Cabaguil Hobnil is a somewhat gaunt, tall young man, scarcely an adult with a somewhat furtive smile and close-cropped hair. He wears heavy, durable clothing as is typical of the region, but sports the top eye-portion of a peacock feather in his lapel. A dagger is the only visible weapon at his belt, though there is a pouch of something or other handy - perhaps sling bullets? A pack at his back rides high and tight on his shoulders but has seen little use though it is bulging.
A sharp well used scrimshaw-scribe always seems to be dancing in his hands, along with some bit of unusual animal bone or tooth. When he’s not otherwise engaged, he’s often absurdly hunched over, peering at the small item as he scratches designs into its surface. Sometimes visible is a long cat’s fang tooth, itself covered in scrimshaw and tied to a leather strap around Cabaguil’s neck. Occasionally he wears glasses to work on the details.
A somewhat overweight, but perhaps not fat, calico cat, missing her left fang tooth as it happens, is often seen with Cabaguil, occasionally peeking out of his pack. A longtime friend, they are rarely parted.
He strides in and looks for a seat out of the way.
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***RAWR!!!***
Fabric rips between sight, mind, and screen as Painlord enters the thread.
"I summon myself from the aether and into this thread! Let the circuits tremble and the pixels quake at my coming!" Painlord dusts himself off and removes he silver cord attached at the waist. He shudders to think what would become of him should that special silver cord ever be cut by a special blade.
"Age of Ashes, eh? This new edition and rules are new to me. They vex and confound me still. Though I will make many mistakes and do many a foolish deed, nonetheless, I shall ponder the depths of my black soul and darkest intents for a character worthy of this group." Painlord looks around the room, meeting the eye of each to ensure his sincerity.
Painlord creates a large stone from the aether and places it near him. Painlord dusts off the rock, has a sit, and begins to ponder. His chin rests upon this clenched fist and that upon a bowed elbow upon knee. In his mind, he creates worlds within worlds, scouring for just the right mortal's essence to bring to life within Age of Ashes.
As Cabaguil makes his way in to have a seat, he feels his surcoat inadvertently brush an intently studying gnome. He turns to make his apologies, but finds that the gnome hasn't noticed, buried deep in the pages of a book entitled The Care and Custody of Goblins. Next to him are stacked a trio of other such voluminous tomes, each on a similar subject matter: Notable Goblin Tribes of Avistan, Goblin Habitats, and Pyro Goblins: How to Study Them Without Getting Burned.
At rest, a living statue of severe posture. Flaxen hair hangs loose over coal black eyes. Clean armor and blade give off an aroma of oil and metal, but it's undercut by a confusing melange of scents drifting from pouches on his belt.
His focus is entirely dedicated to the book before him, a well-crafted and well loved tome bound in leather. The title is written in a fine Elvish script made by an extremely steady hand. He closes the book with firm respect before looking up to take in the scene around him.
"The Erudite Incantations of Ðakaþos"
Raspar bends over the gardens, toiling happily in the roses. His tiny, strong hands bend and mold the earth, removing weeds with happy grunts. He hums happily as he labors, the sun beating down and tanning the stitched mass of scars on his back.
He yanks out another weed and tosses into his growing pile. He would work sun up to sun down, if they would allow him. Sometimes they do not.
His back and shoulders are marked with a crisscross of old scars and scabs. They are not from the whip, but from the bramble and thorn. He does not mind them.
Nor does he mind the work in the Great Dreamhouse, working for Kellen Carondil. It’s only been six months and every new day of service has been a joy. This toil he does for free, and out of joy, rather than out of servitude or slavery, a life he had known.
He looks around at the other acolytes here in the service to Desna. He smiles, the joy of their company filling him with warmth. They toil as well, but none toil in the gardens more than he. He toils out of joy, and with pleasure for the opportunity to serve the Tender of Dreams.
He reaches his hands to pull out a particularly long weed, taking it in two hands to yank. When the weed’s root finally breaks, he earns a long gash along his hand from a rose’s thorn.
He sticks his bleeding finger into his mouth.
I bleed for you.
Kelvin eyes the menagerie of adventuring types, chuckling. The sound is low and deep, a testament to the subterranean heritage of his kind. Powerfully built and dressed in an armor made up of interlocking metal pieces, the dwarf looks ready for a fight. So ready that, if one doesn't happen soon he might start one.
He strokes his braided beard before nudging his friend beside him. "Whatcha make of this lot? Softies, eh? I bet not one of them has lifted a hammer in their life, or felt the flames of a forge. Not that I can much blame them," he says this last bit, spitting.
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Located in the foothills of the Five Kings Mountains in eastern Isger, Breachill is a thriving town of about 1,300 inhabitants; most are humans, although there are notable populations of dwarves, half-elves, and gnomes here as well. The town predates its most notable landmark, which sits about 1 mile to the northeast, high on low-rising Hellknight Hill: Citadel Altaerein, the foreboding but now-abandoned fortress that was once the home of the Hellknight Order of the Nail.
In years past, Breachill gladly served as a supply source for the Hellknights, who commended the well-ordered peace the town enjoyed. But 8 years ago, when the Order of the Nail fully retreated from Citadel Altaerein in favor of the order’s new home in Varisia, Breachill’s inhabitants simply shrugged, continuing the agriculture, crafting, and bartering that has always sustained them. Now, common wisdom generally recommends avoiding the citadel, which serves as an isolated haven for peaceful groups that don’t want to be disturbed but is also rumored to be overrun with dangerous monsters.
Breachill’s local government has a long and proud history of hiring adventurers to tackle any challenges its residents face that fall outside the scope of the town guard’s duties. The merchant whose expected shipment of goods hasn’t yet arrived, the shepherd whose herd of goats mysteriously died in the night, the farmer whose entire season’s harvest was ruined or stolen—investigating and resolving any of these matters are considered good jobs for adventurers, and so Breachill’s town council uses its resources to hire heroes as needed. These monthly meetings, known as the Call for Heroes, are distinct from the council’s normal regular governance meetings, a tactic that separates such matters from regular municipal business and shows the townspeople that the council indeed allots sufficient time to the issues that are often most important to them personally.
Even those that have not been in town often have seen a meeting or two happen. Since the Breachill Town Council has been holding monthly Calls for Heroes for decades, a fair number of local traditions have built up around the event. Many adventurers who plan to lobby for the jobs outlined at the meeting visit Wizard’s Grace, a popular nearby tavern, before the proceedings begin. Some hold traditional toasts for good fortune, some schmooze with the townsfolk in hopes of being hired, and some seek to scope out the other adventurers with whom they might be working—or competing for the jobs at hand.
Today is one such day as the Call for Heroes Town Council meeting begins at noon today. The Wizard's Grace is quite full this morning and several other festivities are set up around the town. Local vendors selling weapons and armor, fancy clothing, potions, pouches and packs and also an acolyte or two selling various scrolls.
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Toiling to the gardens near the Great Dreamhouse Raspar stretches, his muscles tight from working the garden for several hours now. Helping Kellen Carondil get it ready for the Call for Heroes. Each month brings in a steady stream of traveling adventurers, either looking for a place to stay or healing from becoming injured in their job. Looking up Raspar sees a group already beginning to form across the bridge heading towards the Town Hall. A gnome working the gardens beside Raspar smiles. "YougoingtogocheckitoutwithmeRaspar?" He clasps his hand over his mouth and laughs. "Ssss...ssss....Sorry." He stutters as he slows his speech down considerably. Seems when he tries to concentrate on slowing down his speech it causes a small bit of an impediment. "Y...you wwww...www.want to come wwwww.....wwww.....www....with me later?" His cheeks turn a slight shade of crimson out of embarrassment.
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Cuthberwyn, Cabaguil, and Ðakaþos find themselves reading a few rare books at the Reliant Book Company. A slender female half-elf, Voz Lirayne, tends to a new stack of books that recently arrived. She is studiously going over and over the shipment form, completing an inventory to make sure everything is there as she does a silent count.
One the far corner of the room, standing precariously on one of those rolling ladders attached to the wall is a small halfling, tettering on the rung as he balances a few books in one hand, trying his best to put them away. From what you have gathered this is Voz Lirayne's new apprentice, Calmont Trenault. One of the books falls from Calmont's hands and onto the floor near Cuthberwyn's feet. "Sorry 'bout that." he scampers down the ladder, reaching out for the tome as he inspects it for any damage. "You alright? Looking for anything in particular?"
"Y...you wwww...www.want to come wwwww.....wwww.....www....with me later?"
Raspar smiles to himself. Of *course* he was going to go. It's all he'd been thinking about all day, but he wasn't going to leave to get ready until the last moment.
"Yes, my friend! I would love to go with you," Raspar smiles cheerily and looking up to see how much light would be left before noon. "I just want to be sure I've finished all my chores before I go. I just need to finish weeding this plot, then rake the leaves, then chop up a fresh cord of wood. Then I can get ready to go." Though that might seem like a lot of work to some, it seems like a nice morning for Raspar.
He liked work and getting his hands dirty here in the Dreamhouse. He was living on borrowed time and he knows it, deep inside. He was going to enjoy every moment of it.
"Tell you what, let's meet at the front doors at a quarter-candle before noon and we'll walk over together. And you know what, since you've worked so hard today, first round of drinks is on me, my friend." Raspar grins broadly because he thinks this is a very good plan.
About 20 minutes before noon, Raspar will hurry to clean himself up before heading over with his gnomish friend who's name he can't quite remember.
I should definitely ask his name. I can't believe I forgot to remember.
Cabaguil notes that Voz is busy, and likely will be for a while, so he drifts over toward Calmont. He waits to see if Cuthberwyn is going to respond before intruding his own question. He looks the gnome over as he waits. Patiently.
”I do a lot of crafting, and am thinking of heading in a new direction.” He nods, ”So I’m going to need some formulas before long to continue my training. Here, I have a list…”
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Ðakaþos, splitting his attention between the ambient noise of the northwest gate and the books in the shop turns to see the book fall. He sees the cover, and upon reading the title, raises an eyebrow in suspicion. "Truly, a masterpiece." His tone is somewhere between sarcasm and boredom.
He turns then to the proprieter, "Excuse me Ms. Lirayne, I'm not from here, though I'm sure you can tell why I'm here. Do you know anything about what is expected for the call?"
Cuthberwyn jumps in his seat at the sound of the tome Calmont drops, and his head whirls about, a frown on his face, clearly perturbed at being interrupted again, when his eye reads the title. With a squeal, he scrambles down from the stool and snatches the book up, studying the cover intently. Need to find this locale they mention here, he mutters aloud.
It's a long moment before he realizes he hasn't answered the halfling. Oh! Terribly sorry...yes, yes, I believe I'll take all of these here, and this one as well. The gnome's face breaks into a wide, amiable grin. And anything else you might have on goblins, especially about the Bramblebrush tribe nearby. I'm here to study them, you see. Fascinating creatures.
The door to the Reliant Book Company opens, and a pair of dwarves stride in. The younger of the two, Kelvin is mid-sentence. "... no longer than possible, Dori. I'd rather be at Cayden's Keg, downing something that'll remind me of home. But they might have information, so I've got to look."
He looks around for someone bookish, and spots Cuthberwyn. "You work here?" His voice is far louder than it needs to be. "I'm looking for your best books on Dahak, his church, the Adamantine Morass, metallic dragons, or wyverns. The older the text, the better. And please don't suggest Winged Metallic Monsters: A Guide to Dahak's Children by Kreighton Shaine. I've read it, and it's garbage."
Kelvin glowers with impatience.
"Aaa, minutku spravedlivyy karlik," Cabaguil begins in dwarven, "YA byl zdes' pered vami, i menya snachala budut zhdat', yesli vy ne vozrazhayete. To yest', yesli vy ne khotite pokazat' svoyu priznatel'nost' v finansovom otnoshenii i kupit' sebe put' v ochered'. YA ne khochu stoyat' na puti cheloveka, stol' yavno nuzhdayushchegosya v znaniyakh."
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He looks kindly on the newcomer, bowing slightly, and clearly wishing no disrespect. He also looks a little nervous...
Kelvin gives Cabaguil a hard look before breaking into a broad smile. In Taldane he says, "You hear that, Dori? A bit of home seems to have found us!"
To Cabaguil he adds, "If you are fine with being paid in beer, you have a deal. And the sooner I find out whether there's anything for me here, the sooner we can get about it."
Cabaguil continues in the spoken language chosen by the dwarf, "As you wish - a beer it is! My name is Cabaguil Hobnil, after you good sir!"
He bows and steps back out of the way, holding his question until the dwarfs business is completed.
Cuthberwyn chuckles. My good sir! I am not employed by this fine establishment, no. But this lad here- he indicates Calmont, who has been trying to climb down from the shelves since inadvertently dropping the book -will be only too happy to find you exactly what you're after. Once he finishes with me and with the tall drink of water over there, that is.
Kelvin curses colorfully in Dwarven. "Am I going to have to buy everyone a beer just so I can get served here?"
Raspar rocks on his heels waiting for his gnomic friend to show up. He’s cheerful. His hastily donned hide armor is pretty old, but still serviceable. He has but one starknife at his belt, seeing no need for more for this affair. He doesn’t feel the need to overdo things to try to make it into the adventurer’s call. In fact, he’s more than willing to trust Desna to show him the path.
Raspar is grouting the dirt from underneath his fingernails when the gnome appears.
”Oh hai! I forgot your name my gnomic friend,” Raspar offers a cheery greeting along with an outstretched hand. ”So you want to be an adventurer too, do you?”
Hopefully, they will proceed to the call without too much undo haste.
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A gray haired dwarf walks in behind Kelvin. He is clad in clean chainmail and leather breeches. On his feet are sturdy hiking boots that look rather comfortable and are well worn. His face is framed by his ample gray hair, beard and mustache. All of which has been reined in by tight braids. His beard is tightly braided as well with the most of the beard contained within a long silver beard ring. He also bears silver rings along the top of his ears. The only other notable thing about this dwarf is the single bladed war axe on his back. The pole and cheek of the axe have the silhouette of a warhammer engraved on them. He looks a bit perturbed as he tugs on his beard ring. "The Calling starts shortly, do we really have time to be shopping? We can do that AFTER the the meeting..." He stops his discussion when he sees the shop is not empty.
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"Tell you what, let's meet at the front doors at a quarter-candle before noon and we'll walk over together. And you know what, since you've worked so hard today, first round of drinks is on me, my friend." Raspar grins broadly because he thinks this is a very good plan."Tell you what, let's meet at the front doors at a quarter-candle before noon and we'll walk over together. And you know what, since you've worked so hard today, first round of drinks is on me, my friend." Raspar grins broadly because he thinks this is a very good plan.
Raspar's small gnomish friend, Fuonavunnem Igleeck, smiles. He pats his hands onto his pants, leaving dirt streaks along his thighs. "AlrightIwillseeyouthen. Iamgoingtogocleanupandgetready." He breaths deep. "S....ssssorry, I know that is hhh...h...hard to ugh...ugh...understand." He rushes back into the Great Dreamhouse to clean up and get ready for the Call For Heroes, leaving Raspar to finish up a few last minute odds and ends.
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Calmont looks through Cuthberwyn's stack of books on Goblins with a bit of surprise and curiosity. "Oh yes, of course." He helps stack the books up and carry them to the counter. "We can get you checked out here in just a moment. [b]"You know. I have seen one of them Bumblebrushers around the Town Hall just this morning. May want to go have a chat with 'em if you are so keen to. Though be careful, it is still a goblin after all. Likely to either lose a finger or burst into flames around 'em."
Calmont notices Cabaguil getting his attention. "One moment please." Calmont says to Cuthberwyn as he walks over to Cabaguil. Cabaguil explains his situation and funds being low. "Not a problem. We actually run into that quite a bit here. I can get your information in the ledger and you can make monthly payments."
He turns then to the proprieter, "Excuse me Ms. Lirayne, I'm not from here, though I'm sure you can tell why I'm here. Do you know anything about what is expected for the call?"
Voz Lirayne barely registers Ðakaþos' call as she simply waves her hand. "Calmont can you help him out." Calmont is getting ready to help as the bell to the book shop door twangs a few times. In walks a pair of dwarves. Calmont is caught off guard as the group of customers quickly talks book s and like most dwarves the conversation instantly turns to alcohol.
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As noon approaches, you head towards the town hall, where you notice a small crowd milling outside the building, waiting for the appointed time. In all, about 40 townspeople are congregated outside the building, chatting and passing the time until the meeting starts.
Each of you cross past the bridge closest to the town hall and Monument Circle. This marble-paved circle is the visual centerpiece of Breachill. Around it stand six deep wells that the nearby residents and businesses rely on for fresh water. In the center of the ring is an elegant, 15-foot-tall bronze statue of the wizard Lamond Breachton, Breachill’s founder and the town’s most important historical figure. The sound of dozens of well pumps outside of the Town Hall only seems to add to the buzz of the mass of people speaking to each other.
The locals seem friendly and eager enough to find out what adventurer's plan to step up to this months challenges. A pair of children with their father seems starstruck as the pair of dwarves thunder past with a mug in each hand. They tug on their father's shirt hem. "Daddy, Daddy, Look a Dwarf!" The little girl rushes up to Dori and Kelvin. "Are you heroes?" the little boy touches the axe. "You ever kill anyone wit' it?" the boys father grabs his arm and pulls him back. "Sorry 'bout that."
While you are awaiting the meeting’s start, you notice a well-dressed goblin woman pacing right outside the front doors of the building. This studious‑looking goblin has her hands clasped behind her back, and she’s mumbling to herself, oblivious to all those who stand nearby.
Kelvin grins at the little girl. While the two are shepherded away he calls after them. "You're looking at two of the finest heroes Breachill will ever see! Dori Markhaldow and Kelvin Craghorn! Names you'll never forget!"
Raspar's breath takes a sharp intake as he sees the worried (he assumes) and pacing goblin. He doesn't like that.
Is she feeling alone? Raspar worries.
Outcast?! He worries even more, his feet moving towards the goblin before the worry has time to deepen or for her to suffer unduly.
"Oh hai!" Raspar calls out from 20' away, his tiny hand already outstretched in greeting. He walks toward her on his tiny feet with hand extended. "I'm Raspar. Are you okay? Do you need anything? Do you like pacing? Do you need a friend? I'm a very good friend." Raspar beams at the goblin.
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As noon approaches the lump in Cabaguil’s throat grows. He’s so nervous, it threatens to choke him, and he has to remember to breathe. What if it’s something hard? he worries. After all it’s a call for Heroes, not a call for mild mannered bureaucrats.
He screws up his courage and heads down to Monument Circle.
When he arrives he mills about with the other townspeople. Nervous, he fiddles with his scrimshaw-scribe, testing the point against his index finger so hard it nearly draws blood from his soft hands. Too nervous to use it effectively, he pockets it again and fidgets unaided.
He smiles as he hears the bellowing of the dwarves. At least they’re heroic, he thinks to himself.
He studies the goblin woman from afar and wonders who she is even as the halfling goes up to her.
(Is she a local, has Cabaguil seen/heard her before?)
Cuthberwyn is clearly delighted at the prospect of a member of the Bramblebrush tribe at the Call. He hadn't been planning to attend, bit if one of them is there, well, that changes things significantly. Thanks for the tip! the gnome gushes, throwing enough coin on the counter to pay for his books and for Cabaguil's too, without much apparent concern, and races out the door.
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Forty people isn't much of a crowd, but it feels overwhelming to Cuthberwyn nonetheless. His interest in the goblin tribe is stronger than his mild enochlophobia, and he manages to maneuver his way toward the building, where he sees the pacing goblin and a friendly, mud-stained halfling approaching her. He studies both silently. While the halfling is open and welcoming, the goblin seems pensive.
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The children beam back at Kelvin. "Dad! Dad! Daddy! It was a real hero. I told you. I told you!" Another human man turns atKelvin's proclamation. "A hero 'eh. Care to tell a story or two? We will get yer next round." The man seems eager to hear the dwarves stories of adventure as one rushes off to a nearby street vendor.
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Meanwhile in the crowd Cabaguil and Cuthberwyn watch the goblin woman from afar. Cabaguil has indeed seen her in and around town before. She is Warbal Bumblebrasher, ambassador to the Bumblebrasher goblins of Hellknight Hill! Bumblebrashers are a small local goblin tribe that lives in Citadel Altaerein, the abandoned Hellknight keep to the northeast. Cuthberwyn thinks she looks extremely worried and very distracted about something.
The pair watch as a small halfling approaches Warbal. as she paces back and forth, back and forth.
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As Raspar gets closer he can overhear the goblin woman muttering to herself. “My Bumblebrashers,” she laments in a distraught tone. “Why haven’t I heard from my Bumblebrashers? Are my people trapped in the citadel?”
Raspar breaks her distracted zone as she jumps slightly from being startled. She gives out a yell that causes a few around her to get quiet and look a bit annoyed at the goblin. She turns meeting each of their eyes before landing back on Raspar. "Sorry for my distracted nature." She assumes a dignified demeanor. “Please, do allow me to introduce myself. I am Warbal, ambassador to the Bumblebrasher goblins of Hellknight Hill. It is my great honor to serve my fellow citizens of Breachill as the town’s official representative to the Bumblebrashers. I communicate with the Bumblebrashers, convey the town’s concerns and interests to them, and advocate on the tribe’s behalf. It is a duty I take very seriously—they are my people, after all. Hence why I am here today, and my rather distracted nature earlier. I hope you’ll forgive it.”
Cuthberwyn is clearly delighted at the prospect of a member of the Bramblebrush tribe at the Call. He hadn't been planning to attend, bit if one of them is there, well, that changes things significantly. Thanks for the tip! the gnome gushes, throwing enough coin on the counter to pay for his books and for Cabaguil's too, without much apparent concern, and races out the door.
"I say, sir!" Cabaguil tries to stop the man, at least to thank him, but he sees he is focused on other things. Shrugging, he smiles at the shopkeeper and says, "Excellent. Well then, that should speed things up a bit, eh? Just let me know when they come in, thank you."
He checks the time and rushes behind him.
Meanwhile in the crowd Cabaguil and Cuthberwyn watch the goblin woman from afar. Cabaguil has indeed seen her in and around town before. She is Warbal Bumblebrasher, ambassador to the Bumblebrasher goblins of Hellknight Hill! Bumblebrashers are a small local goblin tribe that lives in Citadel Altaerein, the abandoned Hellknight keep to the northeast. Cuthberwyn thinks she looks extremely worried and very distracted about something.
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As Raspar gets closer he can overhear the goblin woman muttering to herself....
Cabaguil has the feat Read Lips. He does so now, watching the conversation between the two. If he can't position himself to read both, he'll concentrate on reading the goblin's lips. If you need a roll:
“Why haven’t I heard from my Bumblebrashers? Are my people trapped in the citadel?” “Please, do allow me to introduce myself. I am Warbal, ambassador to the Bumblebrasher goblins of Hellknight Hill. I hope you’ll forgive it."
Raspar's smile ebbs and wanes As Warbal tells her story.
"Nice to meet you. Did you not go check on your goblin friends? That's the first thing I might have done," Raspar says helpfully. "No wonder you look so worried. If I had friends, I would be worried too if I didn't know how they were."
Raspar thinks deeply, wondering how he can help.
"If you want, I'll ditch this meeting and head up and check things out for you. It's only a mile or and I much rather help you out than attend the meeting...after all, your friends are important!" Raspar offers helpfully. "I can be up there and back in about an hour or two, I'd say. Did you have a message you'd like me to convey?" Raspar's mind tries to figure out how many of his chores he can get done today while also doing the quick trip to the Castle.
Working on the assumption that this is the Brumblebrasher that Calmont mentioned, Cuthberwyn hastens up to introduce himself, and find out what has her worried. He is too polite to interrupt the conversation between the halfling and her, waiting patiently a few steps away, far enough to hopefully not be looming but close enough to perhaps overhear any tidbits about the Brumblebrasher tribe she might share. Living in town, how intensely interesting!
Kelvin moves close enough to listen in on the conversation between Raspar and Warbal. He doesn't say anything, but pays attention with the assumption that this might end up being a task for 'heroes'.
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Calmont waves to Cabaguil as he rushes out the door for the Call. "Will do. Where are you....." Calmont trails off as Cabaguil swings out the door. "Staying. Oh bother... Guess I'll have to send a runner to the Inns."
Over at the Town Hall Cabaguil watches the halfling and goblin speak and attempts to read their lips from the distance. Cabaguil conveys most of what they are saying.
Raspar: "I'm Raspar...... Your pacing.....where are your friends.....You cowsack! Your dog spit this evil grunge at me."
Warbal: "Brumblebrashers......Hellknight Hill....You know you wanna dance with me....honor Brumblebrashers...Town Council take tribe very seriously...Hey now tuna flavor!"
Raspar: "I'm the queen. I have to bless one of my tiny little dolls."
Cabaguil nods, yup he is pretty sure he has it all right.
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Warbal lays a calming hand on Raspar's arm holding him back. "You can't go alone. It is very dangerous there. I hope the council might hire more heroes on my behalf. But please, there is a system in place for a reason. Come with me into the meeting and listen to my petition. If you are up for my task, I beg you to offer your services to the council."
“The Bumblebrashers are a tribe of goblins who have, for years now, lived peacefully and in isolation in Citadel Altaerein, the former Hellknight keep on the hill just outside of town. Typically, every two weeks I meet with Helba, the tribe’s chieftain, on the road outside the keep. We discuss news, and I convey the town’s interests and hear any concerns that the tribe might wish me to bring before the council. It is a relationship of utmost importance, and Helba is normally punctual. But she has missed our previous two meetings, and I have seen plumes of smoke coming from the top of the citadel. The smoke is a chalky red in color—the tribe’s traditional color of distress. I fear that the Bumblebrashers are in danger, or that something dire has befallen them. It has sickened me with worry.”
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Cuthberwyn patiently awaits his turn to speak with the goblin ambassador as Kelvin moves up beside him. Just then noon strikes as the bells begin to sound. The gathered crowd filters into the building while the children who have gathered run off to play. As you enter the town hall, guards positioned at the front doors direct you to the council chamber, the entrance of which is just past the main hallway. Just before the meeting begins, the guards move to stand outside the chamber’s southern door.
Once inside the council chamber you see that the room is set up as an auditorium, with a carpeted walkway separating several rows of benches into two sections. The carpet leads to a small set of steps and a raised dais. On the dais is a large desk separated into five parts, where the Breachill Town Council’s five members are seated, talking quietly with one another as they wait for the meeting to start. On the desk, situated in front of each chair, are tarnished bronze plaques bearing the names of the council members. From east to west, the names are Jorsk Hinterclaw, Melma Ann Sendari, Greta Gardania, Trini Sprizzlegig, and Quentino Posandi.
Kelvin manages an ambivalent shrug.
Cuthberwyn nods at the five persons seated. This set-up makes good sense to him.
Raspar: "I'm Raspar...... Your pacing.....where are your friends.....You cowsack! Your dog spit this evil grunge at me."
Warbal: "Brumblebrashers......Hellknight Hill....You know you wanna dance with me....honor Brumblebrashers...Town Council take tribe very seriously...Hey now tuna flavor!"
Raspar: "I'm the queen. I have to bless one of my tiny little dolls."Cabaguil nods, yup he is pretty sure he has it all right.
Cabaguil shrugs, and then laughs, "Yeah, I might be a bit off there. I've been studying lip reading, but I think I still have some ways to go for perfection."
He gives up for now and stands casually, trying to calm himself before things get going.
He keeps his eyes on Greta, and waits for her to speak, scarcely breathing from the excitement.
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Kelvin grins at the little girl. While the two are shepherded away he calls after them. "You're looking at two of the finest heroes Breachill will ever see! Dori Markhaldow and Kelvin Craghorn! Names you'll never forget!"
Dori rolls his eyes,"What have we done to be considered 'heros' in the eyes for Torag?"
He smiles at the young human child."We are merely your friends from another land. We shall see how we can help your Council of Heros."
Dori takes a seat next to Kelvin and waits for the meeting to begin.
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With a sharp rap from her gavel onto the desk, a stern, dark-haired woman with a deeply furrowed forehead and kind eyes brings the assembled crowd to a hush.
“Welcome, neighbors and friends...” the dark-haired woman begins, her rich voice washing over the room, “...to the Breachill Town Council’s monthly Call for Heroes. I am Council President Greta Gardania, at your service. On behalf of my colleagues beside me, I promise you all that we will hear and consider today’s petition with the utmost discretion and care. There is no existence without community, as our town charter says."
“Today, our agenda includes one petition. Miss Warbal, our very own ambassador to the Bumblebrashers of Hellknight Hill, requests the help of heroes for a matter of utmost importance. Let’s hear her concerns in her own words, shall we? Miss Warbal?”
At this summons, Warbal emerges from the front row of benches. The well dressed goblin woman makes her way to the foot of the dais’s steps. She clears her throat and begins her address to the council.
“Esteemed councilors,” Warbal says, with a frazzled tone to her voice. “It has been more than a month since I’ve been able to contact the Bumblebrashers. I fear that something terrible has befallen them. What’s more, I have seen my people’s distress signal coming from the top of Citadel Altaerein—”
Before the goblin can continue her petition, the door on the western side of the room flies open, as a young man, his eyes wide with panic, runs in shouting and waving his ink-stained hands. Billowing black smoke and flames follow him into the room:
As soon as the fire jumps into the chamber, the councilors begin moving down off the dais. Greta raises her hands in the air. "Don't panic!" She shouts but it is barely heard over the sounds of screaming. The 40 spectators are terrified; they scream, jump up from their benches, and try to jostle toward an exit row. The panicked spectators jump up and knock over the benches in their hurry to escape, many of them falling over themselves in the process. Some of the spectators are able to pick themselves up and escape the chamber with help from the councilors, but others are so terrified or tangled among the benches and each other that they need further assistance or they won’t escape the fire unharmed.
In the unfolding chaos of the fire, as dozens of frightened townsfolk begin to panic, a pair of snickering little creatures with thin, leathery wings, small horns, and a mischievous smiles slip through the chamber’s western door. They have bright-orange skin, and wisps of flame flicker along their wings as they flap through the air.
The town council remains near their stands trying to calm those trampling over everyone. Seeing the benches trapping other's pinning them against the floor. Greta points to the rows. "They need help!"
Ðakaþos
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Monsters
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Cabaguil
Cuthberwyn
Dori
Kelvin
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Town Hall Fire
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Raspar
Raspar continues to give Warbal his full, anxious attention, nodding along to her every word. When he hears about the distress signals from the citadel, his face drains of color, fearing for the safety of Warbal's friends. While he's immediately ready to offer his assistance to her, he also hears her request that he attend the meeting first, to which he agrees especially after the goblin explains further.
"C'mon Fuonavunnem, let's go inside," Raspar holds the door open for his gnomic friend. "You choose the seats, I'll just follow you Fuonavunnem."
Upon entering the council chamber, he admires the regal-looking auditorium with its council members before making his way carefully to the front to find a seat from which he'll be able to hear their words easily. He eagerly learns forward in his chair, intent on catching every detail.
He's yet to ask nor be picked on one of these adventurer's calls, but now that he's met Warbal, he's more interested than before.
"Blast! This is most inconvenient." Why would people not able to answer the call even be in here?! Fools!.
With impressive alacrity Ðakaþos moves to confront the foes, "Get these fools out of here!" He's clearly shouting to no one in particular.
After striding forth to the enemy, Dak takes a solid look and tries to sort out what he's looking at
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Ðakaþos leaps up onto the podium and begins shouting orders as he looks through the smoke at the winged beasts. He recognizes them as Fire Mephits. While Ðakaþos doesn't know a whole lot about fire mephits, he does know that they are able to breath fire in a 15 foot area, though they can concentrate it down, starting a fire in a space around them.
The Town Council hears Ðakaþos and Greta listens. She taps those members around her. "They have the ones that are trapped. Let's try and file the rest of these people out of here."
The Town Council hops down, heading towards the southern door to try and file the one's not trapped out safely.
The fire mephit's smile wickedly as they split across the chamber , breathing direct flames against the wooded floor, igniting another pair of small fires.
Ðakaþos
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Fire Mephits
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Cabaguil
Cuthberwyn
Dori
Kelvin
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Town Hall Fire
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Raspar
Round: 1
Weapon Equipped: None
Conditions: None
Spooky: 5/5hp, Fast Movement, Life Link
Spells Spell attack +7 (T), Spell DC’s 17 (T)
Bloodline Focus: Diabolic Edict* (Focus Points: 1/1)
Cantrips: Detect Magic, Light, Prestidigitation, Produce Flame*, Read Aura
First Level: (2/3) Charm*, Heal, Purify Food and Drink
Cabaguil, already on edge, very nearly looses it when a fellow bureaucrat looses it and starts screaming about the fire. He thinks quickly and, unable to help against a flaming creature much, turns his attention to the crowd. If he can organize the crowd at all, he might be able to help with a bucket brigade, but too many are panicking, so he works on that first!
He is going to Rescue Spectators, but first he decides he needs assistance. He scans the crowd (perception check •>) for a strong youngster who can help, and who might be a little… pliable. Sweat appears on his forehead as he summons the dark power within. Everything is happening so fast, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. His voice echos with the strain as he calls out for help casting Charm (cast spell •>>).
”Y-you, you there, yes you! H-help me get these people to s-safety! Please!!”
to find a likely target.
Seeing Cabaguil working the crowd, Cuthberwyn concludes this is probably a good choice. He focuses on the townsfolk nearest the flying red things.
The exit is this way, gentlefolk. This way!
"Nine bloody Hells! This is impossible!" Kelvin curses as he makes his way toward the mephits.
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Cabaguil finds a young man near the middle of the room and quickly puts the charm on him. The young man's body goes stiff for a moment before he moves once again shaking his head. He looks around confused and continues to head to the door, though slightly less panicked.
Cuthberwyn lifts a bench off of a father and child so that they can scoot out. The father nods to Cuthberwyn. "Thanks you!" He grabs ahold of his little girl, lifting her tight against his chest and makes for the exit. Dori begins to do the same on the opposite side of the room, while Kelvin has a hell of a time pushing his way through the crowd and benches to try and get to the fire and mephits.
Meanwhile the fire spreads even more.
Ðakaþos
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Fire Mephits
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Cabaguil
Cuthberwyn
Dori
Kelvin
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Town Hall Fire
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Raspar
Round 1
Action 1: Stand.
Action 2: Stride.
Action 3: Stride.
Raspar reacts slowly to the oncoming fires, thinking it party of ceremony, but then rises to his feet when he realizes the danger. While others scatter for the door, Raspar moves to interject himself between the innocents and the bad things.
AC: 18 +2 with shield action.
Fort/Ref/Will: 6/6/6
HP: 17/17
Focus: 1/3
Hero Points: 1
Speed: 25'
Ðakaþos strides towards the closest mephit. His gimlet gaze focuses on his target. With a mighty two handed swing, he brings his bastard sword down. Immediately after the follow through, he speaks a singular, spidery word of magic as a heater shaped shield of force appears in front of him.
1. Stride.
2. Strike for
Dak will take it if the chance arises. He'll do this over Shield block. for
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Raspar hops out of his seat and takes off towards the source of the fire, at least as fast as his little legs will carry him. he looks up on the platform as Ðakaþos confronts one of the fire mephits.
With a small word of magic a small nearly invisible shield bounds in front of him, across his arm. Hefting his bastard sword Ðakaþos brings it down across the fire mephit's body, drawing first blood.
Though Ðakaþos deals a good blow he stands too close to the flames and ends up getting burned.
The mephit closest to Ðakaþos crawls into the flames. The flames flicker over it's body as it begins a healing process around the mephit. The mephit bites quickly at Ðakaþos arms.
+
The mephit clamps down hard on Ðakaþos hand, taking a small bit of one of the the elf's fingers with the bit.
the second mephit scampers across the wooden floor on all fours as it gives chase to Raspar.
+
Raspar receives a small fiery nip as well as the mephit leaps on him, tearing at his clothes.
Ðakaþos (8/17)- Does not include reflex save damage
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Fire Mephits (Green -8)
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Cabaguil
Cuthberwyn
Dori
Kelvin
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Town Hall Fire
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Raspar (12/17)
Round: 2
Weapon Equipped: None
Conditions: None
Spooky: 5/5hp, Fast Movement, Life Link
Spells Spell attack +7 (T), Spell DC’s 17 (T)
Bloodline Focus: Diabolic Edict* (Focus Points: 1/1)
Cantrips: Detect Magic, Light, Prestidigitation, Produce Flame*, Read Aura
First Level: (2/3) Charm*, Heal, Purify Food and Drink
Cabaguil is frustrated when his magics fail, but not entirely surprised. What was I doing calling on the power anyway… he consoles himself.
He sees a gnome (Cuthberwyn) also helping to free the good folk of Breachill, and he calls over to him, ”Let us work together good sir, and we’ll get more leverage!”
He, and hopefully the gnome, locate (•>), calm (•>) and escort (•>) six spectators to freedom. If he can get aid. If not, he corrals two himself and sets them free. All from the front of the room closest to the fire if he can, but he grabs whomever is convenient and in need of aid in the end.
If he sees Ðakaþos go down however, he will stride (•>>>) all the way to try and reach him to help him.