Mr Clint's Duchy of Ashlar

Game Master Mr Clint

(Marion, I'm taking the liberty here of assuming that since your Charisma is a 7, and we were asked to play our stat, your character is either quite ugly or not charismatic, this may affect her response when she actually gets a good look or listen to your character. Correct me if I'm wrong please. In any case, she's not in her right state of mind, so the reaction might not be normal regardless.)

I'm not one for tying charisma to physical attractiveness. Merion is just...ordinary. He is smart enough to construct plausible lies (Cunning Liar) and good arguments (Clever Wordplay), but unless he's exercising his specific skills he's not someone one would listen to or pay mind to. For a literary reference, Kragar from Steven Brust's Vlad Taltos books, who quit the army caste because he'd give an order and no one would pay him any mind. He's going to listen to everyone else and quietly make suggestions, and very occasionally say something to outsiders that's hopefully helpful. If he said something to this Noble One evangelist, anyone who heard him would find him eloquent, but he would outshout literally zero other people in the tavern. Nempura is a nice person, and responding to him in context, but she's also kind of treating him as a prop, reacting to him based on where he is rather than who he is, which is very fitting.

Merion considers Ewan's response. So the wizardess and her companion are also new...I wonder who they are working with. Before he can figure out how best to subtly inquire on that, he is surprised, not unpleasantly, to find himself manhandled by the bard. The sudden weight pulls him a bit off balance, but he keeps his feet. As she stands back up straight to respond to the harangue, he looks up at the intruder descending the stairs and racks his brains. Darlen, the Noble One, the Justiciar...have I heard of these?

Knowledge(Local) for anything about what this guy is talking about: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

Assuming the Deities and Demigods handout is common knowledge, and 23 Knowledge(Local) is enough to tell whether this sort of intrusion is common

He sighs. Right, these do-gooders. Guess I should have gone to church more. Under his breath, He kind of has a point. But like the guy with the dagger, he's in the wrong place.

Merin would have heard of Darlen The deities on this list are the most common ones that everyone would know. They might not know their teachings and what they support, but almost everyone has heard the names before.

The greying middle aged man speaking with Marion looks dejected as he leaves his conversation with him. He continues to linger around nursing a mug of ale and moving to talk to different people who look the adventuring type.

When Nempura leaves the stage the patrons of the Orc’s Head Tavern call for more but the musicians quickly jump up and say; “Tis a honor to play alongside a bard that is far fairer than her tales.” He motions to the musicians and they jump right into a version of A Hero Comes Home

“just wait, though while he may roam, always, a hero comes home.
He know of pleases unknow, but always, a hero comes home.”

The patrons of this tavern sing along with the musicians as the song continues.

Nempura makes her way to the group, finding new people. As everyone is getting familiar with one another a child bumps into Nempra. But quickly turns and apologizes “Beg pardon miss. Beautiful voice you have. Maybe someday I’ll have one too.” you are unsure if the child is a boy or a girl, but they continue on their way.

The man who is clearly a devout follower of Darlen continues to be accosted while he spends his time in the tavern. “Talking” to patrons, trying to show them Darlen’s guiding light. Eventually he stands up and is guiding two young men, late teens early twenties, from the table where they were drinking up the stairs and out the tavern.

What do you all do for the evening?

Damage Taken: Arren -0 HP,Ewan -0 HP, Helgar -0 HP, Ivar -0 HP, Merion -0 HP, Nempura -0 HP

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16

The sound of the tavern and their new companions washed over Helgar. She took a sip from her drink and reflected on her situation. She was alive. Her God still answered her prayers. Her companions were alive and were being cared for. She still had her tools, she had her hammer, and she had all four limbs. To complain would be an insult to her ancestors. Compared to their hardships, her experience was naught more than a good day. At least if the bards were to be believed.

"I am retiring for the night. May fortune find us on the morrow." She said, finishing her drink and rising to her feet. She steeled herself. No more complaining. No more self pity. A new day would come and she would face it.

Earlier
'Curious a clerk, who carries a blade, does that say more about him or our employer.' Standing, Ivar extends a hand to the slender clerk, "Hopefully I did not speak her name out of turn, I am Ivar, but I vas not a member of der expedition, I vas on der ship captained by der coward Untamo. I joined vit dem after der meeting vit your Lady Pakkanen. As the clerk reaches out and shakes Ivar's hand, he feels for callouses indicating heavy practice with a blade. 'Well, he did not lie to us about being a clerk.' Releasing his grip, Waiting while Ewan introduces himself, Ivar waives his hand at an empty chair. "Join us Merion, Nempura vill be vit us in a moment."

As Nempura joins them, Ivar begins to stand to offer her his chair. Raising an eyebrow as she embraces then practically hangs off of the plain man. Ivar's attention is drawn to the zealot shouting idiocy as he crosses the room. Ivar slowly stands as Nempura gives the Darlenite a piece of her mind: watching, waiting, wondering how badly the fellow wanted to see his god. As the man turns, Ivar hears Merion's comment, and chuckles, then spits. "Wrong place indeed."

Now?
As the man the man continues on his way, Ivar notices the child bump into Nempura. Watching the child with much less interest, Ivar waits for a second, then steps back taking his bent wood chair and offers it to Nempura, "Here, Nempura, have my seat I vill fetch another." Looking around briefly Ivar sees a smallish three legged stool near the corner, Fetching it, he parks his large frame on it, shifting uncomfortably.

Sipping his mead, he looks toward the others, as Helgar announces she is retiring for the evening, he shrugs, "I am sleeping in der common room. Tings vill not settle down for hours, so I vill vait. But before you go, vat is der plan for der morning?"

Earlier

Not at all, Merion says, attempting to return the warrior's handshake with vigor but mainly managing only to hold his arm somewhat steady. I'm glad you saved me from having to come up with another reason to join your table are on board. The lady is a good employer, and no coward. Merion thinks back to Nempura's song. What did that Untamo do that earned such an epithet?

Now

As the party breaks up and the crowd changes with the evening, Merion looks to see who else is staying in the common room, including whether the man with the dagger has left. He has claimed in his mind a spot in the corner of the room, and is debating among himself how to physically claim it or if he wants to shift to nearer to Ivar.

"Well, can't say I didn't expect that..." she comments toward the Darlenite being dragged out. Helgar rises and bids them all goodnight. Nempura pats her on the shoulder.

"You're a good one. Get some rest. You deserve it."

There is a sweet smile on the bard's face as she takes the offered seat of Ivar. She slightly leans on the back of the chair and half in someone else's space, lounging with her bow in her lap.

Nempura will have everyone introduce themselves again, as she was either distracted or not listening so well, but eventually, they will find that she is as open about having fellow adventurers join her as she was with Ivar.

"So Merion, what were you saying about this man with a dagger?"

She looks to the thinner Ewan and asks, "Can you fight?" It seems that she doesn't care whether he has a speech impediment. She puts him on the spot.

Then looking to Arren, she asks, "What can you do?" "There's something off about this girl...I can't put my finger on it"

To Ivar, she replies, "A plan? Not immediately. I do have some ideas on some tasks for us, however. I don't just work for the lady, and there are some things locally we can handle if you are up for it."

If the man is still present, Merion will unobtrusively point him out. He was looking to unload it, and for a good bit of coin. He gives a snorting, derisive laugh. More than he'd get from this crowd, or he'd ask for if he was really desperate. But less than it's worth if the treasure and story that he said came with it were true. Of course, wild stories may be true or false... He falls silent, realizing in his excitement at having found his group, and in Nempura's energetic aura, he's over-answered the question.

The Justiciar intrigues Arren. Perhaps an avenue to follow up upon later. Once I can be assured that they would actually try and help, and not burn me at the stake.

Arren squirms slightly at the attention of the bard. Her friendly demeanor endeared Nempura to the sorcereres, but the lack of tact and hint of iron behind her eyes put Arren on edge. Perhaps a half-truth then. "Unfortunately, the spellbook that I own is rather incomplete, and I do not have the time, nor the funds to add to it. . Hesitating, she rolls her sleeve up, revealing the necromantic tattoo, although not for long enough for the subtleties of what it is actually designed to do to become obvious. I must admit that my specialty lies in necromancy, although I must add my the strongest emphasis that I abhor the creation and utilization of the undead. In fact, a personal goal of mine is the eradication of undeath wherever I find it. My focus lies more on the manipulation of life forces. As of this moment, my book contains spells designed to protect me in absence of armor, as well as a method to reduce the strength of an enemy." She looks somewhat apologetic. "Beyond that, I'm afraid all I can offer is cantrips. Although I hope to find more spells soon!

Ewan was willing to answer Nempura's question, but before he could speak, Arren was already supplying answers to the question asked of her.

He listened and a curious look passed temporarily on his face, quickly replaced by a look of understanding. Aha, so that was it. A protection spell.

As the question codes back to him, he nods to Nempura. "I can f-fight. Tau-taught to fight on the s-s-seas. Not st-str-strong, but acc-accu-rate."

'Nempura is a whirlpool, sucking all into her wake.' Smiling Ivar sits on his stool, watching and listening as Nempura draws information from the other three. Chuckling aloud as she bluntly inquires about each in turn.

When Merion began to share about the man with the dagger, Ivar looks towards the old fellow, 'So that's what the old man was whispering about. I wonder if he would sell the story' Glancing at Nempura, 'I bet she could talk him into sharing it, with little to no coin changing hands.'

Sipping his mead as Arren shares, Ivar admires the tattoo on her wrist., 'A Necromancer, curious,' Raising an eyebrow as the woman admits her specialty, 'But one who abhors creation of the undead, so what is her draw to the craft, it certainly can't be easy, not with the disdain most people hold,' Unable to to resist asking he sets the mead down and raises a hand. "In Skaalhaft der alchemist und fisherman sell scales, blood und bone to all buyers, no matter der school." He shrugs, indicating that a wizards choice is there own. "But if you despise der undead, vhy focus on der necromancy, it seems." He furrows his brow thinking of the right word. "Counterintuitive."

As Ewan speaks about his ability to fight, Ivar leans over to Nempura, sharing what he learned, "He does have der callouses of vone who practices vit der blade regularly." Shrugging, "As for sailing, I know not." Looking up at Ewan he asks, "Vat ships have you sailed vit?" Curious to know if he's heard of any.

As the questions wain, and Nempura speaks of 'other things to be handled' Ivar nods towards the old man trying to sell his knife and story. "Shall I fetch der old man, see if he vwould like to tell his tale?"

“Oh, thank you!” the little child says to Nempura says as she receives the coins; “I’m not sure who my friends are and no one sent me, but thanks for the coins. I will have to keep singing to be as great of a bard as you!” the child quickly scampers away without looking back. You get the since that there is more to that story.

As the group of 5 are spending the evening sitting around talking and drinking ale, Elnar Salonen, as some of you know as the owner and proprietor of the Orc’s Head Tavern, walks up to the table with three fresh large mugs of ale in each of his fit. Setting them down on the table and sliding before each of you, obviously keeping one for himself, he starts in; “Nempura, you and that crew that Captain Knuts hired has brought me a wealth of coin in just the short time it has been. I saw Helgar about but what happened to the rest of your crew?” He looks around trying to see if they are elsewhere. “I wanted to thank the lot of you. And let you know that anytime you stay here the food, ale, and room is on the house. Well, as long as you share a tale like that one you did tonight!” he says with a wink.

“These crew men, and women” looking to Arren; “of yours on the Sea Sprite? If so, and you all will be working together on future adventures, my offer also extends to you!” he says as he raises his mug and takes a long pull of the frothy ale. Wiping the remnant of the ale from his mustache, Elnar doesn’t liner long, just long enough to greet the party drop off some ale and extend a token of gratitude for filling his tavern. “Ope, almost forgot. This is for you.” He tosses Nempura a small pouch of coins that lands with a clink, before walking away.

Even though it is drawing later in the evening, people continue to come into the Orc’s Head Tavern. Some obviously coming from another drinking establishment, possibly after being tossed out by the looks of how they are acting, and others maybe needed a fresh of breath and relaxation after a long shift.

Another large man, look of a warrior, walks up to the table and clamps a hand on Merion’s shoulder slightly stumbling through his words due to the amount of ale he must have consumed this evening; “Watch this one… he will hit the pot at dice and leave… not even let you try to earn back your coin… come back tomorrow and I’ll be taking the dragon's hoard!” he says as he stumbles up the stairs to leave the tavern.

As you watch him leaving by climbing the stairs, you might find it rather odd that a tavern would located on a sub-level in a building. It would seem that most taverns would want their main drinking hall on the ground floor.

Damage Taken: Arren -0 HP,Ewan -0 HP, Helgar -0 HP, Ivar -0 HP, Merion -0 HP, Nempura -0 HP

Earlier
Naturally, children of the street have smarts beyond their years. While the boy or girl acted like nothing was understood, Nempura knows better.

Nempura watches as Ivar leaves really quick to grab a stool. She focuses her attention to Merion.
"More than he can get from this crowd? An old timer in need? Hmm" "Well...that sounds like fun. I love stories. They may be the death of me, but I do love learning what's going on, and if he has a tale, I want to hear it! I don't care if it's false or true! How much was he hoping to sell it for? I'll have to go bother him or wait and see if he circles back this way."

Whatever discomfort was in Nempura initially with Arren quickly fades as the woman speaks. Her lack of funds, her tattoo, and admission of her capabilities endears her to the bard.

"I know the feeling! I can sing the pants off a dragon, but when it comes to spellcasting, I myself am a novice. You're probably better than I am. You should come with us. After those events, I'm terrified of undead. It'll be nice to have a specialist who can deal with them. We've been facing undead and I would suspect that task isn't over. It would be quite the boon to have you. Heck...maybe you can take control of them and make them punch themselves in the face!" she laughs, thinking of what little boys do to each other when bullying their siblings. Yes, Nempura could see the two of them being fast friends.

Although she bluntly asked Ewan her question, as he answers her, she rewards him by being more receptive to his answer. It seems like his stuttering invigorates her to speak more openly in dialogue with him.

"Well, then you must be sure-footed and nimble. That's not nothing. I am the same," she answers Ewan with a soft, lazy grin. "I wish I were as strong as Ivar here," she gestures to him as he returns with his stool, "but I can hit just about anything I shoot at, even if it moves. That's hard to do if you're not accurate." If he looks at her body (which he has seen in more ways than one) he will notice (or remember) she is not weak and has the body of a fighter. Looking at her now, however, he may see that same tightness of musculature in her as within himself, unlike those bulkier in stature. She is slim but has a hidden strength. "If you're interested to join us, we are going to find the end of the story you just heard in a few day's time. You're welcome to walk along with us and see what trouble we can stir up before then. There should be coin in it. I don't do things to not get paid!" she states matter-of-factly with a playful glance to the self-declared poor, Arren. That should give her some peace of mind.

"Um...Yes!?" she answers Ivar with a dumbfounded grin. It is absolutely clear that she wants the old man to be summoned. "I just hope he hasn't given up yet."

Later
Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14
Sense Motive: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (3) - 1 = 2
Nempura keeps a loose eye on the child and tries to spot who her elder contact is. Surely someone sent the child out among the crowd.

Nempura is pleasantly distracted by more ale and she happily accepts.
"They got injured and are at the Wane recovering. I think some may go their own way from the sounds of things. It was a harrowing experience." He can tell she's a bit tipsy still, but not so drunk anymore. At his compliment, she grins and nods, "Thanks! I thought they would love it."

At his next question, she grins and nods, answering that yes, these are with her now. "That's a kind offer! Some did work with the crew on that ship, some have parted ways with the ship to join us in our continuation of what is to come. All in all, yes, they will be working together with us."

She will catch the pouch tossed to her and then will settle in for drinking. At Merion's inquisition by the patron, she chuckles. After the stranger leaves, she ensues, "A gambler eh?"

When Ivar speaks about Ewan having calloused hands, Ewan turns his hands to better take a look at them.
Calloused? My hands? I've trained my blade aye, but my pen has seen more use.

He swallows his thoughts as he counts his voyages on his hand and tries to remember the names of them all.

"There w-was 'The S-silent S-str-stride', the ship on wh-which I-I-ve learned the w-ways of the bl-blade. M-my t-teacher is a gr-great w-woman.
Then th-there was the Wh-whis-per W-wind, very f-fast. The B-blue Merchant, N-north Wh-whale, skidding along the Skaalhaft coast. The Wh-whisper W-wind again. The l-last w-was the G-gilded Gill, a l-large m-mer-merchant vessel."

In return to Nempura's words of companionship, Ewan smiles a large smile.
"I-I would be v-very m-much in your debt. I-I've had many y-years on the s-seas. I-I w-would wel-come a bit of ch-change."

If that man is in need of coin, I know I could help pitch in some coin towards helping him. If there's mention of treasure that would be a nice change as well.

I was kind of hoping Arren, would answer Ivar's question before my next post, but want to make sure I get a post up, so Arren if you answer we can retcon it as earlier

'I shouldn't be surprised that I haven't heard of any of them, Languard is a much larger city than Skaalhaft, what was I thinking.' Ivar nods as Ewan describes the ships he had served on, relieved when Ewan transitioned immediately to speaking to Nempura, he smiles and sips his mead.

His eyes drawn to the beautiful necromancer who had grown quiet. Watching the hauntingly pale wizard for a moment, Ivar's attention was distracted by the approaching owner. Accepting one of the steins he smiles and nods at the owners assumptions, not wanting to spoil the moment with facts. But as the owner finishes, tossing the pouch to Nempura, Ivar lifts his ale mug, "to Nempura, Yah!" sipping the ale, he sets it down beside his mead horn.

Seeing the large man approach, Ivar shifted his legs under his chair so he could come to his feet in a fighting position. As the man lays his hand on the cleric slurring his warning about Merion's gambling skills, Ivar relaxes, chuckling as the man departs. "A drunk und his money soon parted." Looking to Vynas, he nods after the big man. "He looks like he could tear you apart."

As the big man leaves he stands, turning to Nempura. "I shall go fetch der old man vit der dagger und der story." Having noted the man as he spoke with Merion, Ivar moves around the room searching for him. Once he finds the greying man Ivar speaks up, "Pardon eldri." He gestures towards the table, "der Lady heard your story from our companion. She is interested is seeing der knife und possibly hearing der story." He shrugs, "Perhaps she vill purchase der dagger. Vould you come vit me back to der table. I have ale for you to vet you vhistle und I'm sure der are a few coins in it for you, even if all ve do is converse."

Sorry, it was a busy Friday! This would be before the dude with the dagger got here, as Arren would not share this to him

Arren is surprised at the support and the friendly words that come from the mouths of her new companions. She is quite unused to people having a positive reaction to what she says. It's almost enough to have her come clean, and tell them the complete truth. For a few seconds, Arren grows quiet as she thinks about how to respond. The pale woman is obviously struggling with something. It would reflect poorly on her to admit that she had been lying about the nature of her magic, and make it harder for them to trust her in the future. On the other hand, if they found out later, the consequences might be even more disastrous.

"Why necromancy? Well, it is a difficult and depressing story." Arren's body language becomes much more withdrawn, and her head and eyes are kept down as she continues talking. Her hands fumble with her spellbook, and opens it on the table. Those of you in the know can see that the spells written in the book, while having the trappings of magical theory behind them, are not fully fleshed out. She speaks with a low, remorseful voice.

"I am not a studied mage. I took on the trappings of one to avoid the prejudice of those who would hold the circumstances of my birth against me." Arren takes a deep breath. "You see, they tell me I was stillborn. And yet I live. But a few years ago, my body and spirit began to change. I grew frailer, my skin lost it's pigment, my body heat nearly matches room temperature and I began... to crave the warmth of other living creatures. It seems that death has entered me. She takes a deep drink of her ale and continues.

"In the beginning, I could only do small, uncontrolled magical acts. But every day that passes, my ailment grows. So I left my home and family to try and find a cure. The tattoo that you saw earlier helps me focus the magic into a controllable form. When I was at the Fane, I was hoping that the waters might delay my degradation. Unfortunately, they provided no additional relief. Necromancy may have been thrust upon me, but I bear nothing but disgust for those who inflict undead upon others. If I may speak plainly, I am terrified that one day, I will awaken to find that I no longer breathe, or eat, or even bleed." At this, Arren who seems to have worked herself up with her story will attempt to cut her hand to draw blood and demonstrate her point, unless someone makes an effort to stop her.

"I hope you can forgive me for my deception in our meeting. I have found it is easiest to pretend to be a mage instead of... a blight upon the natural order." The previously reserved woman now seems animated, almost pleading.

As Ivar approaches the greying middle aged gentleman, he greets him with a smile; “Good evening!” But, when Ivar shows that his companions are interested in the dagger and the story around it, he quickly gets to his feet and follows him back to the table and pulls up an empty chair. At this time in the evening, chairs are more free to find than earlier.

With a friendly smile the man speaks; “My name is Albin. Albin Mietti. Not that it matters much, but I was once like you all here. Returning from a daring adventure, fighting off the things that we use to scare our kids back to bed… But that was a long time ago. I have seen companions come and go, and it is my turn to go.”

He pulls a sheathed dagger from his belt and places it before him. The sheath itself looks as if it is scales of some sort. Pulling the dagger free with a flash of his wrist, and moves it in his hand to prove its balance, before presenting it before the group. You can now see this finely crafted dagger is of ancient design, and made from silver. Depicted on the blade is a finely etched serpent’s head decorates the dagger’s blade. The tongue of the serpent reaches the tip of the dagger, while the tail coils to form the pommel. You believe that if Helgar were here, it would be something she would enjoy on a craftsmanship level. He places it on the table and allows any of you to pick it up if you pleased.

“As I said, I was once an adventurer. This is a blade I came across while defending the Salt Mire to the south. It brought me a bit of luck along the way, and I figured it would be useful to someone else.” Pointing to Merion; “Like I told your friend there, I am looking to retire. Maybe buy a farm in my home village of Dulwich. Retire in peace.” he laughs as scratches behind his ear; “I’m sure you are well aware, the life on the road is hard. Nights spent in a tavern bed followed by hay loft followed by a tree as a tent on a stormy night… I am ready for a place to call home.” pointing to the dagger; “That blade, and the story that goes along with it, is what will get me there.”

He looks at the five of you; “I am asking for 400 gold crowns, for the blade and the tale. The blade itself is worth it, but the tale could bring you a fortune beyond your dreams.” He takes a drink for a pause; “I know what you are thinking, why didn’t I go after the fortune… I never had companions that I could trust enough with what I know. I felt like I would fall asleep and would wake up dying with a dagger in my chest.” Letting out a breath that is also a chuckle; “So, 400 crowns for this exquisite dagger, and a tale that would send you on an adventure of your life?”

Nempura laughs delightfully as Ivar cheers to her name. That gives him big points in her book. She definitely will raise her ale to that.

Ewan explains his ship experience and Nempura delights in his speaking. "If you are patient enough, and on enough of a close topic to their hearts, sometimes they will forget they are stuttering. Let's see if he does..."

"I can't guarantee that we won't end up back on a ship, but even if we do, it'll be nice to have such an experienced sailor with us. So you were taught by a sword-swinging woman, hmm? I'm sure she taught you to shoot a bow as well?"

She listens to Arren explain her history. At hearing that the woman was stillborn, there is a wince of empathy behind her eyes. As she goes on, saying "death has entered her", Nempura's eyes go a bit wider in shock. It takes her a moment (even longer than normal due to the buzzed state she's in) to think of a response.

"Hmm...I mean...sorry, but you're not contagious are you?" A valid question given the deep life bomb that was just dropped upon them. "...because...while I like your spirit, I don't want what you've got. I love my eating, drinking and blood!" she gives a weak chuckle, trying to make as much light of such a heavy topic as one could, but it is clear, she is trying to be sensitive of Arren's feelings.

With Ivar leaving, she will lounge even more and will use his small stool as a place to kick up her feet; also so no-one takes it from their table. Ivar will see that when he returns, she will wink playfully like she's not going to remove her feet, but then will relent.

Albin pulls up a chair and she thinks "Oh man...poor Helgar is going to be glad she's not hearing about undead and more missions. I must be crazy...Maybe I should go wake her up and tell her everything, hah!" A subtle grin spreads over the bard's face as she listens to the introduction.

Casting Detect Magic
Appraise: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20
Sense Motive: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (19) - 1 = 18

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mietti. Well now, this is just the sort of thing I need for my treasure hoard...especially if it has a history."

She will listen to him explain.

"Some people won't risk everything for their goals. That's why they don't make it in this adventuring game. I hope to own a weapon fifty times this in worth, at least."

She sets it back down and asks some questions.

"Four-hundred is quite steep, as I'm sure you've heard. That is a retireable amount. I wouldn't suggest you get into farming, but rather purchase a decent-sized home, rent out three of the rooms, and then live in the fourth. That will give you income, company, no hard work for your aging bones, and once your home is paid off, you can set aside some for your family...if you have any," she replies with a wink, as if this is her own intention. "How detailed is this story? Location? Contents? Is this treasure owned by anyone else? I want details before I consider agreeing to this. Also, would you take a bank note for this? I don't particularly feel like carrying around four-hundred gold. Or, alternatively, you could meet me at the bank and we could make a transfer. Do you have an account?"

Arren's tale
Watching as Arren's body languaged changed, Ivar sipped his mead settled back in his chair. He knew there were diferent types of spell casters, he had seen enough of them in Skaalhaft. Some dressed in scholors robes, somed dressed in normal clothes, others dressed like natives from the south, with furs and feathers. He knew they used different sources of power, but that was about all he knew.

As she shared about her birth and the manifestation of her powers, he wondered about the manifestations he had experienced the last time he had been in a great rage. The claws that had appeared on his hand. some how he had been infused with the primal powers of the monsters he had hunted as a youth. Realizing his mind had wandered, he heard the lovely pale woman refer to herself as a blight upon the natural order.

He looked up at Arren, then at Nempura when she asks if Arren is 'Contagious' He chuckles, lifting his mead horn, gesturing towards the follower of Darlen. "If you ask him, ve are all sick." Sipping the mead. "As for der undeath, if you get to vere you are no longer in der ranks of der living und cannot come to ending it yourself but vant to, let me know und I vill do it for you." He shrugs, "It is der least vone can do for a companion."

After fetching the old man
Moving back to the table he notices Nempura has placed her feet on his stool. After guiding the old man to a chair and pushing the stein of ale towards him, Ivar raises an eyebrow and makes to sit down on Nempura's legs. As she winks and moves her legs, Ivar nods giving a light smile. "I am glad you moved your legs, der knees look boney und not particularly comfortable."

Pulling the three-legged stool over, Ivar sits and listens to the old mans spiel, 'Enough to retire? Bah.' Ivar watches attempting to discern the voracity of what the old man is saying. Trying to separate truth from fiction. As Nempura begins talking about paying the mans price. Ivar lifts a sausage sized finger. "Pardon. My assumption, for dat price, you vill not only tell us de tale und hand over der knife, but you vill guide us to der mine, yah?"

aid another, sense motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15

Arren returns Nempura's weak chuckle. "I do not believe so. Never have I spread my condition, although it's new manifestations often surprise me."

Turning to Ivar, she states, "I cannot express to you how much that means to me. My greatest fear is that if I turn, I will lose myself completely. To know that there are strong warriors, such as Ivar and Ewan at my back, watching me is a comfort. But there is a reason I named my familiar Hope. I have to believe that I can forge a better fate for myself." Arren is somewhat exhausted by this whole exchange, obviously not accustomed to speaking for such long periods of time, and is keen to let the attention fade from her, although it might be difficult to do so after such a revelation. Still, she is happy to let Nempura lead the negotiations on this dagger, and happier still to not be rejected after her tale.

Merion apologizes at the drunk man's back. I'd have stayed longer, but...friends came... He halts as he sees the man is no longer listening.

Sense motive to see if he was merely drunk or actually holds ill will: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28

To Nempura, he adds Only to fit in. I prefer contests of skill. I hope that man wasn't too offended--Dragon and the Thief is all luck, else I'd have made sure to lose not much less than I won. He shudders a bit at Ivar's comment. I hope he was only joking.

He listens to Arren's tale, finding it strange yet believable. So she and this Ewan are not a pair, or joiners sent by another faction. So much the better. Such strange matters there are in this world. There are far worse afflictions, and many who bear them less well.

Knowledge(Arcana) to see what he knows about things like Arren's affliction: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20

Ewan sits with his mouth agape and focued eyes on Arren as she relays her story.
Okay... this was not what I was thinking. Now the rune tattoo makes even more sense. Maybe it's projecting heat outwards for others to not notice her low body temperature."

He wisely makes no inquisitive remark again as he senses a kindred spirit, someone not wanting to talk too much about their own past.

Turning his remarks and answers to Nempura, seeing as she herself is quite inquisitive about his combat prowess.

"B-bows? I-I can't say Ly-lyria taught me a-any-anything like that. N-not many ar-arrows. H-harpoons and th-thr-throwing darts more. S-sup-pose th-that it w-wouldn't be th-that dif-fi-cult to learn."

When the talk begins about the price of the dagger and the story from the older man, Ewan feels the inside pocket of his vest, weighing the pouch of coins he hasn't spent yet.

It's quite a sum I still have left. If there is enough willingness to commit to this endeavour, I could chip in for the biggest part if needed.

Earlier with Isto
As Merion feels the hand clamp down on his shoulder, worry starts to worry for a minute. Then realized that Isto was just busting his chops and holds no ill will.

Currently with Albin
As Nempura takes the blade in her hands, she begins to examine it. Feeling the weight, balance, craftsmanship, and that is actual silver, she comes to the conclusion that the price Albin is asking is about right, but a little high. She knows that she has seen similar blades Masterworked Silver Dagger sell for about 322 gold crowns. But then again, those don’t come with the promises of a tale that this one does.

As the group begin to ask questions of the blade, the tale, and of the man himself he draws nearer to the table looking at Ivar; “I do tell you that the blade is worth it without me guiding you to the doors.” Looking to Nempura; “The story is very detailed. I have locations, names, dates, but as far as the contents go… I know nothing.” shifting and putting the blade back in its sheath, Albin continues; “It is a long forgotten keep of an adventuring duet. A husband and wife.” he laughs slightly to himself; “and their young son.”

Taking a drink of his ale, he finishes by saying; “I have possibly spoken too much. To find out more, and to gain the blade” tapping the hilt in his left hand while holding the sheath in his right; “I must receive the coin.”

With the aid of Ivar’s questioning, Nempura would get the sense that Albion is telling the truth, or what he believes is the truth. He is not trying to be deceitful or lie to the group.

During this conversation one of the barmaids, Aila, comes up informing the group; “Kitchen is closing, there isn’t much left but would you like to finish off the stew? Not enough worth keeping till tomorrow.” If anyone request another bowl Aila gladly brings you another bowl with a small slice of bread. Possibly because it is needed to soak up the little bit that is left.

While all of this is going on, please feel free to continue the RP between the group. I love it!

Damage Taken: Arren -0 HP,Ewan -0 HP, Helgar -0 HP, Ivar -0 HP, Merion -0 HP, Nempura -0 HP

Party
Falsly acting injured by Ivar's statement about her knees, in a sultry tone she flirts back in a whisper, "My knees are paragons of comfort...," then crosses one leg over the other and lounges again with a more mirthful smile on her face than before.

"I have to believe I can forge a better fate for myself," the mage states. "Well...don't we all." she replies, leaving the girl to herself. This is not based on courtesy in that she picked up on the fact Arren didn't want to talk about it anymore. It is just luck and getting lost in her own flashbacks that saves Arren and makes Nempura seem like an expert at sensing this woman's intent.

The man goes his way away from Merion and she shrugs.

"Even if not, I'm sure once his drink wears off he'll have forgotten it even happened," she waves dismissively with a grin.

When Ewan returns fire, she laughs excitingly. He may have thought she was attractive before. This brings out a hidden beauty from within. "Well then! I will certainly have to teach you, because you say that, but it can be a challenge. Most people can hit a target, but try hitting a target in the middle of combat on a swaying ship in the middle of the storm from eighty feet away. That might be what some call decent!"

Mr. Mietti
Nempura winces as the old man lies about the price. If he is lying about the price, then he's probably lying about the adventure to some degree. No story is worth 240 gold to her.

"No...No story is worth that much, as if you sold that dagger, it would be worth probably one hundred gold crowns. If you really got an interested party, they may offer you half retail price, which would be closer to the one-hundred and sixty range. I realize that I would be paying you a massive sum of money for a tall tale. You have my interest right now, but you are losing it by stepping back," she negotiates with some charisma. "I want to know if the proginy of this keep hold a claim on it now, and I would need to know the family name now. If I get this from you, I promise you, that if this isn't some buttered pig chase, I will give you the gold. When I put that gold in your hands, you give me everything. Locations, names of everyone and everything involved, dates...hell, even shipping manifests from the house or their neighbor's house if you have it."

She then shrugs and states, "I think that's fair, Mr. Mietti. After all, I am the one with something to lose here. You know my face. You can easily find my name out asking around here if you don't know it already, and this is where I stay when I'm in town. If I backstab you, I'd be easy to find with such beautiful hair and smile, yes?" she playfully fences.

If he gives her the name:
Knowledge Nobility: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15 (To know if there ever was a rumor of wealth about this family)

When the barmaid comes over, she shakes her head. "No thanks, darling, but if Mr. Mietti or one of my friends here wish some, by all means."

Im on my phone on the road but I wanted to correct something. The price asked for the dagger is 400 gold, Nempura appraised it as 322. For a total difference of 78 gold.

Nevermind I see what she is saying.

Earlier with Arren
A scorpion named 'Hope'' Chuckling at Arren's pet's name, Ivar nods as she expresses the relief, adding. "I am a strong believer in vone forging der own fate."

When he returns with the old man.
'Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?' Raising an eyebrow as Nempura responds about the quality of the comfort her knees provide, Ivar takes a seat on his stool. From the corner of his eye, he watches as she crosses her legs. His lips starting to feel dry and chapped, he resists licking them. Instead he looks towards the old man who has started to speak, picking up his mead horn and taking a sip.

now
'Curious, she is willing to trust the man's story. I would still insist he travel with us. But it is not my coin.' While the old man and Nempura haggled, he notices Aila approaching, Nodding he hands his empty bowl back to the girl, "More stew vould be good." Holding up the mead horn, "May I have another vone of dis." He shrugs, "If not Ale is fine." When she brings the bowl back he happily slurps it down, dragging the piece of bread through the drippings.

Seeing Nempura wince, but unsure why, Ivar lowers his bowl as she speaks of being the one with something to loose. He gestures towards the old man. "I still t'ink he should come vit us." He gives a wolfish smile. "Ve vould even pay for der traveling expenses, so it did not come out of der veregild he is extracting."

Conversation with Albin
Almost with an echo of shock and surprise you hear Albin say; “one hundred?” quickly followed by a gasp at “one-hundred and sixty?” shaking his head he holds the dagger. “That cannot be. This dagger is all that is left, I must use it to retire.” he gestures to the group of you all around the table; “You could all share in the expense. Yes might only be able to use the dagger, but all of you could share in the wealth.” Rubbing his temples he collects himself and continues; “I cannot go that low. I need to think about my future.”

When asked about more details he shakes his dead; “Last I heard, no one was living in their keep. It has been almost all but forgotten. But, I cannot share any more until the purchase has been made.” When Ivar continues to suggest that Albin should go with, Albin chuckles; “Have I not mentioned that I am retired from that sort of life? Plus, I’ll be at Dulwich if you needed me for any reason. That’s not too far.”
Nempura I will need a Diplomacy from you, Ivar should probably aid, and anyone else who wants to get involved feel free to jump in and roll a dimplomacy.

Helgar
You make your way up the stairs and find your door cracked open. You hear some body or something rummaging around within.

Damage Taken: Arren -0 HP,Ewan -0 HP, Helgar -0 HP, Ivar -0 HP, Merion -0 HP, Nempura -0 HP

Merion quietly makes his way to the side of Nempura and Ivar. Since they have the man's attention, it will be easier to slip in a word edgewise.

Better to get what you can, I'd think. For me, I haven't the coin to help significantly, I can't speak for any others. It seems to me, though, that with something as risky as this, with so many unknowns, a joint venture--even with you as silent partner--would be better than a simple sale.

Diplomacy, aiding Nempura: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16

"Aww...I'm sorry, sweetie, but yeah. I'm not lying. So what I am really buying is your story. It is beautiful and I do want it though."

She feels bad that she can't help more without the information.

"If it is near Dulwich and Dulwich is not that far, we aren't asking you to clear the Keep with us, we are just asking to show us the way and it seems like it is near your home. Why so hesitant? Is that so hard on you? I think you can agree to my terms and feel safe." she asks gives him a sad look. He wouldn't disappoint her would he? Would he give her the family name?

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18 *Plus additional aid

Sipping his mead, Ivar watches the man, thinking how lucky the old man was in the fact that he was dealing with Nempura not Tavor. Tavor would have taken the knife and beat the story from the old man. Ivar paused looking at Nempura, wondering if she would go for such a thing. 'Probably better not to ask.' Shaking his head as he sets the mead-horn down, he sighs. "You vwould do vell to listen to her. She is right. it is not dat far und you vould still be betting vat you vant."

diplomacy: aid another: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (18) - 1 = 17

Ewan listens to the man pleading for more money than the 160 pieces of gold Nempura says it is worth.

Ewan takes out his bag of coins and takes out a smaller bag wherein he puts a remainder of coins, then puts forwards the larger sack.

"P-per-haps w-we don't h-have enough c-coin right now. T-to pay the t-to-tal sum at once. Though th-this m-might s-suf-fice as a down p-payment. Wh-when we re-turn, we c-could pay the remaining s-sum."

If Albin checks the bag of gold, he will find 250 gold pieces in it, more than half of what he asks for and quite some more than the 160 gp Nempura told him he would get.

"W-Would th-that be enough f-for the st-sto-ry?"

Arren watches in amazement as the group wears away at this man. Certainly, he would have to be of stern stuff to stand up against this barrage from all sides. Of course, if he actually is an ex-adventurer, who lived long enough to desire retiring, he very well might be... but she decides to try and add to the pressure.
"Perhaps there is a favor that we could do for you, that might reduce the price? An old enemy who might be out to get you, land you might want leveled, and prepared for farming, spells you might want cast?"

Diplomancy: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15

Conversation with Albin
With everyone aiding Nempura you have a Diplomacy of 24, plus Ewan’s coins…
Running his hands through his hair, it appears the man realized he isn’t going to get the 400 crowns he initially was seeking.

“oaky… okay… I will make you a deal.” pointing to Ewan’s coins; “The 250 crowns now, another 150 crowns when you return from exploring the keep.” He looks at the those of you around the table. Then slides the sheathed blade to the middle of the table; “I will take you most of the way there, then I will give you exact locations the rest of the way. You will also get all the details I know.” Holding out his hand for the coin; “Do we have a deal?”

Damage Taken: Arren -0 HP,Ewan -0 HP, Helgar -0 HP, Ivar -0 HP, Merion -0 HP, Nempura -0 HP

Nempura sees this new group step up, and even Ewan donating more money than she had possessed before this previous mission. Surely it is an amount he's taken a long time to save up. It puts to weight the gravity of this situation. She can't screw it up.

"I think that's agreeable. You will stay with us tonight. We can leave in the morning."

As he congratulates them, she quickly moves the sheathed blade off the table in hopes that others didn't notice he had made a deal.

Sleight of Hand: 1d20 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 3 + 2 = 16

With things dying down in the tavern, it is probably easier to notice if anyone has eyes on him. If so, she will connect and make it known that she sees them. No one is going to disrupt this kind old man's celebration of his retirement.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

She listens to the tale, ensuring that there are no prying eyes or ears, also encouraging him to keep his voice down to a whisper under the sound of the minstrels. His attention to detail and his surroundings are even less keen than her own.

She thinks of the name Valentin Ironwolf. Is the name one of legend?

The previous roll was a Nobility 15 to recognize the name.

'two hundred and fifty gold pieces?' Looking from Ewan back to the old man, then back to Ewan, 'And he had it in his pocket? I need to find out what ships he served on again.' Not really sure he believes what just happened, Ivar turns towards Nempura as she accepts the deal.

Watching as Nempura makes the blade disappear, Ivar nods towards the common room, "I vill be sleeping in de common room, If he sleeps in der, nearby, I vill keep him safe." Taking a long pull on his mead, Ivar leans forward putting both elbows oon the table getting as comfortable as possible while the old man tells his tale.

Once the story ends, he looks towards the old man, "So you are telling us ve paid you to learn der is an empty castle near your home town." Raising an eyebrow. "One det anyvone in der town could point us to." He sipped his mead again. 'A think I'm figuring out why Tavar just beat the information out of people.'

Interesting, this. I suppose there is a bit of time until the Lady needs us, this will let me take the measure of these people more. The "us" snuck into his thoughts unbidden, and he considers it before setting it aside. One can serve many masters, despite what some religions say.

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (1) + 9 = 10

Knowledge(Local) in case the keep is close enough for me to know anything: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

Seriously? 2 nat 1s?

Merion is too distracted to see where the dagger goes, but is thinking of Ivar's words. For this tale alone, he is inclined to agree with the northerner warrior, though he's never heard of this keep or family. But now that there is an agreement, and Mietti will be accompanying them, perhaps he can be induced to tell more.

Quietly, to build comradery, he puts up a coin of his own on the table Albin...don't buy us drinks out of your retirement fund you just earned from us. I'll take this round.

Nempura pushes both sets of coins away, stating, "Drinks are on the house for us this evening, if you don't recall, gentlemen. And we can share a few good drinks with our new friend." She can sense Ivar's questioning to a point, thinking he's making a joke. It's a good point though.

Helgar
You make your way up the stairs and find your door cracked open. You hear some body or something rummaging around within.

Helgar sighed. Another person down on their luck seeking to make some easy coin? She pulled out her hammer as she walked into the room, fully expecting to see a scraggly looking thief. "Drop whatever ye've stolen." She exclaimed as she walked in, in no mood to deal with the expected drama.

Orc’s Head Tavern Common Room
Nempura quickly takes claim to the dagger that was sitting on the table and slides it under her clothing. Looking around while doing so, she doesn’t see anyone who looks to be paying more attention to her table than any other table in the inn. That is until Albin shouts out calling for Another round of ale for me and my friends. That would call for the attention of even the most far gone drunk.

Albin lights up when the party brings up that drinks are on the party. He turns to Ivar; "My friend, if you knew the how terrible the woodlands to the sound of Dulwich were, you would know that the secrets within them are not common knowledge of the citizens of Dulwich. Most adventurers that go in never emerge." Taking a drink; "Orcs, Ogres, Trolls, and Goblins claim that land. But I've been there." He says with a smile.

The evening continues. More and more people leave as no new patrons come in. Albin will stay up as late as the party allows him drink and an ear to tell stories about his past adventures. Tales of great joy filled with laughter that bring tears, and tales of companions lost that bring different kinds of tears. You get the sense that Albin hasn’t had anyone to listen to his stories or share a mug of ale with in a long time…

The night will close out. A few people are still around dicing and drinking. If the party “closed down” the tavern, you see a few of the barmaids escorting over inebriated patrons up the stairs to the door or their bedroom doors, some of which attempt to invite them into their rooms. All of which end with no success as the girls playfully push the drunks into their beds and leave the room.

Through the Night
Everyone finds their way to their respectable room, or the common room where those who sleep there find a room full of snoring beds. Sleep finds everyone quickly, either thanks to the drink or the hard day that was put in. Was it really just this morning that you went to the Sea Sprite? Darkness overs you as you fall to sleep.

The Morning
No matter when you wake up, the aroma of sweat breads, sausage, and tea fills your nose and pulls even the most hung over of person out of their bed.

When Ivar wakes, he does not see Albin in the common sleeping room where he was the night before… Making an assumption Ivar quickly exits the room and look down from the balcony into the common room of the tavern. There sits Albin talking to the other people eating their morning breakfast.

What do you do?

Damage Taken: Arren -0 HP,Ewan -0 HP, Helgar -0 HP, Ivar -0 HP, Merion -0 HP, Nempura -0 HP

Ewan listens carefully to the story Albin is telling them about the orcs, goblins, ogres and the family of three that fought them off, but failed in the end. He drinks together with Ivar and Nempura, being not a slouch in that department himself.

A thought did occur to him though as the tales were told.
They were in the Orc's Head Tavern, run by a barkeep called Einar....What if he was the son in the story? It would fit wouldn't it?

Come the next morning, Ewan is up a bright and early as he normally would be aboard a ship. Often enough, there were several shifts on board and he always had a bright and early one.

He partakes in the breakfast of bread and sausage and strong tea, laying a good foundation for the day. As Albin wakes he talks to him some more, asking questions of the tales he told yeserday evening, eventually sliding a note to him with a question on the other side.

It reads: Did the son of Valentin Ironwolf start a tavern perchance?

Chuckling when Nempura remind them the ale is free that night, Ivar raises an eyebrow at Albin's excuse. 'Not common knowledge, so no one knows a rich guy started to build and never finished.' Giving Albin a very bland look. Ivar drinks the last of his mead. 'Or maybe I'll let the old man take care of himself.' Lifting one of the fresh ales, he looks at Nempura, 'Blast, I told her I'd watch out for him. Can't let anything happen to him now.'

Taking a long drought of the draft, he finishes it off in one go. Wiping the froth out of his mustache. "Já, you are de only vone dat knows der are goblins in de woods. Just like I am der only one from Skaalhaft dat knows der are kraken in de sea." Setting his mug back on the table he takes another, this time nursing it as the others talk. As the evening comes to an end he rises from the table, Nodding to his companions, slurring. "góða nótt allir." He heads to the bar to collect his pack and polearm, then making his way to the common room: quickly falling asleep.

'Maybe I should have waited to make sure he got to the common room.'Waking in the morning with a fairly clear head Ivar looks around for the old man while gathering his gear. Heading to the common room he sees the old man speaking with Ewan. Ivar waives at the two, then goes to take care of his morning ablutions. Afterwards he heads to the table where the others two are seated. He waives at the waitress. "May I have some oatmeal vit honey und cream?" Seeing Albin reading a note, Ivar looks from the old man to the duelist and asks. "May I?"

"His story adds up from what I've heard," Nempura adds to Albin's tale. "I trust our good friend here." She then looks to Ewan. "This tale was not cheap. I will pay the latter amount from my share, but then, if those of you who are light in pocket wish to come along and stake a claim on what we find, then we'll require a portion back. I think that's fair. If there is no treasure, then I'll bear the brunt of the expense and take the burden from you, Ewan. I showed interest, the responsibility is mine...though I do thank you for your contribution. That was ...wow..."

It is clear Ewan put forth a good foot there, and whatever ogling in the Fane he may have done, clearly is not on the bard's mind in the least. Whether this distraction via money was his intent or not, it is successful regardless. She is even a bit impressed at how well the boy drinks. When drinks are not forced down her throat by loving patrons, the party will find she is a reserved drinker and vastly would prefer her tea.

Ivar's comment makes her chuckle about the kraken.

"Goodnight, Ivar. I suppose that should be all of us since we are probably up early. I've got to go to the bank on the way out, and we may do well renting a small cart and pack mule."

She will slowly get up and feel the soreness in her body. It had been a stressful day, and although the Soaking waters of the Fane was nice, it didn't quench her soul. Nempura will lead the elder man to the common room and will suggest to them that they keep a watch over him in turns if possible. Then she would head to bother and wake up Helgar to tell her the situation.

Nempura is seen coming down the stairs in a comfortable traveling outfit. It would be something a dockworker may wear, and not sexy at all were it not for her backpack and belt pulling the loose fabric tight to her shapely form. Her hair is treated and placed in tight braids to show she is ready for combat, and her gear looks immaculate and oiled instead of crusted from sea spray.

"Morning, everyone!" she will voice to those in the tavern, not just her companions. Instead of heading right to her companions, she moves to the bar.

"So...when you have a chance Einar...we'd love it if you'd join us at our table. We've got some questions. Have any oatmeal and honey?" she asks excitedly, hoping she was not too late to get something good tasting.

Remainder of the night

Merion spends the rest of the evening listening to Albin's stories, providing a ready and more or less unchallenging ear, though he'll ask questions here and there, especially about anything relating to the area of Dulwich.

He will go to bed around the same time as the others depart, laying his head in as isolated a spot as he can find, ideally near the wall/corner, and noting where Ivar and Albin are sleeping. He debates changing into his spare shirt for the night, but decides to wear it on the morrow.

Morning

If Merion does not awake as early as a seasoned sailor, neither does he rise as late as a habitual drunk. Checking his possessions and finding them all present, he finds a place to splash water on his face and dress, then makes his way to the common breakfast room.

Arriving, he takes a seat next, and similar breakfast, to Ewan, arriving just in time to see him pass the note. Where are the ladies? he asks, to make conversation and not inquire about the note's contents.

Helgar glared at the girl and especially the man as they left her room. The cleric even went so far as to shake her head at them and narrowed her eyes, certain that it would show her displeasure. What would her family think? Humans! They were almost as bad as halflings when it came to such shenanigans.

Once her room was empty she closed and locked the door, ready to get some hard earned sleep. Unfortunately, her sleep was anything but. She tossed and turned, locked in a nightmare that seemed to be from her memories. She sat up in her bed, looking around wildly, certain that the face of her tormentor would be staring right at her, but instead found herself alone in the darkness of her room. The cleric lay back down, but try as she might, all she could do was toss and turn as sleep proved elusive.

When the morning finally came she crawled out of bed and went about pulling her equipment together. Helgar went down the stairs, a grumpy look on her face, in the hope that breakfast would at least prove to be a relief...

The Next Morning in Orc’s Head Tavern Common Room
Ewan wakes and follows his nose down into the common room. He is greeted by a different grouping of barmaids, Einar stands behind the bar. In his possibly too booming voice for this early of a morning, he greets Ewan; “Morning! Hope you slept well, from what I hear from the crew you guys closed it down last night. I’ll have a plate brought out to you.”

Partly through Ewans meal Albin joins him at the table after requesting some breakfast. Reading the note he kind of thinks for a moment; “Well just like with his…” He is cut off as Merion and Ivar joins the table. “Come on and sit! This one here is a heavy sleeper.” pointing to Ivar with a thumb; “It was almost impossible to sleep in that common room. But thankfully last night might be the last time.”

Accepting his plate as the barmaid drops it off, he returns his attention to Ewan’s note; “The story of the Ironwolf family is a sad one. All three of them were slayed by a clan of orcs and goblins. Proof that the life of an adventurer isn’t a guaranteed one.”

The barmaids tend to Ewan, Ivar, Merion, and Albin for any food or drink they need while waiting for the party. Albin ask questions about previous adventures the group has been on. Happy to hear the tales told.

When Nempura and Helgar join the group Einar follows shortly holding a bowl of oatmeal and sets it in front of Nempura. Sitting down with the group; “Nempura said you have some questions?”

Damage Taken: Arren -0 HP,Ewan -0 HP, Helgar -0 HP, Ivar -0 HP, Merion -0 HP, Nempura -0 HP

Arren is hard pressed to rest this night. She has far too much to think about. For the first time in years, her own condition isn't the first thing on her mind. It felt good to be part of a group again. She'd have to make sure that she continues to be accepted by them. And trolls, goblins, orgres... this sounded like a real adventure, something that might have an actual happy ending! No, Arren is far too excited to sleep until the wee hours of the morning, and it is only a couple of hours before it is time for breakfast.

She comes downstairs, looking for the group. Her garb is lighter today than it was yesterday, instead of a robe being a modest dress, with long, lacy sleeves to cover the tattoos. She takes a seat next to Ewan, if he doesn't protest, giving him a small smile. He was the first person she met in this group, and she still feels most comfortable with him. Did everybody sleep well?

As Helgar comes down, the bard places a hand on the dwarf's shoulder in camaraderie.

"I know it's early, but I have a task lined up for us. You'll have to let me know if you are interested. We could make some good 'friends', far from the sea," she states while jiggling the dummy money pouch at her side with only a few coins in it. Hopefully, the dwarf understands that when she speaks of 'friends' she's talking about money. There also is a hint of comfort being further from the sea in her words.

Having Einar take her order, she also adds some boiling water to her order so she can make her tea. With things in order, she heads to the table. As her companions seem already speaking, she smiles to herself at the sight of Arren and Ewan together, then gives everyone a wave.

"I slept well," she half-lies. Just the thought of the face next to hers in a nightmare she had gives her a chill, betraying her words. "For the most part anyway. I dreamt of your damned ship. That was...unsettling...but yup, all's well..." she rambles before unslinging her bow and sitting. She pulls out some of her fresh fruit and picks a knife up off the table to cut it into pieces.

A few minutes later, Einar finds his way over.

"Yeah, um...I know it's an odd subject, but do the names Kaarian and Valentin mean anything to you?"

Hearing Nempura, calling out 'Good morning' before he actually saw her, Ivar stands and pulls a chair over to the table for their leader. Nodding, "good morning Nempura." As he sits, he continues eating his oatmeal, occasionally dipping a piece of toasted bread in it.

When the clerk joins them, Ivar looks up as the man addresses Ewan, 'Where are the women?' looking from Merion to Ewan then to Nempura, he shakes his head, but says nothing.

When Albin starts to talk about how Ivar sleeps, the large man looks up from his bowl of oatmeal. Setting down the swoon he forms a 'puppet mouth' with his hands and starts opening and shutting it very quickly. "Albin, you are doing Dis." He then holds the 'puppet mouth' shut. "You need to be doing dis instead. It vill be for your own good." Picking up his spoon, he returns to eating his bowl of oatmeal.

As Helgar and Arren join them, Ivar looks up at the pale necromancer and shrugs, "Vell enough." Raising an eyebrow as Nempura talked about having a dream about the ship. Having finished the bowl of oatmeal and cleaned out the bottom with the toast, he watched as Nempura begins to ask Einar about the dead adventurers.

With a shrug Albin gives Ivar a sideways look after his puppetry display and gets to eating the breakfast that is before him.

Einar thinks to himself outloud; “Kaarian and Valentin?” with a dismissive grunt; “I don’t think I have. I have heard a lot of names of people here in Languard and those who come and go from the port, but those don’t ring a bell. Are they someone you are looking for?”

Damage Taken: Arren -0 HP,Ewan -0 HP, Helgar -0 HP, Ivar -0 HP, Merion -0 HP, Nempura -0 HP

Shaking his head after shoveling a mouthful of oatmeal in it. "Dey are dead adventurers who had a child dat shared your name. Ve vere looking for a nice vay of asking you if de vere your parents." He points his spoon at Albin, "Der old man vas der vone vit de story. Got paid a pretty penny to tell it too." He shrugs, "Says de had a castle. So ve vanted to know ver your parents adventurers who vere building a castle?"