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The Duchy of Mulcrow was a land of rolling hills, verdant forests, and sparkling rivers. It was ruled by a just and fair duke, who governed with the advice of a council of nobles and the counsel of his people.
The capital city of Mulcrow was a bustling metropolis, home to a diverse population of humans, elves, dwarves, and other races. It was a center of trade and culture, with grand markets, magnificent temples, and ornate palaces.
The countryside of the Duchy was dotted with small villages and hamlets, where farmers, herders, and craftsmen lived and worked. The people of Mulcrow were proud of their traditions and their way of life, and they worked hard to preserve them.
Despite its prosperity, the Duchy was not immune to the dangers of the outside world. It was bordered by treacherous mountains and plagued by occasional raids from bands of orcs and other monsters. But the people of Mulcrow were a hearty and courageous folk, and they stood united against their foes, defending their land with bravery and determination.
Overall, the Duchy of Mulcrow was a land of beauty, prosperity, and harmony, where people of all walks of life worked together to create a bright and thriving future.
The pastoral town of Griffondale sits nestled in a valley surrounded by rolling hills and verdant forests. With a population of just over 1,000 inhabitants, it is a tight-knit community of farmers, herders, craftsmen, and merchants.
The town is centered around a bustling market square, where vendors sell fresh produce, meats, cheeses, and handmade crafts. The smell of baking bread and roasting nuts fills the air, and the sounds of haggling and laughter echo off the walls of the nearby shops and homes.
At the heart of the market square stands the town hall, a grand stone building with a tall clock tower. It is here that the town council meets to discuss matters of importance and make decisions for the good of the community.
On the outskirts of town, the fields and pastures are dotted with small farms and homesteads, where families work to raise crops and livestock. The people of Griffondale are hardworking and self-sufficient, relying on their own resources and the bounty of the land to sustain them.
Despite its small size, Griffondale has a rich cultural life. There are several inns and taverns, where travelers and locals alike gather to share stories, music, and ale. The town also boasts a small theater, where traveling players and local actors perform plays and musicals.
In the center of town, a beautiful park boasts a gazebo and a sparkling fountain, where people come to relax and enjoy the fresh air. The park is a popular spot for picnics, games, and festivals, and it is here that the town celebrates its major holidays and events.
Overall, Griffondale is a peaceful and thriving community, where people work together to support one another and preserve their way of life. It is a place of beauty and simplicity, where the simple pleasures of life are valued above all else.
The Telltale Tavern sits on the outskirts of the bustling town of Griffondale, nestled in a quiet grove of trees. It is a popular destination for travelers, adventurers, and locals alike, known for its comfortable accommodations, hearty meals, and lively atmosphere.
As you approach the inn, you are greeted by the sight of a charming two-story building with a thatched roof and a sign depicting a winking cat. As you enter through the heavy wooden doors, the warmth of the fire and the savory smells of cooking fill the air.
The main common room of the tavern is a cozy space, filled with tables and chairs, a fireplace, and a well-stocked bar. The walls are adorned with tapestries, paintings, and weapons from all over the land, testament to the Tavern's reputation as a hub for storytelling and news.
As you make your way to the bar, you are greeted by the proprietor, a friendly halfling named Faegan. He greets you with a smile and asks what brings you to the Telltale Tavern.
As you take a seat at the bar, you peruse the menu and decide on a hearty stew and a tankard of ale. You watch as Faegan expertly prepares your meal and chat with him about the latest happenings in the city.
As the night wears on, the common room fills up with an eclectic mix of people, all seeking a warm meal and a comfortable bed. You listen to the tales of travelers and adventurers, sharing your own stories and making new friends.
As the fire in the fireplace dies down and the last patrons retire to their rooms, you retire to your own comfortable bed, content in the knowledge that you have found a true home away from home at the Telltale Tavern.
The main room of the Telltale Tavern was a warm and welcoming space, filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation. A fire burned in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room, and the smell of ale and roasted meat filled the air.
At the center of the room was a long wooden table, surrounded by a mix of travelers and locals. There were human merchants, clad in fine clothes and discussing the latest trade routes. There were dwarves, their beards braided and adorned with intricate metalwork, swapping stories of their latest mining expeditions. There were elves, their slender fingers moving nimbly as they played intricate melodies on their lutes.
At the head of the table sat Faegan, the halfling tavern keeper, his round face wreathed in a smile as he listened to the tales of his patrons. He was a beloved figure in the Telltale Tavern, known for his kind nature and his love of a good story.
As the night wore on, the conversation and laughter in the man room grew louder, fueled by the steady flow of ale from the bar. The patrons were a diverse group, united by their love of adventure and their desire to make the most of life.
As the fire in the hearth began to die down and the last patrons retired to their rooms, Faegan bid them all goodnight, already looking forward to the next evening's tales and laughter in the man room of the Telltale Tavern.
Faegan, the halfling Tavern keeper, stood at the bar of the Telltale Tavern, a tankard of ale in hand, as he regaled the patrons with a mythological tale about bugbears. His voice was low and gravelly, and his eyes sparkled with excitement as he spoke.
"Now, I know some of you may think bugbears are just mindless beasts, but there's more to them than meets the eye," Faegan said, taking a swig of ale.
"According to legend, bugbears are descended from a race of shape-shifting bears who once roamed the land. They were powerful and fearsome creatures, feared by all who encountered them. But one day, a great curse was placed upon them, turning them into the brutish creatures we know today.
"But despite their fearsome reputation, some say that the bugbears still retain their shape-shifting abilities, and that on rare occasions, they can be seen taking on their true form. And if you're lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a bugbear in its true form, it's said that you'll be granted great luck and prosperity."
Faegan paused for a moment, letting the tale sink in, before continuing. "Of course, these are just stories, passed down from generation to generation. Who knows if there's any truth to them? But one thing's for sure: if you see a bugbear, you'd best be on your guard."
With that, Faegan set down his tankard and bid the patrons goodnight, leaving them to ponder the mysteries of the bugbears and the tales of the tavern keeper.
Algrim, a stout dwarf, entered the tavern and stands in the entryway while his eyes adjust to the dim interior light. As he paused his senses are assaulted by the pungent smell of beer, the sound of the musicians, and muttered conversations. Slowly he looks around the welcoming tavern, noting the patrons and the mood of the crowd.
He is comforted by the presence of other dwarves in the common room and takes it as a good sign, The ale must be better than a puddle of piss. Purposefully, Algrim made his way to the long wooden table and takes a seat on the bench. While he sits there he runs her hand across the worn oak table and listens to the halfling’s tale.
After the halfling left Algrim muttered in disbelief, ”Not every stone be a gem.”
Algrim, a stout dwarf, entered the tavern and stands in the entryway while his eyes adjust to the dim interior light. As he paused his senses are assaulted by the pungent smell of beer, the sound of the musicians, and muttered conversations. Slowly he looks around the welcoming tavern, noting the patrons and the mood of the crowd.
He is comforted by the presence of other dwarves in the common room and takes it as a good sign, The ale must be better than a puddle of piss. Purposefully, Algrim made his way to the long wooden table and takes a seat on the bench. While he sits there he runs her hand across the worn oak table and listens to the halfling’s tale.
After the halfling left Algrim muttered in disbelief, ”Not every stone be a gem.”
The dwarven barmaid approaches the table with a determined stride, her boots thudding against the wooden floorboards of the tavern. She is a stout, muscular figure, standing at about four feet tall with broad shoulders and a sturdy build. Her skin is a deep, earthy brown, and her black hair is braided and pinned back from her face. She wears a practical, comfortable outfit of a plain white tunic and trousers, with a thick leather apron tied around her waist to protect her clothing from spills and splatters.
The dwarven barmaid leaned against the bar, idly wiping down a tankard as she spoke to the group of travelers gathered around her. "Aye, the forest around these parts can be a dangerous place," she said, her voice grave. "There have been sightings of bugbears in the area, and they're a nasty bunch. Big, brutish creatures with a mean streak a mile wide. If you see one, turn tail and run the other way, unless you're itching for a fight."
One of the travelers, a young human man with a nervous expression, asked nervously, "What about wolves? We heard there were a lot of them around here."
The barmaid nodded gravely. "There are certainly a lot of wolves in these woods, lad, and they can be dangerous if you're not careful. But they're usually more interested in hunting deer and other prey than humans. Just be mindful of your surroundings and don't wander too far from civilization, and you should be alright. But if you do come across a wolf, don't panic. Stand your ground and make yourself look as big as possible. They're more likely to back down than attack if they think you're a threat."
Another traveler, a grizzled old dwarf with a long beard, spoke up. "What about other dangers? Bandits, or worse?"
The barmaid shrugged. "There have been rumors of bandits operating in these woods, but they tend to avoid the well-traveled roads. As for worse... well, there are always tales of dark creatures and ancient evils lurking in the shadows. But most of those are just stories to scare the children. As long as you keep your wits about you and don't go poking your nose where it doesn't belong, you should be fine."
She gave the group a reassuring smile. "But don't let me scare you off. These woods may have their dangers, but they're also full of beauty and wonder. Just be cautious, and you'll have a grand adventure."
As she approaches the table, the barmaid carries a tray of mugs and tankards, each one filled to the brim with frothy ale or dark, rich stout. She moves with efficiency and grace, navigating around the other patrons and tables with ease. Her face is set in a no-nonsense expression, but there is a twinkle in her eye that suggests a good-natured sense of humor.
The barmaid reaches the table and sets the tray down with a practiced motion, then turns to the patrons seated there with a friendly smile. "What'll it be, lads and lasses?" she asks, her voice deep and rich with a hint of a dwarven accent. "We've got all sorts of brews on tap, and a few specialties I think you'll enjoy. What can I get you?"
Shawn had enjoyed the couple of days in the town, getting to know where things were and how regular people acted. Faegan had been friendly and hadn't pressed him for answers about where he came from or any of his history. He'd given him a curious glance when Shawn had asked strange questions. But Shawn honestly didn't know some of the basics. What ingredients went into stew? And what was ale made of? He didn't have any experience with such details and they didn't feel.... trivial?
Shawn really enjoyed watching the patrons at the Telltale Tavern. He knew that some of them were locals. But many of them were visitors to the town. They all had different ways of interacting with each other. Some were jovial, extroverts, enjoying the company of strangers. Others? They seemed to just want a quiet meal, washed down with ale.
He enjoyed Faegan's tall tale about bugbears. He watched the people listening rather than the teller of the tale. Many were smiling. Some looked incredulous. Some looked like they believed the story.... Shawn finished of his meal and sipped the last of his mug of ale. He would quit to his room just a little later.
At the barmaid's words Shawn tips up his mug and holds the empty up. "I find your ale to be quite good. One more would be appreciated."
Shawn had enjoyed the couple of days in the town, getting to know where things were and how regular people acted. Faegan had been friendly and hadn't pressed him for answers about where he came from or any of his history. He'd given him a curious glance when Shawn had asked strange questions. But Shawn honestly didn't know some of the basics. What ingredients went into stew? And what was ale made of? He didn't have any experience with such details and they didn't feel.... trivial?
Shawn really enjoyed watching the patrons at the Telltale Tavern. He knew that some of them were locals. But many of them were visitors to the town. They all had different ways of interacting with each other. Some were jovial, extroverts, enjoying the company of strangers. Others? They seemed to just want a quiet meal, washed down with ale.
He enjoyed Faegan's tall tale about bugbears. He watched the people listening rather than the teller of the tale. Many were smiling. Some looked incredulous. Some looked like they believed the story.... Shawn finished of his meal and sipped the last of his mug of ale. He would quit to his room just a little later.
At the barmaid's words Shawn tips up his mug and holds the empty up. "I find your ale to be quite good. One more would be appreciated."
The Telltale Tavern was packed to the rafters on this particular night, with revelers filling every corner of the raucous establishment. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, ale, and the flickering glow of candlelight.
In the center of the room, a group of revelers had cleared a space for dancing. They were a wild and boisterous bunch, stomping and clapping to the lively beat of a fiddle and drum. Some danced alone, spinning and twirling with reckless abandon, while others paired off in rough and rowdy couples, their bodies pressed together as they moved to the music.
As the night wore on, the dancing only grew more frenzied. Tankards of ale were raised and drained, and the air was filled with the sound of laughter and whooping. The floorboards shook beneath the pounding of feet as the dancers leaped and spun, their faces alight with joy and abandon.
In the corner of the room, a group of burly dwarves pounded on the tabletop in time with the music, bellowing out bawdy drinking songs at the top of their lungs. Nearby, a pack of halflings huddled together, giggling and whispering as they watched the dancers with wide, sparkling eyes.
As the music reached a crescendo, the dancers reached a frenzy, their bodies writhing and spinning in a wild, uncontrolled dance. And in the midst of it all, the barmaids wove through the throngs, carrying tray after tray of frothy ale and ale, laughing and smiling as they worked to keep up with the insatiable thirst of the revelers.
Zephira enjoyed her time the past two nights accompanying the elven musicians with her songs. After this evening's performance, she thanks the elves and joins them with a round of wine.
"Thank you again for allowing me to work off what I owe to Faegan for the damages I caused."
Dark bruises under each of her eyes, she sighs as she looks up at the large, hastily patched hole in the ceiling of the common room. She gently pats one of the many scratches from splintered wood on her arm.
An inebriated dwarf nearby nudges Zephira in the side.
"Ya mus' tell me ag'in how tha' happened, lass!"
He says with a hearty chuckle.
Rolling her eyes in slight embarrassment, Zephira tells her tale again...
"Those damn djinn, The Sky Pirates, tried to get me to join their no-good gang again. A few nights ago, after the gang accosted me in a tavern in the capital, some brave adventurers protected me and started a brawl with those pirates. The whole place in chaos, I managed to slip out the back door and began to make my way home. I was suddenly ambushed by a couple of the pirates as I took a shortcut down an alley. Next thing I know, I wake up bound and gagged on the back of a flying carpet. The thugs must've been taking me to their skyship! Luckily, though, they were slightly drunk and didn't tie the bonds around my wrists and ankles very well."
She cringes slightly as she gently rubs her wrist.
"I managed to slip my bonds and, without them noticing, I rolled off the back of the carpet. The thugs probably didn't notice I was gone until they got to their ship."
She says with a small grin. She sure hopes they don't come looking for her again.
"I realized I was falling directly over this town. As soon as I was a good distance from the ground, I knew I could just activate my featherfall ability and float gently down."
She scoffs as she looks down and shakes her head.
"Apparently, I didn't see the roof of this tavern soon enough --the lantern lights in the street and the moonlight caused me to misjudge the distance. And, so, I ended up activating my ability just a bit too late...
That roof sure did help break my fall, though!"
The inebriated dwarf and the other enraptured patrons at the table burst in raucous laughter.
The dwarf slips a small gemstone into Zephira's hand.
"Bwaaa-ha-ha-ha!!! Great story, lassy! Here. A li'l sumpthin' to help pay off yer debt."
He says with a wink before wiping his ale-soaked beard with his sleeve.
The lithe sylph gets up from her chair.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I must go pay Faegan what I owe him."
-----------------------------
Fascinated, Zephira listens to Faegan's tale.
"Oooh! Bugbears are scary."
She says, eyes wide in slight fear.
After Faegan finishes his tale and bids all a good night, Zephira sheepishly approaches.
"Well, here you are Faegan. I want to sincerely apologize for the damage I caused. This should cover the expenses to get your roof properly fixed."
She bobs a curtsey in apology as she hands the innkeeper a small purse filled with the tips she made the past few nights.
Zephira enjoyed her time the past two nights accompanying the elven musicians with her songs. After this evening's performance, she thanks the elves and joins them with a round of wine.
"Thank you again for allowing me to work off what I owe to Faegan for the damages I caused."
Dark bruises under each of her eyes, she sighs as she looks up at the large, hastily patched hole in the ceiling of the common room. She gently pats one of the many scratches from splintered wood on her arm.An inebriated dwarf nearby nudges Zephira in the side.
"Ya mus' tell me ag'in how tha' happened, lass!"
He says with a hearty chuckle.Rolling her eyes in slight embarrassment, Zephira tells her tale again...
"Those damn djinn, The Sky Pirates, tried to get me to join their no-good gang again. A few nights ago, after the gang accosted me in a tavern in the capital, some brave adventurers protected me and started a brawl with those pirates. The whole place in chaos, I managed to slip out the back door and began to make my way home. I was suddenly ambushed by a couple of the pirates as I took a shortcut down an alley. Next thing I know, I wake up bound and gagged on the back of a flying carpet. The thugs must've been taking me to their skyship! Luckily, though, they were slightly drunk and didn't tie the bonds around my wrists and ankles very well."
She cringes slightly as she gently rubs her wrist."I managed to slip my bonds and, without them noticing, I rolled off the back of the carpet. The thugs probably didn't notice I was gone until they got to their ship."
She says with a small grin. She sure hopes they don't come looking for her again.
"I realized I was falling directly over this town. As soon as I was a good distance from the ground, I knew I could just activate my featherfall ability and float gently down."
She scoffs as she looks down and shakes her head.
"Apparently, I didn't see the roof of this tavern soon enough --the lantern lights in...
The halfling tavern owner was a jovial and friendly individual, standing at just over three feet tall. His round, rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes seemed to radiate warmth and hospitality.
He had long, curly brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing his pointed ears. His small, agile fingers were always busy, whether he was pouring drinks behind the bar or chatting with patrons at the tables.
Despite his diminutive stature, the halfling possessed an abundance of energy and enthusiasm. He was constantly bustling about the Tavern, making sure everything was running smoothly and all of his customers were happy.
His tavern, located in a bustling city market, was a popular spot for locals and travelers alike. The halfling prided himself on offering a wide selection of ale, mead, and other spirits, all of which he kept perfectly chilled in the barrels behind the bar.
In addition to the drinks, the halfling also served up a variety of hearty meals and snacks. His famous halfling-sized sandwiches were a hit with all who tried them, and his warm, flaky pastries were always a treat.
Despite his busy schedule, the halfling always made time to sit and chat with his patrons, regaling them with tales of his adventures as a young halfling traveling through the land.
The halfling tavern owner flashed a friendly smile as he approached the customer, his blue eyes twinkling. "Hello there, friend! What can I do for you today?"
"Thank you for offering to pay for the damages caused to my tavern. I appreciate your willingness to take responsibility for the incident."
As the halfling tavern owner approached Zephira, he gave them a mischievous wink. His bright blue eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement as he leaned in conspiratorially.
"I've got just the thing for you, my friend," he said with a sly smile. "But it's a bit of a secret, if you know what I mean."
He reached under the counter and produced a small, intricately carved wooden box. With a flourish, he opened the lid to reveal a selection of rare and exotic spirits, each one more tantalizing than the last.
The halfling gave the customer a knowing look and a wink. "These are some of my finest offerings. But you didn't hear it from me."
He chuckled as he poured a generous serving of one of the spirits into a glass and slid it across the counter to the customer. "Drink up, my friend. And enjoy the finer things in life."
Algrim hopefully eyes the dwindling contents of his mug as he replies to barmaid’s inquiry, "I'd be having a nice dwarven stout.” He leans closer to her while he whispered with a conspiratorial wink, ”Ye know I like me brews the same as I like me women… strong and bitter.”
The sour faced dwarf picks up his mug and drains the remaining contents is one quick gulp. With what might pass for a smile he turned toward Shawn Asher, ”Ye be a good judge of brew. I be called Algrim Ironheart, do you be having a name?”
Algrim hopefully eyes the dwindling contents of his mug as he replies to barmaid’s inquiry, "I'd be having a nice dwarven stout.” He leans closer to her while he whispered with a conspiratorial wink, ”Ye know I like me brews the same as I like me women… strong and bitter.”
The sour faced dwarf picks up his mug and drains the remaining contents is one quick gulp. With what might pass for a smile he turned toward Shawn Asher, ”Ye be a good judge of brew. I be called Algrim Ironheart, do you be having a name?”
The sound of shattering glass and angry shouting filled the air as a fight broke out between two youths. The cause of the altercation was a young woman, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she tried to calm the two men.
The atmosphere in the crowded Telltale Tavern was tense as two youths faced off, their fists clenched and eyes narrowed.
One of the youths was tall and muscular, with a rugged, handsome face. He wore a tunic emblazoned with the crest of a noble family, and a sword hung at his side. The other youth was smaller and slighter, with a quick, agile demeanor. He wore simple traveling clothes and a confident sneer.
The tall youth stepped forward, his voice dripping with disdain. "Step aside, peasant. This lady is meant for someone of her own station, not a commoner like you."
The smaller youth stood his ground, his fists clenched at his sides. "I may be a commoner, but I have as much right to court this lady as you do. And I'll fight for her if I have to."
The young lady stepped between them, her voice trembling. "Please, both of you, stop this. I don't want to be the cause of a fight."
But the youths were beyond reason, locked in their own pride and desire. The tall youth swung a punch, and the smaller youth dodged and countered with a punch of his own. The two clashed, their fists flying as the other patrons of the Tavern watched with a mixture of fascination and concern.
As the fight raged on, it became clear that the smaller youth had the upper hand, his quickness and agility allowing him to outmaneuver his opponent. Finally, the tall youth fell to the ground, defeated.
The young lady rushed to the smaller youth's side, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you for standing up for me," she said, taking his hand in hers.
The smaller youth looked at her, his eyes full of love and determination. "I'll always stand up for you, my lady. And I'll always fight for your love."
With that, the two walked out of the Tavern hand in hand, leaving the defeated youth to lick his wounds in shame. The other patrons watched them go, wondering what adventures lay ahead for the young couple and the small but fierce warrior who had won their hearts.
Zephira lifts the delicate wineglass by the stem and peers at the exotic spirit through the glass. She gently swirls the liquid within.
A bit sceptical, she raises an eyebrow.
"Wha... What is it?"
She inquires softly.
"Is it safe for people like me... Uh, I mean... genie-kin, to drink?"
Zephira lifts the delicate wineglass by the stem and peers at the exotic spirit through the glass. She gently swirls the liquid within.
A bit sceptical, she raises an eyebrow.
"Wha... What is it?"
She inquires softly.
"Is it safe for people like me... Uh, I mean... genie-kin, to drink?"
The halfling barkeeper Feagen chuckled and reassured his nervous patron,
"No, no, my friend. This drink is not poisonous. In fact, it's one of my specialties. It's a refreshing blend of vodka, lemon juice, and simple colored syrup. Trust me, it will take the edge off and have you feeling great in no time."
The barkeeper just chuckled and winked at the patron, saying,
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got more drinks to mix."
And with that, he turned back to his work, a smile still on his face as he expertly mixed and served drinks to the happy patrons of the bar.
Suddenly, a silence descended upon the Telltale Tavern like a heavy cloak, muffling the sounds of laughter and conversation that had filled the room just moments before. All eyes turned towards the door, where a hooded figure stood, silhouetted against the bright sunlight that streamed in from outside.
The figure was tall and slender, with long, flowing robes of deep black that seemed to absorb the light around them. They wore a hood that shadowed their face, hiding their features in darkness. For a moment, no one spoke or moved, as if they were all holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
Then, with a graceful movement, the hooded figure stepped into the room, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly against the floorboards. They approached the bar, their cloak sweeping behind them, and took a seat on one of the stools.
The elf reached up and slowly took off his hood, revealing a face that was fair and handsome, with high cheekbones and a strong, proud jawline.
The elven bard was a tall, slender figure with long, flowing hair the color of autumn leaves. His skin was fair and smooth, and his eyes were a deep, piercing green that seemed to look right through you. He wore a simple tunic of soft, white linen, belted at the waist with a silver chain, and a pair of comfortable, worn leather boots.
As he removed his hood, the elf's face was illuminated by the warm glow of the fire that burned in the hearth, casting a soft, golden light over his features. He stood for a moment, letting the patrons of the tavern get a good look at him, before taking a seat at the bar and ordering a mug of ale.
The elf seemed at ease in the crowded tavern, his movements graceful and confident as he waited for his drink. He chatted amiably with the bartender, his voice low and melodic, and a small smile played across his lips as he listened to the stories and jokes that were being shared around the room.
In one hand, the elven bard held a harp, its strings gleaming in the light of the tavern's fireplace. He strummed the instrument with a skilled hand, producing a sweet, lilting melody that filled the room. His voice was clear and pure, like the sound of a mountain stream, as he sang a song of love and loss, of hope and despair.
The bard sat on a small stage in the corner of the tavern, a harp cradled in his lap. He strummed the strings, producing a soft, lilting melody that filled the room. His voice was rich and warm as he sang a song of an ancient war between the forces of good and evil.
The bard's song told the tale of a great battle that had taken place long ago, in a time when magic still flowed freely through the land. The forces of darkness had risen up, seeking to enslave the world and plunge it into eternal darkness. But the forces of light, aided by powerful sorcerers and brave warriors, had stood against them, fighting for justice and the protection of all that was good.
As the bard sang, he wove a tale of heroism and bravery, of fierce battles fought and won, and of the ultimate triumph of good over evil. His voice rose and fell with the rhythm of the song, his fingers dancing over the strings of the harp as he told the story of the ancient war.
As the elven bard sang, he moved effortlessly across the stage, his body swaying and his hands gracefully caressing the strings of the harp. He sang with a passion and depth that seemed to reach into the very hearts of his listeners, drawing them in with the power of his voice and the beauty of his music.
The patrons of the Telltale Tavern watched in awe as the elven bard performed, their eyes fixed on him as he sang. Some sat with rapt attention, while others clapped along or sang along in soft, reverent tones. The elven bard seemed to cast a spell over the room, his music reaching out to touch the hearts and minds of those who heard it.
As the song came to a close, the bard finished with a flourish, the final notes of the harp ringing out through the room. The patrons erupted into applause, cheering and clapping as the bard took his final bow. The bard grinned, thanking the patrons for their kind words and appreciation, before packing up his harp and making his way out of the Tavern, his song still echoing in the hearts of those who had heard it.
Zephira shrugs.
"Okay, then."
She says as she stares curiously at the concoction.
She takes a tiny sip and pulls her head back in pleasant surprise.
"Oh! Oh, my. That's... Delicious!"
She licks her lips, savoring the tartness and astringent mouthfeel of the drink.
Zephira bides her time enjoying the revelry, atmosphere, and entertainment of the tavern as she occasionally sips her delightful cocktail.
Arrock did his best to conceal a frown as the elven harpist drew the entire room's attention, including the eye of the very attractive and possibly interested in an evening of romance individual he'd spent the last half an hour working his charms on. "Yes, he certainly could... make his fingers work..." he passively agreed to the starry eyed young man who apparently was more interested in full blooded elves than partial ones. To be fair, the harper was prettier than you are... came a voice of nagging insecurity from the back of Arrock's head, and Arrock quickly made a point of banishing said voice the way he normally did. "I think I need some more wine, can I get you another flagon?" he asked the potential partner, standing. Maybe he could still work his way back in to this.... "Feagan! Have you any mulled wine ready? Two cups, if you do. If not,I'll content myself with some that's less warm, as long as it warms my blood in the end, eh?"
A woman with fiery red hair and clad in ornate, well polished armor stepped... Or more accurately strut into the bar not far behind the bard, the grin plastered upon her face no doubt friendly but there was a certain air of overconfidence to her as she wove through the rowdy crowd, "Some meat and your finest drink if you would!" She called out to a waitress as she passed before plonking herself down at the table the bickering youths had vacated in their brawl, golden eyes gleaming as she watched the tail end of the - to her anyhow - drunken slap fight with a hint of amusement as she settled in to listen to the music and listen in on the rumors drifting about the place; after all, she was in the market for adventure, and what better place to find a lead than a busy tavern like this?
Algrim hopefully eyes the dwindling contents of his mug as he replies to barmaid’s inquiry, "I'd be having a nice dwarven stout.” He leans closer to her while he whispered with a conspiratorial wink, ”Ye know I like me brews the same as I like me women… strong and bitter.”
The sour faced dwarf picks up his mug and drains the remaining contents is one quick gulp. With what might pass for a smile he turned toward Shawn Asher, ”Ye be a good judge of brew. I be called Algrim Ironheart, do you be having a name?”
Shawn turns to the dwarf, somewhat surprised by the comment. "A name? Oh, of course. I was given the name Shawn Ashler by.... the people that raised me. Not, parents exactly. But that doesn't matter. As to a good judge of brew? Well, I find this ale to be really good. I wasn't quite so fond of it when I took my first sip, but each taste got better and better." He takes a much larger than sip pull from the mug. "Is it the same with your dwarven stout? I'd ask the same about your dwarven women, but I'd suppose that topic shouldn't be mentioned. ??"
Shawn looks like a pretty average human. His staff and daggers mark him as possibly a mage, but the unstrung longbow would make that questionable.
Arrock did his best to conceal a frown as the elven harpist drew the entire room's attention, including the eye of the very attractive and possibly interested in an evening of romance individual he'd spent the last half an hour working his charms on. "Yes, he certainly could... make his fingers work..." he passively agreed to the starry eyed young man who apparently was more interested in full blooded elves than partial ones. To be fair, the harper was prettier than you are... came a voice of nagging insecurity from the back of Arrock's head, and Arrock quickly made a point of banishing said voice the way he normally did. "I think I need some more wine, can I get you another flagon?" he asked the potential partner, standing. Maybe he could still work his way back in to this.... "Feagan! Have you any mulled wine ready? Two cups, if you do. If not,I'll content myself with some that's less warm, as long as it warms my blood in the end, eh?"
The halfling barkeep's face lit up with a warm, friendly smile as he greeted his patrons. His bright green eyes twinkled with amusement, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a cheerful expression. Despite the long hours and demanding work of running a busy tavern, the halfling seemed to have a boundless supply of energy and good cheer.
The barkeep nodded as Arrock requested a mulled wine. "Sure thing," the barkeep replied with a smile.
He walked over to the stove, where a pot of red wine was simmering with a mix of spices and fruit. The warm, comforting aroma of cinnamon, clove, and orange filled the air.
The barkeep ladled a generous portion of the mulled wine into a mug, taking care to strain out the spices and fruit. He added a splash of brandy for an extra kick, then topped it off with a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon.
Carrying the mug carefully, the barkeep returned to the patron and set it down on the bar. "Here you go, enjoy," he said with a wink.
A woman with fiery red hair and clad in ornate, well polished armor stepped... Or more accurately strut into the bar not far behind the bard, the grin plastered upon her face no doubt friendly but there was a certain air of overconfidence to her as she wove through the rowdy crowd, "Some meat and your finest drink if you would!" She called out to a waitress as she passed before plonking herself down at the table the bickering youths had vacated in their brawl, golden eyes gleaming as she watched the tail end of the - to her anyhow - drunken slap fight with a hint of amusement as she settled in to listen to the music and listen in on the rumors drifting about the place; after all, she was in the market for adventure, and what better place to find a lead than a busy tavern like this?
The dwarven barmaid bustled about the crowded tavern, carrying platters of sizzling meats and overflowing mugs of ale with ease. She moved with a purposeful stride, navigating the crowded tables and patrons with expert precision.
Her thick, braided beard swayed as she walked, and her deep voice boomed as she called out drink orders to the barkeep. Despite the frenzied pace of the tavern, she remained calm and collected, always ready with a smile and a friendly word for her customers.
As she served up steaming plates of roast beef and pork, her strong, calloused hands deftly manipulated the heavy platters. She was used to the demanding physical work of the Telltale Tavern, and seemed to thrive in the busy atmosphere.
Despite the rough exterior and gruff demeanor typical of many dwarves, the barmaid had a kind heart and a generous spirit. She treated all of her patrons with equal warmth and respect, and was always quick with a sympathetic ear or a bit of friendly advice. So, she was a beloved figure in the community, and her Telltale Tavern was known far and wide for its hearty food and excellent drink.
The dwarven barmaid expertly balanced a tray of sizzling meats and frothy mugs of ale as she made her way through the crowded tavern. She navigated the narrow spaces between tables and patrons with ease, her sturdy legs carrying her with a sure, steady gait.
As she approached the table, she deftly set down the tray, placing a platter of roast beef and pork in the center and distributing the mugs of ale to each of the patrons. Her strong, calloused hands moved with efficiency and precision, accustomed to the demanding physical work of the Telltale Tavern.
Shawn glances up and notices the dwarven bar maid, and her beard. He grins thinking about Algrim's comment. That dwarven lady didn't look bitter, but definitely looked stronger than Shawn was.... He waves to get her attention. "This ale is excellent, but maybe I could try another drink. What is that?" He points over to the mulled wine drink topped with whipped cream that the halfling barkeep had delivered to Arrock Ghosteye.
"It looks, and smells.... very interesting, possibly like a Fey cider?" The look on his face is distant, and a bit wistful. Perhaps he's drank enough to be lost in his memories.
Ali was just passing through, though Griffondale seemed like a likeable enough town. Several signs told him this was where he was meant to be, right here... right now.
He had gotten to the Telltale Tavern early, and as such hadn't joined anyone as much as been joined by folks. The lovelorn youths for instance, and now the redhead.
There was mention of djinn... that was unexpected so far from home.
He sat with a simple plate of hot beef, cold chicken and an assortment of cheese and bread. He was a bit out of place, not being a drinker. But, the cool water infused with fresh juice was a wonderful treat.
The stories were interesting, wolves, bugbears, bandits - he knew the type, plenty of where he'd come from... but, that's why he traveled away from the desert, the tribes, away from home. To see the world.
Calling the barmaid over, he slipped her some coin. It wasn't the first time he paid for a round of food and beverages for the table. A little extra for her, of course.
Shawn glances up and notices the dwarven bar maid, and her beard. He grins thinking about Algrim's comment. That dwarven lady didn't look bitter, but definitely looked stronger than Shawn was.... He waves to get her attention. "This ale is excellent, but maybe I could try another drink. What is that?" He points over to the mulled wine drink topped with whipped cream that the halfling barkeep had delivered to Arrock Ghosteye.
"It looks, and smells.... very interesting, possibly like a Fey cider?" The look on his face is distant, and a bit wistful. Perhaps he's drank enough to be lost in his memories.
As the barmaid smiled, her entire face lit up. She had a friendly, warm expression on her face, with her lips turned up in a cheerful grin that reached all the way to her eyes. Her smile was contagious, and it was impossible not to feel drawn in by her warm, welcoming demeanor.
"Nay," she replied, chuckling, "it's not fey cider friend, it's mulled wine!"
She laughed again and continued,
"Mulled wine is a warm, spiced wine that is traditionally made by heating red wine and adding various spices, such as cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and orange peel. The spices give the wine a rich, aromatic flavor, and the heat helps to release the flavors of the spices and make the wine more soothing and comforting to drink."
"Mulled wine is often served at holiday gatherings and during the colder months as a warm, comforting beverage."
"Some people also like to add a sweetener, such as honey or sugar, to their mulled wine to balance out the spicy flavors. It can be served hot or cold and is usually accompanied by slices of citrus fruit."
Shawn smiles at the explanation. It was far more than he had expected and he appreciated the detail. "That sounds.... wonderful. Hot or cold, whichever you think is better will be perfect I'm sure. I've never had it before so the experience will be appreciated. That one had a whipped topping. Would that be hot or cold?" The grin on his face is wide enough to almost seem painful. He seems almost unnaturally innocent.
Zeph takes the last sip of her drink and suddenly realizes how lightheaded she feels as she shifts in her barstool.
"Oh my goodness. That was strong."
She remarks, taking a deep breath and blinking her eyes to refocus on the happenings around the room.
She then notices a few patrons don't seem to be locals, traveling merchants, or pilgrims passing through. They're carrying weapons and wearing armor. They don't wear the tabards or show any insignia of the town guard and their weapons and armor is much finer than the town guard.
"They look like adventurers!"
Still a bit lightheaded, Zeph slowly stands from her seat and saunters over to the pair, her silken dress fluttering about her as a gentle breeze flows around her and blows locks of her long blue hair.
She approaches the human and dwarf and overhears the two discussing mulled wine.
"Umm... Greetings, friends."
She says with a shy smile as she hold up a slender blue hand in greeting.
"My name's Zephira. You two wouldn't happen to be looking for adventure, would you? I'm quite new to the idea, however, maybe we could team up. I hear there are plenty of ancient tombs filled with forgotten treasure and evil across the land that needs to be destroyed."
She nervously bites her lip, hoping she hasn't made a fool of herself for asking.
Algrim raised his mug in salute to Sean and gives him a conspiratorial wink. As others join the table he gives them a slight bow, ”Algrim Ironheart at yer service.”
She approaches the human and dwarf and overhears the two discussing mulled wine.
"Umm... Greetings, friends."
She says with a shy smile as she hold up a slender blue hand in greeting.
"My name's Zephira. You two wouldn't happen to be looking for adventure, would you? I'm quite new to the idea, however, maybe we could team up. I hear there are plenty of ancient tombs filled with forgotten treasure and evil across the land that needs to be destroyed."
She nervously bites her lip, hoping she hasn't made a fool of herself for asking.
”Aye lass…. Speaking for me self, I always be on the lookout for ways to earn more coin.” He looks her up and down with a discerning eye and asked, ”Why ye be all blue?”
Shawn looks up and hears Algrim's question. He grins and stands giving a polite nod. "The lass is a Sylph Algrim. She has some ancestry with the plane of air. And she's quite attractive don't you think?"
"My given name is Shawn Ashler. I'm not sure about ancient tombs or such brimming with valuable treasures, but the inn here has some excellent food and drink. And we have a vacant seat right here beside me if you'd like?"
"As far as evil to be destroyed, I agree with Algrim. Some more coin is always a good thing. There's always a cost."
A woman with fiery red hair and clad in ornate, well polished armor stepped... Or more accurately strut into the bar not far behind the bard, the grin plastered upon her face no doubt friendly but there was a certain air of overconfidence to her as she wove through the rowdy crowd, "Some meat and your finest drink if you would!" She called out to a waitress as she passed before plonking herself down at the table the bickering youths had vacated in their brawl, golden eyes gleaming as she watched the tail end of the - to her anyhow - drunken slap fight with a hint of amusement as she settled in to listen to the music and listen in on the rumors drifting about the place; after all, she was in the market for adventure, and what better place to find a lead than a busy tavern like this?
Ali pushes the steaming meat, cold chicken and cheeses platter gently towards the redhead's direction. I'm Ali and happy to share of you're hungry. Break bread with me.
A woman with fiery red hair and clad in ornate, well polished armor stepped... Or more accurately strut into the bar not far behind the bard, the grin plastered upon her face no doubt friendly but there was a certain air of overconfidence to her as she wove through the rowdy crowd, "Some meat and your finest drink if you would!" She called out to a waitress as she passed before plonking herself down at the table the bickering youths had vacated in their brawl, golden eyes gleaming as she watched the tail end of the - to her anyhow - drunken slap fight with a hint of amusement as she settled in to listen to the music and listen in on the rumors drifting about the place; after all, she was in the market for adventure, and what better place to find a lead than a busy tavern like this?Ali pushes the steaming meat, cold chicken and cheeses platter gently towards the redhead's direction. I'm Ali and happy to share of you're hungry. Break bread with me.
"Hm?" She peers over the rim of her mug as the plate is pushed her way. She took a long gulp before planting the mug on the table with a hearty thunk, her other hand pulling her scarf up to wipe her lips before responding, "Well if you're offering, far be it for me to refuse." She stated with a hearty laugh, snatching a hunk of cheese from the offered plate, "Call me Alexandria, though I can't say I'm here just for a meal. More a feast for good fortune and all that." She gives a nod before taking a bite from her gifted morsel, "Been wandering around from place ta place chasing rumors and odd jobs and hopin' to stumble onto one of those jackpot sorts of adventures." She states rather confidently before swallowing and moving to cut a slice from her pork roast, "Y'know the sort, the ones you hear about all the time about a group kicking over some bandit camp and stumbling across a powerful magic stone some shady priest is after, or being sent to clear out some goblin or kobold infestation in the city sewers and stumbling across ancient ruins and treasures in the process, or falling down a mineshaft and being granted divine gifts by some talking crystal."
With a smooth, fluid motion, a new visitor swung the door open of the Telltale Tavern and stepped inside, his long black cape billowing behind him like a shadow.
Night had already fallen, and by this later hour the inside of the Telltale Tavern was dimly lit, though it was still brightened by the sounds of laughter and conversation. The silence that descended upon the common room was almost palpable, a heavy weight that seemed to press down on everyone present. The laughter and conversations that had filled the air only moments before had died away, replaced by a tense, expectant hush.
As the man with the long black cape made his way through the crowd, heads turned and eyes followed, drawn in by his commanding presence. He strode towards the bar, his cape sweeping behind him. The room was eerily quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of the long black cape as the man approached. He moved with a smooth, almost predatory grace, his feet barely making a sound on the carpeted floor.
The man standing before the patrons of the Telltale Tavern was a sight to behold. His muscular frame was perfectly chiseled, his broad chest tapering down to a narrow waist and powerful legs. His blonde hair was cropped short, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face and the piercing green eyes that seemed to look right through the crowd. His skin was pale and smooth, almost ethereal in its perfection, and seemed to glow softly in the dim light.
As he moved, those observing him could not help but be struck by the grace and fluidity of his movements. Luke seemed to exude a palpable air of confidence and strength with every step. His long black cape flowed behind him like a wave of darkness, its rich fabric seeming to absorb the light around it. His eyes were dark and piercing, and there was an air of power and confidence about him that was both intimidating and alluring.
The long black cape flowed behind Luke like a wave of living darkness, its rich fabric a shade deeper than the shadows that seemed to follow closely wherever it went. The cape was made of a luxurious satin material, with a glossy sheen that seemed to absorb the light around it. The interior was lined with a soft, velvety material that felt warm and inviting to the touch. Luke's cape was secured at the neck with a simple clasp, a small but elegant detail that added a touch of sophistication to the garment. It also featured a hood that could be pulled up over the head, casting a mysterious and alluring shadow over the wearer's face. As the Luke moved, the cape seemed to dance behind him, the fabric flowing and rippling in a way that was almost mesmerizing. It was a garment that commanded attention and exuded a sense of power and confidence, making its wearer seem larger than life.
As the man approached, it was impossible not to notice the wickedly curved sickle hanging from his leather belt. The hooked blade glinted in the sunlight, a stark contrast to the worn and weathered leather of the belt. The handle was made of wood, smooth and worn from years of use, and it seemed to sit comfortable at the man's hip.
Beneath Luke's cape, his spidersilk armor glimmered in the dim light of the tavern, its shimmering fabric seeming to almost glow with an otherworldly glow. The armor was made of a delicate, yet strong material that was woven from the silk of giant spiders, giving it an almost ethereal quality. The armor itself was lightweight and flexible, allowing the wearer to move freely and comfortably. It was also surprisingly durable, able to withstand blows that would have shattered lesser materials. The armor was tailored to fit the wearer's body perfectly, hugging their curves and contours like a second skin. The spidersilk armor was also imbued with magical properties, enhancing the wearer's strength and agility and protecting them from harm. It was a rare and coveted item, prized by those who knew its true value.
Luke walked with a confident, purposeful stride, his movements smooth and efficient.
He greeted the travelers with a friendly smile and a nod, his deep voice carrying across the room. "Good evening to you all," he said, his words laced with a hint of a foreign accent. "I have traveled a far way, alone, and am eager to sit down, enjoy some company, and share stories of the road before I settle in for the night. My name is Luke Slade, and I have traveled from the great city of L'Triel to see the countryside of this fair land. May I join your company?"
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[dice=Know-Planes]1d20 +7
Shawn looks up and hears Algrim's question. He grins and stands giving a polite nod. "The lass is a Sylph Algrim. She has some ancestry with the plane of air. And she's quite attractive don't you think?"
"My given name is Shawn Ashler. I'm not sure about ancient tombs or such brimming with valuable treasures, but the inn here has some excellent food and drink. And we have a vacant seat right here beside me if you'd like?"
"As far as evil to be destroyed, I agree with Algrim. Some more coin is always a good thing. There's always a cost."
Sylphs are genie-kin descended from the union of mortal humanoids and creatures of elemental air. Sylphs usually look pale and delicate, but are often more resilient than they look. If they hide the swirling blue markings on their skin, sylphs can easily pass for humans. Other subtle signs of their elemental heritage include slight gusts of wind that follow them and become more pronounced as they experience passion or anger. The most exotic sylphs have hair that twists and coils like mist. Sylphs are most often the product of an union between a mortal and a djinni, or less commonly an invisible stalker or air mephit, or another sylph. Sylphs can also be born to human parents, as elemental heritage can skip generations.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Shawn and Algrim."
Zephira bows her head with a warm smile in greeting.
"To answer your question, Algrim... The reason why my hair and skin is blue is because I'm a sylph, of course."
She giggles softly, amused by the dwarf's naiveté.
"Well then, gentlemen. Since we're in a tavern, maybe we should ask arou..."
Zephira pauses mid-sentence and turns to look towards the door as the man with the shadowy black cape enters. Her eyes go wide in fear and she deftly slips like the wind behind her new friend Shawn to hide from the newcomer.
"Oh no! They must have sent an assassin after me."
She whispers in Shawn's ear as her hands tremble in fear on his shoulders.
He greeted the travelers with a friendly smile and a nod, his deep voice carrying across the room. "Good evening to you all," he said, his words laced with a hint of a foreign accent. "I have traveled a far way, alone, and am eager to sit down, enjoy some company, and share stories of the road before I settle in for the night. My name is Luke Slade, and I have traveled from the great city of L'Triel to see the countryside of this fair land. May I join your company?"
"Oh, thank the Westerly Winds."
Zephira breathes a heavy sigh of relief, realizing this Luke Slade is not here for her."He's not even djinni-kin!"
She reassures herself.
She steps out from behind Shawn, her cheeks blushing a darker blue in slight embarrassment.
Arrock took a sip of his wine and gave an approving nod to Feagan, then turned away to his table. He stopped in his tracks. Was it possible that his object of flirtation had, in less than two minutes, suddenly begun flirting with someone else? He debated continuing on in and having a clash of flirtations with the newcomer, then decided it wasn't worth the effort. He took a long, bracing draught of his wine, then realized he'd drunk almost the entire flagon in his sudden bad mood. Well, at least I have a second mug all to myself now..., he thought as he turned around and headed back to the bar. While working on drink number two, he heard an interestingly hued young woman bring up one of the few topics that interested him more than romance. "Pardon me, folks, but did I hear you talking about.... adventure?" he said, leaning in.
Shawn eyes Zephira with concern, turning to curiosity when she relaxes. "Enemies? Well, then its a good thing you have new friends. Of course if you see any of the Fey searching around I'd appreciate a heads up on that." He grins and takes a drink, not really concerned. He'd failed them but surely they didn't kill.... But he did remember some silly tail about a Count Ranalc? But he'd been really young and was sure it was just to scare him!
When the.... Hmm. Elven looking male joined them and appeared interested in Zephira he replied, "Adventure? Well yes. We're looking for something interesting that might provide a bit of coin in reward. I think someone said that this inn was the best place in town to find such."
"Pardon my rudeness, but.... You appear elven, and yet not completely. I was raised, elsewhere, and I'm still learning the basics of, well, a lot of things. This drink for example, mulled wine. At first I thought it similar to a Fey cider, but it's much heavier on the tongue. Still delicious though."
"Oh, but I did learn manners. Just don't always understand or remember. My given name is Shawn Ashler." He holds his hand out, "And you are?"
Arrock took a sip of his wine and gave an approving nod to Feagan, then turned away to his table. He stopped in his tracks. Was it possible that his object of flirtation had, in less than two minutes, suddenly begun flirting with someone else? He debated continuing on in and having a clash of flirtations with the newcomer, then decided it wasn't worth the effort. He took a long, bracing draught of his wine, then realized he'd drunk almost the entire flagon in his sudden bad mood. Well, at least I have a second mug all to myself now..., he thought as he turned around and headed back to the bar. While working on drink number two, he heard an interestingly hued young woman bring up one of the few topics that interested him more than romance. "Pardon me, folks, but did I hear you talking about.... adventure?" he said, leaning in.
Luke pulls back his long, black cape over his shoulders, and takes a seat at the table with Shawn, Arrock, Zephira, Alexandria, Ali, and Algrim. He takes an unoccupied seat from another table and pushes it between Arrock and Shawn. Then, he begins to address the assembled company with a friendly but serious tone,
"By the light of He Who Guides all wanderers -- swift-footed Hermes of the Numberless Paths and Uncounted Roads, I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have reached the safety of Griffondale before nightfall."
"I do not know how recently any of you have traveled the northern roads of the Grand Duchy, but of late they become dangerous for a lone traveler such as myself. Indeed, I just made a long journey from the bustling port city of L'Triel, jewel of the Gemfire Coast and First Light of the Sea of Evariel. I would have you know, fellow travelers -- my path along the Duke's Road was not uncontested. During my travels, I have been forced to flee several times from roving bands of vicious goblins and hobgoblins -- some say their bugbear kin have driven them into the lowlands to prey upon the unsuspecting inhabitants of these sparsely-populated regions of the Grandy Duchy of Mulcrow."
"But now I have found safety in the light and warmth of this gracious establishment, and I hope to find dependable company so that I will no longer have to face the dangers of the open road alone."
"He who guides all wanderers? So you revere Ng? I hadn't thought to find another human that even knew much of the Eldest, let alone spoke such of him. But who is this Hermes that you mention?"
He pauses for a thought, then shakes his head. "Wait. Sorry. Just ignore that. You consider your Hermes to be your guide. Another social faux pas for me I guess. But you say that you were beset by goblin-kin? I'd heard that the roads here were safe. Perhaps that's the adventure we should seek? Either speak with the authorities here... or perhaps take the battle to the goblins. After all, if they're fertilizer they can't be attacking peaceful travelers!"
"He who guides all wanderers? So you revere Ng? I hadn't thought to find another human that even knew much of the Eldest, let alone spoke such of him. But who is this Hermes that you mention?"
[dice=Knowledge-Religion]1d20 +7
He pauses for a thought, then shakes his head. "Wait. Sorry. Just ignore that. You consider your Hermes to be your guide. Another social faux pas for me I guess. But you say that you were beset by goblin-kin? I'd heard that the roads here were safe. Perhaps that's the adventure we should seek? Either speak with the authorities here... or perhaps take the battle to the goblins. After all, if they're fertilizer they can't be attacking peaceful travelers!"
Hermes is an Olympian deity in ancient Greek religion and mythology. Hermes is considered the herald of the gods. He is also considered the protector of human heralds, travellers, thieves, merchants, and orators. He is able to move quickly and freely between the worlds of the mortal and the divine, aided by his winged sandals. Hermes plays the role of the psychopomp or "soul guide"—a conductor of souls into the afterlife.
In myth, Hermes functions as the emissary and messenger of the gods, and is often presented as the son of Zeus and Maia, the Pleiad. Hermes is regarded as "the divine trickster," about which the Homeric Hymn to Hermes offers the most well-known account.
His attributes and symbols include the herma, the rooster, the tortoise, satchel or pouch, talaria (winged sandals), and winged helmet or simple petasos, as well as the palm tree, goat, the number four, several kinds of fish, and incense. However, his main symbol is the caduceus, a winged staff intertwined with two snakes copulating and carvings of the other gods. His attributes had previously influenced the earlier Etruscan god Turms, a name borrowed from the Greek "herma".
"He who guides all wanderers? So you revere Ng? I hadn't thought to find another human that even knew much of the Eldest, let alone spoke such of him. But who is this Hermes that you mention?"
[dice=Knowledge-Religion]1d20 +7
He pauses for a thought, then shakes his head. "Wait. Sorry. Just ignore that. You consider your Hermes to be your guide. Another social faux pas for me I guess. But you say that you were beset by goblin-kin? I'd heard that the roads here were safe. Perhaps that's the adventure we should seek? Either speak with the authorities here... or perhaps take the battle to the goblins. After all, if they're fertilizer they can't be attacking peaceful travelers!"
Luke pauses to consider the question, then replies in a measured tone,
"Hm... I not know swift-footed Hermes by the name you mention, but perhaps both are simply masks of one and the same god? Truly, who can say what the true nature of the immortals are, friend?"
"In regards to your question regarding the roads -- I do not know the reputation of the northern ways, but my recent experience has taught me, whatever the common wisdom might be, they are not safe for lone travelers such as myself in these days. You speak wisely -- perhaps tomorrow we should try to find a representative of the Duke to whom we might voice our concerns, and perhaps receive a valuable contract to clear the roads of goblins and other threats."
As the sun set on the Griffondale, the Telltale Tavern began to bustle with activity. Travelers and locals alike streamed through the doors, seeking a warm meal and a comfortable bed for the night. The common room was filled with the sound of laughter and conversation, as people settled in for the evening.
The proprietor of the inn, a stout and friendly halfling man named Faegen, bustled about, making sure everyone was comfortable and had what they needed. He brought out platters of roast chicken and vegetables, and filled mugs with frothy ale. The smell of the savory food and the warm glow of the fire in the hearth made the inn feel cozy and welcoming.
As the night wore on, the common room began to empty out as people retired to their rooms upstairs. The only sounds left were the occasional clink of a mug being set down on the bar and the soft murmur of a late-night conversation.
In the silence of the night, the inn felt like a haven of warmth and safety, a place to rest and recharge before setting out on the road again in the morning. The soft glow of the fire and the gentle snores of the travelers provided a peaceful soundtrack as the town outside the windows slipped into a deep slumber.
As night fell on Griffondale, the streets began to quiet down as people retired to their homes for the evening. The only sounds left were the occasional footsteps of a guard patrolling the streets and the faint murmur of conversations from behind closed doors.
The only light in the town came from the moon and stars above, casting a soft glow over the streets and buildings. The air was cool and still, and the only movement came from the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.
As the night wore on, the town sank into a deep slumber. The only sign of life was the soft glow of candlelight in windows and the distant barking of a dog. The peaceful quiet was interrupted only by the occasional hoot of an owl or the scurrying of a small animal through the underbrush.
As dawn broke over Griffondale, the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the quiet streets. The air was still cool and crisp, and a faint mist clung to the ground, giving the town a magical and ethereal quality.
As the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon, the town slowly began to stir. The sound of roosters crowing and the lowing of cows could be heard in the distance as the farmers tended to their animals. The peaceful stillness of the night was replaced by the hustle and bustle of a new day in Griffondale.
As the light grew stronger, the town began to stir. The sound of clucking chickens and the lowing of cows could be heard in the distance as the farmers tended to their animals. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air as the bakers in the town square fired up their ovens.
The streets slowly came to life as people emerged from their homes and made their way to the marketplace to start their day. The marketplace was a bustling hub of activity, with vendors setting up stalls and displaying their wares. The sounds of haggling and laughter filled the air as people went about their business.
As the day wore on, the town grew louder and more vibrant. The sound of hammering and sawing could be heard from the blacksmith's forge, and the aroma of sizzling meat drifted from the food stalls. The town was alive with energy and excitement, ready to embrace the new day and all that it had to offer.
The main street of Griffondale was a bustling hub of activity. The cobblestone road was worn and well-trodden, with the marks of countless carts and horses etched into the stone. The buildings that lined the street were a mix of stone and timber, with thatched roofs and brightly colored signs hanging above the doors.
At one end of the street was the marketplace, where vendors set up stalls and sold their wares. The air was filled with the sound of haggling and laughter as people browsed the stalls, looking for fresh produce, handcrafted goods, and all manner of other items.
The town square was located in the center of the street, and was a popular gathering place for the townspeople. It was surrounded by shops and restaurants, and was a hub of activity all day long.
At the other end of the street was the town hall, a grand stone building that was the seat of local government. The town's leaders could often be found there, discussing the affairs of the town and making decisions that would shape its future.
Overall, the main street of Griffondale was a vibrant and lively place, full of energy and excitement. It was the heart of the town, and the place where people came together to live, work, and play.
"A pleasure to meet you as well, Arrick. And you as well, Luke."
Zephira clinks mugs with her new friends as the night's festivities begin to wind down.
Suddenly, Zephira lets out a galestorm-like yawn...
It whips up loose papers and blows everyone's hair about. A couple of flagons of ale are quickly caught before falling over.
"Oh, goodness. I'm so sorry, everyone. Sometimes I can't control the gusts that blow about me. Well, I'm off to my room. I look forward to starting a life of adventure with you all. G'night, all. Let's get together for breakfast in the morning."
Responding to Shawn's introduction, Arrock replies, "Arrock. My family name is difficult to pronounce for non-native Elvish speakers, so I've taken the nom de guerre of 'Ghostseye' as a surname, makes things easier. But just Arrock will do fine. And yes, I am part elf, on my father's side. Mother was human. Best of both worlds, really!" He raises his glass in toast to... well, himself, apparently. The rest of the evening he spends getting to know these new acquaintances, seeming quite eager at the notion of finding employment clearing out the goblin riff-raff from the local roads.
In the morning, nursing only a slight hangover that didn't do too much to deter him from positively murdering a plat of bacon and eggs, he sets out into the day with the group. "Perhaps the town hall is where we should go, if we're seeking out some sort of goblin-chasing warrant?" he suggests.
”Aye, the town hall be making the most sense,” the dwarf heartily agreed with the bard’s suggestion.
"Great idea, Arrock. The town hall would be a great place to start."
"While we're out and about on the town, I wouldn't mind doing a little shopping in the market. I hope they have tins of salted fish and other tasty food for our long journeys together. Oh! Some of those merchants may have some leads to places of adventure as well."
Shawn considers Zephira's comment about shopping. He really didn't need anything and didn't want to spend any of his remaining gold before knowing where he might get more.
"Sounds good. We meet here first thing in the morning, have a quick breakfast and then head out for the town hall. And those so inclined can check out any vendor stalls on the way."
Alexandria gives a thoughtful hum, half listening into the nearby table's conversation as she eagerly enjoyed her meal and drink, mulling over a plan for the next day. Bidding farewell to her drinking companion she turned in, leaving money for a room and three gold pieces for the food to the proprietor as she went.
In the morning she approached the decidedly colorful group as they began their plans, perking up a bit as she overheard mention of goblin-chasing, perhaps this was the sort of lead she was looking for? She cleared her throat as she approached, chest puffed out and a wide grin on her face, "I don't suppose you'd mind an extra pair of hands tagging along with you lot would you? Sounds like you're planning to get up to some excitement and all."
Luke wakes up early, as usual ready to seek out new adventures at the town hall of Griffondale. All told, things had gone fairly well for him since arriving in town -- he seemed to have found some new friends, or at least temporary travel companions. And that was all for the good. His story about the dangers of the roads of the northern part of the Duchy were not entirely fantabulous -- there was a kernel of truth to them, just no the truth he had averred to the assemblage of travelers in the common room of the Telltale Tavern the previous evening. No -- Luke was in quite a bit of danger not from any random brigands or goblins or their near kin, but rather agents of the L'Triel assassins guild known as the Nightbanes. He had been forced to make a speedy exit from the city after he had failed to execute his hit on the Armando, youngest son of the Fiorentino Merchant Clan. His vengeful patriarch, Salvatore, and contracted, Nightbanes a rival guild to Luke's own guild -- the Venomblades -- to hunt down the unsuccessful assassin. The Master Assassin of the Venomblades had advised Luke to make himself scare for... a good while until the whole matter had blown over. And so, here he was, exploring the hinterlands of the Grand Duchy of Mulcrow for the first time in his life. Already, he missed the sounds and sights and pleasures of the great port city of L'Triel... but not enough to risk his life and limb to retain their comforts. No, he would do as the Master Assassin of his guild had advised and make himself scare for an extended period. Trouble had not ceased to follow him on his departure from the gate of L'Triel... no, he had been hounded by the agents of the Venomblades from town to town as he made his way along the lonely northern roads of the Grand Duchy, always staying only a step or two ahead of his pursuers. He believed he had managed to lose his hunters in the twisted network of crossroads that wound through the Black Forest, but it would take a while yet to be sure. Still, he had contrived a new identity -- Luke Slade, putting aside his given name of Velxe Saeru in order to better hide his identity while he evaded reprisal from the vengeful patriarch of the Fiorentino Merchant Clan.
Luke got up early and checked to make sure there were no signs of pursuit. Then he washed and dressed. He quickly made his way to the town hall, seeking the company of the travelers he had met the previous evening.
"I don't suppose you'd mind an extra pair of hands tagging along with you lot would you? Sounds like you're planning to get up to some excitement and all."
Zephira introduces herself and the others to the warrior woman.
"I'm sure we'd be more than happy to have you join us. Why, the more the merrier, of course!"
The main street of Griffondale winds its way through the heart of the town, passing by rows of charming thatched cottages and shops. The cobblestone path is worn smooth by the footsteps of generations of villagers, and the buildings on either side lean in slightly, as if huddled together for warmth.
At one end of the main street stands the village church, its steeple rising high above the rooftops. Its doors are always open, inviting the villagers in for Sunday services or to light a candle and say a prayer.
Along the main street, there are several small shops selling a variety of goods. There is a blacksmith's forge, where the sound of hammering on metal can be heard from early in the morning until late at night. The smell of burning coal and hot iron fills the air. There is a bakery, where the aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries wafts out into the street. The baker can often be seen through the window, rolling out dough or tending to a tray of pastries in the oven. There is a small general store, where the villagers can buy everything from candles and soap to ribbons and cloth. The storekeeper is a friendly woman with a kind smile, always happy to chat with her customers and offer advice on what to buy.
At the other end of the main street is the village inn -- the Telltale Tavern, a cozy place where travelers and villagers alike can rest and enjoy a meal. The innkeeper Faegan is a jovial man who is always ready with a story or a joke, and his wife is a skilled cook who serves up hearty meals of roast chicken and vegetables, washed down with mugs of ale.
The town hall of Griffondale sits at the center of the main street, its grand façade facing outward to greet all who pass by. The building is made of stone, with tall windows and a steep, pitched roof. A large clock tower rises up from one side, its bell ringing out the hours to the entire village. Inside, the town hall is bustling with activity. There are several rooms on the main floor, each dedicated to a different purpose. The council chamber is where the village leaders meet to discuss important matters and make decisions about the running of the village. The chamber is filled with rows of benches, and at the front stands a long table where the council members sit. There is also a courtroom, where disputes are settled and justice is dispensed. The room is solemn, with a high bench at one end where the judge sits and a witness stand at the other. On the second floor of the town hall, there is a large hall that is used for meetings, dances, and other events. The room has a high ceiling with beams crisscrossing overhead, and a stage at one end. There are long tables and benches where people can sit and eat, and a fireplace at the far end that keeps the room warm on cold winter nights. Throughout the town hall, there are tapestries and paintings on the walls, depicting scenes from the village's history and legends. The building is a hub of activity, and the villagers are proud of their town hall and all that it represents.
The notice for the archery competition in the town hall of Griffondale is displayed prominently on a bulletin board near the entrance, drawing the attention of all who pass by. The poster is colorful and eye-catching, featuring an image of an archer taking aim at a target in the center.
The notice reads:
"Archery Competition in Griffondale!
Come one, come all to the annual archery competition, to be held on the village green on Sunday next. The competition is open to all, regardless of skill level. Prizes will be awarded to the top three archers.
Registration begins at 9:00 am, and the competition will start at 10:00 am sharp. Refreshments will be provided.
Don't miss this exciting event!
Sponsored by the Town Council of Griffondale."
Beneath the notice is a sign-up sheet where interested archers can add their names. There are already several names on the list, and the excitement in the air is palpable. The archery competition is always a popular event in Griffondale, and everyone is looking forward to the chance to show off their skills and compete for the prizes.
Beneath the notice is a sign-up sheet where interested archers can add their names. There are already several names on the list, and the excitement in the air is palpable. The archery competition is always a popular event in the village, and everyone is looking forward to the chance to show off their skills and compete for the prizes.
The man loitering in the town hall is a striking figure, with his tall and stately bearing, finely tailored clothes, and well-groomed appearance. He stands near the entrance, leaning casually against the wall as he surveys the bustling activity around him. He is the embodiment of confidence and poise, with a sly smile on his lips and a glint in his eye. His long, flowing cape is adorned with intricate embroidery, and his boots are polished to a high shine. He carries himself with an air of superiority, as if he is above the petty concerns of the common folk. The man seems to be waiting for someone, as he keeps glancing at the door every few minutes. His eyes are sharp and alert, and he seems to take in everything that is happening around him. Despite his seeming nonchalance, he is clearly a man of power and influence, and those who pass by him cannot help but feel a sense of awe and respect. He stands in the corner, leaning against the wall as he observes the activity around him. There is an air of secrecy and intrigue about him, as if he is there for a purpose that no one else knows about. Despite his mysterious demeanor, the man is not necessarily sinister or malevolent. He could be a spy, gathering information for a noble lord, or a messenger, carrying a secret message from one place to another. Whatever his purpose, he is clearly a man of intrigue, and those who see him cannot help but wonder about his true identity and motives.
"Oooh! An archery contest. That sounds fun. I'm not very good, but maybe I can pick up some good tips and pointers from the locals that are experts with bows."
Zephira then notices the important looking man at the entrance.
"I wonder what's up with that gentleman?"
She says as she nods in his direction.
"Huh. Looks like one of those awful tax collectors."
She curls her lip in disgust, then smiles as she looks back at the archery contest notice.
"I say we enter ourselves in the contest!"
She jots down her name at the bottom of the notice.