Prologue: Wars and Rumors of War
War comes naturally to the humanoid races. 'Twas ever thus. Mere skimming of the dusty scrolls and worm nibbled tomes of the Archivists histories proves this to be true. Long through the ages have we made war -- upon each other, upon ourselves, upon any living thing that chances down the road or soars through the air above. If you believe the epics and odes of the bards, we have even made war upon the gods themselves. But only damp and swooning maidens believe bards, and even maidens only believe bards long enough to shed their knickers and collapse sweaty into their fathers' straw bales. All of which is to say that murdering other living things en masse is perhaps what the so called civilized races excel at most; though damp and swooning maidens and the painted priestesses of the Red Temples might argue different. But that is a scholarly debate for another day.
War should then be no more alarming than a sunrise, the bloom of a rose, or the wheel of the stars overhead. Just another turn in the Great Spiral of life. Yet we are incapable of refraining from alarm at any other part of life's circles, so why then should war be any different? Only kings and generals have ever seemed to grasp the dull inevitability of war, and among them only handful ever grasped it enough to be any good at it. The rest seem content to bravely throw wave after wave of their own subjects at each other, then pick through the aftermath with the crows, looking for loose coin. 'Twas ever thus.
Still, if one reads closely through the histories and silly poems, sifting carefully through the obvious calumnies and self-promotions to get at the kernels of truth, certain events and patterns begin to stand out. Moments in time when something truly important seems to be at stake. Moments when kings and generals, maidens and priestesses, the sun and the flowers and the wheeling stars overhead, bards and murderers and even the gods themselves all seem to hold their breath at once, wondering if any of them at all would continue to be after tomorrow.
Afterward, the kings and generals and bards, and especially the gods themselves, like to pour on the calumnies and self promotions, and play up their own part in things. They like to strut and preen and proclaim that the outcome was always predetermined by their hand, in whatever way secures the adoration and obedience of the masses, and the Archivists dutifully record it thus. For their part, the masses are as alarmed as any other time – it's all the same to them.
But that is never the truth of what actually happened. The truth at such times almost always lies in the actions of a small handful of people, unaware of their own significance. People just trying to get by in their daily lives without getting shanked, or catching the pox, or one of uncounted other ways to take up residence in a pine box and serve oneself up to wormy feast. People who are almost certainly ignorant of their own import because they go about their petty errands in some muddy speck-hole like the mining town of Diamond Lake.
The Town of Diamond Lake
Central to the great Northern Continent is the Freehold Nations, a collection of squabbling kings and generals cursed to forever bicker with each other as punishment for their successful war against the Witch Kings. In the southeast section of the Freehold Nations, along the coast of the Crystal Sea, lies the Freehold of Sunter. Astride the mighty Forrin River, less than a days ride inland from the coast, lies the city of Jhesail, capital of Sunter and seat of the Freehold Council. Three days ride east of this glorious city, among the damp and stony Cairn Hills, lies the town of Diamond Lake.
It is in Diamond Lake that the Freehold Nations make war upon the land itself, boring holes deep into the hills, and raping the earth of its minerals. The black, oozing ichor of the earth bleeds down sluice ways into the lake itself, choking the life giving waters with offal and draining the countryside of color, vigor, and hope. Nestled between the lake and three low hills, Diamond Lake wallows in bilious runoff and swampy humidity. Mines churn the earth for resources to feed Jhesail's ever ravenous maw, and mine managers sit themselves as petty kings and generals, bravely throwing wave after wave of humanoid chattel to ignorant to resist into the lightless depths to rape and plunder. Thieves and merchants pick through the unwashed masses, like crows through carrion, seeking to separate them from their hard earned wages.
Adrift among this detritus, five young souls converge unawares upon each other, ignorant of the importance of the events about to surround them. They merely seek a way to make their mark or make their fortune, or just find a way out of Diamond Lake. But the Lashondi have a saying – be careful what you wish for.
For Shamus:
I sit at the bar in the tavern, trying to pick up as much information on the town and what's going on as I can. "Five days I've been in this hell-hole." I think to myself as I listen with half an ear to the other patron's conversations. "Why, of all of the places I could've ended up, did Fortune bring me here?" I signal the barkeep for another drink and eye the room again, looking for anyone who might be ab easy mark, or a useful tool. After a few moments I begin asking idle sounding questions about the Cairn's outside of the town. I ask where they are, who built them and what sort of treasures have been recovered from them while trying to seem just mildly curious. I also make a few discreet inquiries about the nature of the other strangers in town. They could be useful, if properly handled.
Awesome start!
After wandering the town for a few hours in search of a watering hole, Rend eventually manages to intimidate some locals into pointing one out to him. Not one for subtlety, he walks up to the front door and pushes it open forcefully, allowing it to slam into the wall. As things quiet down slightly, he yells, "Barkeep! Two pints of yer best!"
Downing both drinks in rapid succession, he waits for the bartender to clear the mugs. As he does, he grabs the man's arm, and says, loud enough for those nearby to hear, "I been looking for some adventurers, you seen any?"
Rolls:
as necessary:
Intimidate: 1d20+0 = 9
Gather Information: 1d20-2 = 3
Spot: 1d20+3 = 7
Listen: 1d20+7 = 22
I watch the half-orc who enters carefully, thinking "Crude, Boorish and rough but he looks strong enough. A little muscle could be useful and he doesn't look like he'd be the hardest to manipulate.".
After a few moments of watching him I sidle up besides him at the bar and say in a friendly voice "I'm in search of adventure, wealth and glory. Shamus Car'das is my name." as I extend my hand. "Here, let me buy you a drink and we can discuss the possibility of working together. Barkeep; another for myslef and my friend here."
A steady drizzle had settled over the town when Kharid emerged from his rented room. After checking in with the Dwobels, his elderly landlords, if they needed anything from the general store Kharid started off towards the main street of the town.
Thick mud stuck to his sturdy boots, but after a couple of weeks in the almost constant mud he hardly noticed anymore. What he did notice, though, was another small caravan of refugees coming in through the city gate. Another ragtag bunch of people fleeing from the East, looking for safety and perhaps work anywhere they went. It was a sad situation and the more so for them to happen upon Diamond Lake.
Sure, there was work to be found here, but most of it consisted of backbreaking work in the mines for a few coppers and a hot meal a day... if the sludge Kharid had seen the miners being fed could be called a meal.
No, Diamond Lake itself had not turned out to be the great archaeological treasure trove he had hoped for. At least not where the mines were concerned. All they yielded was coal that did more to poison the surrounding land than any mining operation Kharid had ever seen do.
But there was still research to do about the many cairns around the town, although so far most people had either scoffed or laughed at him when he inquired about them.
Waiting for the train of wagons to pass, Kharid hitched his cloak further up around his head to ward of the water. It was one of those drizzles that didn't look like much, but would soak you in mere minutes if you didn't wear a good cloak or oilskin coat.
After the last wagon had passed Kharid jumped the tracks, which were quickly filling with water, and quickly reached the other side.
"Ahh, now for some warm mulled wine" he thought as he entered the rundown inn across the street.
I watch the half-orc who enters carefully, thinking "Crude, Boorish and rough but he looks strong enough. A little muscle could be useful and he doesn't look like he'd be the hardest to manipulate.".
After a few moments of watching him I sidle up besides him at the bar and say in a friendly voice "I'm in search of adventure, wealth and glory. Shamus Car'das is my name." as I extend my hand. "Here, let me buy you a drink and we can discuss the possibility of working together. Barkeep; another for myslef and my friend here."
Rend looks at the man for a moment before responding, as if appraising his worth as a warrior, "Shamus, eh? I'm lookin' for adventurers. Are ya any good with that bow? If y'are, then see if you can read this," he says as he hands him a rather worn sheet of parchment.
Note on parchment:
The following is written in large, neat, block letters:
"The dog ran after the cat."
Waiting for the train of wagons to pass, Kharid hitched his cloak further up around his head to ward of the water. It was one of those drizzles that didn't look like much, but would soak you in mere minutes if you didn't wear a good cloak or oilskin coat.
After the last wagon had passed Kharid jumped the tracks, which were quickly filling with water, and quickly reached the other side.
"Ahh, now for some warm mulled wine" he thought as he entered the rundown inn across the street.
An orphan of this scarred land entered the decrepit taverns on the dwarf's heels and would have gone completely unnoticed by the latter, had the child not unleashed an unexpected and loud gazumph! of a sneeze on the scholar's back. The child followed his explosive sneeze with a nervous "Oh, my apologies, sir," accompanied by frantic wiping of the dwarf's cloak with the sleeve of his wet cloak. The boy was clad in soggy green, but threadbear traveler's garments, hood concealing all but his broad nose within its shadows. Given his frail frame and that he stood only as high as the dwarf's chest, he could not have been much more than 6 or 7 years old... who permitted this child into the establishment, anyway? He was much too young to be here.
Yet was this indeed a child?
A small hammer, mallet, chisel and other carpenters' tools hung from his belt... the carpenter's son trying to emulate his dad? The boy pulled back his hood and revealed a thick mane of limp, shoulder-length brown hair, dripping, dripping, dripping... Bright blue liquid orbs set in a pale face slowly looked up from the back of the dwarf's cloak and tentatively met his eyes. However youthful the face may have seemed, it was clear that it did not belong to a human child, but to a young halfling with exhaustion written across his features, and too many ghosts dancing behind his eyes. He rose his left arm in a protective gesture, clearly expecting the rugged-looking dwarf to strike him for having sneezed on his cloak.
"Please sir, for your troubles, let me be buy you a drink..." His eyes darted back down to the floor, while his lilting voice trailed off. He kept his left arm raised and cringed in anticipation of the inevitable blow...
He rose his left arm in a protective gesture, clearly expecting the rugged-looking dwarf to strike him for having sneezed on his cloak.
"Please sir, for your troubles, let me be buy you a drink..." His eyes darted back down to the floor, while his lilting voice trailed off. He kept his left arm raised and cringed in anticipation of the inevitable blow...
At first the dwarf doesn't even seem to notice what has transpired behind his back, but when the halfling starts to brush off his cloak he slowly turns around.
"Now there, no need for that boy... erm, good sir. Ye look like ye could use a warm drink more than I," the dwarf says while stroking water out of his thick mustache."Why don't ye find a warm place by the fire and I'll bring some warm mulled wine for the both of us... and are ye any good with those tools?" A thoughtful look comes over the dwarf's face. "Ach, never mind about that now, go find a table and I'll be back shortly."
The dwarf turns and slowly starts towards the bar while still stroking his mustache. "A carpenter... hmmm, that might be useful, erecting support beams, fortifying crumbling tunnels... yes, I'll see if I can strike up a good report with this fella, he could be most useful"
The tavern you've all (so far) found yourselves in is called the Feral Dog. It's one of several buildings on the main, muddy square of Diamond Lake.
The main road through town is called simply, "The Vein." The road runs in a lazy drunken curve, from west(ish) to east(ish), staggering south as it passes between the two main hills, then loping akwardly to the northeast, around the north end of the lake. At the southernmost bend in the Vein lies the town square, rung round with many of Diamond Lake's finest institutions -- The Feral Dog, the Church of St. Cuthbert next to it, Tidwoad's jewelry shop, the Sherrif's office, the general store, a dreary restaurant known as the Hungry Gar, the exotic curio shop (and exclusive brothel) known as the Emporium, and the gaming parlour known as Lazare's House.
Unlike the Emporium and Lazare's, the Feral Dog does not charge for entry, and thus attracts a less.... exclusive clientele. Unfortunately, it also means you have to put up with things like the nightly dog fights in the pit at the back of the main room. It's still early in the day however, so there's no fight, and thus less people and less noise.
Dalzig finds himself wandering the muddy streets yet again. In a town such as this, no one wants to listen to the little gnome spouting his religious zeal. That, coupled with the boorish nature of his job, makes him very downtrodden. He finds himself outside a tavern he hasn't visited yet. Perhaps someone will care what he has to say this time. He pushes himself into the tavern.
Dalzig finds an empty table and clamors on top of it. Holding up a small dagger with a red skull icon lashed to hilt, he tries to grab the attention of those gathered. Good people of Diamond Lake! Embrace the magic of The Ruby Sorceress and you will be free! Worship her and you will have nothing to fear; not even death itself. He lowers the dagger and looks around the tavern, seeing the same reaction as usual. Mumbling, he leaps off the table and walks up to the bar. My good man, a small cup of ale if you will. He puts down two coppers on the bar. Once he receives his drink he takes a sip and starts muttering to himself. Such a sodden place. Nothing magical about it at all. Why am I destined to become decrepit here? He sighs and continues on drinking.
Shamus:
After a few moments I begin asking idle sounding questions about the Cairn's outside of the town.
Old Man at Bar: Yoor not froom arouwnd 'ere, are yah? Yeh, deys a boonch oof cains in th'ills ouwtside oof toown. Deyv ben empteh fur an aige and moore. Th'wee wons leik tuh daire eitch ovah tah spend th'noit in'em occasionalleh.
I also make a few discreet inquiries about the nature of the other strangers in town.
Bartender: Wot? You mean besides yourself and half the rest of the bloody town? Strangers? Well, there's a few. Most of 'em's just smelly fugees, good for naught but the mines and soon a box. But if yor looking for aught like yourself, well that half orc is new in town and looks like you couldn't force him down a shaft at the point of a dozen swords. There's a dwarf coming this way who looks like a city toipe for sure. I've heard tell there's a gnome in town, who's trying to spread the gospel of some goddess or other, hasn't had much luck round these parts -- I can't possibly imagine why. Diamond Lake is just a magical paradise. I think he's might made friends with the old wizard, Allustan. He's about the only one interested in magic around here.
There's three other strangers in from Jhesail, saying they're going to go exploring in Stirgenest Cairn. Don't know why. The cairns were all stripped of anything valuable centuries ago. They're all certainly older than that. That elf lass over there by the knife-throwing boards is one of 'em. And some stranger brought in by Smenk has been set up in that old observatory to the north.
There's an orphaned kid in town too. I think he's headed in behind the Dwarf.
And here comes the gnome now....
Kharid:
You're also aware that there are "coincidentally" three other adventurers here from Jhesail who just "coincidentally" happen to be planning on exploring cairns for treasure. You have a horrible siniking feeling that one of the few idiot friends you've told was too stupid to keep his stinking yap shut.
There's also a larger reason you've come. Your divination research has also left you with a gnawing feeling of dread and despair. Every time you divine, when you reach your mind to that higher awareness and extend your senses out, there's this... dead zone out on the horizon. A place where all life ceases to exist. When you reluctantly tried to talk about it with your professors, they dismissed it as a slightly abnormal reaction to the astral horizon. You stopped talking about it, to them or anyone else.
But more than anything, what drove you here is the gnawing sensation that something is coming. Something that threatens to devour the world. Something that starts here in Diamond Lake.
Dalzig:
Since then, he's invited you over for a weekly evening of tea, supper, and discussion. You were excited at first, think he might introduce you to some other people, and together you'd be able to start a church of Wee Jas, but those hopes were quickly dashed when you realized it was just Allustan. He provides an excellent meal, and is much more calm and focussed in his conversation than the first time you met him, and he knows Wee Jas scripture and lore quite well (sometimes even better than you), but you still can't shake the feeling that when it comes to the subject of actual belief and faith, he's being ever so slightly condescending.
Still, he provides good food and good conversation, and has generously offered to pay for your room for as long as you stay in Diamond Lake. And, frankly, you come to realize that this will be as close as you get to founding a church of Wee Jas in this mudhole, and this mudhole is where the Church elders have seen fit to post you.
All you can hear in the bar, aside from the bartender and the guy next to you is the cook in the back room, banging all manner of pots and pans around and screaming at the poor mop boy, "Don't just stand there you gaping lackwit, KILL IT! ::CLANG:: STOMP on it, boy! ::SLAM:: It's running over there, by the cheese! ::SQUISH:: Now it's off again. You have to be ::SPRANG:: quicker than that! It's a fast little sucker ::WHAM:: Now it's in with the potatoes! ::P'TANG::"
You have, however, already spotted the elf before the bartender mentions her to you.
Also, as you're talking to him, the half orc seems to be asking you if you can read.
Rend
Rolls:
Spoiler:Intimidate: 1d20+0 = 9
Gather Information: 1d20-2 = 3
Spot: 1d20+3 = 7
Listen: 1d20+7 = 22
You hear someone in the far corner of the bar whisper, "it's a good thing Kullen isn't here. Show that upstart halfie a thing or two."
Dalzig finds himself wandering the muddy streets yet again. In a town such as this, no one wants to listen to the little gnome spouting his religious zeal. That, coupled with the boorish nature of his job, makes him very downtrodden. He finds himself outside a tavern he hasn't visited yet. Perhaps someone will care what he has to say this time. He pushes himself into the tavern.
Dalzig finds an empty table and clamors on top of it. Holding up a small dagger with a red skull icon lashed to hilt, he tries to grab the attention of those gathered. Good people of Diamond Lake! Embrace the magic of The Ruby Sorceress and you will be free! Worship her and you will have nothing to fear; not even death itself. He lowers the dagger and looks around the tavern, seeing the same reaction as usual. Mumbling, he leaps off the table and walks up to the bar. My good man, a small cup of ale if you will. He puts down two coppers on the bar. Once he receives his drink he takes a sip and starts muttering to himself. Such a sodden place. Nothing magical about it at all. Why am I destined to become decrepit here? He sighs and continues on drinking.
And yes, as all this goes on, a gnome enters the bar and hops up on a table to give a brief sermon, before heading to the bar for a drink.
I nod in thanks, absorbing what little I glean from the bartender and the old man. As my appetite and the thought of buying dinner fades from my mind I reply "Yes I'm fairly good with the bow. I'm no elven archer but I can hit a target. And, yes, I can read this note; it says "The dog ran after the cat." What's your name?" to the half-orc.
I turn for a moment to listen to the gnome's speech, thinking "Even after so much has happened people like him are still at it, preaching their nonsense about gods." before going back to my drink and conversation with Rend.
"Now there, no need for that boy... erm, good sir. Ye look like ye could use a warm drink more than I," the dwarf says while stroking water out of his thick mustache.
"Why don't ye find a warm place by the fire and I'll bring some warm mulled wine for the both of us... and are ye any good with those tools?" A thoughtful look comes over the dwarf's face. "Ach, never mind about that now, go find a table and I'll be back shortly."
The dwarf turns and slowly starts towards the bar while still stroking his mustache.
Another cruel joke. As soon as I open my eyes, his fist will hit my nose like a sledge hammer... Still holding one arm up, the young halfling slowly opens one eye, and then, the other. He looks up and is shocked to read the kindly and sincere expression on the dwarf's face, as well as his invitation to share some mulled wine and a table by the fire. The man-child's expression goes from fear, to incredulity, to a nervous but appreciative smile, all in a matter of seconds. "No sir, I insis..." starts the halfling, but the dwarf is already on his way to the bar. Shrugging, the diminutive fella moves to a table by the fire, careful to avoid nudging any of the other rugged tavern patrons on his way over. "Oh well, a few coins saved, and no bruises or broken bones to nurse," sighs the halfling. One mug, so as to not offend him, and then I'll head back upstairs to my room, thinks the little man to himself. Else, before I know it, he'll try to con me into some shady deal...
He spies a towering half-orc over by the bar, and wonders whether the mongrel and the dwarf will come to blows. Then, some strange gnome gets up on a nearby table and starts preaching about the virtues of the Ruby Lady. The little man frowns as the gnome begins his sermon, then looks away in disgust. Another fool... May the gods burn in hell, every last one of them... His cloak is so wet that he does not notice that his arms are resting in a puddle of ale spilled across the knife-scarred table top. Just another day in paradise, reflects the halfling sourly, scanning the common room of the place that had become his "home" on and off for the past two years. He then turns his head towards the fire, holding his palms up to the dancing flames as he awaits the mulled wine promised by the dwarf.
I notice the dwarf enter and raise an eyebrow in interest "Hmm. He doesn't look like he's from around here either." I notice the halfling cringing behind the dwarf. "A servant perhaps? No, he has the air of one who has a strength beneath the cringe. If I could convince these people to work for me..." I think and begin to formulate a plan as I turn back to the half-orc to see what he has to say.
"Yes I'm fairly good with the bow. I'm no elven archer but I can hit a target. And, yes, I can read this note; it says "The dog ran after the cat." What's your name?" to the half-orc.
Rend's brow furrows as he takes the parchment back from Shamus and peers at it intently, as if trying to make out a badly scrawled note. "Cat, eh. That makes sense, I guess." Turning back to the sickly human, he nods, "Ya, you'll do. I'm Rend. We'll need a few more if we're gonna make a real go of this."
With the conversation done for the moment, Rend returns his attention to the drink in front of him, his third. When Shamus glances back after examining the crowd for a moment, he's surprised to see the drink already gone.
"That one looks pretty sturdy," Rend says as pushes his stool back from the bar and stands up. He heads over to where Kharid is approaching the bar.
As Kharid is about to get the bartender's attention, Rend interrupts "If you carry an axe, you can be the third in our party, Dwarf. What do ya say?"
As he's heading over to Kharid, Rend tries to get a good look at whoever mentioned this Kullen guy, thinking that might be a good lead if the dwarf says no. Clearly, Rend values combat worthiness over anything to do with a ruby sorceress...
Spot to get a good look at whoever mentioned Kullen:
Spot: 1d20+3 = 7
"That one looks pretty sturdy," Rend says as pushes his stool back from the bar and stands up. He heads over to where Kharid is approaching the bar.As Kharid is about to get the bartender's attention, Rend interrupts "If you carry an axe, you can be the third in our party, Dwarf. What do ya say?"
Seated uncomortably at the too-tall table he has found by the warm fire, the halfling props his head on both his hands. Why did the dwarf ask if I was any good with my tools... what does he want from me? Ah, guess I may never find out... The lad sighs as he watches the half-orc approach the dwarf, but can't quite make out what they are saying to one another. "I knew this would happen, it was a sure bet... dwarf and half-orc stand toe to toe at the bar... inevitable outcome: brawl. So which one will strike first, and which will be the last one standing?" he mutters to himself, as the fire casts living shadows across his pale face.
I'm about to ask what the note meant when Rend stands up and wlks towards the Dwarf. I sigh, expecting the imminent fight. "Another idiot." I think as I look around, examining the other patrons.
Dalzig finishes his drink and quickly orders another. With the new cup in hand, he trudges around the bar, sipping his drink and looking for anyone new in town. Spotting the large, very large half-orc walking accross the bar, Dalzig furrows his brow, attempting to recall him. Not being able to, his eyes sparkle like sapphires. "Someone new! Good, good. Maybe he'll listen to me!"
Dalzig then finishes his second drink and put the cup down on a nearby table. He than squares his gnomish shoulders, and approaches Rend. "Good sir, good sir. Might I interest you in learning about The Ruby Sorceress? The Witch Goddess, The Stern Lady, Death's Guardian? Wee Jas goes by many names, yes she does. No other has control of Death like she has." He continues rambling until interrupted.
Spot to get a good look at whoever mentioned Kullen:
** spoiler omitted **
You see the back of the main room. It's mostly filled with murky shadows. There might be a couple small groups of people back there, but for all you know, it might have been a mouse that can talk.
"Good sir, good sir. Might I interest you in learning about The Ruby Sorceress? The Witch Goddess, The Stern Lady, Death's Guardian? Wee Jas goes by many names, yes she does. No other has control of Death like she has." He continues rambling until interrupted.
"Sorcery and death? Why would I want to know more about that? Physical strength will get the job done every time. You would do well to remember that piece of advice, and keep those ramblings to yourself." Pausing for a moment to glance down, he asks, annoyed, "Do you even carry a weapon?"
Without bothering to wait for an answer, Rend brushes the gnome to the side, "Out of my way, little man, can't you see I'm looking for adventurers?"
Dalzig stands there stunned for a couple seconds. Then, recalling what his deity has granted him so far, becomes a little proud and boisterous. He doggedly pursues Rend.
"All strength ever gets you is trouble. Sorcery will solve any problem. It is a tool and a weapon. I bet I could kill anyone in here with a touch of my finger!" This last part perhaps said a little too loud. "And where is your strength after being beaten by a demon? How will you survive meeting someone stronger than yourself? I don't think you can." Throughout this tirade, Dalzig is waving his arms about almost frantically defending his deity and himself. When finished he crosses his arms and puffs out his tiny chest in rage.
Dalzig stands there stunned for a couple seconds. Then, recalling what his deity has granted him so far, becomes a little proud and boisterous. He doggedly pursues Rend.
"All strength ever gets you is trouble. Sorcery will solve any problem. It is a tool and a weapon. I bet I could kill anyone in here with a touch of my finger!" This last part perhaps said a little too loud. "And where is your strength after being beaten by a demon? How will you survive meeting someone stronger than yourself? I don't think you can." Throughout this tirade, Dalzig is waving his arms about almost frantically defending his deity and himself. When finished he crosses his arms and puffs out his tiny chest in rage.
From his vantage point at a distant table, Harlon watches the scene at the bar unfold. He raises his eyebrows at the sight of the little gnome persistently trying to convert the half-orc. "What a fool," he mutters to himself. "The half-orc wins, hands down... but what if the gnome were to partner with the dwarf? That might even the odds somewhat..." Wonder if I'll end up getting that cup of mulled wine or not...
Conversation in the bar, what little there was, drops to a murmur.
The bartender pipes up, "Here now, none of that! Preachin' or Shovin'. The roudiness comes later, when I have more bouncers on staff. If you two can't sit and drink all quiet like, I'll have to ask you to leave, and come back when this is a less civil place."
A shock of surprise on his face, almost as if he had forgotten where he was, Dalzig stares at his feet abashedly. Loudly, he says, "Yes, of course. Sorry about all this."
"If you can best me in a knife throwing contest, I'll talk to you, half orc."
After a moment I step between the gnome and Rend. "Now, lets look at this from a reasonable perspective." I say with an ingratiating smile. "Certainly strength has its uses, but so does sorcerery and deception. Also, in my experience, priests often have healing abilities, something that would certainly be highly useful on a dangerous venture. What was your name again? Let me buy you a drink and my friend here (pointing to Rend) is trying to gatehr some travelers for a venture of some type. We might have use for one of your talents."
"If you carry an axe, you can be the third in our party, Dwarf. What do ya say?"
"... an axe? I'm not quite sure I know what ye mean my big fella," Kharid responds to the loud inquiries from the big half-orc, after a moment of seemingly disorrientation.
"Oh ye mean, do I have an axe? Sorry my friend, but I..." Kharid's voice trails off as another of the wee folk approaches and starts pestering the big half-orc.The bartender pipes up, "Here now, none of that! Preachin' or Shovin'. The roudiness comes later, when I have more bouncers on staff. If you two can't sit and drink all quiet like, I'll have to ask you to leave, and come back when this is a less civil place."
"Yes, yes, as I was about to say, I'd like two of ye biggest jugs of mulled wine please. Properly warmed for me and my soggy friend back there."
Suddenly, as if inspiration suddenly hits him, Kharid turns to the big half-orc again. "Wait, did ye say a party?"
Conversation in the bar, what little there was, drops to a murmur.
The bartender pipes up, "Here now, none of that! Preachin' or Shovin'. The roudiness comes later, when I have more bouncers on staff. If you two can't sit and drink all quiet like, I'll have to ask you to leave, and come back when this is a less civil place."
Rend shrugs, unconcerned. I'm not here to cause trouble. Just roundin' up the troops, is all. Turning to the gnome, he continues, "No offense I hope. Just don't see any use for talk about death. If you want to pray to a useful God, I'd suggest joining the Church of Kord, although you might need to beef up a bit before you're taken seriously."
After a moment I step between the gnome and Rend. "Now, lets look at this from a reasonable perspective." I say with an ingratiating smile. "Certainly strength has its uses, but so does sorcerery and deception. Also, in my experience, priests often have healing abilities, something that would certainly be highly useful on a dangerous venture. What was your name again? Let me buy you a drink and my friend here (pointing to Rend) is trying to gatehr some travelers for a venture of some type. We might have use for one of your talents."
Rend shrugs again, "If you think he can help...if you ask me, though, we need another sword."
"If you can best me in a knife throwing contest, I'll talk to you, half orc."
"A knife throwing contest? Sure, sounds like fun. Don't see how throwing your weapon at an opponent would be useful, but I'm always up for some competition. What format do you propose?"
"Yes, yes, as I was about to say, I'd like two of ye biggest jugs of mulled wine please. Properly warmed for me and my soggy friend back there."
Suddenly, as if inspiration suddenly hits him, Kharid turns to the big half-orc again. "Wait, did ye say a party?"
"Sure did. Lookin' to get a group together to make a name for ourselves, and maybe earn some coin. Interested? You don't need an axe, a sword'll do just fine," Rend replies, failing to imagine that a dwarf could be anything but a warrior.
"Sure did. Lookin' to get a group together to make a name for ourselves, and maybe earn some coin. Interested? You don't need an axe, a sword'll do just fine," Rend replies, failing to imagine that a dwarf could be anything but a warrior.
"I see... well, as it would happen, I could use some able bodied people for some explorations of my own."
Kharid starts to finger his mustache while a far away look settles over his eyes.With an almost inaudible mumble he starts speaking again, "Yes... Yes... It would be quite useful with some extra hands... not much immediate gold and glory, though, but I'm sure we could earn a decent respect within The Most Respected Historical and Archeological Studies Society."
A small smile starts to creep across the dwarf's almost hidden lips, while he slowly nods to himself.
"Say, why don't ye and... it would seem the other young man there is with you, why don't we all sit and talk about it over some warm mulled wine? I have an enterprising young lad waiting at a table over there by the fire, ye are all welcome to join us!"
"Mulled wine for five... well, three and two halves... then?"
As the five of you gather around the table by the fire, the bartender brings you all mulled wine.
The elf finds some other sorry drunk to throw knives with. The sorry drunk can barely hit the board. The elf looks disappointed and bored.
"Mulled wine for five... well, three and two halves... then?"
"Indeed!"
"That'll be a silver for the round."
As the five of you gather around the table by the fire, the bartender brings you all mulled wine.
The elf finds some other sorry drunk to throw knives with. The sorry drunk can barely hit the board. The elf looks disappointed and bored.
Rend shrugs as the impatient elf finds another to challenge in a knife-throwing contest. He sits with the ragtag bunch of would-be adventurers and sniffs at his mulled wine. Not his typical fare. Pushing the drink to the side, he sizes up his newfound companions. A gnome, a dwarf, a halfling, and a sickly human. He chuckles to himself, imagining what the orcs of his former tribe would think of the situation. Growing up as a half-breed among savages has instilled in him a certain amount of racial tolerance, and Rend nods at those gathered at the table.
"I'm Rend, from the Gruk clan in the Freehold Nations of Luhr. But I have no desire to return there, or to live from raid to raid. I seek adventure and to prove myself worthy of Kord's favor. Are you all of similar mind?"
As the five of you gather around the table by the fire, the bartender brings you all mulled wine.
The elf finds some other sorry drunk to throw knives with. The sorry drunk can barely hit the board. The elf looks disappointed and bored.
Rend shrugs as the impatient elf finds another to challenge in a knife-throwing contest. He sits with the ragtag bunch of would-be adventurers and sniffs at his mulled wine. Not his typical fare. Pushing the drink to the side, he sizes up his newfound companions. A gnome, a dwarf, a halfling, and a sickly human. He chuckles to himself, imagining what the orcs of his former tribe would think of the situation. Growing up as a half-breed among savages has instilled in him a certain amount of racial tolerance, and Rend nods at those gathered at the table.
"I'm Rend, from the Gruk clan in the Freehold Nations of Luhr. But I have no desire to return there, or to live from raid to raid. I seek adventure and to prove myself worthy of Kord's favor. Are you all of similar mind?"
Harlon's watery eyes stare in unconcealed surprise at the motley crew that has assembled around his table. Drinking mulled wine with a foreign dwarf is one thing... but drinking with a savage-looking, adventure-seeking half-orc with a religious penchant, and with a preaching gnome... what am I about to get myself into?! "Ummm... I don't know much about Kord," squeeks the halfling shyly. "And... what kind of adventure are you looking for? I mean... I'm not sure that I..." The youngster smiles feedbly at his companions, clearly uncertain of what he should be telling them. "Oh, I forgot to tell you my name... I'm Harlon Happytoes... from Greenfields, in easter Tynear... but this hole has been my home for the past two years..." He tries to stiffle a sneeze, but another loud gazumph! escapes his nostrils. He cringes at the realization that some of the spray has hit the half-orc's hand... "Sorry," he begs softly as his already fair skin turns an even whiter shade of pale...
Dalzig sits at the table, wondering how he ended up here. He absentmindedly scratches at a thin red beard lining his jaw while listening to Rend and Harlon. After Harlon finishes, Dalzig pipes up. "Why, nice to meet you Harlon. I'm Dalzig Berenbiddle, Disciple of Wee Jas. It's seems this dreadfully dour place is my home, as ordained by those higher than me. I carry the will of The Ruby Sorceress with me, but not many seem keen to be hearing it."
With this, Dalzig glares at Rend with his blue eyes, being the first time he even acknowledged Rend's presence. He says to Rend, "I don't know if I seek adventure, but if something is happening that involves magic or death, surely I must participate in it. For my Goddess, of course," he quickly adds in with a grin.
Bump.