He continues on his way to the Inn of the Last Home.
The inn is in the trees of the Valenwoods. It's big enough to provide space for at least one hundred and fifty people. It's been a while since you were here. However, nothing's changed in the last ten or twelve years.
Making sure to keep his hood up, the half-elf orders a glass of elven white wine and makes his way to a table in the corner.
Redmane leads everyone to his favorite table in the corner by the main fireplace. He sits in corner, eyes flickering over every face: Looking for his father’s horned head, and missing it yet again. His hunt continues. He turns to the barmaid as everyone settles in.
”Hot tea and fried potatoes. Please.”
Not being able to help himself, Drakkor glances at everyone as they enter the inn. His face barely hiding his pain at everyone that isn’t his father’s.
GM: Good, I'll wait for everyone to post that they are in the Inn of the Last Home. After that, I'll move on with the scene.
"I'll have an ale, and a bit of whatever's roasting on the spit," Ahto says to the serving wench, as he plops down upon a wooden bench at the table. It has to be some sort of cruel joke to make patrons climb all those stairs spiraling up this enormous tree just so they can get a hot meal and a bed for the night. he grumbles silently to himself.
Knowing from experience that appearances can be deceiving when it comes to inns and their regulars, Ahto keeps alert, looking for anyone about to start a fight or pick his pocket.
Kellandra orders to the servant
some ale too, please, "whatever's roasting on the spit", as my fellow traveler said, the scent is mouth watering, and bread. And some roasted potatoes too. The roads made me hungry. While we are waiting, would your boss mind if I play some music and sing? We can always make room in our hearts and souls for more beauty
"Same." Varis says tersely, dropping heavily into the chair.
"I won't sing though." he adds in a lighter tone.
"Same." Varis says tersely, dropping heavily into the chair.
"I won't sing though." he adds in a lighter tone.
Tika takes your orders, and then goes into the kitchen. You can't help but be watched by an old man with a cap and green robes.
"Old man, corner. He's taken an interest in us," Ahto mutters under his breath to the rest of the group. He doesn't change his demeanor, and continues to behave as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
Drakkor merely sighs and waves a hand dismissively.
”The goblins have put you on edge: It’s just an old man my friend. You forget Minotaur are rare in these parts. He’s probably just surprised to see me here and not ripping someone’s guys out.“
Ahto runs a finger along one of the spiderweb lines of his facial scar. "I come by my paranoia honestly," he replies in the same quiet tone. "There are lots of dangerous folk out there who trade on the fact that people assume they're harmless."
The White Robe wizard, responds to Ahto, Prudence is preferred, not all are enemies or even unfriendly. Watch the Ancient One and keep an eye out for trouble. he states.
The old man approaches a child. "It's time to speak of Paladine, the God of good," he says.
The half-elf's ears perk up as he hears the name the old man mentions.
Varis ignored the banter and the potential threat until he heard the name.
He looks at the old man with definitive attention, looking for the signs of deception as was want in those who tried to proselytize.
But it wasn't usual to speak of the lost gods of Good, usually it was some legend or made-up spirit. This definitely intrigues the warrior since he was taught The Measure since childhood.
"Eth Sularus oth Mithas" he whispers to himself, more mouthing than any sound.
Varis removes his helm, putting it on the table, patting down his hair, short as it is, quickly.
Drakkor snorts a little at the mention of the old god.
”’Good’ is relative when you helped cause the Cataclysm that destroyed half the world...”
A man in white approaches Varis.
"This man speaketh blasphemy," he says. "The old gods abandoned us."
"The man speak-eth an old fairy tale," Ahto grumbles at the man in white, clearly annoyed. "Leave him be."
The half-elf shakes his head, no. No, he says Not all the gods abandoned Ansalon
Shaking his head sadly, Drakkor disagrees politely.
”I see no proof of that my friend. Your magic speaks more of astrology, or astronomy, not godly hands. I have read many of Astinus’s books on Krynn’s history. Proof of the divine is sorely lacking after the Cataclysm.”
"But people still believe." Varis adds
"While not in itself proof, I mean, people will believe anything, it still gives us hope."
To the old man
"You're allowed your opinion, and I will die defending your right. But you're not allowed to push it to others. If you disagree with the man, discuss it. Or leave."
The wizard retorts to the minotaur, It is our dedication to the gods of magic, with our study, that allows us to cast our magic. The moons themselves influence our magic. The moons are named after the 3 Cousins, Nuitari the Black, whose only those who are of the Black Robes can see, Lunitari the Red, patroness of the Order of the Red Robes, and Soliniari, the patron of my Order.
The wizard retorts to the minotaur, It is our dedication to the gods of magic, with our study, that allows us to cast our magic. The moons themselves influence our magic. The moons are named after the 3 Cousins, Nuitari the Black, whose only those who are of the Black Robes can see, Lunitari the Red, patroness of the Order of the Red Robes, and Soliniari, the patron of my Order.
Sighing again, Drakkor clarifies.
”You cannot prove that. All you are talking about is wizardly magic. Proven and effective. Do the moons influence your magic? Possible. The only proof of that is what you see and believe, that your superiors tell you it is so? They are not worshipping divine, they are merely divisive, pitting each against the other for power and Tower politics. I respect wizards and their abilities. I even considered joining your ranks when I was younger. Does your power rely on divine moonbeams? Very doubtful…especially since the Cataclysm.”
I have met the Gods of Magic, minotaur. he says sharply as rises to go and listen to the elderly man.
Ahto rolls his eyes and sighs at all the bickering over something that doesn’t matter.
He finishes his cup, and holds it up to get the serving wench’s attention.
”More ale.”
I’m gonna need it with this lot.
Nodding at his companion’s ire, Drakkor just closes his eyes and tries to remember summer days at sea, hunting octopuses for their valuable ink. His father’s horns glinting in the light as he points out the best coves and outcrops to search. He quickly warms and calms himself at the memories. His companions often accuse him of meditating at such moments, but that is not truly what he’s trying to accomplish, even if the results are similar. Reality is rarely as sought after as pleasant memories are. He opens his eyes again.
”I hope he is right. It would be nice if the gods still existed, but the reality…the evidence so far is not good in that regard. I fear we would be better off believing in ourselves first. Perhaps that is why the gods left us? Many speculate they are ‘waiting for us to learn our lesson’ whatever that might be.”
You see two travelers enter the inn. They are both barbarians. One is a man, with dark hair and medium build. The other a woman, a little smaller than the man. With golden hair. Both are dressed in preserved buckskin, and the woman is holding a peculiar looking staff.
Catching a glimpse as soon as they enter, Drakkor notes the staff but unless its made of crystal, he dismisses the couple from his attention.
Tika arrives with your food and, for Ahto, another ale.
Hearing the "the gods have abandoned us" speech-once again-Kellandra tries to defuse the situation before arguments give way to a fist fight. Or worse.
She personnally wouldn't like to get a knuckle sandwich from the big minotaur guy.
Personal note: don't get in a beef with a minotaur. Hehe.
To each his own opinion. If the gods wanted to come back, who I am to stop them? I'm a mere mortal, and they are gods. At least, if they came back knocking on my door, metaphrically speaking, I would listen to their side of a story, as if they were an old friend with whom I had a falling out years ago, and who would like to rekindle the relationship. Then I would make my choice. But now, to dinner, I'm hungry.
With a grin, Drakkor nods.
”Correct. My opinion is just that. And I am more than willing to listen to other opinions, unless it leads to excessive violence somehow. But I would love to hear the gods reasoning…excuses?…for the Cataclysm and subsequent vacation from their posts as deities. That would be most interesting. I might even write a book…”
"Goldmoon, are you okay?" asks the male barbarian to his female companion.
She nods.
As he approaches the green robed elder, he notices the 2 new comers. Hearing the barbarian ask if the woman is okay, he moves closer to them on the way andthe half-elf approaches Are you in need? he asks them both.
As he approaches the green robed elder, he notices the 2 new comers. Hearing the barbarian ask if the woman is okay, he moves closer to them on the way andthe half-elf approaches Are you in need? he asks them both.
"We needed a place to rest before we continue on to Haven," says the male barbarian. "My name is Riverwood, and this is Goldmoon."
Nodding, Drakkor squints to get a better look at the couple.
”Natives. See the skins and feathers they wear? The soft leather boots? Their kind have roamed this continent for generations. Strange…their kind rarely enter civilized places like this. They prefer the wilds and natural places.”
Ahto listens carefully to the tone of the plainsman's voice, as well as the movement of his eyes and the small muscles at the corner of his mouth, looking for a tell.
[dice=Sense Motive, Lying or withholding information?]1d20+10
Ahto listens carefully to the tone of the plainsman's voice, as well as the movement of his eyes and the small muscles at the corner of his mouth, looking for a tell.
He is withholding some information. He doesn't trust anyone here.
"The man who calls himself...Riverwind did he say?, seems on edge. He doesn't want to be here, and doesn't trust anyone. We could try offering to buy them a meal or a drink, but depending on how jumpy he is, it could end up starting a brawl," Ahto whispers to the group. Seeing the wizard has already approached them, he sighs and takes another swig of ale.
Who'm I kidding? Everyone's on edge these days. Strangers aren't uncommon in a inn common room, but these two? They're about as out-of-place as they can be. They're going to upset the locals about as much as if a kender wandered in their general store...."
Come, weary travelers, have a seat, a drink and a meal on me. With or without the gods to guide us, we can till be decent folks.
Kellandra smiles and pats the seat near her
The two confer with one another in their barbaric language, and then come and sit down next to Kellandra.
Seeing that the couple is being taken care of by the rest of his group, the White Robe continues on his way to listen to the old man.
Knowledge, local: Are there any customary gestures of friendship, peaceful intent, or non-aggression that the Plains People use that would be appropriate to use now?: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13
You know something. An offering of food is seen as a gesture of Friendship among the plains barbarians.
Ahto glances towards Kellandra and the edges of his mouth turn upward slightly as he suppresses a chuckle.
As always, Kellandra's one step ahead when it comes to making friends with strangers.
Slightly worried the others are acting discordantly, Drakkor stares at the odd staff the woman holds. Trying to think why the staff seems out if place…he contemplates the history of such important objects.
My name is Kellandra. I am a traveler, a wanderer, a bit like yourself. I know and understand new faces, new places, can be a little frightening. And I know how long the road can be. So please take a warm meal, and a few drinks. A gift, from a wanderer to fellow wanderers.
Kellandra asks the servant to come bac for her guests to order more food.
I've been with a larger group than you. The roads aren't secure. I truly hope you haven't seen too much troubles on your own. To be honest, an hour or so before we arrived here, we have been questioned by a small troup of goblins. I guess you were more fortunate, or more discreet than us.
Slightly worried the others are acting discordantly, Drakkor stares at the odd staff the woman holds. Trying to think why the staff seems out if place…he contemplates the history of such important objects.
Knowledge (history): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
"No, the roads are dangerous, but not as dangerous as what I've seen at Xak Tsaroth," Riverwind says.
Ahto listens to the man's story, taking in the information he shares.