Berenthor shakes his head. "Ye tell me how ye spot a halfling if'n she don't want ta be seen, and I'll tell ye where she's at. Now stop worrying, and hold still."
Luca nods, "Yes, seems like that would be true. Though I supppose the dogs could have dragged the body out even if it had been hidden. But I give my thanks to you and the others for taking care of this matter. Is there anything else you would like to do before we continue on? We should reach the Inn a little before nightfall."
"I'll just fetch Feona and then we'll move on, the sooner we reach the inn the better at this point,"Nils nodded as he turns to check on Feona.
Feona gingerly picks up the dagger and slips it into her belt behind her back. When she gets back to her friends, and out of the view of Luca and the wagon, she whispers, "Look what I found in the bush!"
She holds up the dagger and asks, "Wonder what kind of blade this is and who made it?"
"And look at this - there is writing on it! Can you read it Nils? Or you Berenthor?"
She waits while her companions look at the dagger and then asks, "Can I keep it?"
Berenthor looks over the dagger.
Berenthor also cannot read the writing on the dagger. Nils will also not be able to read it. You can tell that it's written in draconic.
Dagger
"And look at this - there is writing on it! Can you read it Nils? Or you Berenthor?"
She waits while her companions look at the dagger and then asks, "Can I keep it?"
"Don't see why not," Nils whistles softly.
"Don't know what it says but its enchanted," Nils looks over at Berenthor for confirmation then looks back over at where the hobgoblin's body was now hidden."I wonder what happened, did he throw it or was it dropped during whatever battle that killed him?" Nils openly wondered.
"We better head on once we reach the inn we'll talk more on this," Nils asks them.
"Enchanted?" Feona whispers and tucks the blade into her backpack and is ready to climb back up behind Nils and continue on.
They travel for a bit more, the trip uneventful. Upon the beginning of nightfall, they reach the Inn. A well-built inn painted in cheerful colors is tucked beneath the eaves of the forest. A stable stands nearby. A hitching post at the front of the inn has several mounts, and more than one farm wagon sits in the yard. A large red sign above the door proclaims in gilt letters, “Travelers Stop Inn.” Above this sign and stretching across the front of the building is a banner with artistic lettering stating “The Traveling Exhibition of Doctor Phineus Krane, Professor of Antiquities and Master of Shroud Artistry.” A number of colorful tents have been set up at the rear of the inn yard, apparently for this exhibition.
They travel for a bit more, the trip uneventful. Upon the beginning of nightfall, they reach the Inn. A well-built inn painted in cheerful colors is tucked beneath the eaves of the forest. A stable stands nearby. A hitching post at the front of the inn has several mounts, and more than one farm wagon sits in the yard. A large red sign above the door proclaims in gilt letters, “Travelers Stop Inn.” Above this sign and stretching across the front of the building is a banner with artistic lettering stating “The Traveling Exhibition of Doctor Phineus Krane, Professor of Antiquities and Master of Shroud Artistry.” A number of colorful tents have been set up at the rear of the inn yard, apparently for this exhibition.
"Is that the place you were talking about?" Nils asks the wagon leader.
Feona slides off the horse and looks around. Seeing the banner and the tents, she jerks on Nils' shirt and asks, "What does that say?" pointing to the banner with her other hand...while her eyes are on the colorful tents.
Feona slides off the horse and looks around. Seeing the banner and the tents, she jerks on Nils' shirt and asks, "What does that say?" pointing to the banner with her other hand...while her eyes are on the colorful tents.
"Shrouds?" Nils mutters a little offput as he understands what else is emblazoned.
"Apparently he's some kind of travelling scholar into relics and funeral rites I think?" Nils explains after a moment of confusion.
"Funeral rites?" Feona murmurs with a frown. "That's no fun. Let's go over to the tents! Oh, Mr. Luca - what's in the tents?"
As they look closer, they can see that the tents are being put up, and the patrons are either leaving, or heading inside the inn. "It appears that they are closing up shop, and that we arrived a bit too late. I am not sure what is inside, I have never seen them before." He gets off the caravan, letting a stable boy take the horses. Brigit and the children exit the caravan and head inside the inn, "I am actually here to deliver an item to someone inside the Inn. I thank you for helping keep my family and I safe on the trip here, and once we get inside I shall give you your payment." He motions for them to go inside, and he follows them inside afterward.
Business is brisk as the long shadows of evening slant through the taproom’s open windows. A bald, red-faced man wearing an apron works behind the bar and several young girls carry platters of food and drinks to various tables. Most of the crowd seems to be local farmers and traveling merchants, although clustered around one table sits a rough-looking group of mercenaries, one of whom is a short, black-cloaked figure who might be a goblin. They huddle over their drinks in quiet conversation, occasionally raising a head to eye the crowd. At a table nearby, a bespectacled scholarly looking fellow discusses a piece of decorated linen spread across the tabletop with a small group of onlookers.
Sipping at a glass of wine, the elf woman sits at a table near the man with the cloth, half-listening to the conversation, but most of her attention focused on the patrons of the room.
Dressed in yellow cloth, with black accents, she appears to be a cleric of Calistria.
Feona's disappointment in not getting to see the tents disappears when she walks into the inn and smells the food. Her belly reminds her it's been awhile since her last good meal.
"Let's get a table and see what's for supper!" she claps her hands excitedly. Leaning into Berenthor she whispers loudly "Preferably one away from the goblin and his motley crew."
Once they find a table, Feona orders a beer and whatever the special is for the night...and sits back to watch and listen.
Perception: 1d20+7=12
Burrloft stands among the small knot of people viewing cloth, occasionally elbowing one of the slack-jawwed yokels when they come to close to stepping on him. He admires it...nothing as enthralling as the jeweled scarf he saw back Korvosa that one time, but it was quite nice. To keep his hands from straying to pet it, he pulls his indigo braid forward and rustles his ringed fingers through the inky strands. "It's a nice piece," he says appriciatively "Very consistent woof and warp. Skillful brocading. Does it have some sort of history?"
Luca pulls out three small bags, and hands it to the group, "Your payment is inside, I once again thank you for providing the safe travel." He then looks around the Inn, noticing the gnome, "Ah, there he is! That is the one I am delivering to." He motions for the gnome to come over to the group, "Come! Eat with us!"
A serving girl comes over, takes their orders, and hurries quickly to get their meals. In the room there are currently three serving girls, and fifteen other patrons. Listening a bit, Feona hears mostly talk of farming, and she hears someone refer to one of the men as Sheriff Cage.
Feona's disappointment in not getting to see the tents disappears when she walks into the inn and smells the food. Her belly reminds her it's been awhile since her last good meal.
"Let's get a table and see what's for supper!" she claps her hands excitedly. Leaning into Berenthor she whispers loudly "Preferably one away from the goblin and his motley crew."Once they find a table, Feona orders a beer and whatever the special is for the night...and sits back to watch and listen.
Perception: 1d20+7=12
Nils will buy some food and drink to take to the table with Feona and then eat his meal whilst keeping an eye out for troublee but is otherwise uninterested in the fair.
"So from your experience are these inns always like this?" Nils asks Feona.
The serving girl takes Nils order, then disappears for a few moment, returning to their table to hand them the ordered food.
The serving girl takes Nils order, then disappears for a few moment, returning to their table to hand them the ordered food.
Nils tips her a silver piece.
"Where I'm from its considered good luck to tip,"Nils explains to Feona as the serving girl heads off."Mostly because of the effect they have on lycanthropes," he whispers.
"Not so sure if that actually works but you never know..." he mutters as he continues to eat whilst looking around at the inn's interior.
"So from your experience are these inns always like this?" Nils asks Feona.
"Pretty much," Feona nods, sipping her beer and also placing a food order.
Nils tips her a silver piece.
"Where I'm from its considered good luck to tip,"Nils explains to Feona as the serving girl heads off.
"Mostly because of the effect they have on lycanthropes," he whispers.
"Not so sure if that actually works but you never know..." he mutters as he continues to eat whilst looking around at the inn's interior.
Feona nearly chokes on her beer at the mention of "lycanthropes." Regaining her composure, she wipes her chin and says, "Better safe than sorry, I guess. Hey, wonder what all of these mercs are doing in here? And..." Feona takes another gulp of beer "...is that new feller coming to join us or not? If so, we're gonna need another table and some more chairs."
OOC: We are sitting at the table closest to the couch (at C10 on your map).
Burrloft catches the wave from Luca and gives a small, smiling nod. "I am overcome with grief that I must depart from this little presentation. It is a very lovely swatch, but business calls before pleasure." He gives a small bobbing bow to the scholarly man and bustles across to Luca's table. "Fellicitations," he enthuses with another bobbing bow, wrist bangles and necklaces clinking, "I am Burrloft Seguwoxies Folldorall, at your service. Fashoner of jewelry and arcane energies most sublime!"
After taking some time to dismount and regain some of his composure, Berenthor straggles in behind the others and joins them at the table. "Quite the trip, eh? Looks like there's a lot going on here, too. Did ye order any drinks yet?"
The serving girl graciously accepts the silver, giving the half elf a coy smile as she walks away. Luca pulls up another chair for Burrloft to join them at the table, then pulls out a bag similar to the one he gave the others. Inside the bag are little baubles of jewelry that the gnome would like, worth about 100 gold. "These are the ones who traveled with me here. They kept my family and I quite safe from sold wild dogs we came across."
"Fellicitations," he enthuses with another bobbing bow, wrist bangles and necklaces clinking, "I am Burrloft Seguwoxies Folldorall, at your service. Fashoner of jewelry and arcane energies most sublime!"
"Now, THAT'S a mouthful!" Feona giggles, raising her beer in salute. "Hiya - I am Feona and these are my friends."
"Greetings, Feona-fair, and your friends. Yes, well, Seguwoxies is an old family name... I cut it out of an very old and very distinguished family with a rusty dagger. I jest, of course. It was my father's father's father's father's Master Jewler's name. It has been associated with us for as long as we have been associated with the shaping of the earth's bounties. And speaking of... Hello lovely little lasses and laddy's!"
He takes the bag of gems and looks at them with a dancing sparkle in his eyes. He closes his eyes, reaches in and plucks out a loose gem at random. "Ahh, Lapis Lazuli! One of my favorites! Punishing magma percolates up into native marble creating this wonderful stone. The flecks in this one are mica, but sometimes there is pyrite, fool's gold, included in the stone giving wonderful lilt to the deep blue tones. Not particularly expensive, but a workable stone that can be used to augment the beauty of jewelry, furniture, and other artwork!"
Burrloft returns the stone, cinches the bag closed, and looks to the man "Master Luca, you have my undivided attention. What business are we seeking? Hmm?"
"There is nothing else to attend to at the moment. Consider those a gift, and please consider me for business in the future. For the time being, I shall retire for the night, and take my leave." He stands, "Once again, thank you. Have a safe travel on the return home, and enjoy the company of my friend here, he may be able to help you out if you need it." With that, he turns and leaves to the back, to one of the inn rooms.
Burrloft offer the man his hand and a forthright smile "It is an unmittigated pleasure doing business with you, good sir! Your praise will be on my lips in future conversations."
Nafti sits at her table, alone. The dim light in the main room makes her skin look wan, almost deathly pale, although she *is* the brightest person in the room with her yellow clothing on. Adjusting her blouse so there is not so much skin showing (as best she can), she watches the group which just came in, being mindful not to stare.
She tries equally hard not to stare at the mercenary table, their raucousness a little unnerving on her ears and head--after half a bottle of wine.
One of the mercenaries, one who is noticeably pudgier than the others, notices her looking at him. He smiles widely to her, giving her a suggestive wink.
One of the mercenaries, one who is noticeably pudgier than the others, notices her looking at him. He smiles widely to her, giving her a suggestive wink.
She smiles back out of reflex, and regrets it instantly when she sees that he's ogling her. She turns so that he doesn't have quite an unobstructed view of her, watching him from the corner of her eye.
Waving goodbye to Luca, Feona looks around the room and when she is quite sure that the mercs aren't paying them any attention, she leans toward Burrloft and says, "Seems you have a way with valuable stuff. Lookee what I found today."
She pulls the new dagger with the liquid flame design and lays it on the table in front of him. "Ain't it pretty? And lookee right there, it's got writing on it. Do you know what it says?"
While Burrloft is looking at her dagger, Feona calls their serving girl and sends a beer to the "elf in yellow sitting all alone. Looks like she could use something to put some color in her."
Burrloft eagerly takes the dagger to examine it, completely absorbed in the object.
Burrloft:
A few moments after Feona pulls out the dagger, one of the mercenaries takes notice. The man, clad in black scale mail and wearing a dark, travel-stained cloak, approaches. He is careful to keep his hands away from the well-used pommels of the sword and dagger at his belt, but the look on his scarred face clearly shows a hostile intent as he thumps his fists down on the table. “I killed that hob in a fair fight, and the fiery dagger—” he indicates the dagger that rested near the hobgoblin corpse—“is mine by right. Hand it over or face the wrath of the Company of the Black Banner.” His companions push back their chairs from their table and rise to watch the situation closely. They too keep their hands away from their weapons.
Burrloft arches a well manicured eyebrow at the man. "Well, by Abadar, so you may claim, but this is niether mine to give nor retain. As far as I'm concerned, Feona is the rightful proprietress of the dagger as it was she who handed it to me. Your claim on the blade would seem fairly diminished by the fact that you were here swilling the local brew rather than feverishly looking for it. At least that is how it presents itself to this casual observer of the situation. As such, I will hand it back to she, who I deem the proper owner." He gives the dagger back to Feona.
Burrloft:
The man growls at the gnome, "Well if you or the lady won't give it to me, I suppose I will just have to take it by force!" He then swings at the gnome, and the rest of the mercenaries start to head over there to help him. With the first swing, a brawl breaks out in the Inn.
Mercenary 1 Initiative: 1d20+7=9
Merc 2 Init: 1d20+2=17
Merc 3 Init: 1d20-1=8
Merc 4 1d20+1=13
Brawlers (2) 1d20=12
After taking some time to dismount and regain some of his composure, Berenthor straggles in behind the others and joins them at the table. "Quite the trip, eh? Looks like there's a lot going on here, too. Did ye order any drinks yet?"
Nils grins broadly but doesn't say anything.
Burrloft:
** spoiler omitted **
The man growls at the gnome, "Well if you or the lady won't give it to me, I suppose I will just have to take it by force!" He then swings at the gnome, and the rest of the mercenaries start to head over there to help him. With the first swing, a brawl breaks out in the Inn.
1d20+2=10-4=6, 1d3+1=2
Mercenary 1 Initiative: 1d20+7=9
Merc 2 Init: 1d20+2=17
Merc 3 Init: 1d20-1=8
Merc 4 1d20+1=13
Brawlers (2) 1d20=12
"Oi Mop head! Take a hike or prepare to meet your maker!"Nils taunts the mercenary leader.
Nils draws his scimitar and kukri and then leaps at the mercenary.
Initiative so far:
Merc 2: 17
Nils: 15
Merc 4: 13
Brawlers (2): 12
Merc 1: 9
Merc 3: 8
Initiative 1d20+3=14
And if Feona gets an attack on Merc 1:
1d20+4=12, 1d4+1=4
Plus whatever (if any) bonuses her new shiny dagger might have.
"You want MY dagger? You got it!" she growls, jabbing at the big man.
Burrloft does not have a weapon out, so he cannot make an attack of opportunity; instead he screams at the top of his lungs "ABADAR PRESERVE US!! THIEF! THIEF!" He's not panicked in the least as they are not showing lethal force, but he doesn't appreciate being swung at.
Initiative: 1d20+2=17
Nafti sets aside the drink sent over to her, seeing the mercenaries moving in on the strangers. She stands, her cloak shifting, seeming as if it's one with her. Whispering under her breath, she traces a rune in the air, preparing to deal with the soldiers if they get hostile.
Ready an action to use acid splash on the pudgy fellow who winked at her, activating whenever the mercs attack the party.
Updated Initiatives:
Berenthor: 18
Nafti: 17
Merc 2: 16
Nils: 15
Feona: 14
Merc 4: 13
Brawlers (2): 12
Burrloft: 10
Merc 1: 9
Merc 3: 8
Berenthor is up first.
"By the All-father!" Berenthor cries. "Can't a dwarf get a drink in peace? Alright, then. If Torag wills it, then let his blessings favor us against these ruffians." The dwarf grasps his holy symbol and invokes the ancient words of power.
The man laughs as he ducks away from the dagger strike. "I thank you for handing it out to me." Berenthor casts his spells, the light of it bursting from his body for a moment then fading. Nafti, still at the other table, points a finger at the pudgy mercenary, and the ray of acid strikes him solidly on the chest. He groans loudly, and looks around to see where it came from. The whole inn at the moment is at chaos. Most of the other patrons have fled, and the serving girls have ducked behind the bar, screaming in panic.
As soon as that happens, one of the men from the other tables stands up, drawing a longsword, "Ok! I have seen enough! I am Sheriff Cage and I order you all to stand down and surrender."
The mercenaries look around for a moment, then lower their fists. The one who started the whole fight looks to the sheriff, "I didn't do nothing! Those fellows over there have my property, and I demand they return it!"