Magic Missile 1: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3
Magic Missile 2: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
27 Chief Sootscale: Sootscale keeps on running, and makes it into his tribe, and seeing them starting to level weapons at Gird screams, "The sneaky usurper is in there! Leave the tall, angry one alone. She is just a cowardly dog!" Come Sootscales, we must kill the shaman for his crimes against us!
Sootscale is officially Gird's knight in shining armor, you're welcome.
25 Tartuk: Tartuk can hear Sootscale returning, and his smile broadens, and he closes his eyes briefly almost looking at peace, before raising his wand again and sending another rattling volley of magic bolts at Oomlowt, dealing 4 points of damage!
"It will end soon, finally it will end." He whispers to nobody in particular. He then gives a giggling smile, and gives Oomlowt quite the evil eye.
23 Oomlowt: You call for Gird to get away, the Kobolds may have been set back on course, but you don't know if they will continue once the shaman is dead. You reload your crossbow and send another bolt sailing at Tartuk, this one lodging firmly in the Shaman's chest. The other kobold starts to cough a bit, blood gurgling from his mouth. He looks you in the eye, and you can tell he doesn't have much left.
15 Gird: You angrily denounce the Kobolds, having no idea they can, in fact, speak and understand Taldane, before continuing to backpedal. You hope Oomlowt's gonna make it out okay, even going so far as to pray to Erastil.
14 Nakpik & Mikmek: Mikmek is getting shakily to his feet now that Sootscale is back. He even pulls out Oomlowt's dagger, trying desperately to look brave.
14 Kobolds: The Kobolds who had started to move after Gird stop, and instead begin to move towards Tartuk again.
They're going to end this once and for all.
beautifully crafted descriptions are for pansies.
Gird pauses, looking back. The kobolds have lowered their weapons towards her and are once again turning their attention to..Tartuck (okay, really, what was that *sshole's name)? As Sootscale's words register, Gird stands still for a moment, debating with herself. Aw, f*ck it. Everyone else's tried, I might as well...
Mentally hitting herself over the head, Gird turns back and sprints back towards her probable death. She's lived a pretty crappy life, might as well try to do something with it. Plus, she really, really hates that guy. He's a d**che!
Gird sprints back because she's an indecisive b*stard.
Arrows used: 3
O'thyme Attack: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
O'thyme Damage: 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0
27 Chief Sootscale: Sootscale moves up behind Oomlowt, club out. "Oomlowt, I'm sorry for my weakness. I did not expect Old Sharptooth to be so real. I am back now, and ready to end sneaky Tartuk's villainy for good."
25 Tartuk: Tartuk looks slowly down at his bleeding chest, and a look of utter peace starts to crawl across his face. He coughs again, and clambers over his pot, dropping his wand next to it in the process. He lazily stumbles towards Oomlowt, a serenely stupid look on his face. He unhooks his sickle from his belt, and stops in front of Oomlowt. He raises his sickle half-heartedly and whispers in Draconic, "kill me."
He gurgles a bit before adding in Taldane, a little louder, "Kill me!"
Finally he forces his face into yours and screams something in a language unfamiliar to you, it sounds eclectic and slightly lyrical. Blood flecks all over your snout in the process. It's pretty gross.
23 Oomlowt: This shaman is cray cray. You level your crossbow squarely at his eyes, and let a bolt fly, which ricochets off of his shield and into the tunnel behind you.
You've no sympathy at all.
15 Gird: You start to run away more, but as you move further, you are overcome with feelings of guilt. Sootscale called you a coward, and a dog. And that is just how you have been behaving.
You let yourself be intimidated by a short, scaly, weakling. So what if he can sling some spells, you have a giant sword, and you're fairly certain that his magic would help him too much against it.
So you turn back, just as you start to hear the screams.
14 Nakpik & Mikmek: Mikmek starts to regain his confidence, especially at Tartuk's recent explosion. He might also be getting braver because he's pretty sure he won't have to do anything this battle.
He's pretty battled out.
14 Kobolds: The Kobolds begin to move around Oomlowt and Sootscale, taking up combat positions. One even manages to get into a spot where he can attack Tartuk, but his spear bounces off the shaman's magic shield.
Chief Sootscale Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Chief Sootscale Damage: 1d4 ⇒ 2
Tartuk Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Tartuk Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
27 Chief Sootscale: Sootscale raises his club in hopes of taking out Tartuk from behind Oomlowt, but the angle is not right, and the club is easily blocked by the shaman's shield.
25 Tartuk: Tartuk starts to mumble kill me in several languages, still with the same serene look. He lazily swings his sickle at Oomlowt, but misses by a long shot. His bird is wheeling over his head screeching kill me in Draconic.
23 Oomlowt: You decide it would be best to give the shaman what he desires, and fire another bolt, which is also deflected by the shaman's shield.
It is ebginning to damage your calm.
15 Gird: Not caring about the Kobolds, you shove your way past, and reading your sword, push through Sootscale and Oomlowt, to some sounds of protest, and drive your sword up and into Tartuk's chest, blood leaking out of the shaman's grievous wound. He looks at you just ebfore he dies, and whispers something in that same strange language. And then he simply hangs limp from your sword.
COMBAT OVER, REJOICE!
Gird looks around. That was...bizarre. Still, deciding to take the moral high ground, Gird raises herself and flings Tartuk off her sword. Staring at Sootscale, Gird says, rather smugly, "What were you saying about cowardice, chief?" Looking over at Oomlowt, Gird says, with much more fondness, "Not just a kobold matter, I think." Staring down at the creepy ex-kobold, Gird wonders aloud "What the hell was he saying, anyway?"
Haha Gird you hypocritical *sshole. She's kind of awful.
Gird smiles, though secretly she's a bit miffed that he was asking for it. It would have been more heroic if Tartuk(?) had been trying to kill everyone. Oh well. Looking longingly at Tartuk's (Okay, really, what was his f*cking name? This is really gonna bother me!) stuff, Gird settles back. "I'm a paladin Oomlowt. I'm not allowed to loot the bodies. It's like, wrong or what-the-f*ck-ever..." Gird pauses, then grins slowly. "Unless it counts as a reward for helping the kobolds?" Turning to Sootscale, Gird says "Since this stuff is now yours, that means you can give it to m-I mean us as a reward for all our hard work, right?"
Now that Gird's had some bonding time with Oomlowt, I think Gird's gonna refer to him by his actual name. It's a sign of respect?
Also, I might be starting to ship Oomlowt<>Gird. Someone help me. I'm awful.
Sootscale breathes heavily for a moment, savoring the last moments of adrenaline. Then he brings himself up to his tallestseveral inches taller than Oomlowt and proclaims, "You can have the usurper's belongings, and in that alcove behind you, you may take one of the items from the pile, as well as the mite's treasure." He then adds in a softer voice, "It's the most we can do."
A quick pat down of Tartuk's corpse gives you his sickle, with the beautiful skull design and sturdy, iron blade. There is also his wand, and a set of bracers, which feel a lot sturdier when held than they looked like on his body. And hooked to his belt besides a pouch full of miscellaneous nicknacks and detritus, there is a simple, leather-bound book, and when opened, shows that it is a journal, judging by the dates on the pages. It appears to be written in Undercommon, although if Gird finds it, she wouldn't know that.
When you move into the small alcove, you can see a disorganized pile of junk. Most of it is shiny rocks, of different colors, although there are some broken weapons and armor, all worthless now. There are also several piles of coins, mostly copper and silver pieces, although there are some gold pieces as well. Resting near the front is a light metal shield, and scattered across the top are six red-orange crossbow bolts. Finally, some dirty, if beautiful, boots rest next to a soiled leather bag, presumably the bandit's loot.
The bag is heavy with money, but if you dig you can also find a small pouch at the bottom, filled with chalk, as well as a simple brass wedding ring set with a pearl.
What do you do?
Oomlowt considered taking the shinies, and briefly flirted with grabbing the boots, but his reward was sealed when he saw the bolts. They were so red-orange and shiny... he bet they were magic. As far as he was concerned, they were lucky bolts. He would treasure them always.
"Thank you, Chief Sootscale," Oomlowt said. "It has been an honor to serve your tribe."
Crossbow Bolts: 29 normal, 6 Red
Forgot that I was GMNPCing Gird this time, whoops!
Gird's excited to loot something, even if she'll have to give away money eventually, so while Oomlowt scurries to the pile in the dark, she descends onto Tartuk's bleeding corpse and rifles through his pockets. The sickle is too small for her, but she wonders if Oomlowt might like it? He always defaults to that crossbow, it would be healthy for him to get into a real fight for once.
If not, he could always sell it.
"Hey, Oomlowt, you want this sickle?" She asks even as she descends on Tartuk's wand. It was a powerhouse in that fight, and Wandy's is having some problems, so just in case.
She grabs the book from Tartuk's belt as well, wondering if it's a spellbook or something Goatbo-Garhan never had a spellbook, so why would Tartuk? but as she opens it, she can see that it is a probably some sort of journal, although the lines are gibberish.
"Hey, Oomlowt, you know languages, can you read this?" She then throws the journal at Oomlowt without waiting for a response.
She's about to leave the corpse, when she brushes her hands on Tartuk's flimsy-looking clothe bracers, only to find them feel hard, like steel under her touch.
Definitely going to grab those, even if they're too small for her.
Meanwhile Sootscale nods, "Thank you for all your help Oomlowt Heroscale, you will always be welcome here." He then makes a Kobold-smile, "You must be tired, would you like to rest here today? We can give you and your tall folk fresh bedding, and we can include your other tall folk in the funeral rights for Nakpik and Outlien." He gets a little distant as he says this.
What do you do?
"I would appreciate that greatly, noble chief. Thank you." Oomlowt said in the most respectful tone he could muster. There was something positively delightful about being welcomed into a kobold tribe.
The kobold then politely excused himself and walked to Gird. "Thank you," he told her as he took the sickle and peered at the book. "It's written in undercommon," he said, "And it looks like some sort of journal."
Sootscale nods, and gestures to his tribe, leaving you two alone, issuing commands to prepare funeral pyres this time in Draconic, and collect the bodies of the dead.
Gird scrunches up her face, "Well, it looked like a journal to me, but can you read it? Maybe there's a treasure map or something in there, and since it looks like we're going to be staying a while, and since it looks like we're going to stick around for a bit, you can get started."
Gird's just a little mad that she didn't get to pick something out of the pile, even if special-looking crossbow bolts would be the smartest choice for the good of the party.
It's still a little annoying.
Gird lets out a sigh, "So, want to get ready for the funeral?" She wants to find some water to wipe the muck off of her face, and maybe wipe the blood off of her everything else.
Oomlowt nodded assent to Gird, and began flipping through the pages of the journal while finding a small aclove to prepare for the funeral. After finding a nice, dark corner, he changed from his now bloody and torn adventurer's outfit into a far more dapper entertainer's tuxedo, looking as posh as possible for the funeral. It was the least he could do to respect his friends.
Crossbow Bolts: 29 normal, 6 Red
Gird manages to find a small puddle to wash her face and clean her armor with, taking it in bowls as instructed by a passing Kobold (tainting their water supply would be not cool, after all). After she feels like she and her armor are clean enough, given her resources, she goes to sit next to Oomlowt while he's reading. It feels really good to sit down.
"Never trust a fool," she says sarcastically as she sits down, "Nice get-up Oomlowt. What's the journal say so far?"
"What a f***ing weird piece of sh**."
Just then, a Kobold walks up and says, "The funeral is starting outside the the home, follow me."
You follow her out and you can see five stacks of sticks and grass, three larger than the other two, and on each a body lies. All of the Kobolds are gathered around the bodies, in a circle. Sootscale holds a torch, and gestures to you to come join him.
He then shouts in Taldane, so that all present could understand, "These are the heroes who saved us from the false-shaman Tartuk, and his useless war against the mites! These three tallfolk, and our own Nakpick and Outlien laid down their lives so that we could be free from the purple-scale's tyranny. Pay your last respects now, before the Lady of Graves claims them for their fate."
He then steps back, as the entire tribe steps forward, or at least the entire tribe that was present (it seems as if a hunting party had just arrived). They mill about the Kobolds whispering a cloud of goodbyes in Draconic, before moving onto the Garhan, Woden, and Huey. They thanked them for their ultimate sacrifice, so that they may be free. A few even put a few coins and other trinkets on the pyre.
Gird steps forward and moves down the line, giving each corpse a quick, final rite in the style of the church of Erastil. She does this quietly, and stares daggers at Oomlowt in case he tried to say something about it.
She's trying not to cry, in her own, callous way.
What do you do?
Oomlowt reached into his purse and took out ten gold pieces. He placed two on each corpse as part of a half remembered ritual he barely remembered reading about in one of his books from way back when - just in case they needed them in the afterlife. "Goodbye my friends," he said to Garhan, Woden, and Huey. "May you find peace and joy in the afterlife." Then, very quietly, he whispered, "And take care of Woofles for me."
Crossbow Bolts: 29 normal, 6 Red
As everyone backs away from the corpses, Sootscale steps forward again, and starting with Nakpik, moves down the line, saying a few words of farewell before setting the pyre on fire.
Then, he turns to you and says, "Go rest whenever you are ready, take your time. We will be here with you."
The vigil has begun.
GMNPCing Oomlowt for now.
After a long vigil, you both retire to the caverns for some rest, Sootscale allowing Gird to use the horse-skin hanging up in Tartuk's old chambers as bedding much more comfortable than the cave floor It is a good days rest, and both of you heal 2 HP! It was good.
The following night you set out again, after Gird has collected the ashes of your comrades for an old ritual of her village. She still won't say where she grew up or anything.
And so the two of you make the four hour journey at the start of the night to Shrike River to the South, where Gird says some final rites before throwing the ashes into the river.
Cadaverpede is still there, and much happier now that it doesn't have a bunch of crap on its back.
And that is when you both notice the cloaked figure loping down the bank towards you, eyes gleaming in the dark.
Come on! Come on! It's time for the box of band-aids!
Geez, you look at two people dumping sh*t into a river and then you get threatened for it, f*cking hell. The figure gets up from their spot on the river bank and takes off their hood, showing a female gnoll with a fake smile on her face. She walks over to them while holding up her hands to show that she means no harm. "Woah there, I do come in peace!" she says, "I was just minding my own business when I saw you guys doing something."
Her smile subtly turns into a smirk.
1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13
Gird snorts at the gnoll's response. Yeah, like a gnoll would be innocently doing anything. "Well, we definitely are doing something. What does it matter to you?" On some distant level, Gird is aware that she shouldn't be so aggressive to a creature as vicious as a gnoll whilst wounded and with only an equally wounded kobold, of all things, to help her. "We don't mean anybody any harm."
The gnoll raises her eyebrows and drops the nice act, "You don't mean anybody any harm, yet both of you have your weapons drawn, riiight." She motions to her stuff far down the bank, "Look, my trident is over there. I just want to know what the f*ck you guys are doing." the gnoll says, "It's not everyday you see a kobold and a half-orc together throwing stuff in a river." She is pretty sure these two, especially the half-orc, are dense as hell.
Gird glares, staring down the gnoll. "Well excuse me, but in case you haven't noticed, this is the f*cking River Kingdoms; if someone starts running towards you, you draw a godsd*mned weapon. And why the hell should you care what we're doing with the river. It's a river, you don't own it" Gird attempts to loom. She's generally quite good at looming. Briefly glancing over at Oomlowt, Gird raises her eyebrows as if to say 'can you believe this idiot?'
Guys, I am making too many crack ships, too soon. Help.
Two big, terrifying, sarcastic women," Oomlowt thought to himself. "At least one is sort of on my side."
"We were doing something personal, fair... uh, madam," Ooomlowt said while trying what the hell those furry tall people were called. Gnomes? No, those were little people. Gno... be? Gnobes? Gnodes? Gnofes? Gnotes? No, he should focus! "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with. Sorry for acting so aggressive, but, as my companion noted, this is dangerous territory. You have to be careful who you trust."
Crossbow bolts: 29 normal, 6 red
The gnoll finally reaches them and puffs up her chest and says to Oomlowt with a proud smirk on her face, "Yeah, you better be sorry." ...she had sort of stopped listening to the kobold after "Sorry for acting so aggressive".
Meh, the kobold is okay, she thought as she turned to face Gird, but this b*tch...
The gnoll calls over to the half-orc, "Hey you," she turns around and points to the back of her cloak which has a large picture of a rat on water, "You see this? This is the holy symbol of Hanspur. So I sort of DO own this river.". She then turns back around, "So maybe YOU should quit your b*tchin' and just tell me what you guys are doing."
Boy, this gnoll sure does like pushing people's buttons.
Gird stares. Does she really believe that? Wow, she must be as dumb as a stack of bricks...
Raising her shield (which bears the mark of Erastil), she says, "Look, you stupid f*ck, just wearing a holy symbol doesn't mean you own j*ck sh*t. I'm a f*cking paladin of Erastil, and you don't see me walking around telling people they can't touch the deer, or plant their crops. And right now, we're scattering our friend's ashes, in accordance to the church of Erastil, so you can mind your own d*mn business." Gird lowers her shield, and looks to Oomlowt, once again with a 'can you believe this' expression. Quietly though, she's a bit unnerved. Devotees of Hanspur can be, well, religious about rivers.
Without trying to dictate how anyone posts, we should probably try to steer this in a more friendly direction, at least if we want to introduce the others by Sunday...
"Surely that will do no harm," Oomlowt said in an attempt to smooth things over. "With your god, I mean. Just some harmless ashes as a solemn funerary right." Times like this made Oomlowt glad he had converted to a goddess with a much more lax policy for devotion.
Crossbow bolts: 29 normal, 6 red
"Ohh..." the gnoll says as she taps her chin in thought. So these two are all alone 'cause their friends died... Also explains why the big one has a stick up her godsdamn ass. She looks down to the remaining ashes they have and furrows her... brow? Does she even have those?
She carefully glances at Gird and Oomlowt without looking creepy and notices they have travelling gear and (of course) weapons. Maybe they're a travelling group? Explorers? Well, whatever the case may be, I can try joining them and, eventually, take advantage of them.
The gnoll chuckles internally at the thought and looks at both Gird and Oomlowt, "You lost some friends huh? That's rough." She outstretches her hand to the kobold, who seems much nicer than the half-orc, "My name's Thrae. I'm sorry about your loss."
"Thank you for your condolences, Thrae!" Oomlowt said. "I am Oomlowt Schwaa, and my powerful companion here is Gird. We were sent here to explore the Greenbelt. We were having a decent go of it until a recent battle with some mites. They took three of our number - but we took fifteen of theirs, so it evens out."
Oomlowt took the briefest of moments to see how Thrae was taking this information. He was hoping that she would realize they were totally serious, hardcore murder machines that should not be trifled with. "Yep," he said, "It's a rough life working for the sword lords - only the toughest can make it."
Crossbow bolts: 29 normal, 6 red
Thrae looks Oomlowt up and down and then raises an eyebrow in suspicion, he looks pretty beaten up. "...Sword Lords, huh?" she leans over and gives a rough pat on his shoulder, "Wow, amazing! You guys sound like you're really strong."
"Say, how about I join you guys? You lost a few and I would have THE HONOR of being a part of your team." She gives a toothy grin, "So how about it?, does a cleric joining your team sound good?".
Thrae snorts internally, You can't bullsh*t and bullsh*tter. But sure, I'll play your game. Heheheh.
Gird looks back over at the Oomlowt. While she'd love to just march over and stab the *ss-kissing dog lady, Gird knows that another party member (Who actually wears real armor, gods bless!) would be a nice addition. Walking over, she clasps Oomlowt on the shoulder, making sure to stay in front of him in case the gnoll is lying about her admiration. So you're a cleric, huh? Don't suppose you can heal people, can you? Because I think we'd be open to you joining us, provided you had something to add. Other than the intimidation thing; I've already got that covered." Gird smiles. It's not a nice smile.
Leaning down (a long ways; kobolds are short) Gird murmurs in Oomlowt's ear, softly enough so that Thrae can't hear her, "I don't trust her, but I think we could use the help. We've already lost four of our ranks..."
Gird might be counting Woofles...
Oomlowt nodded to Gird in agreement on all points. "We could use the assistance," he said, "And when our job is done, there will be a handsome reward for all of us. That would be more than enough to pay for your healing services, I think."
Crossbow Bolts: 29 normal, 6 red
Oomlowt didn't say it, but he greatly appreciates how considerate Gird has been in this moment.
A reward too? Sh*t, I'm glad I came across these two losers.
Thrae leans back and does a 'jazz-hands'-like motion with her hands while having a smug smile on her face. "Oh, you want the magic touch huh?~" she says, "Yeah, I can give you guys that. Looks like you two haven't even fully recovered from your last battle."
Thrae stops showing off her healing magic and quickly glares at Gird, this f*cker isnt claiming her turf. She decides that when the time comes, she'll show off how scary she can be.
"So you guys want some heals now or what?"
Moving right along, since Gird could not be here, I'm just going to stealthily push you guys along so we can at least get a first look at the other dudes, even if we won't really get to introduce them. :'(
After Thrae gets her heal on [she's saying she's healing you] and joins your group, you fill her in on the plan to return to Oleg's to resupply and what-not. If you're lucky, you hope to hire a Mercenary or something to help you out on your quest.
And so, after 3 nights, you reach the trading post just as dawn creeps over the horizon. The guards you saw last time draw their weapons at first, but once you explain that the Gnoll is with you, and even happens to be a holywoman they reluctantly put down their weapons. They still eye her suspiciously when everyone shuffles into the trading post.
Oleg isn't awake yet, but it looks like the guesthouse is occupied, judging by the giant dog [it has to be larger than Woofles!] curled up by the door.
Okay, tell us a little bit about yourselves new recruits!
Also, I rushed that something terrible.
Let's do this thang.
The commotion caused by the band of adventurers closing in doesn't seem to disturb the seemingly sleeping dog - which is actually a wolf, but you might not know that - but as you get closer to the guesthouse, its torn ears seem to perk and its nose starts twitching violently. The wolf jumps up, snarling and barking.
It just might be the gnoll smell in Thrae that's intimidating the wolf.
Just might be.
A short second after the wolf has started barking, a voice accompanied by the sound of running steps sounds from behind the guesthouse door.
"Lockjaw? Lockjaw! What is it?!"
The door slams open, and behind the door stands a tiny halfling lady.
Despite her size, she seems somewhat... Impressive in her long red coat, facial piercings and short hair.
The halfling stares at the band of adventurers wide-eyed for a second, until she starts talking again.
"Oh! OH!! You must be the adventurers Oleg has been telling us about! Oh that's great! Yes! Amazing!"
She grins and laughs, and suddenly seems to remember that her wolf is still making a huge ruckus. She jumps at the animal, locking its neck in a hug? At least it seems like that, but at least it forces the wolf's head lower.
"Shhhh, Lockjaw, shhhh! That's rude! Don't bark! It's OK old boy! It's OK!"
And well enough, the wolf's barking lowers into a low growling noise, and soon dies out alltogether.
The halfling looks at Gird, Oomlowt and Thrae again, smiling quite happily.
"Do forgive my wolf, he's a bit intimidated by some smell in you. Probably gnoll smell. No offence. He's a smart wolf, but still just an animal."
The hawk on the roof of the building caws loudly, resulting in a slump and fall inside the guesthouse. Some shuffling is heard as a tengu exits out of the guesthouse.
" Hey hey hey, now what's with all the commotion out here...I hope no trouble's happenin out here, right?"
Garbed in robes and some leather armor on his chest and shoulders, this tengu doesn't exactly leave a strong impression. He gives a whistle and the hawk flies down and perches on his shoulder, as he looks at the group with a silly smile (or however you'd picture a smile on a beak).
"Hello to all the new faces I see before me today...Good to meet y'all, right?"
Oomlowt looked at the two newcomers: a big crow person and a... human? that was barely as tall as he was. Were these their reinforcements? If so, what a motley crew they would be.
"Hello!" Oomlowt said in his most official, proper tone of voice, "I am Oomlowt Schwaa, and yes, my companions and I are the adventurers Oleg has been talking about. We are official explorers employed by the Swordlords to tame this wild land. Were... you two on the charter as well?"
Dariya looks at everyone individually, as if trying to figure out what kind of people they are from their looks, but seems to stare at Gird and Thrae the longest, and only really notice Oomlowt when he starts to talk.
What were these little lizard people called anyway? They must be too small and insignificant if you can't remember that!
"Yes! My name is Dariya Wolftusk, and my companion here is Lockjaw!"
The halfling nods at the wolf, who's gone back to being curled up on the ground, though it seems to eye the group occasionally.
"I received the charter some time ago, but some things kinda held me up... You know, the usual things. Slaying an undead bear. Overthrowing a twisted wererat king. You know. Hero things."
Dariya's speech is accompanied by grand hand motions.
"But! I finally made it here a few days ago... And then I hear there are already adventurers out there exploring the Greenbelt! I insisted on going out after you on my own, but this Oleg guy assured me you'd be coming back soon... Took a bit longer than I expected, though, but it's fine, seeing you're FINALLY here! Although... I was informed you were a party of five... I see only three of you!"
This lady sure talks a lot and loudly.