Well, I mean, this is supposed to be a game full of Tropes... And one o the first player interactions is about pipesmoking... How could I pass up such a golden opportunity?!
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Braegan leans back as he listens to Lily, hey twinkle of recollection in his eyes. "Now, I remember an odd, older 'uman... Was a wizard or enchanter o' sorts, if'n I r'collect. 'ad long 'air an' a full beard, both grey, an' 'e wore a robe o' a similar 'ue. Bit o' meddlesome wanderer, but the goodly type. An'way, 'e was fascinated with smokin' a pipe, an' I swear, could conjure all sorts o' shapes from the smoke. Boram, 'e 'ad a fondness for ye people an' their leaf, if'n I r'call. What was 'is name... Gordoff? Gardrelf? Gondeld? Ah, no matter. Point is, 'e was a professional pipesmoker if'n ever there been one." Across the room, the merchant looks at Nisli, awaits Nisli response a bit nervously. As he does, he starts to finger his pouch of coins. "I would, of course, be willing to pay for your skills, lady?"
Apologies for the last week guys, I was trying to give Tara a little more time to get on board, then one of my colleagues at work went out on quarantine after testing positive for covid. He is doing fine, mostly minor symptoms, and the rest of us are still negative. Raquel, no worries, it's a busy time for everyone. Post when you can, we will assume you were coming along for any activities.
Braegan enjoys a bit of his stew before chuckling at Raquel's inference. "Ah, R'Quel, always like ye young to be expectin' trouble at every turn. Why canni not simply be a quiet, rainy day? I mean, it's not like trouble 'appens every day 'ere. Boram, aye, he 'as the rioght idea. Sit back an' enjoy a good pipe an' a pint." Across the tavern from the cluster by the fire, one of the merchants cautiously rises from his table and approaches the pale skinned sylvan woman with her head buried in a book. He is a middle aged man, with thinning gray hair and a paunch suggesting of a bit too much enjoyment of food and libations. His clothing is well made and has an air of affluence, though shows a bit of age as well. "Excuse me miss, sorry to trouble you, but... well... I heard... that maybe you could... well... that perhaps you were a seer or diviner of sorts? If you are... well, would you be able to determine that fate of a colleague of ours? He was supposed to meet us here, last night as it were. Only, he never showed..." He looks as Nisli uncertainly.
Braegan chuckles at Boram, "Ey, ye'd miss me cooking, an' be needin' to get away from some sort o' trouble. Ah, but good to have ye!" Joe smiles at Raquel as she rhymes with his name, before cocking his head to the side confused, "Umm, I know... that it's raining... outside?" His confusion slips away when Raquel directs his attention back to the pot of stew Braegan is carrying. He starts to open his mouth to speak when Lily offers a bit of hers. He reaches down and picks up the bowl, which looks like a snack in his hands. He lifts it to his lips and slurps some up, his eyes getting a glance down at Lily as he does. He chokes briefly on the soup then blushes and makes brief eye contact before stammering out, "tha..tha...thank you!" as he hands the bowl back to Lily. He takes the few steps toward the dwarf and in his big joyful voice says, "That's good! Can I get a bowl Mr. Braegan?" Braegan just raises an eyebrow to Lily before passing a bowl to the giant youth, who sits down on a stool that groans precariously at his hefty weight. Finally he fills one for himself and sits down alongside the others by the hearth. "Storm's keepin' it quiet, tink tis okay to 'ave a bite with ye all." Braegan laughs at Boram's comments. "Ah, yes! A rogue wit a heart, course... ye kind aren't the malicious type, or least, ain't met none. But don't know if ye'll have any luck 'ere. It's been quiet lately... very quiet."
The faint song of the wind whipping up outside and flashing rain across the Broadsword's walls can faintly be heard as you're all relaxed away the afternoon and the tap room. After a short time, Braegan makes his way around the room, a pot of stew in one hand and a stack of bowls in the other. The dwarf is nearing a century in age, with a fiery red beard and pale brown, almost gray eyes. He walks with a hint of a limp, which gives his gate a profound presence. He approaches Nisli first, "Hi lass, would ye be likin' a bit o' sometin' to fill yer wee belly?" After the Sylvan lady, he turns to the roguish Halfling. "aahh, Boram, good to see ye again, it'd been a while, thought perhaps ye'd lost yet way. Will it be one or two bowls for ye?" He then stops and tends to a pair of merchants who were stuck at the Broadsword for the day on account of not wanting to push on towards Restov in the inclement weather. Finally he comes over to Lily and Raquel."ah, look at ye pair, thick as thieves all snuggled by the hearth. Sorry for takin' me time, had to get the payin' customers first, ye know?" His words are accented by a loud bang as one of the doors from the back area slams open. It gives you all the start, but you chuckle to see Josiah, or "Jo" as most people call him, squeeze through the doorway with an arm full of firewood. Josiah called Finnegan his uncle, the weather there was actually any blood relation was unclear. Still, the last two summers since Jo had arrived had seen him grow from a simple, gangly, awkwardly tall boy into a mountain of a man. He now assisted his uncle with a variety of physical tasks around the tavern, including wrangling the drunk and disorderly at times. Still not 19 years of age, the boy's hands were nearly the size of a bear's paw, and his friendly, jovial disposition was what kept him from being terrifying. He lowers the stack of firewood against the wall by the hearth, taking care to realign a couple pieces that fall off. Then he turns to Lily, Raquel, and Braegan, "Hi guys! How's the stew?" his eyes drift to the pot and the dwarf's hands, and you all think it's likely he could consume its entire contents without a second thought.
Apologies, last couple days were a bit hectic. We are now live!
Ah yes, the Broken Broadsword. Where do we start? Well, the Broken Broadsword has stood at its location for over 100... no, 200?... maybe 300?... Ah, truth be told, no one's really sure how many years. There have been multiple deeds that have surfaced over the years, addressing transfers of ownership. And it has factored in more than a few tails of myth and legend across the northern realms. Rumors make many claims to its origin: a disgraced noble's mansion, an ancient Ulfen longhouse, a waypoint for dwarven traders, the home of an evil cult, or even the front of a thieves guild. But all of that is the drunken ramblings of it's regulars. What is known is this. The Broken Broadsword is an inn and tavern that sits about three hours' walk east of Restov… or less than two on a swift horse. The building itself has been repaired, rebuilt, added on to, and expanded countless number of times. This lends itself to a confusing, almost maze-like floorplan. The primary building is two tall stories in height, with a wing that stretches to a similar level, but holds three floors within. A substantial cellar stretches beneath, holding food larders, wine and beer vault, and other sundry storage. In addition to the main structure, a trio of buildings surround the Broadsword. To it's left is a large barn that serves as both the stables and the seat of the ferrier. A small stone structure sits to the barn's right, which serves as a chapel or shrine blessed by no less than six priests. Finally, behind the inn itself is a long, narrow structure that serves as the quarters for all broadsword's personnel, the owner included. As for the Broadsword's staff, it is a widely varied mix of characters. The proprietor, Finnegan McTavish, is a former sellsword who has spent the last two decades at the helm of the Inn. He hires loners, runaways, the broken, and misbegotten. He likely employs far more staff than he technically needs, but given the number that get involved with the adventurous hijinx that seem to constantly pop up, he is always hiring. Suffice to say more than a few occasions have occurred where two employees suspect each other of being guests engaging in otherwise inappropriate behavior. A good laugh was usually had by all… But enough about the basics. Where does out story begin... It is a rainy, cool Wealday, this 15th of Rova. The autumn winds of the north are blowing in strong, carrying a torrent of precipitation, and it won’t be long until the harvest is complete and the people of Brevoy begin to prepare for winter. The afternoon is quiet at The Broken Broadsword - the weather keeping most travelers off the roads, leaving the taproom to be occupied by a few guests who had already been in residence, and several off duty members of the staff. A strong fire burns in the hearth, while Braegan Dour, a dwarven brewer and songsmith, covers duties behind the bar. |