Invar moves through the crowds next to Fharalkakhad using his extra height to scan the bustling people for any interesting or unusual sights. He uses the spade as a walking stick, tapping the weighted end to the ground with each step.
Perception check 1d20+7 = 23
Meanwhile, Fineal makes his way through the crowds with practiced ease.
Reth pulls an arrow out of his quiver but does not fit it into his bowstring just yet.
He takes a look at the commotion to see if he can identify who the main actors are.
Perception
Fineal continues to stand there for a moment. "Oh, you meant me? Shouldn't be too much trouble." He then straightens his coat and heads for the inn, trying to see what's going on.
Daedal spends his time scanning the area with detect magic and making notes in his book. When the hubbub is spotted, he focuses his attention in that direction.
Illmanthonil follows behind Fineal until he is close enough to see the source of the disturbance, then scans the nearby crowd for potential threats.
Fharalkakhad motions for Rhiannon to stay close to him, he does not draw any weapons but his stance has shifted to a more defensive posture. He continues looking behind the group,
Rhiannon hides her smile at Farlakkakhad's protective statement and nods, her posture shifting into a markedly martial stance, eyes reading every face in the crowd.
"Bull, heel." She says quietly, the large mastiff brushing up against her leg comfortingly, muscles tensed.
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Fineal slowly approaches the crowd of onlookers that have gathered in front of the inn. In the corner of one eye he thinks he sees some strange shimmering in the air above the inn's roof, but on a closer look ti seems that nothing is there.
The crow consists of people of many different races and nationalities, but it seems that most of them are Brelish. In the center of the crowd is a tall man, heavy with muscles, about forty or fifty years of age. His powerful body is dressed in hides of strange beasts, and beard and hair are braided in hundreds of little braids, decorated with bones and feathers. He looks about ready to draw a great sword on his back and to cleave in half a tall half-elf dressed in fine black leather and silk, with a smirking expression on his face and one hand on the hilt of his rapier.
Fharlakakhad turns around and sees the commotion of the crowd, and the impending conflict between the two men. Not sure what to make of it , he looks closer at the clothing, trying to learn more about them.
Fineal makes his way through the crowd, hopefully reaching the edge of the fight. Along the way, he questions the other members of the crowd to find out who these people are.
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Fharlakakhad turns around and sees the commotion of the crowd, and the impending conflict between the two men. Not sure what to make of it , he looks closer at the clothing, trying to learn more about them.
It seems to you that the half-elf is perhaps a rich merchant or a lesser noble, and the huge Brelish man is obviously some kind of hunter or ranger.
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Fineal makes his way through the crowd, hopefully reaching the edge of the fight. Along the way, he questions the other members of the crowd to find out who these people are.
1d20+12
People around you look at you with some surprise and perhaps caution in their eyes. They obviously do not trust strangers. One of them spits on the street and says: "Those two are at it again. There will be blood some time soon, mark my words."
Fharlakakhad murmers to Rhiannon, and anyone else close to hear. "I imagine the hunter either works for or is trying to get work from the nobleman. This could be a financial dispute."
"Why would their dispute be relevant to our mission. That is all that matters". Reth replies to Fharlakakhad. Reth approaches closer to Lady Morn. He speaks as low as possible while trying to make sure she can hear him, "My Lady, does this dispute concern us?"
Fineal shrugs and heads back to the others. "Just another fight. I suggest we place a few bets and ignore it unless one of them's the contact."
"Quite right," Illmanthonil agrees, walking back with Fineal, "in fact, their brawling may well serve to draw attention away from your meeting."
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Dark Elf shrugs and continues to the entrance of the inn, ignoring the shouting of two warriors in front of it. You follow her into large common room with a lots of tables and two stone bars on the walls left and right from the entrance. There is no fireplace and directly in front of you - on the far wall - are the stairs that lead to the floor above. Left and right of the stairs are the open door to the kitchen, which is made obvious by the tavern wenches who enter and exit the kitchen with platters of food and pitchers of ale.
"This is too crowded", murmurs the Drow. "I must make an impression of a great noblewoman if I am to be believed by our contact. Make me a room through this crowd to those stairs - and try no to kill anybody", she orders.
Fharlakakhad murmers, "It seems this dispute has already caused something to go wrong." He draws his club, and then looks across to the crowd members allowing his force of personality to sway them to allow room for the group.
"Alright everyone, out of the way! Move it! Our employer's got people to see, places to be! ..."
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The crows slowly parts, allowing you to move to the stairs. You notice that Sickle is watching you intently as if he is judging your worth. . Upon reaching the stairs, Lady Morn turns to Rhianon and says: "You, take the shifter and go to the stables behind the inn. There are stables there. There should be at least ten riding lizards waiting for us."
Fharlakakhad notices the warforged assistant judging him, and gives him a slight nod of acknowledgement, although he keeps quiet. He takes a position at the rear, making sure no curious bodies follow behind the group. All in all, he would feel safer in a pit of vipers, he muses.
Glancing as Reth, Rhiannon guestures toward the door and nods to the drow noble. It chafed her to be leaving a potentially dangerous situation but they needed to work as a team and they all needed an example.
Calling Bull along she made her way to the stables along with the cleric.
"Will Bull react well to these lizards?" Reth asks Rhiannon while accompanying her to the stables. Reth keeps his eyes alert for any signs of trouble.
Perception
While Illmanthonil waits for further developments, he watches the crowd in the room carefully, looking for anyone who might not have taken kindly to Fharlakakhad and Fineal's actions.
Looking to put some levity into the situation, Liriel casts about looking at the various pieces of jewelry being worn by the crowd. She spots the oddest one that she can find (if need be she pulls one out of her own pockets, tumbling a bunch of odds and ends in the process) and goes into a excited gnome-speed diatribe about all the trivia facts you ever wanted to know about that gem and more, including some of the more oddball ceremonial uses of it.
"Will Bull react well to these lizards?" Reth asks Rhiannon while accompanying her to the stables. Reth keeps his eyes alert for any signs of trouble.
Perception 1d20
"He'll be fine, he never attacks anything that doesn't need attacking. He may be a little standoffish but that's just him being territorial."
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Upon exiting the inn, Rhiannon and Reth turn towards the building that is obviously the stable. It seems that there is some kind of trouble over there to. A bunch of Brellish looking people has drawn blades against the group of black-clad half-elves. Perhaps this is a continuation of the argument in front of the inn.
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While Illmanthonil waits for further developments, he watches the crowd in the room carefully, looking for anyone who might not have taken kindly to Fharlakakhad and Fineal's actions.
"It may be wise to keep your meeting brief," Illmanthonil whispers, leaning close to the dark elf, "we seem to have attracted some unfriendly attention from the patrons... I don't think it would take much for this to turn ugly."
Fharlakakhad notices the whispered exchange, and guesses its import. He resumes his watchful gaze on the crowd, noting the rising tension, and keeping a tight grip on his club.
Rhiannon looks at the stable crowd and shakes her head, "I've got a bad feeling about this. Let's go about our business but be ready to defend yourself."
"May the Silver Flame guide my strike true, if necessary of course". Reth continues to hold an arrow up a sleeve with his bow in his other hand still strung.
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Fharlakakhad notices the whispered exchange, and guesses its import. He resumes his watchful gaze on the crowd, noting the rising tension, and keeping a tight grip on his club.
Fharalkakhad keeps his face a stoic mask but inside his guts, a feeling of alarm, starts to take hold. He quickly motions to Liriel, and Illmanthonil to fall back towards the stairs.
Perception
Sense Motive
Invar notices Fharalkakhad's hand motions and moves to stand in front of the stairs arms crossed and spade resting in the crook of his elbow. With his arms crossed he palms two of the shuriken hidden in his forearm, ready to launch them at the first person to attempt to pass him. Preparations made Invar stands stock still and the glow in his eyes dims slightly as he settles into the familiar role of bodyguard.
Dexterity 1d20+2 = 15
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Fharalkakhad keeps his face a stoic mask but inside his guts, a feeling of alarm, starts to take hold. He quickly motions to Liriel, and Illmanthonil to fall back towards the stairs.
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Perception 1d20 + 3
Sense Motive 1d20 + 3
"If I couldn't handle a few irate customers I'd be dead by now. Go on, go make your deal."
Rhiannon slowly shifts her stance, now radiating ready vigilance.