It's a crisp autumn day in the town of Drachenholme (its original name Verthiarux ['our valley' in Draconic] is known only to historians and particularly proud dragonborn), a dragonborn enclave that counts a small minority of other races amongst its citizens. The sun shines down on the central square, bereft of stalls today, and here and there some dragonborn children play, raised communally by the town as some claim was the way of old Arkhosia.
Elder Askar Hammerwing has called for his 3 most able counsellors; Akahale, the ever watchful scholar; Grafire, captain of the guard, and Father Rowan, the town priest. He ushers the three comrades into his villa, and everyone sits for a drink of hot herbal tea.
"A fine day, is it not? Nice to see the young ones enjoying the weather, eh?" the old dragonborn settles himself down, with his longsword in an ornamental rack by his side. "I will not beat around the proverbial bush; you know that's not my way." he says before entrusting you with a mission to the seaside town of Ashenport.
"They have a trade fair there every year, it's not a big place but they manage to get a fair few trading companies there apparently, and the things they sell!" with that he shows you a wonderfully intricate antique brooch, "Bael Turath. One of our traders brought it back from there; paid a pretty penny for it from one of the locals."
Elder Askar proceeds to tell you about what he has heard of the town; it is situated on the rocky, forbidding coast and it is the only sizable settlement in the area, the others having died off a generation ago.
"But something isn't right. That trader I told you of? This is all we have of him now; he brought this back two years ago. He went to the fair last year and never came back. He's not the only one. I have heard of others of the years who have gone there and not returned."
He entrusts you to gather whoever you deem necessary and to investigate the matter. "I know I can rely on you all. The Platinum Dragon be with you."
And so, later that day... an odd band leaves Drachenholme for the trek to Ashenport. A sigh of relief is breathed as the crazy wizard heads off, stories of his less than stable mind having followed him; with him he takes his metallic assistant. Equally some breath a sigh as Seram Zal leaves, his reputation too having followed him.
"Refreshing to be journeying again." Akahale swings his cloak behind him and snuffs the air.
"I'm curious about a fishing village that trades in ancient artifacts. Particularly one the traders fail to return from."
Akahale
"This place that trinket came from isn't there some legend about tieflings seeking it to reclaim their lost empire?" Rowan asked the others.
"I wonder what has happened at this fair and what it means to the rest of us?" he ponders.
"Interesting puzzle indeed," he muses as they travel onwards.
DM
"Honoured one, if any of our kin has come to harm, he will be saved or avenged. Who do you speak of?"
Akahale
As you tramp the tracks and byways to the coastal road, the weather grows less clement over the days that follow. The sunshine gives way to silver-grey skies, and the wind starts to bite rather than giving a pleasant edge to the air.
As the weather changes, Akahale ponders aloud to his companions.
"An omen. I've noticed that the prevailing climate often reflects the prevailing mood. We don't often bring doom to evil in bright sunshine."
It stomps along the road, Its head constantly swiveling left and right on its mounting (not a neck per se). As the skies darken, a crystal lens on the breastplate of the warforged's armor begins to glow, the breadh of a man's hand, emitting a faint light.
"It notices that that the weather reflects times of warmth and moisture. Evil does not care, nor good."
Even so, It wears a cloak, fastened not by a clasp, but into clamps at the base of Its head.
"This may be so. I am sometimes prey to imagination. Not a useful trait to one in my profession. An investigator needs to remain concerned only with facts. It is my failing that I do not always do so.
"Your maker made interesting and useful design choices in your construction It. I have not seen the addition of light before."
Seram walks quietly with the group. Wondering if anyone worth his time is in Ashenport. The last few months had been dull for the barbarian. During his time in Drachenholme he hadn't found one person worthy, or brave enough to fight.
He turns his attention to the large metal man. This is who he wanted fight now. But everytime he tried the wizard or one of his other companions would interfere. The idea of fighting such a strong oppenent send tingles down his spine.
"So how long is this little trip gonna take," finally breaking his silence.
Seram walks quietly with the group. Wondering if anyone worth his time is in Ashenport. The last few months had been dull for the barbarian. During his time in Drachenholme he hadn't found one person worthy, or brave enough to fight.
"So how long is this little trip gonna take," finally breaking his silence.
"Hopefully sooner rather than later," Rowan replied sighing.
"Sorry Seram with luck we'll be there soon unless someone makes the mistake of crossing our paths and relieving that itch you want scratched," Rowan shrugged.
The cold winter wind and bright sunshine seemed at odds but quite normal for this time of year however he hoped the omen it posed meant better fortune for them.
Mandrake rides along blessedly silent for the first few steps of the journey, making only occasional mutters under his breath. (SOmething about 'hyper-thyroidal throwing backs' and 'Jean's Pool'.) But The barbarian's question brings his head up.
"We'll get there when we get there!" He snaps testily. "DOn't make me pull this horse over young man!"
After a few more steps he suggests in a conciliatory tone, "Why don't you try singing to help pass the time? It always helps me." And with that he launches into a semi-familiar bar tune.
It's actually a very well-known tune, but the mage seems to have forgotten to pack his pitch for this trip. Or any sense of rhythm. He sings loudly in a raspy, reedy voice,...
'99 mugs of ale on the wall,
99 mugs of ale!
I can't hold my drink, so hand me a pail,
98 mugs of ale on the wall!
98 mugs of ale on the wall,
98 mugs of ale!
I don't feel so good, I go to a stall,
97 mugs of ale on the wall!,...'
His,... enthusiastic, warbles carry clearly through the cold air. Making his companions wince more than the chill breezes.
Akahale hopes that something will distract the mage before he reaches single figures. Luckily that is likely to happen. He looks around wondering what he can do to change the subject before Seram Zal decides to do some impromptu target practice.
"Do any of you know anything about Ashenport? I have never heard of this trading fair."
"Do any of you know anything about Ashenport? I have never heard of this trading fair."
"It has never been to Ashenport."
"Do any of you know anything about Ashenport? I have never heard of this trading fair.""It has never been to Ashenport."
"Hmm interesting point," Rowan added.
Rowan
Between the heavy clouds and the endless rain, you might as well be blind. In the occasional flash of lightning, however, as the rain is forced aside by a gust of wind, you can barely make out the road ahead. A veritable river of mud twists and winds through a copse of gnarled trees and along a rocky coastline battered by white-capped swells.
And beyond, visible in only the brightest thunderbolts, stands a town. From what you can see, the buildings are old and patched, and the roofs are shingled peaks. Just another village, it seems, but something about it sets your teeth on edge and your skin crawling. But then perhaps it is just the cold and the rain...
Seram continues toward the town. Perhaps he could find himself some warm ale, or perhaps someone worthy to fight. Either way he'd be happy.
"It, forgive the question, but are you likely to rust in these conditions? I would welcome shelter myself in any event."
[quote=]
Between the heavy clouds and the endless rain, you might as well be blind. In the occasional flash of lightning, however, as the rain is forced aside by a gust of wind, you can barely make out the road ahead. A veritable river of mud twists and winds through a copse of gnarled trees and along a rocky coastline battered by white-capped swells.
And beyond, visible in only the brightest thunderbolts, stands a town. From what you can see, the buildings are old and patched, and the roofs are shingled peaks. Just another village, it seems, but something about it sets your teeth on edge and your skin crawling. But then perhaps it is just the cold and the rain...
"Hmm all I know about the place is that its been here for generations, where most of the towns on the coast have been abandoned or forgotten its been a thriving fishing village makes me wonder what was here before it and much more importantly is how its lasted so long, perhaps this fair of their's is part of its vitality or perhaps not still these storms are apparently common to its location though," Rowan mutters a little at odds with the foul weather.
You make your way towards town...
Although still rendered grey and miserable by the constant downpour, the town of Ashenport looks better close up than it did from a distance. You can see now that many of the buildings are sturdier than they appeared; a few are even made of quarried stone, rather than wood. Even in the inclement weather, several shops bustle with activity, and the light that gleams through many a window is bright and cheerful.
Sporadic people trudge their way along the muddy roads, shoulders hunched against the rain, going about this business or that.
The salty tang of the sea, and the lingering odour of a hundred years of fishing, insinuate themselves around your mouth and nose. Even the torrential rain and winds cannot strip the powerful stench from the air.
"Eh? What's that? Speak up!" Manny shouts into the rain.
"NO! Not you you ninnies! HIM!" He cries at the odd looks he receives from the others. Exasperated, he points to the sky as another flash of lightning and peal of thunder roll across the bedraggled group.
"Awwww. NOW look what you've done! He's sulking. DO you have any idea what he was about to tell me? It'll take another storm and I don't know HOW much swift-talking to get him to open up again!"
The mage folds his arms across his chest and pouts, muttering under his breath. The brim of his tall conical hat is almost flat against his head, the point leaning over and dripping onto his nose. He seems to be going out of his way to make up for 'It's' apparent inability to be affected by the adverse conditions by being twice as miserable himself. Moments later another lightning flash and peal of thunder echo over.
Mandrake looks up at the sky again, ignoring the rain pelting him full in the face. "Thank you. I appreciate that. Yes. Of course. I'd be happy too. Next time then!" And then waves at the sky.
The mage trudges along in silence for a few steps, until another lightning flash reveals the town up ahead once more. Manny raises one bedraggled arm and points.
"Oh, yeah. He said he wouldn't go there if he was me. It's spooky. But what does he know?"
"C'mon, move 'IT'. I'm cold. And I have water in places that I don't even remember having places before!" HE whines to his inexpressive bodyguard before trying to pick up the pace and find shelter.
"Accommodation first and then I'd like to explore the town a little. We should talk to people, other travellers as well as the inhabitants. Others may have lost kin." Akahale's investigative scales are tingling with unease.
"Something about this place is very wrong. The fact of its survival is wrong. We were told that this was so and now I sense it. Let us bring light to the darkness."
"Accommodations can wait...I need a drink," he turns a toothy grin at the small dragonborn.
"Plus with night approaching and having been traveling I feel like relaxing." Seram clentches his fists, making his bones pop. With that he starts into town.
You obviously attract looks, making your way down the street, people looking with curiosity at the giant warrior, the dragonborn and the curious metal man. But, they must be used to some travellers, as they inevitably carry on with their business after giving you a glance. It is rather wet and wild to be gawping.
"Accommodations can wait...I need a drink," he turns a toothy grin at the small dragonborn.
"Plus with night approaching and having been traveling I feel like relaxing." Seram clentches his fists, making his bones pop. With that he starts into town.
"It is likely that the drink and the accommodation can be found together." remarks Akahale peaceably. "I shall join you Seram, for one drink at least."
As they progress down the street, Akahale watches out for passers by, planning to stop someone and ask the way to the nearest inn.
There are several passers-by, glancing at you as they pass.
Akahale stops a random man and bows slightly.
"Good day. We are newly arrived for the fair and wonder if you could suggest a hostelry of some description. My friend would appreciate a drink and we will need to find somewhere to stay."
The man looks quizzically for a second, "'Ostel-? Oh, you mean the pub!" he replies, and he gives your directions to the Smooth Sailing Inn and Tavern, "Get out of this rain, you'll be soaked!" he says in a friendly manner before departing.
Akahale stops a random man and bows slightly.
"Good day. We are newly arrived for the fair and wonder if you could suggest a hostelry of some description. My friend would appreciate a drink and we will need to find somewhere to stay."
"What he said and hello!" Rowan greets the man Akahale has stopped wondering if the fair was going to mean the inn was fully booked.
The man chuckles at Rowan's wit, and says "Should be enough room for yous all, but it's packed to burstin right now!"
"Thank you. Can you suggest alternatives should the Smooth Sailing be unable to accommodate us? We are not a small party."
Before he leaves he says "Sorry t' say, that's the only place there is. You shouldn't have no trouble though."
Akahale bows again in acknowledgment and continues down the street looking for the inn.
It increases the intensity of Its light as the gloom increases, following the lead to the inn.
"Aye the weather is a bit much. A nice tall glass of ale will do much to sooth the soul. I must say I love the feeling of anticipation, it makes one feel alive..." Grafire's thoughts drift a bit, as he takes in the sights of smells of the small village.
Grafire leans over to Seram on the way to the inn, "I noticed you sizin up It on the way into town. You look like a human with much the same desires as I. We should spar when we get a chance. It'll get the blood flown in me veins. Lord knows I can use some tension release and a good warm up. Its been quite a spell since me last battle, whata ya say?"
"Spar" In the blink of an eye, Seram's blade is at the dragonborn. The only thing saving Grafire from the blade is his axe.
"Do really think I need to spar. Do I look like a pup who needs to be trained?" The eyes of his companions and the townfolk fall on the event. "Why wait let's have our fight here. There's plenty of people around, and I'm sure they'll enjoy what they see."
"So what ya say...want have a bit of 'fun' while we're here", Seram puts his blade away as quickly as he released it. "Not worth my time. The fight wouldn't last long enough to be fun anyway. Plus I would get scoulded if I hurt ya."
Seram casts a wild eyed look towards Grafire, "Perhaps tomorrow, or whenever or job here is done."
With that he continues on toward the inn.
People look askance as a flurry of mud flies up amongst the group, as Seram draws his blade. Several townsfolk decide that they have a pressing engagement away from blade-drawing lunatics.
The rain continues to pelt down.
Akahale sighs. "The essence of investigation is discretion. While there are times when distraction is welcome, this is not one of them. Constrain your antics I beg of you."
He proceeds to the inn, carefully keeping the edges of his cloak out of the mud.
You follow the directions that the passer-by gave you... wending your way down the sodden streets. Until you find yourself at your destination.
The different styles of architecture suggest the building before you was once two or three separate shops before someone sealed up the spaces between and knocked down the intervening walls. It now forms the largest structure on the block. Smoke rises from several chimneys, only to vanish into the falling rain. Firelight gleams through several windows, and the sound of conversation - nearly inaudible in the storm - leaks from the doorway. A sign above the door, portraying a ship at full sail on a waveless sea, flaps violently in the wind.
Seram makes his way into the establishment. He galnces around and makes for the first available table. "Ale", he says at the first passing server.
Three different patterns of wooden floor at three slightly different levels, make up the common room. Beyond this single quirk, however this might well be any other tavern: a bar stands on one side of the large chamber, a staircase on the other, with a smattering of chairs and tables scattered throughout the area. Two fireplaces radiate a comforting warmth throughout the room, and several serving staff whirl about with tankards of ale and plates of smoked fish.
Seram gets the attention of a blonde, smiling, buxom young woman who could almost be the archetype of 'tavern wench'. "Of course, sir!" she says with a glint of admiration in her eye as she looks Seram up and down, "You just go find yoursel' a table, and I'll come right on over with it."
"I shall investigate finding accommodation for us all." Akahale edges into the pub and makes this announcement with the air of one about to embark on a dangerous enterprise. He goes to hunt down a member of staff.
Akahale sees several members of staff, including the aformentioned wench, another woman, a tall dapper looking waiter, and a scowling man standing behind the bar with a proprietorial air.
Akahale approaches the other woman.
"I fear we may be too late to secure rooms for so many, but if you can accommodate us we would be most grateful. May I also enquire how much you charge for your rooms? Payment can be made in advance if you wish."
As he waits for an answer, he looks around the room, observing the patrons and trying to identify who is local and who is a visitor like themselves. From his own point of view, they will be slightly less conspicuous if there are other newcomers to mingle with. Not that any group containing Manny, It and Seram is likely to be inconspicuous for long.
He also makes a private promise to himself not to share a room with Manny or Seram should the need arise. A good investigator needs uninterrupted slumber and Manny's tendency to shout through the night combined with Seram's ability to wake if a cat breathes three rooms away and attack the door is not a restful combination.
With a huge grin Grafire offers to buy Seram an Ale,"Truly a great warrior. With kahoonies the size of mountain boulders. I like it, you would make a great warrior in my Company. But from the looks not one who likes to be stuck in one place for long."
Grafire will also try a streetwise check together info on the town from the locals.
Streetwise check - Smooth Sailing Inn (1d20 7=23)
Also an insight check for the Bar Keep.