads intersect in the middle of the town, each end of the roads leading to major cities. The one tavern in this town sits at that intersection, and every well-travelled adventurer finds him- or herself there eventually. Called The Laughing Lich, it is doing quite well for itself, having a monopoly on alcohol and rooms. The tavern is considerably bigger than most of the other buildings in this small town, with the sole exceptions of barracks for the king’s men and a temple. The wooden sign depicts a skull with grinning jaws partially open.
At various points of the evening, you each enter the tavern. The first thing you notice is the giant man mountain behind the bar. Balding but with plenty of black hair on his chin and arms to make up for it, he glares menacingly at most of the people who walk through The Laughing Lich’s doors, and you are no exception. You do notice, however, that those who purchase drinks are treated with a friendlier attitude. A shirt made of some animal hide barely covers his considerable girth, and his arms are very beefy, straining the shirt further.
There are few seats available at the bar and a table that is mostly empty except for a man who somehow managed to fall asleep through the cheerful din of The Laughing Lich’s patrons. Most of the patrons look like farmers, the locals, but there are many who look like they’ve seen a fight or two. There is a dimpled half-elf woman singing a happy ditty while playing a lute on a small stage back and to the left of the bar and a lanky human man taking orders at the tables.
Ulrich walked into the town, hoping to get some work. He had never been to this village and he tried to assess what he could about it, but was too focused on the stresses of earning money to make any detailed observations. He had his grandmother to support and he wanted to make her life as easy as possible.
The tall brawler simply spotted the tavern and walked in, hoping to find some work over a drink.
The huge bartender glared at Ulrich as he entered and he started to wonder if it was due to his horned cowl.
Still, he seemed friendly enough to those who bought some drink.
"Hello, sir! I'd like a pint of mead!" Ulrich said as he approached the bar.
The man grunted in response, his demeanor seemingly unchanged as he reached below the bar for a mug. The perhaps comforting sound of worn wood scraping on worn wood could still be heard through the tavern noises as he pushed the full mug toward the newcomer. "Silver," he rumbled.
Ulrich gladly accepted the mug, as he took a silver from his belt pouch and gave it to the man.
"My thanks." He said as he hurried off to the mostly empty table, not wanting to bother the bartender any more than he needed to.
Ulrich sat down, away from the sleeping man and tried to enjoy his drink. He'd wait a moment before inquiring about any work. He wanted to try and relax, at least a little bit, and took a swig of the mead.
Scribbles scampers up out of the ditch that runs along the road, ignoring the new scuffs of dirt he earned in the process.
I haven't seen a color pattern like this before. I wonder if this is unique to the region.
In the palm of his hand lies a pebble; swirls of red and yellow marble the surface. The excited gnome adds it to his collection.
Are there any good words that rhyme with pebble? Scribble kind of rhymes, but is it good enough? Other than that, the truest rhyme I can only think of is rebel...
Glancing down to notice the new dusting of sand and dirt, Scribbles quickly pats his baggy clothes in an effort to clean them. The distraction come and gone, he resumes his energetic jog towards the Crossroads, a town of many new people, and many new stories.
Passing through the new village, Scribbles pauses in front of each building to consider its architecture and history. He adds notes to his journal every once in a while, taking special note of the temple and a large abandoned building. Finally at the Crossroads itself, he glances in all directions, stopping in front of a sign with a grinning skull.
The Laughing Lich. An interesting choice, good use of alliteration.
Pushing through the doors, Scribbles takes in the jumble of people; the packed tables, the half-elf on the stage, and the large barkeep. At first he smiles, bobbing to the cheery sounds before spotting the scowl on the large man's face.
Er... He must be grumpy because I haven't bought anything yet. The mead of this region is supposed to be good. I wonder if I can tell stories to cover the cost? Maybe teach the singing lady a new song to excite the patrons?
Hesitantly, Scribbles approaches the bar, climbing up a stool to reach the bar top.
"If you please, good man, may I have a simple meal? A stew and some mead, perhaps?" Glancing to the left at the half elf, he continues. "Is there a chance I could perform for that meal? I am a traveling bard and have many stories and epics to tell."
The man begins to pull out another mug, but upon hearing the offer of exchanging a performance for the meal, he stops and stares at the gnome. "Money," he states, pointing at a sign behind him which reads No Solicitations.
The feeling between the bartender and the gnome is briefly tense; an eerie silence seems to have settled. But then you realize why it seems so quiet when you see the singer approach the bar. "Why ya hav' ta be so rude to thah customers, Argus? Ya'll ne'er get any tips like tha'," she chides the bartender as she leans her lute against the wall behind the bar. "Pour thah man some mead, and I'll get 'im some suppa." She winks at the gnome as she scoops a generous portion of stew.
The man Argus grunts and mumbles, "Your pay." But he does begrudgingly (almost) fill the mug. If his glare was menacing when you came in, it most certainly has become more unnerving now.
"Aye, my pay," the woman acknowledges, giving a small, playful curtsy as she passes Argus and hands Scribbles the bowl. "I expect ta be compensated appropriately, o travellin' bard. Stories, epics, perhaps some music. Tha' meal is an investment."
Happily grabbing the mug and bowl, Scribbles approaches the stage, sitting at the edge with legs dangling. "Thank you very much! I would have payed with coin after he insisted, but that icy stare had frozen my tongue." Pulling his journal from his backpack, Scribbles flips through to find a particular sheet of loose paper. "This is my sister's favorite song. She's the singer in the family. I'll teach it to you, and help you learn the tone and rhythm." He pauses to take a bite of stew and a sip of mead. "After that, I can share several of my stories...."
Sand stumbled down the stairs from his room. Buttoning up the last few button on his shirt. He slicked back his hair "just another day" he muttered to him self. As he adjusted his head band which currently disguised him as a fair skinned blonde man. He looked around the room
He swayed over bartender "mead" He hadn't learned the wall of a man's name over the few days he had been staying at the grinning lich.
Ulrich listened in as the odd Gnome walked in, almost jumping in to speak up for him only stopping when the beautiful half-elf helped him out.
She’s pretty cute.
He thought he could maybe try to strike up a friendly conversation with her. But thought maybe it best just to wait until later when he asked for work.
Instead, Ulrich kept to himself, enjoying his drink until a man came from the second floor of the tavern.
The bartender nods and pours another mug of mead. His normally hard, piercing eyes seem to look more neutral, though still far from friendly. "Silver."
Ulrich found the fair skinned man to be strange. He looked on trying to ignore the noise and music to see what the man would do. More curious than anything else, and saw as the bartender made his drink.
It had been a long walk north, nothing she wasn't used to, but the unfamiliarity of this region and its people rattled her. She had struggled to find any in the southern city to hear her out, and even fewer who offered sound advice. Her one useful piece of information was that the people of this town were more accepting than most when it came to travelling foreigners.
Knowledge(local)
Rexah surveyed Corby's Crossing from afar and noted that one building seemed to dominate the town's affairs.
Might as well start there.
The Laughing Lich? That seems to be inviting disaster.
Glancing around at the darkened streets and seeing little activity other than the tavern, Rexah pushed open the door, and stepped inside allowing the door to close behind her. Blinking against the suddenly bright lights she approached the bar. A man almost as big as those in her homeland stood glaring at her from behind the bar. Under that gaze she took one of the few available seats and placed two silver pieces on the counter.
Now to see what there is to learn.
The bartender mutely held his stare, waiting for the newcomer to make her request, for clearly she wanted something.
Music resumed as the tavern's bard played the new tune she purchased with a night's meal. The woman winked at the gnome and spoke in a low voice meant just for him , "I still have my duties, but if ya stay thah night, these folk will be out an' I'll have more time ta hear your tales. Don' think you're square jus' yet."
She focused on the music and began to sing.
Sand dug throw his shirt and produced a silver coin, and passed it to the man. He then stagged his way over to the man with the broken helm (ulrich). When he reached the table he toasted "To Battle and Women" then he drank some mead and fell down into the seat but didn't spill any of his mead. "you look like a lad who can handle him self in a fight. Where do ypu hail from" he says as he leans lazily back in his chair.
Ulrich was surprised at the sudden approach, but couldn’t help but smile at his merriment and took a swig of his own mead.
However, Ulrich wondered if he was truly curious about him or if he was up to something,
”I’m from Gjoll, actually. What about you, stranger?”
Gingerly bundling up all of his loose papers into his journal, Scribbles closes the clasp on the book and slides it into his backpack. While tucking it next to his spell component pouch, he gets an idea.
That giant behind the bar might be in a better mood if he thinks the patrons are cheerier.
Snatching a pinch of wool and buckling the bag closed, Scribbles gave one last smile to the half-elf before turning around and searching for an open seat. He hopped from the stage after spotting the only table with any seats left, making a beeline for it.
Upon reaching the table, he clears his throat to get their attention. "Greetings Warriors and Lumberer, I ask to join you fine men and slumberer. Perhaps you know, is this seat taken? I can't ask him till he's awaken."
"I come from a far away land from the north, but it is no longer my home. I am a traveler now" Sand said somberly. "Gjoll that sounds like a nice land, The names Sand" He leans forward and extends a hand.
Rexah glanced up at the barkeep, then back down at her silvers.
Do I get to choose what I want? This is already better than in the south!
With a small, but amused grin she looked back up at the barkeep and with two fingers raised said, "Two ales, please sir."
The barkeep nodded and produced two tankards. "Silver," he called over his shoulder as he filled them.
When he turned to hand over the drink and accept the coin, the difference between near hostile to merely unfriendly, almost even neutral, could be seen.
Rexah finished one of the ales immediately, and set to sipping her second in the style of most of the humans.
Slowly just like everyone else. Except for that blonde fellow there, he seems to have been drinking far more quickly than the rest.
Surveying the room, Rexah decided that many of the people in the tavern looked like they could provide much more interesting information than she already possessed. Of course, what the humans called a 'bard' would be best, but the tavern's own was mid-performance.
The blonde man and man wearing a poorly representative bird mask caught her attention and she decided she had to start somewhere.
Ulrich smiled and shook hands with Sand.
”My name is Ulrich”
Before Ulrich could continue, the gnome bard cut in and asked about sitting at the table.
”Sit wherever you like.”
Is he rhyming as he talks on accident?
Ulrich turned back to Sand, thinking that the chances of finding any work through him may not pay off. He seemed like an alright guy though, if not dishonest.
"Yes sit where you want there are many chairs." Sand said as he waved his hand towards the seats "We have just introduced our selves I am Sand." he said pointing to him self sitting back down pretending to take a big drink of mead
what a strange gnome
Scribbles climbs up the chair to join you guys at the table. His bowl of soup is cold and his mug of mead is half full.
His attention is primarily on the half-elf until her song ends. However, he will glance at whoever is talking and wait for a polite lull in the conversation to say "Scribbles is this bard's name, and the Academy of Avalon is whence I came."
The bard finishes the song, adding her own musical flare at the end. As Scribbles casts his cantrip, he can see that many of the Laughing Lich's patrons are already cheering the performance, banging tankards on the tables, clapping, and whooping. However, the spell does seem to make the modest applause sound more enthusiastic. The half elf blushes slightly, pleased with the reception of the new piece, and curtsies low. She scurries off the stage and up to the bar, pouring herself a drink and whispering something to the bartender.
The man's expression seems bored, but he dips his head once, as if in acknowledgement.
The pinch of wool Scribbles had earlier evaporates as he claps his hands, doing the best he can to hide the casting of his spell in his usual gestures.
As the spell does it's job, Scribbles smiles a little wider at the barkeep's reaction.
I'll take what I can get. I don't imagine he makes a habit of looking happy with his solid reputation as a bear that serves mead.
This bard makes quite the performance!
Or perhaps this tavern is full of crafty folk...
”My name is Ulrich. Bards are known for their expansive knowledge. Do you know if there is any work to be found here, Scribbles?”
Scribbles tilts his ear to the bar, hoping to catch the tidbit exchanged.
Happy with the results, he turns back to the conversation at his table.
"Hello Ulrich and Hello Sand, I myself am new to this land. My knowledge lies in magic, history and clockwork; I do not know who here would be hiring new work."
Sand perks up upon learning the gnome is a bard. Turning towards the gnome "That's a shame, I am looking for work as well. But Perhaps you have some news of the world then? Being a bard you have surly heard tales of faraway kingdoms? I have always enjoyed hearing tales of islands." As he speaks glances around the room, trying to pick up on some of the other conversations.
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"My knowledge of kingdoms is quite decent, but I couldn't tell you much of what's recent.
A retired adventurer is here, if the rumors are true. I hope to meet them on my way through!
Islands are just mountains that peak the ocean. Many are created by underground motion.
Underwater volcanoes are another example. They can be born from the lava; here's a sample."
Scribbles pulls from his belt pouch a porous black rock with hints of shining blue. If you pick it up, it feels almost weightless.
- Tahldor has fought many wars with its neighbor to the north, Erias. Tahldor's eastern neighbor, Khüral, is a frequent ally.
- Scribbles is familiar with a lot of Fey'ruta, where there is a lot of intrigue and political maneuvering rather than wars. Fey'ruta is to the east of Sul Dawen, the continent the party is currently on.
- East of Fey'ruta is the land Ther'iden, a vast stretch of mostly wasteland full of mostly undesirables (from a Fey's perspective): Tieflings, Strix, and Orcs the most populous but also kobolds, goblins, gnolls, etc. Ther'iden is full of strife and warfare with peace a rarity.
- To the west of Sul Dawen is an island called the Shackles, where many countries send their worst prisoners and political enemies.
- Southwest of Sul Dawen is a continent called Tier, which is made up of warring tribes and clans of animalistic raiders and barbarians who are luckily more interested in their infighting than in sailing across the Sea of Swords to Sul Dawen or east to Avalon.
- Scribbles is the most familiar about Avalon and the Academy located there.
- West of Sul Dawen is the continent Irorus, whose people are pious.
- North of Sul Dawen is Nor Dawen, and though the two are connected via isthmus, the only sure way to get there is by sea or magic. This is because the piece of land that joins them together is fittingly called the Isthmus of the Living Dead. The country Unigorith to the south of this Isthmus is known for its paladins and monks who constantly fight the undead and protect the rest of Sul Dawen from this threat. You can assume Nor Dawen likewise has something in place.
- Finally, you know that there is a country called Shizür to the north of Nor Dawen, but you know next to nothing about it.
- There are also lots of islands throughout the world, obviously, but none would immediately come to mind with such a blanket history/geography check. That is, except the ones I mentioned already and additionally Balt's Rest. Balt's Rest is almost directly east of the Isthmus of the Living Dead, located in the Baldric Sea. Balt's Rest houses a small nation of fishers and mercenaries, and their navy patrols the Baldric Sea to protect their fishing boats. (Their men traditionally wear baldrics for their weapons and thus the name of the sea.) Sailors from Balt's Rest are considered the best of the best.
Since Sand did specifically ask about islands, you might think of the long island chain pilgrims from Irorus might visit that stretch from south of Irorus clear to Nor Dawen. Or you might think of the Charmed Islands which has a lot of old myths associated with it.
[dice=perception] 1d20+4
----
As he speaks glances around the room, trying to pick up on some of the other conversations.
The tavern's patrons appear to have wholeheartedly enjoyed the bard's performance. Rexah begins to leave her seat, but notices that the men have been joined by a gnome who looks quite pleased with himself. A brief moment of hesitation passes, gnomes are clever creatures, perhaps this one will know more than most here. Bringing her ale with her she approaches the table, pulls out the chair next to the blonde man, and sits down. The gnome is showing the others a strange rock and babbling something about islands. Rexah waits for him to finish and introduces herself.
"My name is Rexah, of the Feerull Tribe, and I am travelling these lands in an effort to learn what makes these places so peaceful compared to my own."
As soon as Scribbles went on a tangent describing islands, Ulrich tuned out.
Ok, turns out he isn't the best way to find work
Ulrich was about to go for a meal when a half-orc introduced herself.
"If you are actually thinking that these lands are peaceful, prepare to be surprised. I'm Ulrich, pleasure to meet you, Rexah."
"Interesting." Sand says slowly. Then looks away towards the orc. " Well met I am Sand. I tend to agree with Ulrich no wars, but you still need to watch your back." He takes a drink of mead and glances at the gnome.
did he really think I wanted to hear about how islands are formed?
He tries to remember if all gnomes are this strange
He tries to remember if all gnomes are this strange
"Welcome friend Rexah! Join us at our happy table. Ulrich speaks true, though he exaggerates a little.
The land of Tahldor is not without its own strife, but here you will likely find a more pleasant life.
Excepting, of course, friction caused by racists, uneducated commoners will be most of those cases.
Until you must encounter such a distasteful situation, eat with us and share in our friendly conversation."
"To revisit your questions you asked earlier, Sand, I have some specific tales of islands.
There's an island for traitors and criminals, a location to the West known as Shackles.
To the East of the Isthmus you can find Balt's Rest. Fishers and sailers; the best of the best.
From south of Irorus clear up to Nor Dawen, there's a long chain used by the pious pilgrim."
"Well, yes. I suppose this land is more pleasant than mine, though the condition you speak of does take its toll."
Thinking for a moment, Rexah asks, "Answer me this gnome, we three"
She gestures at herself, Sand, and Ulrich,
"wear our intentions on our faces. A vagabond, a knowledge-seeker, and an aspiring adventurer, but what is your pursuit?"
[dice=Perception vs Sand]1d20+1
[dice=Perception vs Ulrich]1d20+1
To Rexah, Scribbles replies with a flap of his cloak of myriad colors:
"Perhaps your question is not answered by my garb. These are the colored patches of a traveling bard.
I am a budding student from the Academy of Avalon. To graduate, they require I first experience the world beyond.
Out here on my own I will write my first epic. I hope to master rhythm and rhyme, perhaps develop my own metric!
But alas, I wander from village to town to city in hopes that I can become more quick and witty,
For to return to Academy I must be very thorough - I need to find and follow a true and worthy hero.
It will then by my duty to record their adventures; who they meet, where they go, and any of their party's members."