Moving to the bar, Americo shrugs off the wintry cold and places his standard on the bartop.
"A mug of ale, if you please, barkeep."
perception
sense motive.
Trying to gauge the hostility and overall toughness of the crowd. Otherwise, Americo stays relatively quiet and remains unobtrusive.
Sorin enters the bar quietly as drawing attention to ones self turns out poorly more often than not. after finding a seat in the corner, he signals to a bar wench that he is in need of foot. As he waits, he scans for anyone of the adventuring sort that one might deem worth of a Queens notice.
Perception:
Sense Motive:
Stealth:
Sorin keeps an eye on the Cleric waiting for him to glance this way, when/if he does Sorin nods slightly toward the man and raises his hand slightly in recognition.
A hard faced elven woman arrived at the tavern in the town of Whitethrone. She entered the establishment and shut the door behind her as flurries blew in from behind her. Her armor was fitted for the winter weather and adorned with thick fur lining to stave the cold off. She removed her hood and looked across the room. She was a slight woman in stature but the finely crafted elven mithril fit her frame from heel to head in strong plates. She carried a pack on her back, a sword on her hip, and an array of our weapons in her possession. She crossed the room with the slow, metallic rhythm of a warrior before she took a seat at a table. Her pack hit the floor with a loud thud and she adjusted her trappings. Keen eyes shifted around the room before she quietly called for the barkeep to bring a warm beverage.
A human man walked in, bundled up in heavy winter clothing. He had some decent furs befitting an upper middle class merchant, and a thick wool cap and scarf over his head and goggles over his eyes.
He pulled the scarf down below his mouth and the goggles above his eyes, looked at a barmaiden, and asked for some wine. He then walked over to the fire, walking right past the orc, took off the cap and scarf and goggles and stuffed them into a big pocket inside his cloak.
As he stood by the fire he shifted his weight from left to right foot and glanced about the room.
Nodding to the obvious adventurer types who entered, Americo makes the rounds of the tavern.
He greets each one (except the large orc) quietly and offhand-ly mentions "...letter, eh?" before moving to the fire.
Anyone familiar with the church of Cayden Cailean notices the mug symbol on a pendant around Americo's neck. He finishes his tour near the fire, still sipping from his tankard.
"Nice goggles," he offers to Bariel.
As the gush of clod wind from the last person arriving warms, another cold breeze flows into the room as the door is opened once again. She is taller than most southern women, this combined with her blond hair and blue eyes reveals an Ulfen heritage. She is scraggy appearing fragile, but as she opens her cloak, she reveals that she's only wearing a simple dress, to cold for this season.
Looking around the room she seems to be searching for something and finally her eyes settles on the female Elven warrior. She walks over and sits down at her table as far away from the fire as it's possible. "Are you also here because of a letter?" she asks.
Before waiting for an answer she orders a plate a warm dinner and chilled wine for her self and a plate of raw meat finely cut on the side. "Time to get out, sleep's over." She says while poking at a satchel. A great horned owl yarns unhappily and jumps up on the table.
To Americo, Bariel says, "Thanks. Seeing in the dark is tough, so I picked these up a few years back. Make travelin' at night much less scary. And yes, I am here pursuant to a certain letter I received. I take it that you are as well?"
"Me, no, I'm here for the lovely weather and beautiful women.!" Americo grins rogueshly, before nodding.
"I'd wager these good folks are here on the same errand."
"Yeah. Most of them don't look like this barren land has crushed their spirit yet. Hasn't crushed mine either, but it's colder than a witch's teat!"
The door to the tavern creaked open once more, letting in a cold gust and a flurry of snow. A tall man wearing a large colorful Varisian scarf and a long coat enters the room, leaning on a quarterstaff heavily. A wide-brimmed hat obscured his face. He took in the room with suspicion for a moment, but only just.
Glancing around the room, he removed his hat, brushing snow from it before hanging it on a peg on the wall. He was older, large-- an Ulfen man (though difficult to tell without the stereotypical beard) with short-cut silver-white hair. He noted each one of the interesting personalities in the room-- it was difficult to not overhear the idle conversation. He glanced to the man with the holy symbol of the lucky drunk and the goggled man, the burly orc and the two women-- one elven in mithril plate and the other with a small owl.
Brandr nodded to the men, greeting them. He pointed at his goggles with a wry smirk and sat down at the same table as the women. He hoped they understood his gesture-- I'm an adventurer too, over here. "Evening, ladies," he said with a nod.
When the serving woman approached, he palmed a pair of platinum pieces into her hand and spoke, gravelly. "A mug of your warmest ale and a plate of whatever you think's the best here. The rest is for..." he trailed off, and then whispered, "A round for everyone else, but keep it quiet-- on the house, you didn't see me doing it. The rest pays the tab for anyone who's after me until it's spent." He gestured to the second platinum-- "That's for you, and whoever's cooking," he said, and raised a finger to his lips, reminding her to keep it secret.
Brandr turned to the women at the table. "A bit drab in here, eh?" He fished a lyre out of the pack at his side and started picking at it with a smirk on his face.
"Yes, I'm here because of a letter. Do you have one as well?"
The elven woman raised a brow as she cupped the mug of warm cider between her fur-lined gauntlets. Her expression was as still as stone as she watched Hege produce an owl from her satchel. She took a light sip from her mug and her dark eyes flickered, grazing the others who were filtering into the tavern. The other occupants appeared thoroughly armed, armored or otherwise fitted with the trappings of well traveled adventurers. She took a deep breath and took another drink before being approached by the bard. She cast a glance to her fellow female companion before offering the man a courteous, "Salutations."
After he made small talk with the barmaid she took another drink from her mug to avoid speaking for a moment longer. He then proceeded to produce his lyre which caused a subtle look of annoyance to cross her features. She finished off her drink and pushed it aside. "I found it peaceful without your chord plucking, sir," she commented. "There is ill need for your ideology of comforting settings. My ears are sensitive enough, they have no need for any further intrusion."
The barmaid gladly gets everyone their food and drink and blushes a deep red as Brandr presses the two platenum pieces into her hand. "Thank you sir I will keep it quite but are you sure you wish to be so generous? she pauses a second and then points to the large orc who is now sitting on an over stuffed chair scratching himself. "He has a rather...large appetite."
"I welcome your performance skald. It has been sometime since I last heard such a performance." Hege says. Her reply seems honest without any flatter.
"He has a rather...large appetite."
"If he can eat his way through that much, he deserves a pat on the back," he said with a shrug. "It's alright. Don't worry about it."
"There is ill need for your ideology of comforting settings. My ears are sensitive enough, they have no need for any further intrusion."
Brandr couldn't help but crack a smile. He played a few notes of the cadenza from the Love of Queen Edasseril while she spoke and then set the instrument aside when the admonishment was over. "Tough crowd," he said, and nodded to Hege-- "Thank you."
He produced the letter from his jacket pocket, a bit beaten and wet from the weather. He held it up a bit before putting it on the table. "I hope I haven't barged in mistakenly on your dinner," he apologized, genuine but still amused.
To Americo: "Shall we find a table? I think I am going to order some food. In times like these one never knows when the next meal will come." He looks to the nearest member of the waitstaff, "A bowl of whatever's cooking in the pot on the fire, and another wine please."
"Sounds good to me. I think I would prefer to dine a bit more heroically , if privacy could be arranged. Let's join this bard fellow, then. He seems like a man who knows how to have a good time."
Sitting down at the table, Americo toasts the bard. "A fine performance, good sir! Perhaps a jaunty tune next?"
Lowering his voice, "Are we waiting on anyone else? Myself, Sir Bard, Mr. Goggles here, those rather angry women, and Lord Punches People should be sufficient to track down this trinket. Shall we repair to a more private chamber, enjoy a feast for heroes, and set forth?"
"Not mistakenly I believe." Hege says looking at the letter Brandr produced. "Perhaps you should eat some before someone else eat everything." Hege adds while gesturing towards the orc.
"Stop stuffing your self, there is more tomorrow and you know you'll regret it." she says poking the owl gorging it self on the meat provided.
after looking the considerably wealthy group of adventures up and down from his corner, Sorin quietly joins there circle, producing his letter and setting it down, So, what are the odds we are waiting on anyone else?
"I was just saying as much. Surely there aren't more legendary warriors kicking around up here in the frozen North, eh?"
I doubt it, but you never can be sure. In any case we'll probably be here for the night.
"In that case, more ale!"
"I suggest you unfamiliar with the cold to acquire some fur lining for your armor and warm attire before we make a trek outside," the elf suggested as the others came uncomfortably close to her. She held her mug tighter and dreaded the idea of being in the tavern for a tight with the motley assortment of travelers. Great. "I'm going to change then, and stow my trappings in a room. If you'll excuse me...
The paladin stood and excused herself before collecting her pack from the floor and approaching the tavern owner. She arranged for a room before she left the boistrous company upstairs. A short while later she returned in casual attire that was appropriate for the climate. Underneath the cold mithril armor she was a lean, modest woman. Her eyes glanced across the room on her return and carefully returned to the table with Hege.
She quietly requested a meal and took a deep breath before she forced a smile.
"If I knew getting changed was the trigger I would have done so three tankards ago!" Americo follows the hooded fellow, topping off his ale (seemingly out of thin air) as he stands.
Sorin smiles at Americo and chuckles a little bit, So the rumors are true, Cailean's followers not only have a good sense of ale, but a good sense of humor. This should be an interesting expedition.
"Can you make wine?"
As Eámanë returns to the table Hege extends her bony hand: "I believe I forgt to introduce myself, I am Hege Vargsdóttir."
"Or perhaps he was looking you over before approaching" Hege remarks. Looking at Americo and listening to Bariel's comment she mutters: "Why all this drinking."
"Ilmatar come" she says while gesturing at the owl as she prepares to follow the stranger.
"Let me see your cup, Bariel."
Americo discretely casts create water, followed by enhance water to turn it into wine. Those close by hear soft prayers to Cayden Cailean as he does so.
"There you go. Not a fine vintage, but drinkable at least."
To Hege, he salutes with his cup, "We are in the frozen North, about to set out on an extremely dangerous errand for a potentially non-existent ancient item. Why not drink is the better question. Besides, 3 or 4 cups of ale is hardly a lot!"
Americo smiles as he talks, confident his good humor and positive attitude will rub off. Eventually.
Not to cut off our fun little tangent on drinking, but I suggest we follow the suspicious looking man before he disappears
"Of course. Business before pleasure, right?"
Americo follows the hooded stranger.
Bariel will also take the last bites of his meal and a healthy drink of his wine before heading out with the assembled group.
Brandr hefted his things and his walking stick and let the others lead the way. "This should be interesting," he mused out loud, listening to Americo loudly exclaim their mission to the room.
When all else had gone, he grinned, bowed to the tavern, and followed.
The elf accepted the woman's hand with a firm handshake. "Salutations. You, at least, are a sensible one. I am Eámanë Helyanwë, the Inheritor's Chosen. It is an honor to meet you, Hege Vargsdóttir," she said with a soft tone but thick elven accent. She nodded and obliged the hooded individual. She followed after him without another word.
"Is the poor weather a natural phenomenon? What do you know about the others looking for this thing? Do we have a description of the necklace? What kind of giants? Do they have a leader or something similar? Would you like a beer, or maybe some wine?"
Americo fires off his questions rapidly, watching for tells or other indications of falsehood. sense motive.
Brandr glances around the room. "Nice lights. Neat trick," he said-- his tone was complimentary, though his words were almost patronizing.
In the middle of Americo's flurry of questions, Brandr begins to walk the room admiring it, touching everything and anything that looks interesting with the demeanor of a detective. He makes sure to pace behind the hooded man at least twice.
Bariel sits there quietly, studying the man.
Sorin sits quietly measuring his soon to be companions and the hooded man.
Hege smiles as the man lights up the room. A bit of magic how interesting, perhaps he's more than a simple messenger. He would be to meet us
She sits at the table interested at the answers to the cleric barrage of questions.
"What is this Torc your queen seeks?" Hege asks comely after the cleric's verbal assault concludes.
Brandr nodded along absent-mindedly as he picked through the room. He settled on an ugly glass figurine, a small token peddled by a peasant that he was sure had found its way into this room by pure chance. He manipulated it as he spoke. "That's all well and good. Witchwars, Kostchtchie, Veils, frost giants. Baba Yaga," he dared to speak. "I didn't hear the part where you told me what 'greatly compensated' translates into. I also didn't really understand the entire jist of your bargain. ; I mean, she does everything a well-loved monarch should be capable of and . Why is she asking us to help her? Doesn't it make more sense to perhaps, ? , but, truly, her power is something to fear. It would be , and it would be , especially if it were to be that she faced the Deathless Winter and took her life-- "
Brandr sat down and put the figurine on the table, turning it to face the hooded man. The ugly lump of glass seemed to glower at him. Brandr smiled.
Hege = The Queen is a horrid, twisted creature.
Sorin = has all of the markers of a despotic, insane tyrant
Bariel = the Witch Queen has no reliable vassals and must turn to random passers-by to fulfill her demands
Eámanë = I despise leaders who are also cowards
Bariel = it would be a cause for celebration if she was deposed
Hege = it would be rather poetic to have Baba Yaga, a demon lord and the Queen destroy eachother
Americo = I would personally applaud!
The elf maiden olded his arms across her midriff and put on something akin to a scowl on ehr face. Her eyes regarded the hooded stranger coldly and said nothing as she stood amongst her would-be companions. When the bard made a subtle whisper her eyes darted fom the stranger to him and idlely brushed her fingernails across her shoulder as she feigned boredom. Learning about the torc and what it held sparked something in her eyes, however, as she continued to listen. While she had her own opinion she kept it to herself and huffed in mild irritation.
Hege smiles at the man's answer. Then thinks to herself Well, well, well that sounds like an artefact of great power. I wonder what the queen would do with it herself. Wait doesn't Baba Yaga arrive every century?
"Interesting question." Hege comments after Brandr is done talking. Doesn't he know anything about Irrisen she wonders.