Gameplay up for dotting. I will be able to get the initial post up by tomorrow morning at the latest.
Emraeal sits at a table in the corner of the parusing a book of elvish poetry.
A half-elf enters said establishment and sees the pure-breed reading a tome. I'll keep my distance for now.
Jalthan is seated in the corner of said establishment, bemused by the elven poetry reader. The bard's sipping his warm scented tea.
For the last three days, you've been journeying with a merchant named Silas Gribb. He's been leading his trade caravan for some time through northern Taldor and recently hired each of you to augment his force of guards. The trip has been pleasant, if uneventful. Soon you find yourselves reaching the outskirts of another town. Belhaim, if you recall correctly.
As the caravan draws near the town limits a handful of armed men wearing embroidered badges on their cloaks come forward and meet the caravan. The group's apparent leader speaks:
"You, there, Gribb! Halt! We've got instructions to search your wagons."
Mr. Gribb has no choice but to comply, and the deputies begin turning out the supplies. Ine of the men shouts:
"It's here sheriff! Look at all this stuff! No doubt about it, he's our man!"
The sheriff strides over to look:
"Right you are deputy. Alright Gribb, come with us!"
Gribb is arrested and Belhaim’s sheriff his deputies head out within the hour to escort him and his confiscated caravan south to Cassomir.
You are easily able to convince the authorities of their ignorance about Silas’ criminal activities, but are left stranded in Belhaim, as Silas is obviously unable to pay you for the caravan job.
Talia Orem, the young proprietor of the Wise Piper Inn, takes pity on the you and offers free room and board for a few days.
As evening falls, you are in the Wise Piper’s common room enjoying enjoying a free meal of fresh bread with cheese and honey, washed down by watery mead and conversation.
Ever optimistic, Jalthan beams a smile after drinking from his stein, enjoying the free mead. He tries to lift his companions' spirits with his high-pitched, melodic voice:
At least there is free mead in this place, to make us forget about this unlucky turn of events! Ah well, Lady Desna must have other plans for us. Despair not, companions! I'm sure our fates will soon improve.
The varisian bard glances across the table, trying to appraise if his fellow travellers would be receptive to a song or another. You can sense that little can dampen his spirits, that he would not have you give in to negativity.
With their employer in shackles and the eclectic group thrown together in unemployment, Emraeal simply comments, "Alas, the storm is come again! My best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past."
"Gabber-what?" Kurth says, squinting at the elf. "They sure have a funny way of talking down in that Mangy Expanse. But I'm sure the singer can help you practice talking like normal folks, if you like."
The big man pushes himself back from the table, gazing sadly at his battered and mostly empty mug of mead.
"If we'd just known old Silas was a smuggler I coulda knocked him on the head and we could of all claimed the reward. We'd of been heroes, drinking proper ale and eating meat, with wenches on our laps ...
He looks up sheepishly. "Bar ladies, I mean. Whatever the nice version of wenches is."
Emraeal nods as Kurth comments on the women milling about the bar. "So sweet was ne'er so fatal."
Perhaps some men record their exploits so that they might be able to recall them all on those nights where their only companion is a horse. The previously quiet half-elf suddenly says, then shrugs. Maybe then the gold spent would be considered more useful that way. Milloy then goes back to his meal, not waiting for a reaction or reply.
"Horses and wenches,"Kurth says in a low, sing-song chant as he counts the fingers on one hand, then the next. "Both can smell bad, but never ... knew a horse smelled good. Ha! Top that, bard."
Alsterro thanks the innkeep for the room and board, although it is obvious to any that the effort to be civil is a rusty skill in this one. He sits in a corner with his bread and cheese (but no honey) contemplating a lacquered leather mask, half white and half black. Without looking up, he mutters across the room:
Some guards must be fools
To consider an accent
A crude mode of speech
The elf raises his eyebrows at the cleric and smiles.
"The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils."
The group continues to enjoy some friendly conversation. Before much time has passed, the walls of the Inn rattle as though shaken by thunder!
The party springs to the door and notices a huge plume of dust rising to the northeast. A minute later, a young lad bursts into the Inn and says: "The Witch Tower has fallen!"
Suddenly every local in the place rushes outside to gawk at the dust plume marking where the tower once stood.
Pushing his chair aside, the bard jumps to his feet:
This sounded like a landslide... The tables have turned, Lady Luck is giving us our chance, let's head there and see how our fates will unravel!
Emraeal slaps Jalthan on the back. "If chance will have us kings, why, chance may crown us without our stir!"
"Er, uh, sure, let's run toward the landslide. Sounds like the heroic thing to do," Kurth says. He waits a moment at the table while the other head to the door. When their backs are turned he quickly gulps down whatever mead was left in their mugs, then gathers his gear and heads out after them.
The party follows the billowing cloud of dust, and soon arrives at the scene.
At the site of the collapsed tower, two locals putter about aimlessly. One wanders about scratching her head, and the other stands with hands on his hips, chewing on a stalk of grass.
There is a small crowd gathered around the tower site. Someone from the crowd pipes up: "Maybe that old wizard Hunclay knows something about this. His manor's just across the hill."
A striking middle-aged woman soon arrives with a tall young man at her side. She gives some directions to the man, and he moves to take charge of the scene. After listening to reports from those gathered at the site, she looks briefly at the obviously overmatched deputies and then scans the crowd. Her eyes fall on your group forthe first time:
"You seem to be a sensible lot. I am Lady Origena Devy. Who are you?"
"Emraeal, known as Briskfury." The elf takes a dramatic stage bow. "Thy friendship makes us fresh."
"Kurth, er, Chandler, lady. I mean 'my lady.' Pleased to uh ... looks like you need some help?" Kurth says, distracted by the woman's appearance and refined manner.
Jalthan bows with a flourish, lowering his hat in honor to the grace of that lady of obvious high rank. The bard's tongue turns to honey as he addresses Lady Origena Devy.
My utmost respects, Madame, I am Jalthan Arvandru - performer extraordinaire, lifter of spirits, master of words and heartbreaker among the masses. Me and my companions are looking for employment, as it it. A misfortune caused us to be stranded in your little gem of a town, however Lady Desna did so for us to be ready to answer your call, for we are heroes, which only ask for an opportunity to bloom! I assure you we are most reliable, and will do your bidding with great haste and efficiency.
The woman is a bit surprised to hear lyrical speech from the elf, but the flowery words of Jalthan impress her even more.
She addresses the group:
"I am the Baroness of these lands. If heroes you be, then it must be your lucky day. Mulle and Hodd here can’t handle this without the Sheriff to hold their hands, and I want to know happened here. You do seem to be a capable bunch."
"Some folk say they saw kobold bodies in there. If you go in and look through the rubble — find out what happened and why there are kobolds in my town — I’ll pay the lot of you 500 gold pieces. While you’re looking around in the ruins, keep an eye out for any signs of our local eccentric, Hunclay. It seems somewhat suspicious to me that he’s not answering his door. Let me know what you find."
I'm not sure how these turn of events favors me and my own personal quest. In fact, I'm sure they are not related in the least. However, I can't sit around town counting on the charity of others. Eventually I'll need to earn my own keep. Might as well be with this lot.
Without saying a word, Milloy starts to make his way toward the rubble, scanning the area as he goes with his eyes, ears, and a wave of Detect Magic.
For want of something better to do, and because the name "Witch Tower" seems interesting, Alsterro heads in the same direction as the others. "Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, indeed. Perhaps these Kobolds you mention were foolish enough to anger this Hunclay. If so, they got what they deserved. Only idiots mess with magic without understanding it. I imagine I'll have better luck."
As he begins to walk toward the tower, he calls over his shoulder, "Don't believe the delusions of the actor, either. We are no heroes."
Catching up to the Half-Elf, Alsterro turns to him. "Are you a practicioner of the arts arcane?"
Somewhat surprised that the human has come up to address him, Milloy tries to give an honest answer. You might say that, though my knowledge is not that much more of a commoner at this point and time. I can only thank my late mother for the little knowledge I currently possess. Milloy says without making eye contact, instead he continues to scan the rubble for clues or dead kobolds. You are right about the hero thing, at least as far as I can say for myself. I'm not sure I even belong here.
So we could all say. I go where the All-Seeing Eye sends me, to uncover and understand more about magic. I imagine your mother was a powerful Sorceress, or perhaps she studied the wizardly arts?"
Briskfury moves up with his companions, looking at the rubble but not saying much-he seems be enjoying listening to the banter, though.
Yes... replies the half-elf. Whether it was an absent-minded reply or one meant to avoid the subject was hard to distinguish. Perhaps we'd discover more if we were to split up.
Emraeal shakes his head at the suggestion. "Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel."
As his new companions continue to give him strange looks as he quotes more poetry, he sighs and says, "I think it would be best if stuck together as we headed in."
I don't believe I asked your opinion. Milloy informs the elf. Clearly he meant the statement as a hint to be left alone and not as a suggested course of action, however it dawns on him that it could have sounded as the latter to those not paying attention. Yes, I suppose we should. Would you like to lead?
Emraeal smiles and nods his head at Milloy, seemingly taking no offense and understanding exactly why Milloy wanted to be left alone. He nonetheless takes the lead as the party heads closer to the tower.
... but, we are heroes. Or rather, we will be! Fear not, friends, for I have eternal faith in our ability to deal with our fate!
Turning to the Baroness. What an honor! We accept, My Lady, and won't rest until our task is done!
Jalthan nods to Emraeal. Agreed, we shouldn't split up. Let's head to the mage's house after inspecting this place quickly.
"I'd rather start looking for honey in the hive where the bees are already dead," Kurth says to Alice, pointing toward the rubble. He leans in and whispers: "Two bits says one of them elves slaps the other before the day is over."
Kurth then moves on, awkwardly kicking through the rubble as he mimics the others' search.
"Hey fancy man," he calls after Jalthan. "How exactly are we supposed to split 500 gold six ways? I'm partial to divvying by weight, myself ..."
We should first earn the gold before we determine the size of each man's share. Perhaps not all of us will return from the endeavor. Milloy says bluntly, turning back toward the one called Kurth. I, for one, would like to claim a share. Please take care where you step. Who knows if any of this is still unstable in some way.
"That name has been around for a long time. I suspect at one time the tower belonged to witch or a wizard of some sort."
Lady Origena gives Alice a hard glare, then her expression softens.
"I'm just a bit over-wrought. My fool husband went searching around in that tower a few years ago, and never came back. I've thought of that place as his tomb since then. I hate to see his resting place disturbed. Now if you'll excuse me, I must attend to other matters."
"So there's a tomb under hear? Has anyone spotted a door, or stairs? Is it grave-robbing if the lady gave us permission?"
I can assure you my emotions are quite level at the moment, the elf responds to the quip from Alice while continuing to search the rubble. Without turning toward the fighter he continues, And the good Lady merely assumes her husband perished within the ruins. What lies underneath can only be determined by entering them. If the man is actually "entombed" there, we'll discover that fact and give the woman some closure.
Actually, we were asked to find Hunclay. his house might be a better choice.