Age of Ashes (Team Alseta)

Game Master Delta Arena

It is the morning before the Call for Heroes. The people of Breachill are already tending to their businesses as usual, even though the general excitement makes mundane tasks easier to forget. And nowhere is the excitement more vibrant than at the Wizard's Grace, the local tavern, where adventurers and curious citizens gather to speculate about the jobs being offered, and about who will take those jobs.

The tavern itself is filled with the smell of boar stew and lentils as Trinil Uskwold (Female Human Innkeeper), dressed in her leather apron, merrily hands the traditional dish to everyone in the room.

Where is everyone sitting and what do other people see when they look your way? Take this time to introduce as much of your characters as you want and to wrap up character creation. If you have any questions the discussion section should be up as well.

A young man, unlikely to be out of his teens (and possibly not very far into them), enters the tavern's main room a little hesitantly before another customer behind him pushes past. He grins (again, a little nervously) and claps the other on the shoulder. "Food's that good, is it? Sure smells that way!" The man is unarmored, dressed in plain often-mended linen tunic and trousers, his boots covered with road dust and dried mud. His only visible weapons are a sheathed dagger on his belt and a cased longbow sticking up over one shoulder. He seems to steel himself as he looks around at the crowd; whatever he sees seems to reassure him, though, and he visibly relaxes. He steps up to the bar and sets down a pack, his bow, and a quiver of arrows, then doffs his hat (revealing a mop of wavy brown hair). "One, please. And something to drink with it."

In answer to the (likely) unspoken question in Trinil's eyes, he nods with a boyish grin that turns mock-serious. "You have me, madam. I am indeed an adventurer, here for the Call for Heroes. So...any idea what it's going to be this time?"

The innkeeper brings you a bowl of stew and lentils along a flagon of beer. "Well, I really couldn't say. There are not as many adventurers this month as there were the month before. But then again, everyone know some creatures were attacking the lumberjacks. Poor fellas, they were just doing their work. This time... I don't even know who is even placing a call. Although that goblin lady seemed in a rush when I came across here on my way here. Maybe she's got something for you all. Regardless, all of you adventurers need to be well fed for whatever might be."

In one corner of a tavern sits, rather timidly, as if he didn't quite dare use the backrest of his chair, a lone halfling. It's one of the smallest tables in the room, meant to accommodate two people - or maybe one human and two halflings, if they squeezed - , yet the chair in front of him is unoccupied. It's probably one of the only seats in the tavern left empty.

Red curls falling in front of his downcast eyes, he's slowly eating his way through his meal, although he seems keener on the lentils than on the stew. Occasionally, he lifts his head to have a look at the other customers, but no one seems to be paying any kind of particular attention to him. He's got the very pale skin of someone who doesn't go out much, and a small oiled cotton hat is resting by the side of his bowl.

He meets Zeldone's gaze almost by accident, and smiles brightly at him. It's the kind of warm smile that actually reaches a person's eyes.

A young human man with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair walks into the Wizard's Grace with a worn book in his hand. He barely looks up from that book as he makes his way to a table in the center of the establishment. After several moments pass, his eyes focus on his surroundings for the first time since entering the tavern, almost like he didn't truly realize he entered the building.

Anyone who studies this man will notice a few other prominent items besides the tome with a multitude of stray pages stuffed into it at random intervals. This young man wears a sword at hip and several different small pouches also adorn his belt. On the hip opposite his sword is a small contraption meant to keep his book close when it's not in his hand. He also hefts a large backpack that protrudes in a variety of places that suggest it contains a large selection of knickknacks.

People that were residents of Breachill roughly three years ago swear this man looks like Cerrus Falto, but that can't be. He left town to never come back.

As Trinil or another server make their way around the bar, the man stops them, smiles widely, and says "I'll have my usual. Thank you kindly. Oh, and I've lost track of time today. How soon until the Call starts?" Then he quickly flips to a different page in his book and resumes reading.

As Trinil serves you the traditional stew she says: "The call is in about an hour. There's still time to enjoy the stew and to toast before then." She gives you a warm smile and turns to leave before pausing. "I don't know why but you seem very familiar to me. Anyways, enjoy the stew."

Cerrus pauses for a moment, with a blank stare on his face. Then he realizes that Trinil actually doesn't recognize him and for good reason. He has been away from Breachill for a few years and he looks quite different in appearance.

"Trinil, it's me, Cerrus. I've been back in town for a bit, but mostly cooped up at home. Anyways, thanks for the stew. See you at the Call?"

Once Trinil walks away, Cerrus resumes his reading and greedily eats the stew as if he hasn't eaten in a day.

The next one to enter the Wizard's Grace can be smelled before he is seen, the distinct aroma of campfires and red-hot iron heralding the stranger walking in.

He's on the short side of average, at least by human standards and the slight point to his ears indicate he's aiuvarin, but the rest of his features don't seem as human as most half-elves. There's a sturdiness to his form that's different from his generally lithe kinfolk, and a cragginess to his features, especially his prominent hooked nose. Dark circles lie under his blue-green eyes. Much more noticeable, however, is the large burn scar that mars the left side of his face, between the eye and ear and running down his cheek to his chin. His auburn hair is long, a little over shoulder-length and bound in a sturdy rope-like braid. He has a circle beard, with a long mustache hanging past the chin. Streaks of grey run through both, but it's unclear if that's the hair itself of just stray ash he has yet to wash out.

He wears clothing similar to the other adventurers here, but clearly hand-made by a family member. Angular dwarven elements combine with intertwined elven ones decorate the gray and gold robes, accenting it with splashes of blue, green and red. Over it is worn a hauberk typical of the elves, but with blocky dwarven ailettes on the shoulders. Around his neck hangs a carved wooden symbol, easily recognizable to most as the hammer of Torag, but overlapping with it a are a trio of colored crystals. Over the cord he also wears a similarly colorful scarf. At one hip hangs a long, elegantly slim elven blade, while at the other, an odd buckler shaped like a leaf or a flame.

He trudges over to where it appears the other adventurers are congregating.

"A merry meeting!" he says to them. "I was told this was where those answering the Call were gathering. Fitting; many stories of heroes and adventure seem to begin in taverns."

Almost immediately, he breaks into a dry, wheezing cough. For a moment it looks like flecks of dust are coming from his mouth. After hacking for a minute or so, he looks back up at the group.

"I'm sorry."

Then he turns to the nearest server.

"I would try the stew, it seems to be popular. And some wine for my throat, please."

With that, he takes a seat.

Some of these people look really experienced...I hope I don't drag the group down. "What was that about lumberjacks being attacked?"

A tall, slender elf ambles into the tavern, her nonchalant demeanor in marked contrast to the hustle and bustle and general excitement. Her vibrant violet eyes meander around the room, appearing unobservant and unfocused—they never seem to settle on anything at all. Were she to peer in your direction, it would feel like she is looking past you, not at you … and then you might realize that there is actually a piercing intensity to her gaze, albeit focused on something unseen beyond the mortal ken.

Her leisurely gait is graceful enough to effortlessly weave through the throng. She is dressed simply but neatly, wearing a functional yet stylish light green cloak over a creaky chain shirt. Long, dagger-like ears poke past flowing white hair highlighted with a few bright red streaks. A well-kept backpack marks her as an adventurer of sorts, as do her weapons: a tightly coiled whip hangs from her waist, while a quiver full of arrows and a bow are slung over her back. An observant patron might notice a wasp etched into the whip’s handle, and a small hawk gently carved on a silver crescent on her bow.

Her gaze pauses over the solitary halfling in the corner, as if finally noticing something of interest. The elf slowly pivots, then strides forward with unusual purpose to greet him. “Good day kindred spirit. You seek the castle too?” Her voice is soft and dreamy. Without waiting for an answer, she sits down in the chair opposite him.

After everyone else enters, a small woman slips into the crowd, using every chance she can to remain hidden, almost as if she was not used to people looking at her, and those that did had no good will to her. She seemed a quiet person, though she was hard to spoke, almost if there was a shadow to her at all times. She hesitated before she approached the group, as now there was few seats left and everyone else seems to be familiar with their people. She did not have that benefit.

She was on the short side, standing taller than a dwarf, but very short for the elf she seemed to look like. She had sharply pointed ears, full of different hoops and studs, some connected, some not, but all seemed to be of a simple cheap metal, nothing of fine craftsmanship that an elf would normally have. She wore a dark green color scarf wrapping her hair back even as it flowed down to the base of her spine, but the streaks of candy red was surely not nature, even if the patterning was random enough it could be nothing but, considering she had dark brown around it. Her dress was simple, dark red leather shirt that had seen better days paired with a few daggers, but a clearly well cared for star dagger hung on her left side. Her boots also seemed second hand, or old and worn as she walked over, somewhat silent as she moves. A small metal moon with white and blue hangs from a pendant, matching a similar theme on her right arm as tattoos of the moon and butterflies, still matching with the blue and white with gold, made their way up to be hidden by her simple cloth sleeves of dark green. Her whole outfit would make her harder to see at night or the forest, even a city.

As she approaches the gathered group of people, a dwarf, a human who seemed known around here, and a younger human, she speaks up, her voice a bit older, but still youthful to a degree, " Umm.. umm hello there? This is where we come for the gathering? Where the heros gather? I'm... I'm here to join them. If I can. There isn't any fee to join us there?" her words and the general look of her meant those daggers were perhaps the last items of value she had. She seemed eager to join, for it meant the chance of getting some coin in her pocket. She didn't take any of the offered food, it seemed she thought there was a cost to it. "I do hope they pay us well."

“Good day kindred spirit. You seek the castle too?”

Seemingly terribly surprised to be addressed so directly by someone, the halfling instinctively looks over his shoulder to check if the elf is talking to anyone sitting behind him... Forgetting, for a moment, that his back is facing a wall.

In all fairness, the woman's vacant gaze was terribly confusing. It was like she wasn't even looking at him.

And the way she spoke was weird too... Unless this was how adventurers talked to each other? Was it some kind of code? In that case, better fit in...

"Good day too, um... Kindred spirit!" the halfling attempts to hide his moment of hesitation with another wide - if more than a little nervous - smile. "I don't think I've seen you around before?" Another hesitation. "Granted, I didn't meet many people here... I'm Netkin," he extends one hand amicably. "What's your name? Er - pleased to meet you!" he adds in Elven. His accent is atrocious, but the greeting is surprisingly formal - like the ones you read in books.

Suddenly, something the stranger said seems to hit him. "The castle - oh! Do you mean Citadel Altaerein? I suppose I don't really seek it - I know where it is," Netkin lets out a nervous chuckle. "I'm here for the Call of... Well, the Call, you know. I suppose you know, you're dressed like a..." he leans forward, and his voice drops conspiratorially. "Like an adventurer," he whispers. "You're here for the Call too, right?"

"What was that about lumberjacks being attacked?"

"Oh, nothing much," says Trinil. "Turned out to be some wild animals that had a litter nearby, but everyone in town wanted to help keep the lumber comming. But that's old news now, and we're here for what today will bring."

Having said that, Trinil moves towards the center of the room and clears her throat.

"As the time draws near for the Call, I call on you, who wants to make today's toast for the future heroes of our time?"

As she approaches the gathered group of people, a dwarf, a human who seemed known around here, and a younger human, she speaks up, her voice a bit older, but still youthful to a degree, " Umm.. umm hello there? This is where we come for the gathering? Where the heros gather? I'm... I'm here to join them. If I can. There isn't any fee to join us there?" her words and the general look of her meant those daggers were perhaps the last items of value she had. She seemed eager to join, for it meant the chance of getting some coin in her pocket. She didn't take any of the offered food, it seemed she thought there was a cost to it. "I do hope they pay us well."

The dwarvish half-elf looks over to the newcomer with an assiduous gaze as his stew and wine are delivered.

"Yes, I believe so," he says. "I imagine any 'Call for Heroes' that asked coin of its would-be participants wouldn't get many takers. And as for 'payment,' if my parents' experience is any indication, it's more along the lines of 'salvage rights,' but no less profitable. Looks like you're not from around here, same as me."

Zeldones wrote:

"What was that about lumberjacks being attacked?"

"Oh, nothing much," says Trinil. "Turned out to be some wild animals that had a litter nearby, but everyone in town wanted to help keep the lumber comming. But that's old news now, and we're here for what today will bring."

Having said that, Trinil moves towards the center of the room and clears her throat.

"As the time draws near for the Call, I call on you, who wants to make today's toast for the future heroes of our time?"

He takes up his wine and stands.

"To those who rise to serve and defend their home, and those who have come from far beyond alike. May the gods keep careful watch upon us and our kin, and if this is to end in fire, then may we all burn together!"

Interesting toast, though I'd prefer not to burn if I can avoid it. Zeldones raises his mug, drains it, and slams it down on the bar.

Cerrus notices the commotion in the tavern, quickly stands, joins in the toast.

"To those who came before us and bravely answered the call. May we who answer the today, be ever as brave as they!"

As Cerrus starts to make his way out of the tavern, he mutters under his breath, At least, that's how I think that goes..."

Resa raises just a cup of water, having no words to speak. She was not from around and really was betting her last coins on this having been a profitable venture. She needed it to work out, or her freedom was for nothing. After the toast she mentions to the dwarf looking half-elf, "It seems you know about this more than me. What exactly do we do? I am rather new in this land, I started out in a city in Cheliax."

The willowy elf smiles warmly when Netkin responds in Elven. “Ellaeaanda,” she introduces herself in a lyrical voice that is so typical of her race—the name flows and glides with natural ease, like a zephyr skimming a kiss from a lake. Reaching out, she politely takes the halfling’s right hand in her left, cupping the back of his hand in her palm. After a carefully gentle squeeze, she releases it limply.

“History shall remember our meeting,” she continues in a melodic Elven, with a response that is even more formal. Is this a way to make the nervous halfling feel more at ease? Or to demonstrate her superiority? She continues looking past him, so it’s rather difficult to tell.

“Yes, the castle calls, so I come, though the journey be long and far. You who are touched by destiny, and who knows the way—will you guide me there?” Ellaeaanda continues to speak exclusively in Elven, which might make Netkin wonder whether his friendly foray into the language was a mistake. She pays no heed to the toast occupying the rest of the tavern—her attention remains fixed on something just beyond the halfling’s left ear. “If you wish, I could offer a free palm reading in exchange?”

Netkin hurriedly lifts his glass of milk to toast - but not quite on cue. It has a lot to do with the fact that he's having one of the weirdest conversations of his life. What the hell did she mean by touched by destiny?

"Ummm - I was planning on getting some work from the Call. Sorry," he adds a little too quickly, sticking to Elven. He really doesn't want to offend the woman, even though she's a little - strange. "Maybe later - or you could find a guide?" he looks around frantically for someone trustworthy who might know where the Citadel is, but the only competent-looking people are a group of adventurers gathered near the bar.

"Maybe one of these people?" he suggests, pointing at the strangers. "They look impressive." He suddenly remembers her offer. "Ah - thanks for the palm reading! Maybe some other time?"

Ellaeaanda glances over in the general direction of Netkin’s gesture and rewards the halfling with a distant but appreciative smile. “Apologies are unnecessary. I understand now. You are a guide to the guide. You have done well.”

The eerily calm elf gently pushes back her chair and stands. “Come. You are still needed. And you have milk on your face.” The last comment is spoken in the neutral tone of a detached narrator. She turns and heads over to where a human, a dwarf, and a tiefling have walked into a bar. She scans the group, peering just past each individual, either slightly above or off to the side … except for the dwarf. For the first time since she’s arrived, she looks a person squarely in the eyes, with a gaze deep enough to pierce one’s soul. “You have seen what I have seen, have you not?” Her words float like clouds drifting between reality and fantasy.

Who is following Cerrus out of the tavern? You can continue to chat as you make your way to the town hall.

Trinil and a couple of her helpers begin to gather the dirty plates and tankards from the people that are leaving the Inn. There is a smile in her face, as there always is after a good toast.

Resa raises just a cup of water, having no words to speak. She was not from around and really was betting her last coins on this having been a profitable venture. She needed it to work out, or her freedom was for nothing. After the toast she mentions to the dwarf looking half-elf, "It seems you know about this more than me. What exactly do we do? I am rather new in this land, I started out in a city in Cheliax."

Ardoinel shrugs as he quaffs his wine.

"My understanding is whoever the town considers 'in-charge' will gather us together more publicly and explain our goal, perhaps with a bit of ceremony. One of our more local comrades-to-be may know more."

He jerks his head towards the others.

"From which city in Cheliax did your journey begin? The Infernal Empire is vast as I understand, so you may well have come farther than I did from where Kyonin and the Five Kings Mountains meet. I am Ardoinel, by the way, of the clan Oreflame."

Netkin hurriedly lifts his glass of milk to toast - but not quite on cue. It has a lot to do with the fact that he's having one of the weirdest conversations of his life. What the hell did she mean by touched by destiny?

"Ummm - I was planning on getting some work from the Call. Sorry," he adds a little too quickly, sticking to Elven. He really doesn't want to offend the woman, even though she's a little - strange. "Maybe later - or you could find a guide?" he looks around frantically for someone trustworthy who might know where the Citadel is, but the only competent-looking people are a group of adventurers gathered near the bar.

"Maybe one of these people?" he suggests, pointing at the strangers. "They look impressive." He suddenly remembers her offer. "Ah - thanks for the palm reading! Maybe some other time?"

"Impressive?" Ardoinel asks. "I'm flattered. Though I wouldn't recommend hiring me as a guide. I am new to the area."

Ellaeaanda glances over in the general direction of Netkin’s gesture and rewards the halfling with a distant but appreciative smile. “Apologies are unnecessary. I understand now. You are a guide to the guide. You have done well.”

The eerily calm elf gently pushes back her chair and stands. “Come. You are still needed. And you have milk on your face.” The last comment is spoken in the neutral tone of a detached narrator. She turns and heads over to where a human, a dwarf, and a tiefling have walked into a bar. She scans the group, peering just past each individual, either slightly above or off to the side … except for the dwarf. For the first time since she’s arrived, she looks a person squarely in the eyes, with a gaze deep enough to pierce one’s soul. “You have seen what I have seen, have you not?” Her words float like clouds drifting between reality and fantasy.

Almost as soon as the question is asked, Ardoinel stiffens, eyes wide, and begins coughing again. There's a brief shift in the room's temperature, like a forge flaring as the bellows are pumped. The heat dissipates quickly, but when he looks back up at Ellaeaanda, two things are clear in his expression: understanding and fear.

"Mae hynny'n *cough!* dibynnu ar yr hyn rydych chi wedi'i weld...a phryd y gwnaethoch chi ei weld."

He begins following the man leaving the tavern.

Unperturbed by the dwarf’s unmistakable change in demeanor, Ellaeaanda calmly follows him to the town hall, her long strides easily matching his slower pace. Along the way she converses cordially in Elven, with the frank openness reserved for trusted friends, though her tone befits one casually reciting a weather forecast. Only her vibrant violet eyes, fixed resolutely upon the dwarf, betray her intense interest.

“Sawl lleuadau yn ôl ymwelodd. Roedd yn wahanol i fy ngweledigaethau arferol - yn fwy craff ac yn fwy diflas; yn glir ac yn wallgof. Felly astudiais yr arwyddion a gwnaethant fy arwain yma. Gwelais gastell, wedi hen farw, yn dod yn ôl yn fyw, ei waliau uchel ar fryn uchel yn cael eu cynhesu gan y golau coch oren sy'n geni'r dydd ac yn cilio am y nos. Ond roedd y golau hwn yn anwadal, yn chwifio rhwng bywyd a marwolaeth, yn fflachio gyda'r potensial i fod neu beidio. Mae bodolaeth yn y fantol - felly dwi'n dod i wneud yr hyn sy'n rhaid ei wneud.”

Netkin just stares in amazement to where the elven woman was sat, before wiping his mouth with a napkin, and stand up to follow her, grabbing his hat before he goes.

As he approaches the group of adventurers, he feels both a mix of thrill and dread at the idea of being introduced to so many people at once... This completely falls flat, however, as no one really seems to pay much attention to him. Moments later, he finds himself trotting behind the two elves while everyone is heading to the town hall, his hat safely back on his head.

In spite of his struggles to keep up with his little legs, he overhears their conversation. It's not an easy one to understand, and he's almost certain the Ellaeaanda is speaking in metaphors he's never come across before in his books, yet he feels he still has to say something.

"Aros, a ydych wedi cael gweledigaethau o'r blaen?" he asks, confused. "Gweledigaethau am farwolaeth? Ydych chi jest yn mynd lle maen nhw'n dweud wrthych chi am fynd?"

You head towards the town hall, a mere 150ft away from the Wizard's Grace Tavern. A small crowd gathering in front of it is immediately visible. There are about 40 grown towsfolk, as well as a few children. Most of them are human, but there are some elves and dwarves, as well as a goblin. They are gathered in smaller groups, talking to each other, waiting for the doors to open. The children are playing with wooden swords or sticks, pretending to be heroes themselves.

"From which city in Cheliax did your journey begin? The Infernal Empire is vast as I understand, so you may well have come farther than I did from where Kyonin and the Five Kings Mountains meet. I am Ardoinel, by the way, of the clan Oreflame."

" I am from Kintargo. I... I am not well read enough to know where either of those places are. I just was told to come here, it was a land of chance for those looking for a better life. I... I was.. I was poor back in Kintargo." Her hesitant words and her stumbling means something was being hidden, but it wasn't clear exactly what she was hiding. She seemed a bit shy about her former life though, but a poor half elf seemed strange, unless her parents abandoned her. At least she seemed a half elf.

She goes with the group, as everyone else was leaving, and the dwarf was as well. They seemed nice enough, but she was not sure what she was getting into with everything. But it was worth it to see.

" I am from Kintargo. I... I am not well read enough to know where either of those places are. I just was told to come here, it was a land of chance for those looking for a better life. I... I was.. I was poor back in Kintargo." Her hesitant words and her stumbling means something was being hidden, but it wasn't clear exactly what she was hiding. She seemed a bit shy about her former life though, but a poor half elf seemed strange, unless her parents abandoned her. At least she seemed a half elf.

She goes with the group, as everyone else was leaving, and the dwarf was as well. They seemed nice enough, but she was not sure what she was getting into with everything. But it was worth it to see.

"Okay, that IS farther than I've come," Ardoinel replies.

Unperturbed by the dwarf’s unmistakable change in demeanor, Ellaeaanda calmly follows him to the town hall, her long strides easily matching his slower pace. Along the way she converses cordially in Elven, with the frank openness reserved for trusted friends, though her tone befits one casually reciting a weather forecast. Only her vibrant violet eyes, fixed resolutely upon the dwarf, betray her intense interest.

Translated from Elven: “Several moons ago it visited. It was different from my usual visions—both sharper and duller; both clear and murky. So I studied the signs and they led me here. I saw a castle, long dead, brought back to life, its high walls on a high hill warmed by the red orange light that births the day and recedes for the night. But this light was fickle, wavering between life and death, flickering with the potential to be or not to be. Existence hangs in the balance—so I come to do what must be done.”

Ardoinel grimaces as he listens to Ellaeaanda speak.

"Rydych chi'n lwcus," he says bluntly.

"Yr unig weledigaeth a gefais yw arogl pren a chnawd yn llosgi, sgrechiadau'r marw a'r ofn a chysgod tywyll yn hedfan dros arwydd sy'n dweud "Breachill," cyn i'r fflamau ruo ar draws...popeth."

He shudders as he walks.

Netkin just stares in amazement to where the elven woman was sat, before wiping his mouth with a napkin, and stand up to follow her, grabbing his hat before he goes.

As he approaches the group of adventurers, he feels both a mix of thrill and dread at the idea of being introduced to so many people at once... This completely falls flat, however, as no one really seems to pay much attention to him. Moments later, he finds himself trotting behind the two elves while everyone is heading to the town hall, his hat safely back on his head.

In spite of his struggles to keep up with his little legs, he overhears their conversation. It's not an easy one to understand, and he's almost certain the Ellaeaanda is speaking in metaphors he's never come across before in his books, yet he feels he still has to say something.

Translated from Elven:"Wait, have you had visions before?" He asks, confused. "Visions about death? Do you just go where they tell you to go?"

He shakes his head.

"Fy holl fywyd. Ond dim ond yn ddiweddar yr oedd enw ar y lle welais i. Dyna pam rydw i wedi dod. I ateb y Galwad hon, a gweld a oes rhywbeth ... unrhyw beth ... gallaf ei wneud i gadw'r breuddwydion hyn o ddod yn wir. 'Mae'r llaw gyda'r morthwyl yn siapio'r dyfodol,' meddai Torag wrthym. Ac felly mae'n rhaid i mi gydio os dymunaf i bethau newid."

Zeldones looks from Ardoinel to Netkin to Ellieeanda, frowning. "Would you three mind using Common? I understand you well enough, but not everyone else might. If we're going to be working together, you need to get into the habit of including everyone on the team when you talk."

The interruption from Zeldones creates a ripple of confusion across the elf’s otherwise calm face. “Team?” With a questioning look, Ellaeaanda scans the crowd of people they have joined. “Is everyone here helping us investigate the castle? How wonderful.” With a grateful smile, she placidly accepts this unusual turn of events. “Please translate our conversation to them all.”

Turning away from the dusty teenager, the elf responds candidly to Netkin’s question, looking eerily past him as usual. “I see a vision now. I have always had visions, ever since my first maturity. As many visions as stars in the sky, of as many kinds as shapes in the stars. Death is but one, a single leaf in a great forest.” She speaks with a soft, tranquil confidence, devoid of any hint of fear or shame or anxiety about being so obviously different. “My sight guides me, just as your eyes show you where to step, but it does not dictate my path, no more than seeing a road forces you to follow it.”

She faces Ardoinel, and there is kind sympathy in her face. “How sad to see but one color all your life. Perhaps together we can free your soul to see the entire rainbow? My kin taught me some exercises that might help.”

Zeldones looks from Ardoinel to Netkin to Ellieeanda, frowning. "Would you three mind using Common? I understand you well enough, but not everyone else might. If we're going to be working together, you need to get into the habit of including everyone on the team when you talk."

Ardoinel is taken aback a bit at the interruption, but doesn't protest.

"Sorry, force of habit. Taldane's my third language...and I didn't want to alarm the rest of the townsfolk."

The interruption from Zeldones creates a ripple of confusion across the elf’s otherwise calm face. “Team?” With a questioning look, Ellaeaanda scans the crowd of people they have joined. “Is everyone here helping us investigate the castle? How wonderful.” With a grateful smile, she placidly accepts this unusual turn of events. “Please translate our conversation to them all.”

At that, Ardoinel actually scowls at Ellaeaanda.

"I've probably already said too much to you all who are still very much strangers to me. I have nightmares enough that I'd rather not relive them while awake. If you wish to translate yourself, you may."

Turning away from the dusty teenager, the elf responds candidly to Netkin’s question, looking eerily past him as usual. “I see a vision now. I have always had visions, ever since my first maturity. As many visions as stars in the sky, of as many kinds as shapes in the stars. Death is but one, a single leaf in a great forest.” She speaks with a soft, tranquil confidence, devoid of any hint of fear or shame or anxiety about being so obviously different. “My sight guides me, just as your eyes show you where to step, but it does not dictate my path, no more than seeing a road forces you to follow it.”

She faces Ardoinel, and there is kind sympathy in her face. “How sad to see but one color all your life. Perhaps together we can free your soul to see the entire rainbow? My kin taught me some exercises that might help.”

"Hammer and Tongs, she sounds like Mother!" Ardoinel thinks to himself.

"I try to make up for it by finding beauty in the waking world. Born from nature or crafted by mortal hands, both are valuable and help keep me grounded."

He turns to their other interlocutors as they walk.

"Enough about me, tell me of yourselves."

"Sorry," Netkin mouths to the human fighter, reflexively hunching his shoulders in shame.

"Enough about me, tell me of yourselves."

"Oh!" the halfling exclaims, visibly pleased to be asked about himself. Not many people pay him that much attention. "Well, I'm Netkin. Netkin Bigpot. I've been living there since, er, forever, although not many people have seen me around," he chuckles, as if to a private joke, then clears his throat. "Sorry - that's not really funny, but, um - well."

"I live alone with my grandma, and uh, that's basically it. I'm really hoping to get some cash out of this - I'm sorry, I know it's not very heroic, but my grandma's getting old and it's not easy for her now, you know..."

"What about you, guys? Where are you from?" his gaze shifts from face to face expectantly.

Waits a few moments and lets the others talk a bit before she answers the question of who she was. At least the part she was willing to share, because not all of it was something she wished to talk on. Her past was nothing she was happy of. " Well, I.. I am from Kintargo. I am called Resa Dermade... half elf who is trying to make her way in the world." She hesitated a bit before saying half elf, but those sharp ears would mean it didn't seem that weird.

" I am here to make some coin, really just enough to live comfortably... and maybe be left alone? I am not really sure after what I will do. I do not have that many skills. I can open doors pretty easily? I'm sorry, I never really adventured before."

Mollified, the human settles down and for a moment shows his youth. "I'm sorry...that was probably a little rude of me, too. I'm a little nervous right now. I've done some adventuring, you could call it, but there's a difference between taking on something where you know what to expect and--" He gestures at the waiting crowd. "--this. I mean, we don't know what they'll ask us to do. Elle thinks it'll be something in the Hellknight citadel, but who knows? We'll find out soon enough, I suppose. Anyway, I'm called Zeldones, and I'm here for--for family honor, as silly as that sounds."

As if in cue with Zeldones' commentary, the doors of the town hall open and the adults begin to trickle in. The children begin to disperse, with some going towards the back of the town hall, to monument circle to play around the fountains.

There are a couple of guards posted at the entrance of the townhall, making sure the crowd in orderly. Inside, there is a large hallway connecting to the council chamber, which is set like an auditorium. It has several rows of benches facing five tables at the end. The benches are separated by a carpeted hallway and the five table are raised in a large podium.

There is a nameplate on each of the five tables, and there is someone sitting behind it. From left to right, there is Quentino Posandi (Male Human), Trini Sprizzlegig (Female Gnome), Greta Gardania (Female Human), Melma Ann Sendari (Female Human), and Jorsk Hinterclaw (Male Dwarf).

Still talking to one another, the 40 people of the crowd begin to take their sits.

Feel free to place yourselves on the map slide.

Ellaeaanda is genuinely surprised by Ardoinel’s scowl. “But it was Zeldones who wanted everyone on the team to know what you were saying, so I asked him to translate, not you. You who have suffered much should not be forced to endure more.” She turns to Zeldones and gives him a quizzical, appraising look. “How did you foresee those chosen for this ‘team’? Have you the gift of sight as well?” The elf scans the crowd, seeming less sure of herself. “And who exactly is on this ‘team’ of yours?”

Her gaze pierces through Resa’s introduction, but she simply listens and observes, keeping her thoughts to herself. While walking into the town hall, she addresses Netkin’s query. “Kyonin is my home—my heart, my soul, my kin. Our hope, and our sacrifice.” Her words are tinged with a dreamy nostalgia. “And my name is Ellaeaanda,” she introduces herself to everyone who isn’t a halfling. “Those without patience may call me Anda.” She pronounces the first syllable with a soft, elongated ‘a’.

Inside the council chamber the Ellaeaanda chooses to sit next to Ardoinel.

As the doors open, Cerrus is jolted from his thinking and contemplating. He looks up to see several of the faces from the Wizard's Grace.

"Hmm, what was that?" Then he continues in Elven. "Quess nha fine."

Then Cerrus nods at the entrance to the town hall. "Since we all seem heading in the same direction, let's go together." Then, Cerrus walks into the building and finds a place to sit near Ellaeannda and Ardoinel, who headed in just before.

Cerrus walks with the confidence of someone who has been in the town hall often enough to be familiar with the layout.

I don't see how I can add my token on the slide?

That was a lot of Elven speakers! Netkin is elated. Just this once, he might fit right in.

Out of politeness, he sits next to Resa, who seemed more than a little lost. "Don't worry," he smiles reassuringly. "It all looks very official, but it shouldn't take long!... I think," he adds, a bit more unsure. "I've never actually been there."

"Oh, but this is the town councillor," he points at Quentino Posandi. "And the other ones, hmmm, I don't think I've seen them around all that much," he squints at the nameplates.

When his gaze meets Quentino's, Netkingives him a cheery little wave. After all, it's the only one he actually knows - well, from afar, and they never really talked, but still he supposed you had to greet the town councillor when you happened to be in the same room...

Lore (Breachhill): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23 To identify the other members of the council

Ellaeaanda is genuinely surprised by Ardoinel’s scowl. “But it was Zeldones who wanted everyone on the team to know what you were saying, so I asked him to translate, not you. You who have suffered much should not be forced to endure more.”

Ardoinel's scowl evaporates almost immediately.

"Ah slag, I'm sorry, I thought you were talking to me when you said that!"

Great, turns out the character's as autistic as the player is! :P

"Oh!" the halfling exclaims, visibly pleased to be asked about himself. Not many people pay him that much attention. "Well, I'm Netkin. Netkin Bigpot. I've been living there since, er, forever, although not many people have seen me around," he chuckles, as if to a private joke, then clears his throat. "Sorry - that's not really funny, but, um - well."

"I live alone with my grandma, and uh, that's basically it. I'm really hoping to get some cash out of this - I'm sorry, I know it's not very heroic, but my grandma's getting old and it's not easy for her now, you know..."

"What about you, guys? Where are you from?" his gaze shifts from face to face expectantly.

Waits a few moments and lets the others talk a bit before she answers the question of who she was. At least the part she was willing to share, because not all of it was something she wished to talk on. Her past was nothing she was happy of. " Well, I.. I am from Kintargo. I am called Resa Dermade... half elf who is trying to make her way in the world." She hesitated a bit before saying half elf, but those sharp ears would mean it didn't seem that weird.

" I am here to make some coin, really just enough to live comfortably... and maybe be left alone? I am not really sure after what I will do. I do not have that many skills. I can open doors pretty easily? I'm sorry, I never really adventured before."

"Always good to meet fellow aiuvarin," Ardoinel comments. "I wouldn't call myself an experienced adventurer either. I know a few things about magic, about craftsmanship and a bit of fighting, but I've yet to truly put the skills my family have taught me to the test."

Her gaze pierces through Resa’s introduction, but she simply listens and observes, keeping her thoughts to herself. While walking into the town hall, she addresses Netkin’s query. “Kyonin is my home—my heart, my soul, my kin. Our hope, and our sacrifice.” Her words are tinged with a dreamy nostalgia. “And my name is Ellaeaanda,” she introduces herself to everyone who isn’t a halfling. “Those without patience may call me Anda.” She pronounces the first syllable with a soft, elongated ‘a’.

"Kyonin is...partly where I hail from. The vale my family calls home is nestled right on the border between it and the Five Kings Mountains, a short distance from star-studded Bolgrad. My family did make a journey to Iadara once. It was...quite an illuminating experience. Certainly made me feel better about burning down the house. So I'm no stranger to travel, but this is a new step for me: actual adventuring. Following in my parents footsteps, to a degree. They adventured together, that was how they met and fell in love."

As the doors open, Cerrus is jolted from his thinking and contemplating. He looks up to see several of the faces from the Wizard's Grace.

"Hmm, what was that?" Then he continues in Elven. "Quess nha fine." ** spoiler omitted **

Then Cerrus nods at the entrance to the town hall. "Since we all seem heading in the same direction, let's go together." Then, Cerrus walks into the building and finds a place to sit near Ellaeannda and Ardoinel, who headed in just before.

Cerrus walks with the confidence of someone who has been in the town hall often enough to be familiar with the layout.

Ardoinel nods and takes a seat near Cerrus.

"I don't believe we were introduced, but clearly you're a local, given the confidence in your stride: a man who knows where everything in town is and how to get there. Ardoinel's the name, of the clan Oreflame."

That was a lot of Elven speakers! Netkin is elated. Just this once, he might fit right in.

Out of politeness, he sits next to Resa, who seemed more than a little lost. "Don't worry," he smiles reassuringly. "It all looks very official, but it shouldn't take long!... I think," he adds, a bit more unsure. "I've never actually been there."

"Oh, but this is the town councillor," he points at Quentino Posandi. "And the other ones, hmmm, I don't think I've seen them around all that much," he squints at the nameplates.

When his gaze meets Quentino's, Netkin gives him a cheery little wave. After all, it's the only one he actually knows - well, from afar, and they never really talked, but still he supposed you had to greet the town councillor when you happened to be in the same room...

Ardoinel actively listens to Netkin's explanations with a polite nod. The halfling's enthusiasm reminded him of his youngest brother a bit, in a comforting way.

Ardoinel nods and takes a seat near Cerrus.

"I don't believe we were introduced, but clearly you're a local, given the confidence in your stride: a man who knows where everything in town is and how to get there. Ardoinel's the name, of the clan Oreflame."

Cerrus closes his book for the first time since entering the Wizard's Grace. "Nice to meet you. I am Cerrus Falto." Cerrus takes a deep breath and exhales loudly before continuing. "I've never considered myself a confident person. Maybe comfortable or familiar is more accurate. I've been in this room for the Call of Heroes many times, so familiarity begets confidence. If you don't mind the question, what brings you to Breachill for the Call?"

In response to the elf, Zeldones snorts. "Hardly. It didn't take much effort to spot the strangers in the room. There are only six of us apparently here for the Call, so I jumped to the possibly-unjustified conclusion that they'd put us into one group and turn us loose on whatever problems they have--maximizing our chances of solving their problems (and incidentally making it out alive, but that's likely a secondary consideration for them)." He shrugs. "I might be wrong, though."

I don't see how I can add my token on the slide?

When his gaze meets Quentino's, Netkingives him a cheery little wave. After all, it's the only one he actually knows - well, from afar, and they never really talked, but still he supposed you had to greet the town councillor when you happened to be in the same room...

[dice=Lore (Breachhill)]1d20+6 To identify the other members of the council

I can add your token in a little bit.

Quetino's gaze keeps moving around the room without replying to your greeting. He seems to be scanning the room with his eyes.

Breachill Lore
* Trini Sprizzlegig is an immigrant, born in Brastlewark, Cheliax. She is kind, empathic and very welcoming of people from all backgrounds. It is her deep care for people that led her to become one of the council members. She is seen as in charge of Breachill welfare programs.
* Melma Ann Sendari is old nobility, tracing her lineage to noble Chelian family that fled after the Thrune family took the throne. She is an astute diplomat and stateswoman. She is seen as in charge foreign relations.
* Jorsk Hinterclaw is the son of miners from Kraggodan, Nirmathas. He has had time as an adventurer himself and has been trained as a smith's apprentice. As such, he is seen as being the best at dealing with the craftspeople of the city. This is specially true due to Quentino's relationship ownership of the masonry company, which could lead to bias on his behalf.
* Last but not least, Greta Gardania comes from the lineage of one of Breachill's founders, Rennold Gardania. She is very knowledgeable of the town's history, philosophy and different forms of governance. She is acting as council president and is the one expected to begin the session.

All councilors in town are elected for two-year terms.

I'll begin the call itself tomorrow.

Let’s see if Anda actually notices anything about Resa
Perception/Sense Motive for Resa’s ancestry: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11

In her usual manner, Ellaeaanda looks past Zeldones as if he isn’t there. After having eyed Resa, she takes the inexperienced half-elf at her word, and even seems to try to put the young woman at ease. “Adventure, excitement, glory: these are villages beyond my ken and desire. Adventure is a means to an end, even if that end is simply gold for an honest living. I place more trust in you and Netkin than in any fool who would seek adventure as an end.”

Resa smiles to to both Ellaeaanda and Netkin. Their words did help her ease in some, but the comment by Ardoinel gave her a slight pause. She was part elf that is true, but she had always been judged on the part that mattered back where she was from. She seemed to strangely answer him "Not every one sees our existence as a good thing. My father said I was the biggest shame brought on the family, but that is about all I remember of him speaking to me. My mother... She was a human. I can't say that I exactly know much of her, I was taken from her at a young age... Or she taken from me? I never really did get Father to answer that. Again, disappoinment upon learning I lived."

She seemed settled with the fact her father shared her, but she did sit with everyone also, because well, there was not really anyone else that they could sit with. Outside of the others speaking in what she gathered was Elven, she was a bit out of place truly. Everyone else really did have more experience than her, her biggest adventure was coming here.

"I wonder what Jon they do have for us. Hopefully we do get to stay together, it would be a shame to split off."

"Oh, that's terrible," Netkin's face crumples. "I never knew my mother either, but..." he hesitates. "Well, your dad doesn't sound... very kind."

Troubled by what he just learned, he tries to turn his attention back to the council members. Anyone listening in to what he's muttering under his breath can hear that he's remembering tidbits of information to the council members aloud as he reads the nameplates one by one. Sharing the results of the Knowledge check!

Ardoinel Oreflame wrote:

Ardoinel nods and takes a seat near Cerrus.

"I don't believe we were introduced, but clearly you're a local, given the confidence in your stride: a man who knows where everything in town is and how to get there. Ardoinel's the name, of the clan Oreflame."

Cerrus closes his book for the first time since entering the Wizard's Grace. "Nice to meet you. I am Cerrus Falto." Cerrus takes a deep breath and exhales loudly before continuing. "I've never considered myself a confident person. Maybe comfortable or familiar is more accurate. I've been in this room for the Call of Heroes many times, so familiarity begets confidence. If you don't mind the question, what brings you to Breachill for the Call?"

"Would you believe me if I told you the Call came to me in my dreams?" Ardoinel replies dryly. Having so recently picked at the scab that was his nightmares, he was reluctant to discuss it again with another stranger. Besides, if they camped together as a group, Cerrus would know about the dreams of fire and sometimes very real fires that followed them soon enough.

Resa smiles to to both Ellaeaanda and Netkin. Their words did help her ease in some, but the comment by Ardoinel gave her a slight pause. She was part elf that is true, but she had always been judged on the part that mattered back where she was from. She seemed to strangely answer him "Not every one sees our existence as a good thing. My father said I was the biggest shame brought on the family, but that is about all I remember of him speaking to me. My mother... She was a human. I can't say that I exactly know much of her, I was taken from her at a young age... Or she taken from me? I never really did get Father to answer that. Again, disappointment upon learning I lived."

"Oh, that's terrible," Netkin's face crumples. "I never knew my mother either, but..." he hesitates. "Well, your dad doesn't sound... very kind."

"I...I agree," Ardoinel adds with a nod. His thoughts turned to his own parents, and the care they had showed when the dreams began. And even more when they became all too real. There were many villages, many families even, throughout Golarion, who would not have known a way to help, would have been frightened or even cruel to a child like him, and how fortune had favored him with parents like his. "I can only hope that when the adventure is over, you are able to take pride in proving him wrong."

Troubled by what he just learned, he tries to turn his attention back to the council members. Anyone listening in to what he's muttering under his breath can hear that he's remembering tidbits of information to the council members aloud as he reads the nameplates one by one.

Ardoinel listens to Netkin's explanations intently. Even beyond the Call itself, these were people he would need to gain the favor of if he was to remain in Breachill very long...most town councils tended to view people predicting the doom of their home from dreams of shadows and ash as mad folk not worth heeding, to be humored until they leave or driven off if they didn't.

Once everyone has settled in the room. A sharp rap from a gavel onto a desk brings the assembled crowd to a hush. It comes from the stern, dark-haired woman with a deeply furrowed forehead and kind eyes who is sitting in the middle table. “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. She is a well-dressed goblin woman who makes her way to the foot of the dais’s steps. She clears her throat and begins her address to the council.

“Esteemed councilors,” Warbal says, with a frazzled tone to her 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!”

With that warning the councilors begin moving down off the dais and shouting for the crowd not to panic. But they are terrified; they scream, jump up from their benches, and try to jostle toward an exit row. They fall and they tumble, they knock over benches and one another, with none of them able to make it out of the room.

In the unfolding chaos of the fire, as dozens of frightened townsfolk begin to panic, two snickering little fire mephits slip through the chamber’s western door, standing in the fire.

Feel free to roll your initiatives and take your turn if you are above 24.

Ellaeaanda listens to Resa with sympathy mixed with a slight hint of confusion. But before she can voice her thoughts, the meeting begins, and worse, before she can learn any details about the Citadel Altaerein from her visions, pandemonium erupts.

Initiative (Perception): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

"Oh dear," is all Netkin can muster before the whole room erupts into chaos.

His eyes remain fixated on the flames, and he seems completely paralyzed.

Initiative: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6

Initiative: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15

Resa was paying too much attention and a bit of fear at the fact that there was fire burning to signal distress to react quickly to the warning. She didn't react quickly at all

At the shout from the young man, Cerrus' eyes dart from the the goblin woman to the left side of the room. He sees the fire and those little fire creatures.

Initiative (Perception): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13