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You all find your way to The Wet Dog, one of a couple of inns around the small town, over the course of the evening. Many tables of different size and shape stand haphazardly around the large ground floor leading to the bar/front desk. I trust you'll want to meet each other through character interaction now. I'll describe more scenery and characters as they become relevant.
She walks into the inn and looks around. "I've seen better..." She walks to the Bar and smiles at the barkeep. "How much for a meal, a drink, and a bed?" She opens the belt pouch she keeps her money in.
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As the tall human walks in he surveys the room
He walks around towards the bar and waves at the bar tender. Hello my good man, might I have an ale please, and a room. I suspect I shall be staying for a while so your weekly rent shall do fine. He reaches down into a pocket and pulls out a small mirror and faces at his reflecting smile, fuses with his hair a bit and proceeds. [B] Might I also note that this place lacks livelyhood. Perhaps a song or two to bolster the patrons and attract some lovelys eh?
She looks over at the entering bard, not quite sure what to make of him. As he approaches the bar, coming strait towards her, she makes sure he scarf covering her face is in place so only her eyes, ears, and the bangs of her silver white hair shows.
When he says something about music and lovelies, she turns her back, thanks the barkeep, and finds a nice shadowy place to sit in. "Nothing to do with that egocentric bigot..." she quietly sits back in the chair and puts her feet up on the table, watching the bard in total silence.
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Villyn doesn't spot anything out of the ordinary in his casual sweep of the room.
The barkeep/innkeeper and bartender are both behind the counter. The innkeeper hands both of you small lists stating drink and room prices.
The innkeeper is an overweight man in his early 60s, wearing a green apron and trousers, and a white shirt with the top few buttons undone. He smiles and nods while passing the menus out, but says nothing.
The bartender is a towering man in his late 30s. His head is bald, the top covered with a navy blue doo rag. A thick, square mustache is the most dominating feature of his face, besides his large nose. He is a square shouldered, burly one, wearing similar clothes to the innkeeper.
He grunts at Villyn's comment about the lack of livelyhood in the inn.
"Play 'em something if you want, but don't expect much in the way of tips. Most in here are poor penny pinchers. A good few 'll hold a conversation though..."
He grunts again, before clearing his throat. This is obviously a lot more that he usually says.
Appraisal of $ worth:
Your average poor farmer makes (if he's lucky) 2 gp/day.
An average guard's/man-at-arms's salary is 5 gp/day.
The door of the inn swings open as a surly, tattooed dwarf enters. Dressed in a road-worn heavy leather coat adorned with multiple belts and straps, multiple weapons hang from the warrior. In his hand rests a fresh looking coin pouch, Duglin's reward from his work as a caravan guard. Smiling slightly, he nods to the barkeep. "Time for a little rest..." he thinks as he saddles up to the bar. Pulling a few silver from his pouch, he places them on the table, "A mug of ale and a bowl of stew if you'd please."
Looking about the common room, Duglin glances over the several townsfolk eating their meals and notes the well-garbed man and the heavily masked elven woman. His mind spends some time on those two, "They don't quite fit in here... then again neither do I." Slowly, he relaxes and begins to enjoy his hard earned stew.
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For those who don't know:
Grog is a cheap form of ale. Though it doesn't taste nearly as good, it holds out longer being shipped from place to place in barrels.
Mead is a sort of honey liquor that is common in farming communities and large cities supplied by honey farms, but rare anywhere else.
Fine wine is usually used to display signs of wealth, or as a main drink in lavish parties, so watch where you decide to drink it.
The bartender grunts and fixes Duglin up with an ale, while the innkeeper quickly spoons out the stew from a fairly fresh batch. The Dwarf notices nothing shady happening right now, though a couple lanky fellows appear to be eyeing his coin pouch, as he is making it obvious he has change.
Slipping the pouch inside his coat, Duglin grins at the lanky miscreants eyeing his coin pouch as he casually fingers the sharpened blade of his axe. "Hi lads, you like what you see?"
intimidate:
Holding the would-be thieves' gaze, he nods to the innkeep, "good stew", and slurps back another spoonful.
The bar sign said "Wet Dog" and that was fitting indeed. "What dog wouldn't be wet in this downpour?" Veridian thought to himself. He had come to town to trade furs, but found the furrier away on holiday, then as he'd turned for home, the skies had opened up and he was soaked to the bone.
The inn offered good food by the smell of it, and a fire to dry out, but also the crowd and discomfort that brought. Veridian debated not entering the inn at all, but taking his chances on the road in the wet. "I'll catch my death of cold out in this wet. Safer to go inside, and warm up and let this blow over." LIttle did he know that as fate guided him inside the Wet Dog, he may never be safe again...
Once inside, the half-elf does his best to stay hooded, and out of sight, his green and gray homespun a little out of place indoors. He looked for a seat near the fire, ordered a bowl of soup and a tankard of grog, and tried unobtrusively look about the place.
A bard was making a pitch to what must be the owner, a dwarf was loudly ordering and making a scene with his coin purse, and ...what's that, someone trying harder than himself to not be seen. With a scarf covering, and sitting in the shadows, that person was drawing his attention not avoiding as they obviously hoped. "Best keep an eye on that one, lad." he thought.
He slurped his soup, and began to dry out a bit. The grog and the fire combining to make him a bit sleepy, Veridian stifled a yawn.
L walks silently up to the bar. Before he notices, she is right by Duglin. By her relaxed posture it is obvious she means no harm. She looks at the bar keep and lays down 9gp on the bar. "A room for the night, a nice hot meal, and your finest wine." Her voice is hushed, but she seems to always talk that low.
If she is not stopped by anyone, she heads towards her table, at the back of the inn. Once her soup arrives, she takes a cautionary sip, then begins to eat it quickly though quietly. She takes a drink of her wine and smiles, leaving one hand on her dagger, right below her belt pouch. "Almost as good as what our people made..." After she finishes her soup, she sets it to the side and resumes her previous position.
she looks over as a soaked half-elf enters the bar. "Oh great, half-breed..." She rolls her eyes and decides to warm herself by the fire. She was a bit chilled. She gets up and the entire way, holds the half-elfs eyes,half glaring, half pitty. "Which one of his parents tainted his blood? Poor sod."
She unwraps her scarf from around her face, revealing golden white hair, falling to her shoulder blades and a beautiful face. She shakes her head a few times to loosen her hair and pulls it over one shoulder. Then she sits by the fire and sways to the concieted bards music. "For a man too into himself, he does play good music."
Slightly startled by how silently the elven woman slid up to the bar, he remains still, but casts a weary eye her way. "Silent, like the dead of the night. She could be dangerous... or useful. I wonder if this quiet town will offer some excitement?"
Sense Motive:
Turning toward the half-elf standing out like a sore thumb and recognizing his well worn leathers and hefty pack, he catches his gaze and offers a slight nod. Though the look of disdain is evident in the traveler's eyes, Duglin's offers no ill will in return. Quite the opposite, his look seems to convey a sense of understanding and camraderie.
Turning back to the elven woman, he watches her take her table then let down her guard. Duglin ponders, "are all the troubled souls of this town seeking comfort from the storm in this very inn?"
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Villyn considers the menu for a moment and pulls out two platinum pieces from a pouch by his side. Placeing them on the counter he says I'll take the small room for 5 days please, and a mug full of mead. The change is your good man. He looks about the room again as if pondering. Once he has his drink, he walks over to an open area of the bar, places his drink and hat down on a table and begins to sing a low-tune. It is a song of mystery and intrigue. Suitable for a dark and stormy night such as this.
A tall, lean man, clad in a somewhat worn but still rather dapper suit enters the inn. Though it's obvious that he's been on the road for quite a while, it's clear that he's made an effort to make himself presentable. His shave is clean and his hair is well-combed.
Someone well-versed in the region's recent history might recognize Godfrey as a member of a roaming band of bandits. Someone who knows it even better would know the band has been captured, and that Godfrey is a repentant man.
Paying little attention yet to the people around the inn, he walks over to the bar with confidence and leans against the counter to speak to them.
"Good evening, gentlemen." He declares with an honest smile. "Any chance this traveler might be able to barter you a room, stabling for my horse, and a hot meal in exchange for an odd job or three? I'm afraid I'm pretty low on funds, but I'm not afraid of working for my keep."
While speaking, Godfrey keeps an eye on the room for anything suspicious.
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Most folk turn away as Duglin intimidates them, but a few souls continue to size up the Dwarf. Suddenly, a man with a closely shaven full beard and messy brown hair stands up in the back of the room, speaking loudly in a slight scottish accent.
"Oi! Put yer mugs IN yer mugs, or i'll kick all yer arses! Ingrates..."
With this he sits down hard.
The innkeeper suggests helping the bartender out to Godfrey. Bartender nods and grunts at both Villyn and Godfrey.
Duglin chuckles, shakes his head, and turns back to the barkeep, "G'sir, what's got that one in such a foul mood?" he asks as he slides him a gold for his words.
She rolls her eyes as she warms herself, not wanting to get involved. "brutish type.. Got to keep my eye on him.. And everyone else... Can't trust anyone now adays... But hey, one of 'ems got a horse!"
"That sounds like a fair deal. Thank you for your generosity. Might there be somewhere I can wash up first? I'd hate to serve up drinks with hands stained by the dust of the road."
"Thank ya. Two more mugs of ale if ye'd please". He produces another gold and a silver, and leaving them on the bar, takes the two mugs to Bran's table.
Nodding to Bran and putting a mug down in front of him, he sits, "I hear yer in the guard in this town. Any work to be had or trouble to be dealt with?"
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The bard stops mid-verse and gets an astonished look. How very rude, am I to take you don't like my song? Looking down into his still empty hat he shrugs, Something tells me the feeling is mutual throughout the establishment. He sits down and drinks his mead, all the while humming to himself the tune he was just singing.
Veridian is taken aback by the stare of the scarf-covered stranger, and actually stunned when she removes the scarf to reveal a lovely elf lass. He feels himself stir inside as she stares at him; he returns her stare for a moment, transfixed, but then remembering his shunning by the elf clan and the pain that exclusion gave him, a scowl cross his face. He blurts out in a sarcastic and biting tone:"You do know it's rude to stare, eh miss? But I'd expect nothing less from a high-and-mighty elf princess such as yourself."
As she comes near the fire, he stands, makes a mock bow, and readies to head out into the rain again. As the bard begins an enchanting melody, the ranger stops and listens instead of departing. He moves to a table in a shadowy corner, signalling to the new barman for refill of his tankard, and tossing a few silver sails into the bard's upturned hat.
As the new barman, the one wearing spiffy clothes comes near with the fresh tankard, Veridian asks him sotto voce:"Who is the elf lass, man and what is her business, if ya please?"
When the bard finishes his performance, Veridian applauds and motions that he'll buy the man a drink and to come join him.
She shakes her head at the snide remark of the half-breed. "Tsk, tsk. Just like a half breed not to know his place. What a shame." Once she is done with warming herself, once again not surprised by the half-breeds uppity additude, she goes up to the bard quiety. She sits down at the table, her back facing the half-breed and speaks to the bard; her voice soft and sweet.
"You've stopped playing because you believe no one appriciates your songs, yet I am. It saddens me that you must have monetary rewards for a voice so lovely that should be shared with the world freely. You bring great joy to all listening."
She begins to wrap her face in her scarf once again, hiding everything but her eyes, ears, and bangs. If the bard does not answer, she silently walks away and dissapears into the darkness where her table lie.
"Heh." Godfrey chuckles at L's comment.
"That's a nice sentiment and all, Scarfie, but compliments don't put bread on a plate or a roof over a head"
Then, still leaning against the counter, he nods to the bard. "Sorry, Blondie. My wallet's got more dust than gold, but I share your pain."
She narrows her eyes at the human. "he might have a horse, but he obviously doesnt know how to get around a city, well, not the way I do. She snickers at him, as if she knows something he doesnt, and dismisses his comment.
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My sweet lady, it is not that I feel that no one is enjoying my song, but when one of the people who prepares your food and bed tells you to stop, its best to listen to them. He gives her a wink, and places a couple more gold on the table. Bartender, anouther drink for the lovely las eh... He ponders for a moment then wispers, My apologies fair lady, but I don't think I caught your name.
She nods to the bard and smiles behind her scarf. She speaks in a low voice "You are the first person to show me kindness in this place. My name... Well, you can call me... L." She takes the drink and removes her scarf again, not realizing she was going to have a drink bought for her. Her pale skin playing off of the crystal blue of her eyes and the sheer white gold of her hair, she was quite lovely, if not a bit awkward.
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Well, L, tis a pleasure to meet such fine a creature as yourself. Villyn cannot help but to stare at the Elf, as her features are finally revealed to him. In an eliquent tone he continues. A fair sight to see, a beauty such as thee, with skin the color of snow, and crystal eyes, to make ones blood flow.
L's cheeks redden. "You are too kind. I didn't quite catch your name either." Her voice seems even more hushed and she lowers her head and scratched her neck, obviously flustered by the bards blatant flirting.
She considers his name for a moment. "Why are you called that, Villyn? It does imply dark tidings." As she begins to recover from Villyn's compliments, she takes a better look at him. Her eyes scan his for a moment before moving to take in his entire face, then down to assess his clothing.
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One usually does not get to choose one's name normally. As it is, parents thought I was the villain to thier happiness as I was quite a loud child. he gives a light laugh and faces into her eyes, making sure they lock for a moment before continuing, So tell me, What has such a beautiful girl like yourself doing out here? Surely the goods have not sent you here to bless me by your divine presence?
She looks down again, and begins to cover her face again. "No, I do not believe any divine intervention was what brought me here. I, uhh, well it was a good place to hide from the weather... She first covers her nose and mouth with the scarf, then criscrosses it behind her head to get the top of her head, coming back around to get all of her hair enclosed.
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Villyn gives a mighty hallar and slap his knee. Oh come M'Lady, surely I have not embarrassed you! He looks to the half-elf sitting across from him with a joyful smile. You see Laddy, even the most most timid of creatures may be charmed, you just have to be carefull not to scare them off!
He laughs again and stands up. Takeing a big swig from his mead he then slams it down on the table and yells across the bar, Come now my good man! A cheerful song to embrase out new friendships here! May we all merry a good laugh or two eh?
Villyn begins to sing a merry tune of a man and many women, all of which turn him down. He bigins to dance around to his own jig and even offers his hand to L, so that she might join him. If she does or not, it doesn't phase him, he just continues to sing and dance.
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"Crap!"
a skinny man dressed in simple clothes with wet red hair busts through the doorway in a hurry. He slams the door behind it, and leans against it heavily. He obviously looks frightened.
The man known as Bran is just about to answer Duglin, but turns at the outburst of the smaller man. He instantly grabs his light crossbow, already fitted with a bolt, from under the table, pushes back his chair, and stands. He motions with a quick nod to Duglin that he'll check it out.
Godfrey suddenly stands straight, fists clenched. He approaches the door and the newcomer, waiting for the man to answer Villyn.
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"I just found a dead man! No one dies around here...", came the meek reply.
"Where?!", as the response from Bran.
"Over by the horse stables, sir. There's a lot of blood..."
Bran looks around the room, gauging reactions. He looks pointedly at the group assembling nearest him, that would be you guys.
"I'll need at least one person to watch my back and an enclosed light source!", he barked in his slight accent.
"I'll follow you," Godfrey declares, stepping forth. "I've got good eyes and even better fists."
Then, rummaging through the backpack he'd shrugged off near the door, Godfrey pours some oil into his bullseye lantern and lights it to one of the tavern's own.
"Anyone else with us?"
Godfrey looks down at the offered weapon and chuckles. "Thanks, but no thanks. That would just get in the way."
Seeing the charming bard at work on the lovely elf, Veridian just opens his mouth to try and patch things up with the girl named L, when the door bursts open. The man exploding into the room is enough to leave him tongue-tied once again. As Bran barks out commands, Veridian slides his chair back, and lopes to join the militiaman, and his makeshift crew. Hearing that violence has been done already, Veridian draws his blade.
Once at the door of the inn, Veridian's eyes accustom to the dark of outdoors faster than expected, the low light not affecting his sight terribly. He looks around earnestly, trying to see if someone is actually hurt nearby.
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The stable lies at a decline from the inn, about 30 feet out. A body can be seen just in front of it, and several horses you saw earlier seem to be missing now. A muddy shovel lies next to the body. Bran motions for you all to go there and check it out. He indicated that he would scout the area, doing a full sweep about 15 feet around the inn, close enough to know if something happens.