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You now approach the Village of Hommlet, having come from lands across the Flaness. You are poorly equipped and have no large sums of cash. In fact, all you have is what you wear, plus the few coins that are hidden in purses and pockets. What you do possess in quantity, though, is daring and desire to become wealthy and famous. Thus your group comes to Hommlet to learn. Is this indeed a place for adventurers to seek their fortunes? You all hope, of course, to gain riches and make names for yourselves. The outcome of this is uncertain, but your skill and daring, along with a good measure of luck, will be the main ingredients of what follows, be it for weal or woe.
The small community at the crossroads is a completely unknown quantity. What is there? Who will be encountered? Where should you go? These are your first explorations and encounters, so chance may dictate as much as intelligence. Will outsiders be shunned? Are the reports true — is the whole community engaged in evil practices? Are the folk here bumpkins, easily duped? Does a curse lay upon those who dare to venture into the lands which were once the Temple's? All of these questions will soon be answered.
The dusty, rutted road is lined with closely-grown hedges of brambles and shrubs. Here and there it cuts through a copse or crosses a rivulet. To either hand, forest and meadow have given way to field and orchard. A small herd of kine grazes nearby, and a distant hill is dotted with the wand stone chimneys with thin plumes of blue smoke rising from them. A road angles west into the hill country, and to either side of the road ahead are barns and buildings — Hommlet at last! The adventure begins...
The square wooden sign shows a buxom and smiling girl holding a flagon of beer. This must be the Inn of the Welcome Wench, a place renowned for its good food and excellent drink! Passing merchants make a point of stopping, as do many other sorts of wayfarers, and it is said that the place is always filled with patrons.
Entering, you see that this is indeed true, for there is a good crowd within, though still several tables open and seats at the bar empty. The innkeeper, a strapping man, greets you heartily. "Welcome thirsty travelers. I am Ostler Gundigoot. Please take a seat where you would like and someone will be with you in a moment."
A lean young dwarf, with strange silvery-platinum hair and beard, and eerie sparkling and slightly glowing blue eyes walks into the village of Hommlet pulling on the reins of a squat little brown mule.
"Come on Brutus! Just a few more turns... Yes there she is! Just a little further."
He grins broadly as they enter the village of Hommlet, "At last... here we go", he steers the mule towards the Welcome Wench with a tired swagger.
The dwarf stables the mule, unpacks a few saddle bags and straining under the weight barges into the tavern. Once inside he squints in the poor light as his eyes adjust, he smiles, and nods at the innkeeper, "Well met Ostler Gundigoot. I've stabled my mule Brutus in your barn. Please have him fed and watered."
Numerous twigs and nettles seem to grow out of his braided platinum beard, and as he approaches a strong earthy smell mixed with wild flower fragrance washes over. He sits at an empty table and waves down the barmaid, "An ale and some of the fine stew I have heard so much about."
He looks around the crowded room looking for anyone he might recognize, or interesting enough to catch his fancy.
The first thing Raddosric does when he entered the common room of the Welcome Wench, or any tavern for that matter, is take a deep breath, relishing in the distinct smells that taverns have. This particular tavern smelled of stale beer, unwashed bodies, and adventure. Next, he looked around gazing upon the clientele and tried to judge the mood of the crowd. As a well traveled bard he can usually size up a tavern pretty quick. While it is only midday there is a sizeable crowd starting to gather. Radosric continued in and found a seat at one of the tables and observed his table mate, A dwarf. He cursed silently as he knew that dwarves held tightly to their purses and would not freely spend their coin on music. Perhaps a tale of a Dwarven King or lost treasure hoard, he pondered.
He ordered a drink and with little expectation he turned the lean young dwarf with silvery-platinum hair, "Well met, Master Dwarf. I am Raddosric traveler of the central Flanaess and bard."
"Well met, Raddosric. Please call me Isinghar. I am no Master, just a simple traveler. What brings you to Hommlet? What news do you have of the area?"
He gestures for the young man to join him at his table. It is clear from the dwarf's dress and manners that he is more at ease outside in the wilds than in a tavern surrounded by people.
Aotor swings open the door of the Welcome Wench, then scans the room looking for the buxom lady from the sign. Not seeing her, he instead strides to the bar and takes a seat on a stool.
”Ah Ostler, thank you thank you. I’ll take a beer while I wait. And a slab of whatever the day’s special. I am hungry I am.”
With a crooked smile the bard replied to Isinghar, "The same thing that brought you here I would guess. Adventure."
Thaldal let out a sigh of relief when Hommlet came into view. The road had to many trees and bushes for a dwarf from the city such as himself.
As he made his way through town the young dwarf asked about a good place to find a meal. He also made sure to let the people he talked to know that he was a cleric of Tyr. If they didn't know what that meant he explained that if anyone had a dispute in town he was willing and capable, he hoped, to help with any parlay.
A few folks pointed him toward the Welcome Wench. With a grumbling belly that's where he went. He sauntered up to the bar and took a seat next to a fellow dwarf. He nodded to Ostler and waited for someone to ask what he wanted.
As he waited he turned to the dwarf beside him, "Evening kinsman. I'm new in town, vhat would you recommend?"
The young man stomped the dried, caked mud off his boots before entering the inn. Looking around at the crowd, he smiles warmly before spotting an empty bench he can stretch out on for a few minutes.
"Yes, Ma'am, I'll sit up when you bring me something wet for my throat and something that hasn't been dried for my belly."
While he's waiting, he seems to be stretching?
Once the order is delivered, he sits up and pays the bill before touching his food. He seems to spend more time appreciating the first mouthful before he actually has it than he does eating it.
As is often the case in small towns and villages, an armored half-orc gets some leeway from the locals - not to mention a few cautious stares. Like many of the other mercenaries in the Welcome Wench, he is a muscled and scarred veteran of some border skirmish or another, bearing a pair of swords (one short and one long) as well as a heavy traveling pack that speaks of many weeks moving along the frontier roads from settlement to settlement for a few meager coins here and there.
He wastes no time in saying to Ostler Gundigoot, "Beer or ale, makes no difference to me." He leans against the bar and glances sideways at the small gaggle of dwarves.
"Adventure... yes maybe, although 'errand' may be more appropriate. I am doing a favor for an old friend, although he was scant on the details."
He watches as the two dwarves sit next to the bar and start a conversation. He longs to speak in his mother tongue again after so long. Turning back to Raddosric, "Excuse me for a second, I would like to greet those two dwarves at the bar and invite them to our table. I long for news of home..."
He saunters over to the bar,
He nods to the table in the corner.
As he waited he turned to the dwarf beside him, "Evening kinsman. I'm new in town, vhat would you recommend?"
”You know I have know idear, I don’t. I ordered the special, which means it’s probly some leftovers but it’ll be cheap and me stomach can take it.”
Then he jumps when Isinghar speaks to he, in Dwarven. He replies in kind.
He then takes a closer look at the table and spots the bard with his loot.
”He’s not going to break out in one of those jolly human songs or put an arm around me, is he?”
Looking around the room as he eats, Terry has a hard time missing the collection of dwurves at the bar. Don't think I've seen that many of them together before. Not exactly their territory. Traders? Merchants? Hunh. He ponders the odd sight as a small distraction.
Thaldal is almost as surprised as the other dwarf when Isinghar approaches.
"Yes, let's," he adds to Aotor.
Once he receives his ale and/or beer, the half-orc takes a deep draught, then leans in and says to the Ostler (assuming he can get the man's attention on a busy day), "So, I'm lookin' for work in the mercenary way. Any merchants through here? Wealthy travelers in need of a guard? Companies hirin' on?"
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Food and drinks are served (the menu is on Roll20 on the Journal tab). The food is surprisingly good, almost too good to be believed, and well worth the price paid. Tonight's special (and it is late afternoon/early evening) is goose, roasted to a golden brown with stuffing on the side.
A man approaches the dwarves rather timidly and speaks to them in hushed tones. He is rail-thin, a scholarly sort, to judge by his robes and the glasses that are perched upon his hawk-like nose. His fiery-orange hair is tousled and his blue eyes shine like sapphires in the firelight.
A different sort of man; confident, handsome, and well-dressed approaches Raddosric's table. He nods to the bard and, without waiting for an invitation, takes a seat across from him.
Finally, the barmaid, a young woman with dark hair and sultry eyes, sidles up to Terry.
Raddosric eyed the card sharp, "Usually, I am more then willing to try my luck at cards, dice or woman. Unfortunately, I am a little too short on coin to engage in such sport today, good sir." In a conspiratorial whisper he asked, "What I seek adventure. What rumors have you heard on the subject?"
Isinghar eyes the scholarly looking Spugnoir keenly, trying to judge the quality of the man and his intentions.
Lacking evidence of any ill-intent and thinking only a fool would try and con a trio of grumpy dwarves, he responds:
"Tell me more good Spugnoir of these ruins. What sort of dangers lie there? Other than information, what other skills would you be bringing to the group to ensure success in the exploration of the ruins?"
Aotor picks up a goose leg in his meaty fist and bites down hard, with a slurp sending juice running down his blonde beard. ”Oh that’s good it is. Oooo...” he continues to chomp down on the roasted meat while nodding at the conversation.
Sense Motive
Without making sure he swallows first ”Uh, huh. Uh, huh. Uhh, a mage you say with scrolls and drek. Sounds nice. What kind of spells you cast? Where will you stand if we get attacked by goblins or rats or something?
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"Skills? Yes, of course. Ehr... as I said, I'm... ahh... something of a sage though I am not... ehrm... without protection, shall we say? I... ahem... I can defend myself. I know a spell that... ahem... allows me to put opponents into a... uh... magical slumber."
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"Thanks for the tip, innkeeper," says Rudrik in a congenial fashion. "I can do heavy lifting, but I also handle a sword-work, if the need arises."
Thaldal is having a hard time figuring out what Spugnoir is asking of him. "I vouldn't say that I'm looking for adventure for adventure's sake. Vhat is it about this place that makes you vant to go there?" he asks the man.
While he waits for an answer he turns to his meal as well, eating with gusto.
"I've heard similar rumors about the temple. Has anyone around here actually been there?"
Aotor Tripp’s his tankard of beer back, gulping down several mouthfuls before letting out a ripping belch, then says, ”I assume there is some sort of treasure involved in this expedition you’d like us to accompany you on?”
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He turns back to his food and has another bite before continuing. "So, Maggie, do you know anybody here in Hommlet who actually needs some help?"
Isinghar looks at the frail human with skepticism.
"Well Spugnoir where can I find you if I decide to take you up on your offer? I meself just arrived in Hommlet and need to get my bearings before jumping off on an adventure. Masters Aotor and Thaldal, does adventure and treasure hunting bring you to Hommlet or do you have other business in town?"
Raddosric nodded his head as he listened and replied dramatically, "Well then Master Furnok it is about time someone created some good memories about the place."
Thaldal still isn't sure why Spugnoir wants to go to this place and adventure and treasure don't entice him all that much. But...
"I'm not one to turn down a request for aid. So I'm villing to help you Spugnoir. Come on Aotor, Isinghar. It vill be good to travel with dwarves again."
"Well then let's all sit at my table. I just met the human... yes Aotor he looks like a Bard. I hope he does not break out into jolly songs."
He then realizes that somebody else has joined Raddosric, so as he approaches the table will say, "Well met friend. I am Isinghar Thorden. You a friend of Raddosric's? These are my Kinsmen, Aotor and Thaldal.". Then pointing at the human, "And this is the scholar and wizard, Spugnoir. He has a proposal for adventure that we would like too discuss with him. You are welcome to join us, but if you prefer to steer clear from danger and peril, I fully understand and bid you well if you decide to leave us."
”By Dumathoin aye aye I’ll go adventuring for adventure’s sake! I am Aotor Shieldsmythe, though there ain’t no armor smythes in my family. Let’s drink on this,” He clangs his flagon down on the table and notices nothing splash out of it. ”Hanseath be damned I’m empty!”
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As the dwarves move to join Raddosric, the man at his table says, "Looks as though you have other company, good sir. I shall take my leave of you." When asked if he is interested in joining the venture, he replies, "Nay, friend dwarf. I prefer to keep my skin intact, thank you very much."
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He nods as the man at the table leaves, but wrinkles his brows as Spugnoir mentions "first pick" of scrolls.
"Ye getting a little ahead of yuself there Spugnoir. I am interested in exploring these ruins but any treasures will be split amongst us equally. If ye want first pick ye be looking at the wrong group."
He looks around the table for support on his position.
The fates shine on me, Raddosric thought as he listened to the man's offer. He nodded at Isinghar's comments and asked Spugnoir, "What do ye hope to be finding?
The half-orc takes another long pull of his beverage, then turns around with his back to the bar to survey the rest of the clientele.
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There is a lull in conversation as two men enter the tavern. One is tall, with blond hair and neatly trimmed beard. He wears the blue-and-yellow robes of a scholar over a green tabard. The other man is as tall as his companion but well-muscled and of somber demeanor. Judging by his red chain mail and his helmet, he is quite obviously a warrior of some kind.
The pair is welcomed by a chorus of happy greetings from the assembled populace. They are apparently well-known here, and well-received.
Aotor nudges Isinger and merely states, ”Aye.” before turning his attention to the newcomers.
When introduced Thaldal extends his hand to shake in the human tradition. When the others look at his right hand they may think it to be bloody, or they may see it for what it is, completely covered by a red birthmark.
"Don't vorry Spungoir, I'm sure ve can find an equitable way to split any spoils," he says with a gleam in his eye. While it may be assumed that he's excited about finding treasure the truth is Thaldal looks forward to negotiating the split more than anything.
Raddosric is concerned by the man's lack of an answer and asked, "If there is nothing specific you desire then you'll be happy with an equal split."
The dwarven druid nods as each of the folks around the table support his position, and is about to continue the conversation with Spugnoir when the two men enter the tavern.
As they meet and greet folks Isinghar strains to pick out their names.
He turns to Spugnoir and asks, "So who are they?" nodding towards the newcomers.
Thaldal takes in the newcomers and then turns back to the folks gathered at the table. "Alright, if ve are going to do this vhen do ve embark? Are the five of us enough to handle a bastion of evil or should ve recruit some others?" He scans the crowd in The Welcome Wench noting some of the more capable looking souls.
"More would be welcome," the bard offered.
Isinghar pulls his gaze away from Burne and Rufus, returning to Thaldal's question. He raises his eyebrows and then slowly looks around the tavern trying to distinguish hardy adventurers from the common farmers, merchants and craftsmen.
"I would not mind adding a few more warriors to boost our numbers. That young man over at the bar talking to the young lady may be a good candidate..."
The half-orc drains his tankard, turns back to the bar, and puts it down. "That's enough for a moment - don't wanna make a bad impression." He stifles a belch, then says to the barman, "Rufus and Burne might be hiring swords, you say? Just wanna make sure I get the names right before I try to convince them of my battle prowess."