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With her mystical energies running through her staff, Syeira rushes at the oversized monstrosity and swings down on it before spinning and attempting another blow, her fear and rage just bubbling beneath the surface. "IF you hurt anyone in there I swear I'll bring you back just to kill you a second time .... or a third"
With the giant creature on him, Tiro looks to his defense, casting Shield and then moving away from it. The brute does not seem to react to his fleeing.
Conor, for his part, uses his magic to whip a large sliver of the shattered door into the back of the creature!
Velkan unleashes literal lightning in a bottle; clearly, whatever exact mixture of reagents used was the perfect combination to allow for maximum impact.
The creature roars and turns on Velkan, moving and slamming his fist into him.
Syeira moves up and attacks the creature, taking advantage of the situation to flank it. She manages to connect with one hit; this, however, is the last hit needed to fell the monstrosity!
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For the moment, silence reigns.
Then, from inside the Rusty Dragon, cheers ring out, followed by applause and shouts of joy.
For a moment, no other sound reigns, but soon enough, distant screams remind you that your work is not yet over.
Velkan is shocked to see the monster respond to his electrifying attack.
"Wow."
I guess zombies can fee-
While overthinking the zombie's reaction, Velkan gets hit by the giant's fist square in the chest and immediately collapses unconscious.
Conor whoops in excitement as the beast drops, then gasps as he notices Velkan on the ground, pummeled by giant, dead fists.
Charging over, he drops down by the alchemist, looking him over. "Tiro, we need help here!"
Amycus doesn't seem to notice that Velkan has fallen. He doesn't even seem to notice the massive zombie is dead; he simply follows it down to the ground, pummeling it in the face in silence, eyes, wide, each rapid breath punctuated by a thick, wet papf!, papf!, papf! as his fists reduce its rotten head to jelly. He finally comes to, still straddling the corpse, knuckles bruised and cut, and his entire front covered in dark, rank ichor. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply before turning to the others. His cheerful, lopsided grin is made all the more horrific by the congealed blood and gray matter smearing his face.
"You lads want a turn? Bloody therapeutic, it is."
He finally sees Velkan unconscious. "Ah, s#!?e." He jumps off the corpse and hurries over to the alchemist to help tend his wounds. "Anybody got bandages? Splints?" He takes out a rag and hurriedly wipes his hands clean before getting to work.
As the giant falls, Syeira takes several deep breaths before she is calm enough to take in the scene. A wave of relief passes over her as she hears the cheers from within. "Thank the gods. Everyone must be ok in there." She is about to head in to check when she finally notices Velkan on the ground.
"Velkan!" she utters before rushing to his side. "I... I have bandanges" Syeira rummages through her bag and hands Amycus what he needs. "How could I have been so selfish that I didn't even notice he was hurt." With that thought, Syeira looks over the rest of her companions to make sure all of them are ok. "Is everyone else ok?
As the sounds of the nearby cheers fade and the crescendo of wails flood back into the silence, your group regathers itself and pauses for a moment to assess damage and heal it accordingly.
During this downtime, a small contingent of the people from the Dragon approach your group, simple weapons in hand.
Your first inclination is to turn them back towards safety, but one look into their eyes shows that such arguments would fall on deaf ears.
One of them, an old Vistani prospector named Jek, explains:
"This be our home. T'may not look like much to you lot, but it ours, and we be fightin' for it." Jek then nodded, as if that were all there were to say on the matter.
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So it begins.
With each block, a few more people join your ranks. While they may not have extensive combat training, or the gifts of spellcasting, they do have a fire in their bellies that was not to be denied.
By the time you loop back to the market square, nearly half of the population has joined you, defiant cries and taunts almost mirrored by jarring screeches and screams in the distance.
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Like all such things, however, there were losses. At one point, a group of more intelligent undead leapt from the roofs of nearby buildings, and several of your fledgling army permished before the undead could be dealt with.
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Finally, after what seems an eternity, your ragtag band of undead slayers stand once again in front of the steps to the cathedral.
Sheriff Hemlock comes out to see what the ruckus is about, and his worried look changes in an instance to one of immense pride as he sees his people rallying to the defense of their home. After taking a moment to direct his remaining guardsmen in the church to get all of the non-combatants inside, he then turns to your group and, one by one, embraces each of you in a bear hug, inadvertent tears streaming slowly down his cheeks.
Taking a moment to wipe his face, The sheriff calls for silence, and, for the first time since the start of the day, silence hangs in the air.
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The silence stretched on for a moment, then a few moments, then minutes. After the better part of an hour, still nothing else untoward made a sound. Those still capable of battle made their way out into the city, and, though minor skirmishes were reported, it seemed as though the worst was over.
Sandpoint had survived.
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When historians later spoke of this day, it was often mentioned as nothing more than a dusty story about another undead horde ravaging the unprepared. For the survivors, however, an unspoken bond had formed. All who stood on this day and defended his neighbors, as well as his fmaily, would be a hero.
That is what it truly meant to live on the fringes of civilization: you may have hated your neighbors, but when it truly mattered, everyone dropped everything to help each other.
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The next few days are a whirlwind, with each of your names popping up, along with the word "Hero" being thrown around. It wasn't much longer after that that someone penned a song about your group, entitled "The Heroes of Sandpoint", which catches on like wildfire.
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It is while you are all in the common room of the Dragon, where you have been staying at the invitation of the proprietor, that...
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If you had told Amycus a time would come when he would tire of swinging his fists, he would have spat a laugh at you. Even after his brother had taken over the Winking Skeever, he and Antaeus still duked it out in the pit once in a while, and when the red settled over everything, nothing mattered but blood screaming for more blood.
But that was before he battled a horde of zombies. Then another horde of zombies. Then a giant zombie. Then more zombies. Then skeletons, then ghouls, then...
As the grueling battle pushed on, he began to feel ill. It affected his performance, making every fight that much harder. Food wouldn't stay down. Alcohol tasted like bile. He could tolerate water - barely - and little else. At the end of it, as night settled in and the adrenaline of battle finally began to die down, Amycus was lying on a patch of dirt in a triage tent, his abdomen wrapped tightly in bandages that were already soaking through with blood. Listening to the wails and groans of the wounded, he thought about how some of them wouldn't see another sunrise.
No slow deaths fer the Popes, though, he thought. The idea didn't cheer him. Then, he realized, it wasn't entirely true. Mum started dyin' the minute she pushed out Asheley. Took 'er nigh on thirty years to die, but she started soon as that lil' bastard's head popped out, sure enough.
Somewhere in the darkness, someone started weeping. It wasn't the first person to weep that night, nor the last, but this one was light, tinny. A child's sob. And not the melodramatic wail of a kid seeking attention or manipulating a grown-up; these were quiet, ragged sobs. True, wretched sobs of a child finally understanding they were bereft of parents; a soul broken too young. Amycus closed his eyes, tried to shut it out. He couldn't, of course. Even once he fell asleep, he couldn't escape that pathetic weeping, uneven and violent, like the ragged stump of a torn-off limb, wafting through his nightmares. Ash stood in the pit, eyes devoid of life, a Riddleport Wink on his face. The dagger-filled eye socket drooled congealed blood as the corpse of his long-dead brother dove in for a hard left jab.
Amycus dodged right, then left, always backpedaling, never counterattacking. He could make his legs move, but his hands may as well have been made of stone. The Ash-corpse opened its mouth, maggots spewing forth as it spoke in a deadpan voice that sounded absolutely nothing like his brother: "What is wrong little Amy? Can you not strike your own flesh and blood?"
Ash's face melted and warped, his bone and muscle twisted and bulged, until the imposing physique of his twin stood before him instead. "You struck at me just fine," it said, sounding no more like Antaeus than it did Ash, but just as dead; pale, bloated skin and one bloody eye socket with a dagger buried in it to the hilt. "You can't hit back at the one that beat you as a child, but you can hit your own twin hard enough to almost kill him? The tic in my eye. The weakness in my left leg. Those weren't there before the fight, brother. You did that. You maimed me. You hated Father so much, but you're just like him."
And through it all, Amycus stumbled back, back, until he was pressed against a wall. He wanted to scream, cry, punch, anything. He wanted to ask who was speaking, who wore his brother's skin? But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was the sound of a child weeping, broken and unsalvageable, knowing there was no one left to care for him, to love him, and nothing left of him to love.
When dawn finally broke, and Amycus woke unrested from his fitful sleep, the weeping child was gone.
----
----
By the time they reached the Rusted Dragon, battered, scarred - well, more scarred - and tired, Amycus' spirits had lifted some. The days after the battle were more of a blur than the battle itself. That was etched too firmly in his mind to ever be blurred (though he damn well tried, with all the alcohol he could gather). But now things had settled some. He finally managed to eat a meal that morning, and had kept it down all the way until lunchtime. Still no food in his belly, but it was progress as far as he was concerned. And best of all, booze stayed down.
Miracle like that, he thinks to himself as he sits down with his comrades at the Dragon's common room, might just make a believer o' me. He gives his mates a gap-toothed grin as he sits. "Right, mates. Who's got first round?"
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During the long night, Conor had never imagined he could reach such levels of exhaustion, mentally, physically, vocally. As they fought and fought, he could barely speak, yet he knew his magic was necessary to keep the town safe, each monster it helped kill was another life saved, so he pushed on.
As a pampered, yet unhappy, youth he had imagined what suffering and loss were, caught up in his own petty emotional woes; as many inexperienced youth are, falsely believing he understood hardship.
This night he learned the real of it as he watched the horror and suffering that were a matter of life in a frontier town. His soul shrank at the monstrocity of it, even as it soared at the bravery and courage the hardy common folk of the town displayed.
In the days that followed he heard the beginnings of the rumor and song, The Heroes Of Sandpoint, and he was amongst those honored but the acclaim he had always thought he wanted, he strove for ... felt hollow. True, the small group was instrumental in saving the town, and it's possible without their bravery and strength of blade (well... fist and staff) and spell the town may not have galvanized in time and more would have been lost. Yet... the true heroes of Sandpoint were those same villagers, not blessed with the gifts of brawn or spell or the favor of the gods, just with determination and grit; risking body and soul to rid their town of evil at no small cost in pain and blood.
So, while the folk sang and praised his group, Conor wrote and sang other songs, songs of the towns own bravery and determination as a counterpoint to the larger than life heroes they were occasionally made out to be.
Not that he didnt gladly accept free board and drink and adulation, and he enjoyed that in it's own way. If raising him, amongst others, as heroes helped the town heal, he certainly wouldnt refuse it.
Yet, it turned out being a hero was not what he had imagined. The stories of brave heroes saving towns and maidens never spoke of the cost, the grieving parents, the bawling children, the pain and rage.
But, there was a town to grieve, there were survivors to pick up the pieces and that was something. And something important.
So as the group sits around the table at The Dragon, the customary smile is on Conors face, a bawdy joke or raunchy drinking song on his lips. Just maybe the smile doesnt quite reach his eye like it used to.
Hearing the grizzled fighter's question, Conor smiles "I've got it, it's my turn."
Tiro had been around battles like this one before - he had seen has master fight a wide variety of unusual creatures. And Tiro usually mended him up afterward before they moved on. But Tiro had never been in a battle like this one - and the feeling was exhilarating. Even more exhilarating was the praise they received after the battle. He wasn't just around heroes - he was a hero, and Tiro liked that very much.
Don't forget that you came here for a reason, Tiro.
He had almost forgotten, but he was a man true to his word, and he wouldn't fail his master in this final task.
"Gentlemen, I'll be glad to join you for a drink, but first I have a job I need to do - one last one for my master."
After the fight with the giant zombie, Velkan soon runs out of his alchemical bombs. Luckily he was pretty good with his dagger and, after getting knocked out from that single strike, Velkan wanted to use less aggressive tactics anyway.
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Velkan spends the next few days deciphering a mysterious book that had come into his possession during one of his research trips. Based on where he found it, it had either belonged to a thassilonian wizard and somehow remained intact until now, or, more likely, it was owned by a more modern wizard who tried and failed to learn the secrets of that ancient empire.
Either way, there was a story to behind that worn book's cover.
Some might say that the contents were more interesting, however. After realizing that there were arcane symbols in the text, there was no doubt that it was written using a mixture of the scripts of Necril and Shadowtongue. Velkan soon figured out how to cast the cantrips contained in the book. Excited to test them out, Velkan soon had tiny pointy-topped pairs of overlapping 'V's on all of his things.
Of course, now Velkan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had a book written partly in Necril. Necril, Pharasma help him. It isn't right. He soon sought counsel from Tiro on the matter. After concluding that knowing the language of the enemy that attacked recently was probably for the better, Velkan decided to keep the book at least until he could finish translating it. Book burning could wait until after he had plumbed its secrets, evil or not.
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Even though Velkan missed his appointment with Broderik Quink in the chaos following the attack, Velkan still asked around, hoping to meet before anything else got in the way of his research.
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Not too many days later, Velkan and the others found themselves in the common room at the Dragon.
Velkan puts a hand on Tiro's shoulder before he gets away, trying to dissuade him. "Sit, friend. Surely if you haven't found Vosk yet, it can wait another ten minutes, don't you think so?"
As the battles ended and survivors all met at the church, Syeira couldn't help but let out a breath of exhaustion. However, the knot at her stomach couldn't be relieved. She had to be sure. Syeira quickly says good bye and thanks to her new comrades and rushes back to the Dragon. Hesitantly she pushes the door open and relief washes over her as she sees Ameiko cleaning the debris. Ameiko looks up with a smile. "Don't just stand there, we open in an hour." Syeira wordlessly grabs a broom and helps get the Dragon ready, thankful for some normalcy on this day.
Days later, questions assault Syeira's mind. "Who would send the undead here and why? There isn't anything here worth this much effort" The questions and thoughts tore through her mind with no answer to be found. People around town started throwing around the word hero for her and her accomplices. "Hero? Me? I'm no hero, I just did what every one else in this town did. Those that gave everything, they are the heroes."
At the Dragon, Syeira felt normal. She could let everything else go and just be herself with the rest of the town: trading stories or cajoling with the customers. One night she sees an impromptu meeting of her new friends. As she makes her way over she can hear the pugilist ask, "Right, mates. Who's got first round?" Coner gets up and replies "I've got it, it's my turn." before Syeira places her hand on his shoulder stopping him. "I'm sorry Coner but I do believe I still owe this man a round for beating up on him in the ring." she says with a smirk towards Amycus. "Please allow me to get the first round."
Amycus offers her a wink and a toothy grin, showing off his missing incisor. "Can't argue with that logic, love. I'd let people toss me about a lot more if there were free booze involved."
He debates ordering food, then decides against it. Not yet, mate. Yer still tastin' breakfast comin' through the pipes the secon' time 'round. Giver a minute. A thought strikes him that makes his stomach clench a little. Ye went hard on some o' them corpses mate. Mayhap ye caught summin' from 'em? Eh, gods, don't go down that road.
To the rest of them, he keeps the grin going, showing no signs of his turbulence. "Oi, Conor. Ye know any good drinkin' songs, bruv?"
...a middle-aged Human man dressed in the finery of the nobility enters the Dragon and looks around, before his eyes alight on your group (which is seated at it's own reserved table).
The man approaches and says "You simply MUST be the heroes who have saved our city! Truly, you each are the best examples of your people! Please, tell me how I can reward such Nobility; such gallant heart?"
He pauses his speech to take Syeira's hand and kiss it on the back in a completely Taldan courtly tradition of respect to the female gender.
"I know, we should all partake of a hunt together! Oh, I must insist, so that we may get to know one another. I know that I would like to become dear friends with each of you, brave souls that you are! Please, say that you will join me for a hunt! I know that it will be a poor compensation for your efforts, but until the things that I have commissioned for each of you are completed, I despair that it will have to suffice."
He then waits to see what your response is.
As he waits, he takes a seat next to Syeira and places hand in the crook of his arm.
Amycus raises his hand and opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and finally puts his hand down. "Uh," he says with his usual infinite depths of wisdom, "Right. Yeh. Hunt. Uh, who're you again?"
He's clearly having a hard time processing it, until a moment later when his eyes light up and he leans on the table. "Things, ye say? What, ah, what sort've... things?"
Conor nods at the scary war wizard lady, if she wants this round he sure wasnr going to wrestle her for it, that's for sure. The bard grins when the scruffy fighter asks for a drinking song, as those are a favorite and somewhat of a specialty, the bawdyier the better.
But before he can start, this man blusters up and starts going on and on about a hunt or something, he speaks so fast Conor has some difficulty keeping up with him.
When he can finally get a word in he simply asks.
"Um... who are you?"
As the middle-aged noble-looking and noble-sounding fellow interrupts, Velkan watches while trying to keep the worry from showing on his face.
Here's hoping Syeira is fond of Taldan courtly graces...
Oh, he probably has money to spare. I wonder if he'd be willing to help fund an expedition?
After hearing the questions that the others ask, Velkan remembers some of his manners-
I'd better talk fast.
-and clears his throat loudly.
"We have been called heroes these past few days; though if memory serves, all the people of this town are deserving of the title.
In any case, please call me Velkan."
Velkan extends an open hand to indicate each of his teammates as he introduces them (with his other hand still preventing Tiro's departure).
"These are Conor, Amycus, Tiro, and Syeira. We'd love both to join you on a hunt and..."
Velkan gesticulates a moment while he fumbles for words.
"to learn what you'd prefer we call you."
"Great ... one of those 'handsy' guys, lets not cause a scene." Syeira thinks to herself as she disentangles her arm from him inconspicuously. She then turns her body to face him. Syeira gives him a once over, trying to place the gentleman.
As her mind tries to recognize the man, she decides to answer. "I cannot speak for my companions here, but a hunt sounds splendid. The fresh air and the outdoors would make for a great change of scenery." As she speaks a grin can't help but form on her face as her competitive nature gets the best of her. "...and I bet I could out hunt the lot you." Syeira's expression then turns quizzical. "What exactly would we be hunting?"
Conor snorts at Syeira's challange, "I've take my fair share of game in my life, you're on." thinking only for a short moment, "I assume the rules are mundane weapons, magic on a hunt tis unsporting."
Getting caught up in the excitement, the bard manages to remember the noble.
if that really is what he is, acts more like a mid level merchant from my experience
He recovers his wits. "Yes, I apologize for my rudeness. You obviously have heard of us, and we are still recovering from our battles so recently, not at our top shape, socially. I am, of course, Conor. Bard without peer" forgive me Amieka "poet, warrior, hunter." with a smirk towards Syeira
"Might I be inclined to have the honor of your own name, my good sir"
Amycus watches the others' interactions, trying to think if he can place the nobleman.
A hunt? That could be exciting. . . . Not something I'm really used to, but I'm my own man now - I can hunt if I so choose!
Tiro sits more comfortably at the table with his new companions, his duty to his former master slipping once again to the back of his mind.
"A hunt sounds very interesting - I've spent most of my time in cities, so it's not something I can say I have much experience in. Do tell us what we should expect."
Pleeeeaaaase don't be boar, please don't be boar, please don't be boar, please don't be boar...
"Right. Yeh. Hunt. Uh, who're you again?"
There's the slightest of twitch in his eye as Amycus asks this question, but he immediately recovers and says "Apologies. I had thought that notables such as yourselves knew who I was. I am Aldern Foxglove, something of a local celebrity myself."
He gives Amycus a quick tilt of his head that, were he standing, would likely have been a bow.
"Things, ye say? What, ah, what sort've... things?"
"Oh, minor trinkets that worthy of those who behave as you have!"
"What exactly would we be hunting?"
"Boar, of course. It is all the rage this year!"
"A hunt sounds very interesting - I've spent most of my time in cities, so it's not something I can say I have much experience in. Do tell us what we should expect."
"Oh, it'll be a standard affair, really. We'll sit astride hunting horses while the huntsman flushes out a boar, while we will bring down with bow or crossbow."
"I assume the rules are mundane weapons, magic on a hunt tis unsporting."
"But of course. We wouldn't want the beast not to have a chance, after all!" His tone of voice, however, suggests that the opposite will be true: odds are good the boar will stand no chance against the hunters.
"Very well, then. I shall send my man to bring all of you the details of our outing shortly. Until then, I bid you ado." He kisses the back of Syeira's hand before returning it to her, then rises, bows, and leaves.
Amycus watches the nobleman leave, then shakes his head in bewilderment. "Thought fer a secon' there 'e was gonna order a room fer him an' your 'and," he says to Syeira with a snort. "Bloody nobles love kissin' things, don't they? Hands, rings, arses..."
He sighs. "Don't know me arse from me elbow with a bow. Crossbow's easy enough, I suppose, ennit? Point an' shoot, like." He glances around the table. "I am far too sober for this or any other conversation." He waves over a server to order their first round.
Had to be boar...
As Aldern Foxglove leaves, Velkan visibly relaxes. He cringes for a moment at Amycus's comments about kissing.
Kissing arse... I suppose I haven't outgrown that habit yet...
"Likewise, I think I'll ask to borrow a crossbow."
"Um... anyone think he'd be interested in ancient ruins or forgotten knowledge?"
Conor snorts, "doubtful. Probably only interested in his face in the mirror and his social status. A hunt with us "heroes" is just a way to feed his ego, most like."
Looking around, "I've got my bow, but with boar you may just get a chance to punch it in the face, big guy, those are nasty critters."
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A look of bewilderment crosses Syeira's face. "What a queer little man," she thinks to herself. Syeira comes out of her stupor as Amycus's comment registers. "Yes, I may have to burn this hand off. I'm not certain my magic can make it clean enough." she says with a jovial smile.
"Anyhow, who hunts boar from horseback with arrows and bolts? I always thought they were hunted on foot as you track their trail before facing down the beast with a spear?"
She pauses for a moment as if truly pondering her question before continuing, "Regardless, where were we before we were interrupted? Ah yes, I believe I said I would be getting the drinks." With that, Syeira gets up with a smile and heads to the bar to procure the aforementioned imbibements.
"Thanks."
There's got to be a way to get easy money for this trip...
Velkan wrinkles his brow as he waits for Syeira to bring their drinks.
A hunt! Now that's something I've never done. I suppose I can abide that man's off-putting demeanor for now.
"I'm not much for bows or crossbows myself, but I do have a bit of experience with a sling - do you think he'll let me use that? I'm not much for horses either..." he says, trailing off.
Tiro accepts the drink excitedly, but drinks it rather slowly, enjoying the moment.
Velkan likewise accepts his mug of ale with a smile.
Leaning on the table, Velkan tries to guess the answer to Tiro's question.
"He might, I've never been on a proper boar hunt, but if what Syeira said is right, then he doesn't care much for doing it the traditional way. Heh, I wonder how he'd feel about my alchemical bombs."
"Either way, cheers."
Velkan leans back and raises his mug as he takes a drink.
Amycus chugs down half the pint, then belches magnificently. "D'ya think I could convince 'im ta let me have a go with my fists? Nevah rowed with an animal before." He pauses. "Er, well. There was that incident wit' a dire rat..." He shakes his finger accusingly in Velkan's direction. "But I'm tellin' you, bruv, Skeever had spells or summat on that bloody thing. Fought like a f#@!in beast from the Nine Hells. An' these sharp pointy teeth like daggers, mate!"
He glances down at his beer. "Could be I drank that a lil' fast an' it's goin' ta my 'ead."
Velkan screws up his face at the description.
Leaning forward and staring daggers at Amycus, Velkan replies "'Sharp pointy teeth', huh? Remind you of someone, maybe?"
after a short pause he adds "...maybe you did drink a bit fast."
Velkan takes a few gulps of his own alcohol.
Conor thanks Syeria for the round of ale and drinks with the others as they discuss the upcoming boar hunt.
"I seem to recall my father mentioning hunting boar with dogs and long spears, but I never was invited. I did shoot a wild pig with a bow once. Tough mother, but good to eat."
As tensions rise about something to do with a dire rat, Conor quickly attempts to intercede.
"Someone asked for a drinking song! I know a bawdy number about a travelling troubadour and the farmers daughter. It gets a bit vulgar, but that's a bonus with this crowd." he says with a wink and starts in on his pipes with a jaunty tune.
Amycus blinks in confusion. "Well, yeah. Reminds me of Skeever. He was a wererat, y'see. I think he liked the little bastard 'cause it reminded 'im of his mum." He snorts unceremoniously, clearly missing why Velkan was upset, and cheers for Conor's song.
Velkan, being a light-weight, is already drunk and sings along with Conor's tune. Or rather, he tries in spite of his badly slurred speech and the fact that he doesn't know any of the words.
As the group begins to feel their cups, the night drains away...
The morning, however, carries on same as it ever was. Should you choose, you certainly can wake alone, but "heroes rarely sleep in cold beds", as the wisdom goes.
Each of you is wakened by a knocking on your door, which upon opening reveals itself to be a proper page, dressed in what one might assume is the latest Taldan style. He holds a scroll sitting upon a silver platter.
After taking what precautions you may, you open the letter to reveal the time and place of the meeting for the hunt, two days hence on the steps of the new church at daybreak, and that proper weapons will be provided.
Now that you are awake, you each can choose how to begin your day and see what it brings.
Amycus groans at the knock on the door. "Get that, wouldja luv?" he mutters to the young woman laying next to him, but she is snoring so spectacularly that he's not entirely sure how he managed to sleep through the night - until the hangover hits him, that is. Right, he thinks miserably, lots of booze. Bloody 'ell.
He digs around for his pants but, unable to find them, settles for yanking the covers off whatever vixen happens to be in his bed (What was 'er name? Sani? Sara? Bloody can't remember) and wraps himself in it to open the door. He looks the page up and down, grins at his disdainful look, and snaps up the scroll with a "Cheers, mate" and shuts the door. He tosses the scroll onto the nightstand, throws the blanket back over the bed, and drops back down into it.
"S#!?e can wait a bit," he grumbles. "I've got a bloody hangover to nurse. Oi." He pokes the mass of hair on the pillow next to him to stop the snoring, before wrapping himself around her and going back to sleep.
Velkan, somewhat hungover, gets up and gives his head a rub on the way to the door. Accepting the scroll, Velkan gives a nod and a curt "thanks" before attempting to politely dismiss the page.
Velkan rubs his temple, because of both the hangover and the ostentation wake-up call.
A
What the hells.
I've got to figure out how to put some of this idiot's money to good use...
Soon Velkan proceeds downstairs to eat. After greeting the party members that aren't sleeping in, he heads out into the mostly recovered town in search of Broderik Quink.
Conor lay in bed grinning. He had been doing so since the wee early hours of the morning, listening to the quiet snoring of the young lady who had wound up with him this night.
And good times were had by all
After all the years pining and wishing for a life of adventure, it had been a great leap of faith to leave a comfortable, if boring, life behind for the great unknown. And for the first part of the journey he had started to worry that he had made a terrible mistake.
Instead of performing daring deeds in the face of danger, all the while wooing maidens with his olive oil voice, he had found himself entertaining dirty caravan hands over campfires. Instead of fine beds and silken sheets, he had found himself shivering under a threadbare blanket on the hard ground.
Then... one night of terror and exhaustion changed it all. He still didnt understand where he had found the strength to survive that night, or the strength of will to not run screaming and gibbering into the night. But he had survived. And won.
And, at least for now, he was living a small part of that childish fantasy. Adored by an entire town (even if it was not terribly big), with food and drink, and companionship available for the wanting. Even talk to hunting with a for real Noble. A real chance to increase his standing further.
As if on cue he hears a knock on his door.
Managing to grab a pair of pants before opening it, he manages a smile for the page while accepting the scroll, absently opening and reading it as he wanders back in the room, never once considering it could be trapped or cursed. The professional cynicism of a hardened adventurer has not yet set into the nieve, cheerful bard.
A couple days to explore the town then. I may want to wander around and introduce myself
Tiro rises early and kneels down next to his bed to pray, grateful to Pharasma for leading him toward real adventure, and protecting him once he got there. Rising, he heads out into town to finally fulfill his master's last wish.
Before he leaves the Rusty Dragon, he stops at the bar and asks where he might find Naffer Vosk.
"I have a message for him, you see. And with the unexpected events of yesterday, I wasn't able to find him to relay it."
Syeira stretches luxuriously. Her bed empty save for a spot of warmth where someone had recently been. "They must have left early. No matter, the night was fun." she thinks to herself with mischievous grin lighting up her face. She spends a few minutes contemplating leaving her bed before a knock at the door makes her decision for her.
She rises from bed and with a flick of her wrist and an uttered word, she makes sure she is presentable before answering the door. Finding a page and a scroll, Syeira nods her thanks in accepting it before closing the door on the page's face. As she opens the case, her nose is assaulted by the perfume of their visitor from the before. "Seven hells, I knew I should have checked it for traps"
As she pulls the scroll out and begins to read, all the tranquility of the morning is gone from her complexion. "He was serious about the hunt? I guess I should prepare myself in case the idiot hurts himself." Syeira glances over at her staff and armor. "If recent events are anything to go by perhaps I should find an upgrade to my weapon and armor." With that thought, she finishes her morning preparations and heads out into the town.