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Eastern Isger, Village of Breachill, Rova 1, The Day of the Call for Heroes.
Isger is a troubled land. Having spent the better half of a millennia bending its knee to the diabolical lords of Cheliax; it is a land that still bears scars from the Goblinblood Wars two decades hence. But even in troubled Isger there are places of peace and (relative) prosperity. Take the idyllic town known as Breachill.
The folk there are the just the type to help one another when down on their luck, or to welcome strangers in for a spot of tea or a bowl of stew. The town's guardsmen carry saps as their only weapons, and usually go about unarmored. In fact, guards are rarely needed for much beyond breaking up the occasional drunken row in one of the local watering holes. The worship of Asmodeus, which the former overlords from Cheliax are eager to spread, is all but unthinkable here. Instead dreaming Desna, playful Cayden, and artful Shelyn draw most of the town's deific allegiance. Most of the reverence, however, is reserved for another.
Breachill loves adventurers. As citizens are quite happy to tell anyone who will listen, their town was founded – indeed, saved -- by an adventurer, an itinerant wizard named Lamond Breachton. Breachton found a group of starving, half-frozen and wholly amnesiac people wandering in the wilderness and showed them how to create shelter, how to hunt prey and sow plants, and how to found a town that was ultimately named after him.
And so, each month, to honor their patron, and to give local adventurer steady pay, they hold the Call For Heroes. Now word has gotten out to the surrounding region. Simply trek out to Breachill, attend the meeting at the town hall, and the council will pay adventurers good, honest money to help the folks solve odd problems, be it a strange beast in the woods, a haunted family heirloom, or a basement full of giant rats. And so, here you are, for one reason or another, adventurers looking for coin on the morning of the Call.
Those who have been in Breachill for a while know that the place to be before the Call is the Wizard’s Grace tavern. Heck, even out-of-towners were told, perhaps more than once, when asked their business in the town. Prospective Heroes are always directed to this establishment to have a bowl of spicy boar stew with lentils before undertaking a quest – a tradition started by the grandfather of the current proprietor, Trinil Uskwold. Polite refusal to attend elicits lots of eye-rolling and warnings that it’s bad luck to break from such traditions, so here you are, in the crowded common room of the tavern at about ten in the morning.
The Wizard’s Grace (another reference to town patron Lamond Breachton) is clean and well-kempt, and it’s clear that Trinil prides herself in its upkeep. Tables are polished to a shine and don’t wobble, there’s a sign by the door politely reminding patrons not to spit on the floor, and the food is made from fresh ingredients in a kitchen free from vermin. The walls of the place are decorated with various trophies from past adventurers, each with a small plaque underneath denoting who retrieved it and what trial they had to undergo to achieve such a feat. A pleasant autumn breeze wafts in through the open windows. It’s early, yet the place is already packed with customers. Customers who all want to hear from YOU. Because this month, you are answering the Call. And that makes you very popular indeed.
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Mr. Serpens gives a yawn. He is not best used to the hustle and bustle of the big gatherings like this anymore. He has a great memory though and he sees in the faces of the barfolk the familiar faces, just reconfigured and with some different genetics swaying one way or the other.
Even as he stands over the shoulder of his benefactor and friend Elise, he smiles and sees her jawline lifted directly from her grandfather and the exact hair that her mother had as a girl still present on her head, holding court with familiar faces that belonged to strangers. He had to admit this new Kintargo was unfamiliar and familiar all once and it felt odd to be living more significant history than that he was digging around in the desert for all those years.
He knew Elise was going to accomplish great things and he intended to facilitate those things - and profit from them.
He stews at a seat just behind Elise's sipping stew and trying not to look entirely unpleasant as the large groups of people set his anxiety to action, thumbing his dense cane at his foot as he sipped the minty concoction from the tea pot through a simple tavern mug.
Time to find out what the council wanted - and how Elise was going to turn it into yet more greatness for her clan.
Elise had arrived early after taking her time on her appearance this morning–first impressions were, after all, so important. She fixed her soft, coppery red hair in two loose braids that draped over her shoulders and hung to her waist and pulled on black dyed leather armor over her dark green tunic and black breeches. She turned around in the looking glass, inspecting her appearance. Mmm, flawless. She thinks, grinning at herself while she straps on her bags and weapons.
She sits at her usual table in The Wizard's Grace, just off to the side, able to see anyone who comes in and most of the common area. She, too, had the traditional stew in front of her, the bowl already cleaned out. She had no desire to be bogged down by eating while she got to know the others answering the call.
Her green eyes scan the room as new people file in, waving at a few that she recognized as newcomers to the town, biding their time until the Call.
Elise turns in her seat just slightly, cutting her attention to Mr. Serpens. She regards him carefully for a moment, raising an eyebrow at his sour expression. ”You know, you don’t have to scowl at everyone when they walk in, dear. Nobody’s going to want to talk to me with you looming.”
Olaf steps through the door of the Wizards Grace and takes a look around, eager to shrug the weight of his pack, and of travel, from his shoulders for a spell. He'd been impressed by this small town in the midst of a fairly unpleasant area, and this tavern impressed even so.
Eyes widening at the clean décor and polished tables, as well as the gathering folk.
Observers would note his height, being tall even for an Ulfen, patchwork hide armor is worn yet reasonably well made, with deep blue under tunic fringed with fur and decorated with knotwork. Large sword on his belt and a pair of steel shields clank on his backpack. Blue eyes take in the sight on a handsome face, framed with braided blond hair and a braided beard covering a few small scars.
As he looks, his gaze rests on a woman waving at him in a friendly manner and, since their table looked reasonably open and despite the scowling man also at the table, moves to join them, dropping his pack with a clank and offering a hand and a smile.
"You must be the welcoming party? I'm Olaf, warrior looking help with this ... Call of Heroes."
Trista makes her way through the busy tavern, looking like she's just on the edge of a disaster. Her hands are full of stew and utensils, and she has a half loaf of crusty bread tucked under one arm and a heavy book squeezed under the other. She manages to twitch the end of her long braid out of way just before her hair dips itself into the lentils.
"Well, this looks delicious!" Trista tears a crust off the bread and dips it into the stew with gusto, but she is distracted from her meal by curiosity about her tablemates. Instead of taking a bite, she points the dippy baked good at Olaf. "Are you a visitor to town as well? You don't look like a local."
Hunger momentarily overcomes inquisitiveness, and she takes a healthy bite of the bread, barely waiting to swallow before questioning Elise and her companion. "What about you? Locals? Out-of-towners? Veteran adventurers?"
The lady's careless table manners are somewhat at odds with her appearance; her clothes are obviously fine, though travelstained.
"Oh, I'm Trista, by the way. A researcher, and would-be hero, I suppose."
As he looks, his gaze rests on a woman waving at him in a friendly manner and, since their table looked reasonably open and despite the scowling man also at the table, moves to join them, dropping his pack with a clank and offering a hand and a smile.
"You must be the welcoming party? I'm Olaf, warrior looking help with this ... Call of Heroes."
Elise shifts in her seat, watching the large Ulfen man walk in and make his way to her table. She examines him carefully, taking in his appearance and mannerisms critically. When he offers his hand, she leans forward to take it into a firm handshake, looking him in the eyes as she does. “I suppose you could call me part of the welcoming party…” She says, a grin breaking out on her face. ”Elise. Elise Grimms. I’m here for the Call, as well. I’ve lived here my whole life, so if you have any questions…I may be able to answer them.” She smiles, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, glancing about the room past Olaf to see any others trickling in.
She catches sight of Trista, quirking an eyebrow at the woman's odd-ish behavior, a small smile still playing on her face.
Hunger momentarily overcomes inquisitiveness, and she takes a healthy bite of the bread, barely waiting to swallow before questioning Elise and her companion. "What about you? Locals? Out-of-towners? Veteran adventurers?"
The lady's careless table manners are somewhat at odds with her appearance; her clothes are obviously fine, though travelstained.
"Oh, I'm Trista, by the way. A researcher, and would-be hero, I suppose."
When Trista sits at the table, she finds herself amused at the woman’s curiosity and messy demeanor and introduces herself again. ”Elise Grimms. I’m Breachill born and raised.” She turns slightly, gesturing at Mr. Serpens’ imposing figure behind her. ”This stormcloud behind me is a family friend, Mr. Serpens.” She doesn’t say more, letting him explain himself if he so desired.
”How are you both finding our fine city?”
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Serpens clears his throat.
Sorry I was thinking about old friends he admits as his eyes come into focus and Elisea actual face comes into view and not the imagined ghosts of hee ancestors.
He twirls his cane and thinks Breaching is home but I have to admit it, I think the temples to Asmodeus were still being erected the last time I was here and now low and behold they're coming down. History has a funny way of being temporary but those who live it live forever on the tongues of everyone. That's why I came home. To see my name etched in Brechulls legend. And of course to keep this one from getting into too much trouble.
"How nice to meet some well-informed residents!" Trista swaps her half-eaten bread into her left hand while she flips open the large, green book that sits next to her stew bowl. Producing a pen from her sleeve, she jots down Elise and Mr. Serpens' names without breaking eye contact.
"I've found Breachill lovely so far, though everyone is so busy. Archivist Blacktusk was very helpful to me but--oh, excuse me ma'am!" Trista waves to get the server's attention. "Do you have any blackberry jam? Odd combination, I know, but it would be smashing with this stew! I must talk to the chef about the recipe," flipping through the books pages as she chats, she makes another note for herself and turn back to Elise as if she had never interrupted. "--the poor man is so overtasked it's impossible to get his undivided attention. Always doing ten things at once, and no wonder, running such a big archive on his own." The young lady shakes her head as she juggles her spoon, bread, and pen.
Hurriedly making his way to the Wizard's Grace, Valdrin enters the tavern with his travel pack hung over one shoulder. His hair, tied in a simple yet frazzled ponytail, shows bits of wood and dust from his early morning routines with the other temples and any early attentions that Narine Howerdell needed at the start of her worker's days. Scanning the room, he waves at the familiar face of Elise before setting his pack down and taking a seat at the table.
"I hope I'm not too late! I got a bit carried away in my morning duties." He whispers towards Elise before getting the attention of one of the servers. "Excuse me, is there any stew left? I'm quite famished." Turning his attention back to those at the table, Valdrin looks at the others and sighs slightly towards himself, "Manners, I am so sorry. I'm Valdrin, no family name. Humble servant of Sarenrae, here to join this Call of the Hero. I've only been here a few weeks, but have eaten and drank with at least one of you here." Pointing at Trista, he grins, "What about you and doing ten things at once? You seem to be busy all the time. How do you eat without making a mess?"
”How are you both finding our fine city?”
The northman grunts at the question, eyes taking the whole tavern in before tracking back to Elise, "I've only just arrived. The walk to the tavern looked nice, but better than I had expected. That stew smells good and I'm famished, I need some. And ale." he says trying to flag down a server.
At the general discussion and various introduction, he adds "I'm just a wandering warrior, word around was that this town calls for heroes and adventurers from time to time, so here I am."
Elise grins at Mr. Serpens, shaking her head. "Ah, my ancient friend, I do not get into that much trouble. Not with you in my shadow."
Elise notices Trista's note-taking and quirks an eyebrow at her suggestion of trying to speak to the chef. "Ah...I would perhaps rethink any idea of asking the chef to alter anything about the recipe. Keep yourself in the good graces of the town, yeah?" She laughs softly at the thought.
Upon Valdrin's entry, Elise perks up a tad - someone she had met already, without the need to do any introductions for a third time. She smiles warmly at him and touches his shoulder lightly when he leans over to whisper to her. "You're not late, Valdrin; I'm just early." She gestures at the bustling tavern and her table filling with other Call hopefuls as proof of her statement. "Glad to see you here!"
Finally, she turns back to Olaf. "Literally, just now? Walked right into town?" She looks impressed, nodding slowly. "That would explain why I didn't recognize you."
Fentus stumbles into the Wizard's Grace last, looking like a disheveled vagabond that has no business applying to be a hero. Wrapping his dirty cloak around his wrinkled clothes and running a hand through his greasy hair, he takes stock of the room.
Seeing the soup pot and bread, Fentus looks around and attempts to act natural as he picks up a bowl for himself and digs in, scooping mouthfuls, acting like he might not eat again for a while.
Seeing a group nearby already chatting away at a table, he slides over toward them to make out there conversation.
Interjecting to ask, " Do we know when this is going to start? I heard everyone from town was gonna be here. I only just arrived two nights ago, my name is Fentus, Fentus Mourncrag. I'm trying to find someone. Well, someone who knew someone from 20 something years ago,"
Elise casts a critical eye at Fentus, having spotted him stumbling in while conversing with the others. She raises an eyebrow at his filthy appearance, a look of concern flickering across her face.
"Morning, Fentus...where have you been staying?" She asks, her voice tinged with actual concern. It is very clear she is not mocking Fentus. "It looks as though our town's reputation for hospitality is failing you," she says diplomatically, gesturing at his appearance.
As Olaf bursts into the Wizard's Grace common room, many eyes turn his way, there is a momentary pause while the villagers try to determine if they know him or not, and then a rousing cheer with many saluting him with raised earthenware mugs. "Huzzah for the Hero!" they cry, making the natural leap from a stranger so armed and armored. Its not long before a piping hot bowl of lentil stew slide in front of the northman, along with 3 tankards of ale. "You'll not be buyin' yer own brew on me watch," calls an old gaffer from the bar, pointing a cane at him. "I buy all the heroes a round I do, reminds me o' me own youth. I can tell you a story 'bout that that'll curl yer toenails, laddie.' He starts in but is quickly interrupted by someone else from the bar, and his story is lost in the shuffle. Two more gentlemen nod their thanks for Olaf's bravery and sacrifice to come offer his service, and clearly a mug is from them as well.
Unlike Olaf's entrance, Fentus opens the door, and while there is the same pause, there is no cheer and everyone quickly falls back to their revelry, thinking this vagabond is clearly NOT a hero. "Got some coin?" asks the serving girl crossly when Fentus helps himself to a bowl. She taps her foot impatiently with her hand out. "Hey Ginger, that man's clearly down on his luck and there's plenty to go around. Give him a bowl and crust of bread and leave him be." the speaker is Trinil Uskwood, clearly the owner of the place. A handsome woman in her early 30s with a pile of dark hair atop her head and crow's feet and laugh lines highlighting her features. Trinil wears an apron and is pouring mugs of ale as fast as she can, but give Fentus a welcoming nod. "Eat up, fella. It's your lucky day. Besides, you might just be cute under all that grime. Let me know if you need a bath, and we can arrange something, but that'll not be on the house." She gives him a wink that could mean all kinds of things, and is quickly subsumed by the crowd once again.
"What about you and doing ten things at once? You seem to be busy all the time. How do you eat without making a mess?"
"Ten things? Oh, I'd never!" Trista barely manages to catch a juice glass as she jostles it with her elbow. "I like to keep my mind on the task at hand. In this case, getting to know Breachill!" Having managed to finish her stew with quick bites while the new tablemates introduced themselves, she pushes the bowl to the side, and her hands clean the nib of her pen on their own accord as she continues. "Elise, any ideas about what the Call will be dealing with? Bandits, buried treasure...natural disasters."
Winking at the serving girl as the owner offers the food for free to him, "Thank you kind lady, I can't remember the last time I had a hot bath, or a bath in general for that matter, it's been a long journey for me,"
Responding to the fashion forward Elise with a raised brows to really take her character in, "Here and there, some surprising clean and comfy alleyways you folks have in this town. I think this is the cleanest I've been in a minute, was able to wash a good portion of the grime off in the river,"
Slurping his soup noisily draining the bowl before continuing, "Used to havin' to fight for an alleyway to sleep in back in Absalom, not here, very nice place for sure. Can't imagine why my mum ever left this place, everyone is just so friendly. Why I'm sure if I knocked on someone's door and asked to take a bath, they'd just let me! To think of that, wow,"
Looking back to the soup kettle, "Do you think seconds are on the table? I bet if I get seconds, the kind owner won't take too much offense. She said to give me a bowl, said nothing about limiting how much I put into my bowl"
Mr Serpens feels a tug at his waist, and looking down finds a nattily dressed halfling man wearing a bowler hat and bow tie, and grinning up at him with a twinkle in his eye. "As I live and breath, a real-live elf. Howdy-do sir, howdy-do indeed. " he doffs his hat and gives such a low bow, your a bit afraid he'll bang his head on the floorboards. "Name's Crink. Crink Twiddleton, proprietor of Quarters and Bits. That's Quarters and Bits, m'lord. I bet you have fine taste, being an elf and all, and well, it just wouldn't be right if I didn't invite you over for a look-see around my shop. I have just the thing for the man...er, elf...of discriminating taste, which you appear to be, sir, if I may say so. Perhaps, after the Call, and before you go gallivanting off into an adventure, you'd pay me a courtesy call. Would be worth your time, sir and no question." Crink pokes his smallish hand out, expecting a shake and an agreement, a grin crossing his face.
Looking back to the soup kettle, "Do you think seconds are on the table? I bet if I get seconds, the kind owner won't take too much offense. She said to give me a bowl, said nothing about limiting how much I put into my bowl"
Ginger, the serving girl, with bouncy red curls is awfully cute, but not too bright. "Don't press you luck bubba," she says when Fentus asks for a refill. But the vagabond is a bit surprised when a loaf of warm bread slips out of her hand onto the table. "Trinil wants ya to have it, so go say thank'ee sometime, eh?"
Trista is just finishing wiping the last of the stew from her bowl with the crust of bread when a book slams down on the table in front of her. After the initial start, the bookish lass sees another halfling man, this one with a scowl on his face glaring at her. "Voz said, 'Calmont take this book down to Trista at Wizard's Grace.' 'Calmont, hurry up and get it to her before the Call starts.' 'Calmont, don't waste time with eating, get right back here'. So here Calmont is. And here's your damn book! Now Calmont is leaving as ordered! I don't care if you ever pay her or not!" he stomps off rather comically. "Oh and Calmont says, 'good luck at the Call'. I bet it will be one to remember!" he sneers over his shoulder as he slams the front door.
You recall Voz is the half-elven proprietor of a rather esoteric bookshop here in Breachill. You mentioned looking for a book about some arcane subject while browsing there two days ago, and now here is a book, delivered by the dour halfling fellow, who is apparently named Calmont.
Elise's trained eyes scan the room and in the midst of the good-cheer and high spirits, a single solitary individual sitting alone at table in the corner, with her head in her hands. It appears to be a goblin. Not just any goblin, but one dressed in a fancy white scholarly robes with a black cap perched atop her oddly shaped head. You know this figure as Warbal Bumblebrasher, a goblin ambassador from Breachill to a local goblin tribe, the Bumblebrashers. Warbal is generally a happy sort, but today she appears pensive, worried even.
”Well, he seems to be in a cheerful mood, perhaps he gets yelled at often?” he mutters in between the last bites of his stew. Wiping his mouth, he raises his hand while calling Ginger over, nodding towards Fentus. ”This traveler seems to be with us for The Call, so could you spare another bowl? It looks like he could use it for whatever is coming.”
"Excuse me Brother Valdrin," says the deep rasping voice of a half-orc at his shoulder. "Could I trouble you a moment? I hear you are settling down in Breachill but are also joining the call today? Is that right? Not sure we have had the pleasure, but I am the town's archivist, Jorell Blacktusk." He greets you formally with a firm handshake, and you notice his fingers are all discolored with fading purple/black ink-stains.
"Just wanted to ask, if you come across any historically significant documents while on your Adventure, would you please consider letting me see them or donating them to the Archive. Especially things to do with Breachill's history. You know, Lamond Breachton, the Goblinblood wars, the Order of the Nail or anything like that. You see, I am preparing a definitive work on the town's history and..." He rambles on for a few more minutes but you get the basic gist.
Greeting the handshake, he turns towards Blacktusk, ”I am sorry that we haven’t been properly introduced. While historical writings aren’t necessarily my specialty, I would gladly donate any that I find for the archives.” Valdrin continues to nod at the half-orc’s rambling, then offers his ale to Blacktusk. ”With how busy you are, remember to take care of yourself at times. Respite can help one function and grow.”
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Serpens grabs the halflings hand somewhat roughly and then openly double checks to be sure he still has his purse. I'd thank you not to touch me Master Hobbit Serpens remarks roughly.
He takes the hand and shakes it I am certain The Call is going to be quite profitable for you it's true.
He turns over the cane in hand I could be in the market for a new topper for my cane as time goes by though, so we will be in touch. I have to say I don't remember you being here. Do these people really respond to this overly affectionate sales technique?
Serpens takes another sip of tea Tell me, who all has been stocking up at your place in preparation of The Call. Anyone interesting?
Olaf takes the time to bask in the attention of the locals, accepting praise, food and drink with smiles and genuine appreciation, basking in the attention that he yearned for, even if only from a few and a short time.
When he gets a moment, he replies to Elise. "Aye, just walked in this very day. After all this... I'm not sure I will want to leave."
"Do you think seconds are on the table? I bet if I get seconds, the kind owner won't take too much offense. She said to give me a bowl, said nothing about limiting how much I put into my bowl"
Overhearing the scruffy guy ask for more, Olaf slides one of the extra mugs of ale he has in front of him over without a word.
At the speculation of the nature of the call, he wonders aloud, "I hope it is something exciting where I can prove my might. Clearing brush or damming rivers is helpful and all, but I wish for monsters to fight!"
Elise watches these rapid-fired conversations happening around her, working hard to keep up with the details, her eyes darting back and forth as she takes it all in. She had sat in the Wizard’s Grace for several of the last Calls, trying to get a handle on what to expect before she put her own bid in, and that practice seemed to have paid off–the hustle and bustle of the tavern was easy to sort through now. She notices Trinil, flirtatious as usual, directing some of her attention to the seemingly-oblivious Fentus and filed that away for later…such a relationship could be an interesting connection, should Fentus prove to clean up a little nicer and more worthy of the lovely tavern-owner.
"Elise, any ideas about what the Call will be dealing with? Bandits, buried treasure...natural disasters."
Elise shakes her head at Trista’s question, shrugging. “I’ve been trying to suss that out myself, but have so far been unable to figure it out. It varies depending on the needs of the people.”
Responding to the fashion forward Elise with a raised brows to really take her character in, "Here and there, some surprising clean and comfy alleyways you folks have in this town. I think this is the cleanest I've been in a minute, was able to wash a good portion of the grime off in the river,"
Elise isn’t sure if Fentus is being sarcastic or not and narrows her eyes at him slightly. ”Even if you’ve got very little to your name, anyone in this town would house a Hero willing to answer the Call…it might be worth it to take Trinil up on her offer of letting you bathe and clean yourself up a bit, friend. She doesn’t hand out her attention to just anyone.”
Elise also takes note of Crink, proprietor of Quarters and Bits, attempting his charm on Mr. Serpens. She smirks slightly at her shadow’s reaction–poor Crink did not know what he was dealing with. At the same time, she notes Calmont’s explosive arrival and departure.
”Well, he seems to be in a cheerful mood, perhaps he gets yelled at often?” he mutters in between the last bites of his stew.
Elise nods at Valdrin’s observation, leaning towards him a tad. “He’s Voz’s apprentice, and I’ve heard it’s not going well…seems the rumors are true.” She shares with him, just before the Archivist’s arrival. Elise smiles at the Archivist and turns her attention to Olaf.
When he gets a moment, he replies to Elise. "Aye, just walked in this very day. After all this... I'm not sure I will want to leave."
Elise grins at this, studying the large man for a moment, her gaze both appraising and a tad flirtatious. ”It’s easy to get caught up in the fanfare here. I may be biased, but it is a lovely town."
Finally, her eyes land on Warbal Bumblebrasher. She frowns slightly and turns to Mr. Serpens, gesturing towards Warbal. ”I’ll be back in a moment. Going to check on her.”
Elise stands and makes her way over to Warbal, dodging the servers and other patrons expertly, and slides into a chair at Warbal’s table. She leans forward, smiling at the goblin woman, and says just quiet enough that only Warbal can hear: “Warbal, darling–what’s the matter? You look as though you’re pondering quite the problem. Anything I can help with?”
Listening to Elise and looking back at the rather comely tavern owner, thinking to himself, . . .Maybe this place won't be the same as Absalom, could be a chance to really change myself for the better. . .
As Olaf tries to pass an extra mug of ale and Fentus eyes the alcohol longingly, swallowing deeply as if trying to force down a sudden lump in his throat. Sweat beading on his brow, looking back to Olaf, "Thanks but this soup is enough for me,"
Oblivious to the whirlwind around him as many different conversations are firing off, people appearing, disappearing just as they appeared.
Turning back from his conversation from Jorell Blacktusk, Valdrin cleans out the rest of his stew with the last bit of bread before talking a bit. Mouth still partially full, he points at Fentus, "Something seems to be worrying you, or it might just be too warm inside. The folks here are good, so don't pass up on too many offers. Just remember to return their generosity. That's how it's been like for me the last few weeks." Finishing off his meal, he grasps the wooden amulet hanging on his neck, offering an after meal prayer.
Stretching slightly, and pushing his empty bow towards the edge of the table for the servers, Valdrin eyes up the elf at the table before speaking. "Mr. Serpens, it was? It seems you and Miss Elise know each other quite well. I know she loves the stories and gossip of the town, but I haven't seen you too often around the dining halls or temples. Mind a stranger asks for any stories?"
To the retreating halfling's back, Trista calls out, "Thanks Calmont!" But she is already opening the book and show no sign of noticing the halfling's grumbling. "Excellent service, really. Gotta hand it to Voz."
Greeting the handshake, he turns towards Blacktusk, ”I am sorry that we haven’t been properly introduced. While historical writings aren’t necessarily my specialty, I would gladly donate any that I find for the archives.” Valdrin continues to nod at the half-orc’s rambling, then offers his ale to Blacktusk. ”With how busy you are, remember to take care of yourself at times. Respite can help one function and grow.”
The town archivist smiles and nods contentedly when you promise to share any writings found with him. He is also surprised when you slip the earthen mug into his hand, but he accepts it gladly. He seems a bit puzzled about what to do next, but he raises the new-found mug in salute. "Cheers, Brother, and may the Dawnflower bless you on your adventure.". The half-orc then slips off to sip from his ale, and await the chime which will indicate the Call for Heroes is about to begin.
Serpens grabs the halflings hand somewhat roughly and then openly double checks to be sure he still has his purse. I'd thank you not to touch me Master Hobbit Serpens remarks roughly.
Tell me, who all has been stocking up at your place in preparation of The Call. Anyone interesting?
Crink may be after your coin, but he's not crass enough to steal it, at least not outright. He spies you double-checking your purse and comments,"Friend, friend, friend. Take good care of that purse, but you needn't fear its pilfering in Wizard's Grace. Come to Bits and Quarters, and I'll warrant you'll have a harder time keeping the coins you carry. Just a promise from me, good sir, not a threat, no not at all..."
"As for the Call, I understand that all those prospective heroes are right here in this room. So far, alas, my humble shop has not been involved. Sir, that just means the finest goods still await your perusal." He winks and nods, and slips off towards the bar, putting his bowler back atop his head a a jaunty angle. "Blessing of Abadar's abundance to you friend, and then from you to me!"
To the retreating halfling's back, Trista calls out, "Thanks Calmont!" But she is already opening the book and show no sign of noticing the halfling's grumbling. "Excellent service, really. Gotta hand it to Voz."
Calmont returns Trista's tart reply with a ubiquitous one-fingered salute before disappearing out of sight, apparently on the way back to the Reliant.
The book delivered is not quite what Trista asked for, but its a book, an old and dusty one by the look, and as such she is interested.
The studious looking goblin wipes a tear from her eye as Elise approaches. She sighs and assumes a more dignified manner at once, "Oh Elise my dear," she says in a high-pitched and squeaky voice. "I must apologize for my distracted nature. I am so worried about my kin the Bumblebrashers. I don't know why I haven't heard from them. I am afraid they are trapped in the Citadel." She tenses again, about to weep, but catches it in time. "That is why I am here, my dear. To present the plight of the Bumblebrashers at the Call for Heroes. Surely the council will assign some doughty souls to investigate just what is happening at the Hellknight Keep."
Elise leans forward, a sympathetic look crossing her face - a sincere one. "No need to apologize, Warbal. I know I'd be beside myself if I were in a similar situation. I and some of my companions," She gestures towards her table, "are answering the Call. I'm certain we'd love to help. What could have trapped your kin?"
Warbal opens her mouth to respond to Elise's question, but just as she does, the peal of bells fills the air and hubbub around the tavern room quiets to silence.
"It's time for the meeting to start," says Trinil, breaking the silence. "Line up and pay your tab! No welching!" She laughs at this and the room comes back to life. "Those answering the Call, its on the House." says the bar owner.
The Wizard's Grace is the gathering place before the Call, partly because of the fine fare and fellowship, but also because it lies just across the road from Town Hall, where the call actually takes place. The townsfolk file out (after paying, you all note) and across the road to the wooden structure of the Hall. A stained glass cupola tops the two story structure and the doors are held open by a pair of guardsmen, who look a little bored frankly.
I must go and prepare my presentation," says Warbal, shuffling nervously. "I will answer your questions in front of the council, my dear. See you there." And she departs, her scholarly white robes dragging a bit on the ground behind her.
As all of you cross, following the crowd, you catch a glimpse of the Monument Circle beyond the Hall. There a marble-paved circle stands, with six deep water wells surrounding it. In the center of the ring is an elegant 15' tall bronze statue of the wizard Lamond Breachton, town founder and original hero.
As you enter the Town Hall Chamber, the room is already filled with 30-40 residents, gathered to watch the events and cheer on any Heroes chosen. inside the council chamber, you see that the room is set up as an auditorium, with a carpeted walkway separating several rows of benches into two sections. The carpet leads to a small set of steps and a raised dais. On the dais is a large desk separated into five parts, where the Breachill Town Council’s five members are seated, talking quietly with one another as they wait for the meeting to start. On the desk, situated in front of each chair, are tarnished bronze plaques bearing the names of the council members. From east to west, the names are Jorsk Hinterclaw, Melma Ann Sendari, Greta Gardania, Trini Sprizzlegig, and Quentino Posandi. Melma, Greta, and Quentino are humans, Jorsk is a dwarf, and Trini is a gnome.
Fentus follows along with the crowd, stuffing the remaining bread in one of his pockets. He takes the opportunity to wipe and clean his hands on someone else's cloak in all the bustle and hurrying.
Staring for a moment at the council chambers, he looks around feeling wholely out of place. Finding an empty bench Fentus shuffles in and sits down.
"Ah, The call seems to have interrupted us. I guess it's time to go see what this event is like," he sighs before standing from his seat and grabbing his travel pack to follow the crowd. Once inside, Valdrin finds a seat close to the center aisle, as to get a good look at the podium. Getting comfortable, while placing the bag between his legs as to not take up too much room, he scans the five sitting at the front of the room, making eye contact with all of them, but locking his gaze on Greta Gardania. It seems that he didn't want to miss a word she said.
Elise grins when the bells go off, and she nods at Warbal. "I'll see you there!"
She hurries back to the table, grabs her things, and motions to Mr. Serpens to follow.
When they arrive, Elise picks a spot nearer to the middle on the left-hand side of the room and sits in the aisle seat, although she will stand and let others pass through should they so desire to sit with her. She waves over to Valdrin and Fentus, seeing that they've taken seats nearby. She glances around the room, pleased to see a packed turnout.
Finishing his food and drink and saying his goodbyes to the group he'd been talking with, Olaf follows the crowd, taking in the whole event with some interest.
Eventually as the crowd files in he locates an open space along the edge and sits, waiting for this whole unusual call to heroes to begin, silently hoping that he is chosen (volunteers?) for something truly heroic and not something simply mundane, but needed.
With a sharp rap from her gavel onto the desk, a stern, dark-haired woman with a deeply furrowed forehead and kind eyes brings the assembled crowd to a hush.
“Welcome, neighbors and friends...” the dark-haired woman begins, her rich voice washing over the room, “...to the Breachill Town Council’s monthly Call for Heroes. I am Council President Greta Gardania, at your service. On behalf of my colleagues beside me, I promise you all that we will hear and consider today’s petition with the utmost discretion and care. There is no existence without community, as our town charter says."
“Today, our agenda includes one petition. Miss Warbal, our very own ambassador to the Bumblebrashers of Hellknight Hill, requests the help of heroes for a matter of utmost importance. Let’s hear her concerns in her own words, shall we? Miss Warbal?"
At this summons, Warbal emerges from the front row of benches. The well-dressed goblin woman makes her way to the foot of the dais’s steps. She clears her throat, wipes her eyes, and begins her address to the council
“Esteemed councilors,” Warbal says, with a frazzled tone to her cracking voice. “It has been more than a month since I’ve been able to contact the Bumblebrashers. I fear that something terrible has befallen them. What’s more, I have seen my people’s distress signal coming from the top of Citadel Altaerein—”
Before the goblin can continue her petition, the door on the western side of the room flies open, as a young man, his eyes wide with panic, runs in shouting and waving his ink-stained hands. Billowing black smoke and flames follow him into the room: “Fire! There’s a fire! Everyone flee!”
Snickers in the Smoke - Round 1
20 Valdrin
14 Olaf
14 Elise
14 Fentus
14 Mr Serpens
14 Townspeople
13 Trista
25 Fire Mephit
10 Fire
9 Councilors
Surprised as black smoke and billowing flame enter the Council chamber from the western door, and hungrily lick at the wood plank walls and floor the would-be heroes are called into action sooner than expected.
As the fire enters the room immediately is full of panicked townspeople. They jump to their feet, knock over benches, fill up the aisles and generally get in the way.
"Everyone out!" shouts Greta Gardania over the din, as she sees the chaos erupting in the room.
A horrible cackling sounds, like laughter, but more shrill, comes from the open door way as the conflagration rushes in.
Standing up from the commotion while grabbing his pack, the Serenite looks towards the flames and notices the creature dancing in the flames. Moving through the mass of people to the center of the building, he cries out while pointing at the tiny thing in the flames, "I don't know what that is, but I assume it may be the one setting the fire! Someone, help me get everyone to safety!"
Whirling around at the commotion, Olaf squints into the flames after Valdrin's shouted warning. Yes, there was something there.
Acting without thought his blade flashes from its sheath and, possibly surprising anyone who saw his trappings and assumed he was a simple warrior, he chants out a quick spell, a glimmering shield flashing out in front of his body, and then focuses internally, getting ready for battle, leaving his steel shield on his back, for the moment.
Action Symbols > Single (◆), Double (◆◆), Triple (◆◆◆), Free (◇), Reaction (↺)
Status Symbols > ♥️ hit points, ☘️ hero points, ✋ held items, ⚕ status conditions
◆ Draw Bastard Sword
◆ Cast Shield
◆ Activate Arcane Cascade