You are all in the village of Garethsford, a pleasant river crossing on the river Javan. But life has become difficult here. Large numbers of refugees from great troubles in Sterch to the west, across the river, have started to arrive.
Some of you may have been here before, but the place is greatly changed. Once it had a population of about 100 souls, including local farmers, but that has increased tenfold. Tents and shanties dot the area, with many people trampling to land around. A small military encampment is set up, with the lion banner of Keoland above it, and soldiers are policing the ford. People are being allowed out of Sterich, but not into it.
You have arrived in the middle of a slow-moving disaster. You are in the local tavern.
Please describe yourself and how you arrived. Note if you are here for a pardon you would likely have been brought to town in chains, before release (which you can describe). Not that they don't trust you...but they don't trust you.
The Tavern is crowded, but you have a table. A crown guard is stationed near the door. Drink prices are high (double) and of generally poor quality. The same with food. The mood is dark.
"But it is true! The refugees are having trouble getting water from the river to the furthest points of their camps! Old women and babies are starting to dehydrate, as if they were in the deep desert and not next to such a major river. Surely there must be some empty barrels and a cart we can use to get water to them before it is too late? I believe some of the boys will pull the wagon, so there would be no risk to your animals?" The thin Baklun in traveling clothes is pleading with the owner for some assistance for the people he was tending to earlier in the day. It is the same plea he made yesterday, and the same as he expects to make tomorrow. While the stone does not move when the wind blows, the wind never stops and eventually the stone is gone. He hopes the owner's will is made of softer stuff.
For over a week now, Mazrak had been in pursuit of a pair of Ogres out of the Jotens. But they have alluded the Oracle. Not many have in the past as demonstrated by the many bleached Ogre skulls that hang off Mazrak's backpack. With his trail rations getting low the Oracle looks for a place to replenish. Mazrak comes across the village of Garethsford around dusk. Thirsty and hungry, he heads to the local tavern.
As typical, many stare at the solitary Dwarf. His long white hair and beard stands out, but it is the skulls that hang off Mazrak's backpack that draws the most attention. But Mazrak minds to his own business, even though he notices the refugees, the tents, and encampments. He realizes that things are not as they should be.
When he enters the tavern he noticed the Crown Guard, gives a nod and finds a table to sit. He then takes a deep breath and looks to see if anyone is serving.
Alas, Naji Bin Caedmon finds little or no sympathy for the locals. He has heard the stories out of Sterich. A terrible curse has beset Istavin, the Earls city, and great raids by the savage creatures of the Joten and the Crystalmist mountains have struck hard. Despondent, he sees the insular nature of the locals still views him with distrust. He heads to the Inn for news.
Mazrak, the Crown guard nods back at you. He follows you to your table.Blessings on your clan. Do you have news out of the west? You notice he is tired looking as if he has had little sleep for a time.
Mazrak looks at the board before answering, noting the increased prices of drink and food. There is a sign. No charity.
Eldric came in next. He had come from Niole Dra to spread the light of Pelor, but was finding it more difficult than he could ever have imagined. He had heard tales of giants and their kin, but he had only seen the effects of their crimes. The number of refugees was staggering. He had come in the hope of entering Sterich, but had found himself barred. And as such, the monk was stuck in Garethsford.
He was no Cleric, but he did what he could. When he could, that was. Even though he had the ability to soothe the wounds of the injured, most were hesitant to allow him near. He was a scaled fist monk, and not just in name. From his fingers to his elbows his skin was covered in scales. He knew that if not for his robes, showing him to be one of Pelor’s faithful, the welcome would have been even colder.
He entered the tavern, and looked around for an empty seat. He had convinced an old man to allow him to heal his broken leg, a task which took far more effort that he thought was necessary. It was exhausting work, and he felt like he had earned a break.
Seeing a spot next to a dwarf (a rare sight in these parts) he walked over and took it before it could be lost.
Alistair had been in the town for a few weeks now, trying to help as best he could while attempting to further his research.
Pretty soon the guards will be forcing these refugees to move on if something is not done to help them!, he thinks as he takes another sip of the poor quality ale the tavern had started to sell.
He noticed a few new faces in the crowd, including a dwarf! He looked down and caught his reflection in his pot of ale. Looking back at him was a man who had aged far beyond his years. In his late twenties...or was it early thirties..well nevermind...he looked to be an old man, not one suppose to be in his prime! His dark hair already was streaked with gray, and the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes crinkled like old parchment whenever he scowled, or rarely these days, smiled. His clothes were well mended and clean, thanks to his magic, but all his gear was worn and showing it's age.
Navigating the sea of refugees with a slow but inevitable pace, a very disheveled Vrianna pushes her way to the innkeeper in the hope of perhaps eating something that day.
Much of her supplies had gone to help ease the enormous strain on the refugees but she only had so much to go around - even what she had managed to recover from bandits and thieves could only go so far, and while local guards had overlooked her keeping the relative peace, there was only so much that could be done.
It would have to be enough. For now.
As she waited she looked around the tavern, not entirely sure what she expected to see different. Even new faces seemed like they had been there for weeks, although she found herself surprised when she spied a dwarf claiming a table for himself - strange times indeed.
The ale is weak, and the wine is well watered. The food available is a watery mutton stew, hard bread and cheese. The barmaid apologises for the poor fair.
Fresh food is hard to come by, and it looks like the harvest in Sterich is going to fail. Hard times.
Finding a room looks like it is an issue, as well.
You have all heard dark rumours about the place. Giants, orcs, ogres and other, darker creatures have been rampaging through Sterich. The capital has been cursed or something like that.
The guards at the ford are only letting those who can help across the river, and apparently a Kings Agent is at Istivin, the capital.
Mazrak, the Crown guard nods back at you. He follows you to your table.Blessings on your clan. Do you have news out of the west? You notice he is tired looking as if he has had little sleep for a time.
Mazrak looks at the board before answering, noting the increased prices of drink and food. There is a sign. No charity.
Mazrak will look at the Crown Guard, "Well met! Thank you for the blessing, but my clan is oblivious." The Dwarf Oracle takes a deep breath, "As to the West, there is a stirring. For the past month I have slain a number of Ogres. They is something leading them. They are too stupid to do anything on their own. It looks like whatever is happening is happening here too." Mazrak finds a table. He looks at the Guard, "Join me?" The Dwarf Oracle removes his pack, lays his bow against the table and sits.
Mazrak glances at the board, "Hmmmph!"
When the Monk sits near him, Mazrak simply gives him a nod.
Mazrak looks at the barmaid after being served, "No need to apologize. It will do." The Dwarf Oracle pays for his meal and drink and quickly consumes it. It was a refreshing change from jerky, hardtack, and water.
Mazrak then looks at the Crown Guard, a bit of mutton still hangs on his long white beard, "They call me Mazrak. What is the news here?"
A dark-haired elf in a patched green and brown dyed cloak and a floppy hat enters the tavern at Garethsford and looks around.
After surveying the room he looks down to his side where a leather satchel hung from his bandoleer. A small furry face looked back up at him.
"Things look a little grim here Rauber." the elf says in a low voice to the raccoon in his side bag. The raccoon in the satchel seems to nod back in agreement as if he understands the elf's speech.
The elf makes his way over to the bar, nods at the barkeep and slides a coin across for a drink. The bartender frowns and shakes his head. The elf grimaces and slides a second coin across. At this, the bartender relents and passes back a drink.
The elf turns around to look across the room. He sees an unusual assortment of men and demi-humans scattered through the room of refugees and townsfolk.
He takes a long pull from his mug of ale. While looking about the room he notices the faint tug of nimble fingers at his belt pouch.
Quick as a snake, his hand strikes out to grab the wrist of the young boy who is attempting to pick his pocket. He looks down into the smudged, suddenly panicked face and shakes his head, frowning down at the child.
"You've got to be quicker and lighter-of-touch than that if you plan to survive as a pick pocket lad."
He reaches down and pulls a copper from his pouch. He shoves the copper coin into the boy's free hand.
"Now get you gone."
Seltyn Sevenleaf had had a very depressing day. As he rode to Garethsford, it was obvious that the troubles he had heard of were all too real. The road was dotted with refugees; tired, hungry, and carrying all they had. It was a painful thing to see.
Getting to the tiny town, with all the homeless, hopeless people swarming around its periphery, it was obvious that the situation was dire. There would be no place to lodge his horse (and probably not himself), so he gave it to the gate guard.
Her name is “Qwir,” or “Rose,” in your tongue. Treat her well.
Finding the tavern, the elf entered, feeling hungry. He'd given away his rations to people he'd passed on the road, and realized he'd barely eaten any himself. It wasn't hard to spot the table full of adventurers, with their fine weapons and armor, and battle-honed demeanor, eating and drinking.
He walked up and introduced himself to the people at the table. Greetings. Mind if I sit with you? I am Seltyn Sevenleaf, of the elven lands. It seems that the stories are true. What is this threat that is driving so many from their homes? What can be done to stop it, and how can a humble wizard be of help?
With what might generously be called a meal deposited in front of her and her coin taken with guarded quickness, Vrianna turns to lean against the counter and watch as more and more strangers filter into the tavern, keeping a careful watch as more of the strangers seem less like refugees and more like...well, not refugees.
The patchy looking elf catches her notice - it was rare seeing her people here. Well, kind of her people. A distant relative in a sense, and she watches his reaction to a young pickpocket with a neutral expression. Only once the boy is gone, copper piece in hand, does she shuffle over to indulge her curiosity. "Quite the act of charity, cousin. You don't seem a refugee - what brings you here?"
Fitzroy looks up as the half-elf speaks to him.
"Greetings and salutations lady, and well met. Indeed, we are not refugees. Refugees flee away from trouble, while we head towards it." he says with a smile.
"We've been following the royal proclamations posted along the road, heading to Istivin to answer the King's call for volunteers to set things right."
"What of yourself?"
Mazrak will look at the Crown Guard, "Well met! Thank you for the blessing, but my clan is oblivious." The Dwarf Oracle takes a deep breath, "As to the West, there is a stirring. For the past month I have slain a number of Ogres. They is something leading them. They are too stupid to do anything on their own. It looks like whatever is happening is happening here too." Mazrak finds a table. He looks at the Guard, "Join me?" The Dwarf Oracle removes his pack, lays his bow against the table and sits.
Mazrak glances at the board, "Hmmmph!"
When the Monk sits near him, Mazrak simply gives him a nod.
Mazrak looks at the barmaid after being served, "No need to apologize. It will do." The Dwarf Oracle pays for his meal and drink and quickly consumes it. It was a refreshing change from jerky, hardtack, and water.
Mazrak then looks at the Crown Guard, a bit of mutton still hangs on his long white beard, "They call me Mazrak. What is the news here?"
The crowns Guard nods politely. Sorry, but would be my ears if the serjeant at arms saw me setting in the Inn while on duty. The News here? Poor. Many souls are retreating across the Javan, and we have orders to let none pass back. Except those who have the King's warrant and those answering the proclamation. He sighs
Reinforcements are supposed to be on the way. They have been for a week.He looks to the door Perhaps you will answer the heroes call, sir. Dwarves are legendary giant hunters. And I think we need those now. He nods a farewell and resumes his post at the door.
A dark-haired elf in a patched green and brown dyed cloak and a floppy hat enters the tavern at Garethsford and looks around.
After surveying the room he looks down to his side where a leather satchel hung from his bandoleer. A small furry face looked back up at him.
"Things look a little grim here Rauber." the elf says in a low voice to the raccoon in his side bag. The raccoon in the satchel seems to nod back in agreement as if he understands the elf's speech.
The elf makes his way over to the bar, nods at the barkeep and slides a coin across for a drink. The bartender frowns and shakes his head. The elf grimaces and slides a second coin across. At this, the bartender relents and passes back a drink.
The elf turns around to look across the room. He sees an unusual assortment of men and demi-humans scattered through the room of refugees and townsfolk.
He takes a long pull from his mug of ale. While looking about the room he notices the faint tug of nimble fingers at his belt pouch.
Quick as a snake, his hand strikes out to grab the wrist of the young boy who is attempting to pick his pocket. He looks down into the smudged, suddenly panicked face and shakes his head, frowning down at the child.
"You've got to be quicker and lighter-of-touch than that if you plan to survive as a pickpocket lad."
He reaches down and pulls a copper from his pouch. He shoves the copper coin into the boy's free hand.
"Now get you gone."
The child looks at you with startled eyes, takes the coin and darts away.
When Seltyn announces his wizard status, there is a momentary stir in the Inn. Which settles immediately on seeing who said it. Murmurs of, hmm, an elf. Magical people they are. Good folk There are even a few smiles. Several children look at Seltyn with wide eyes, as if expecting a dragon to pop out. And maybe thinking that's a good thing.
Mazrak looks at the Guard, "We wouldn't want you in trouble with your sergeant now would we." The Dwarf ponders for a second or two, "Hmmm. Heroes call you say. It just so happens that I am on the hunt for giants." Mazrak looks around the room, "And by the look of some in this room, I may not be alone."
Mazrak looks at the others at the table and standing nearby, "Anyone else interested in hunting giants?"
:)
”It is why I came here.” Eldric said. He raised a scaled fist, which he caused to be wreathed in flame to make his point. ”And to bring the light of Pelor. Which, I think, is one and the same here. My name is Eldric, a pleasure to meet you.” The flame died out he extended the smoking hand to Mazrak to shake.
Mazrak gives Eldric's hand a leery eye then shakes his hand, "Well met! That is some mitt you have there." He looks at Eldric, "Name's Mazrak. It looks to be our purposes are aligned."
Mazrak notices the piece of mutton in his beard. He plucks it out and throws it in his mouth. As he swallows it, "Been do'n it solo fer a while. A bit of company would be welcome."
Mazrak turns and looks at the other fellow, "Well Mercenary, what's the name? " The Dwarf holds out his hand. "I'm Mazrak."
Mazrak looks at the fey-kin pair and shrugs, "Well met, Vakmu Blackhorse." The Dwarf shakes his hand.
After Vakmu talks about lodging, '"What be ye solution fer rest'n."
After being dismissed by the keep, again, the youngish Baklunish man responds to the dwurf. "Hunt giants? I am not here to hunt giants. I am here because it is where Istus put me. There are strands out of place, the design of the web is being compromised. Our Lady of Fate would have things set right. So, my strand was placed here. Tonight, our threads intersect. Perhaps several will weave into a stronger rope which will serve the Colorless and All-Colored by making the required adjustments?"
He wears only a single dagger, and no armor, but he has a silver spindle clearly visible hanging from a chain around his neck.
He places his hand on his chest. "I am Naji."
"There are many ways to find shelter. It is easily provided."
Ranqar steps in behind one of the other adventures slipping in unnoticed. He stays back listing to the conversation. III am alllways interested in hunting anything for the right price. I have found lllarge pray brings lllarge reward..
Ranqar speaks with a soothing purr in his voice and moves with great grace even for his race. He is covered in black fur and is wearing black leather that is hard to look at its as though your eyes just slide off. He is caring a knarled looking short bow and well used short sword in addition to standard traveling gear and a hooded cloak.
”Well I, for one, have little for sleeping outside of my bedroll and blanket. So any magical assistance would be welcome, regardless of the source.” Eldric said, trying to forestall any argument. Though, to be honest, he was glad to have the conversation move away from his love life, or lack thereof.
When Seltyn announces his wizard status, there is a momentary stir in the Inn. Which settles immediately on seeing who said it. Murmurs of, hmm, an elf. Magical people they are. Good folk There are even a few smiles. Several children look at Seltyn with wide eyes, as if expecting a dragon to pop out. And maybe thinking that's a good thing.
Seltyn realizes his faux pas, very embarrassed that he could be so bad at remembering that wizards aren't as trusted in cultures outside his own. He smiles at the children, and is about to tell them he's just here to help, when he stops himself.
Stupid! Just stop talking! You'll probably scare them! The first thing out your mouth, you make a scene! Elaes was right. You are so frikkin' naive! 'Oh, yeah, everybody in the WORLD just LOVES wizards!' Dumbass! You need to talk to these adventurers! Don't screw that up, too!
He leans in towards Ranquar and Naji, lowering his voice so as not to be heard all across the room, and trying not to look embarrassed.
Umm, Were you guys talking about shelter? Conjured shelter? If you guys can do it, sounds like our only option.
He then realizes he hasn't even introduced himself. He extends his hand to the catfolk, who had just arrived.
Well met. I'm Seltyn Sevenleaf. Wizard, if you didn't hear me before. What can you guys bring to bear for shelter? I thought I was going to sleep here tonight, until I got close enough to see the situation.
At the purring sound of the catfolk's voice, the raccoon emerges from the satchel at the green and brown clad elf's side and scrambles up to his shoulder where he crouches.
The little animal points and chitters excitably.
"Hush, Rauber..." the elf says, reaching up to gently lower the pointing raccoon's arm.
"Pointing and staring are rude." he continues.
The elf looks to the catfolk and bows his head, then shrugs and nods towards the raccoon on his shoulder as if to say "What are you gonna do?"
"Caught in the tide of people. It started slow, became a river, and then this." Vrianna vaguely gestures at the tavern and the general flux of people, local and refugee alike.
"The plan had been to prevent banditry and similar problems." She gave a small derisive snort at how naive she sounded and continued. "Now it's...hmm...I'm not sure what it is anymore. There is only so much that can be done, and news has not been great. Still..." She trails off as she spies not only another elf but an orc-blood and a catfolk joining a growing congregation at a nearby table. She ignores the murmuring of the raccoon on Fitzroy's being for now.
"Mayhaps those proclamations you mentions have bought them here. Seems an exotic lot, if nothing else. Do you know them?"
Helllo yes I come from a good ways off. Iii am callled Ranqar and and used to slleeping wherever. Yes. To be honest I was hoping to gather or join a group and move on. Yes iim not one for staying in one place to lllong at llleast not when other peopllle know it.
A flustered barmaid exits the kitchen and crosses to the group's table.
Yes, cease your bellowing. What do you want?
”We can see how busy you are, and how trying these times are. But I assure you, we are all here for the mustering to see an end to this threat. Some food and wine for the table, when you are able.” Eldric added, to smooth over the rough demands. While Vakmu was correct, in his experience everything worked better when others acted because they wanted to, and not just because duty demanded.
Come on, friend. No need to be so demanding, the elf says to Rangar.
The woman is clearly very busy. We may have to wait a bit. But, that's a good thing. This is a bad situation for everyone. I suggest we discuss our options for addressing the threat causing all of this...
His stomach grumbles.
while we eat.
Fergus spent days on horseback traveling from Woodsage to the village of Garethsford. He had stopped several days ago in Flen to reprovision and get a night's rest under a roof. The news was not good and as he rides into the village on his charger what he sees is even worse.
Bahamut...watch over those that are fleeing from danger. Let them cross without harm or incident. Bless those that offer help and comfort. Bless my hands to do some good this day.
He finds a stable which is overly full and in need of assistance but he offers the man triple the cost to tend to his horse. Asking him to give his old friend extra food and water. He spends time brushing the charger down and tending to him before he makes his way to the tavern with his gear. As he does he takes the time to listen to the folks around him. What they are saying, especially about what lies west in Sterich and what is driving so many into Keoland.
"Relax Blue...you deserve it. I pushed you hard today to get here before night fall. You did good you deserve the rest." He pats the horse on the neck and scratches his ears. He leans in and whispers in his ear. "I will see if I can round you up some carrots or apples!"
He turns and picks up his gear and heads to the tavern. As he walks in he can see all sorts have answered the call. Willingly and unwillingly. ...
He gives a nod and a smile to the Town Guard. He looks over to the server..."Ale and food if you will!" He says it with a smile as he places his gear against the wall and on the table next the wall and takes a seat.
The tall man of Flan and Oeridian blood with his blonde hair, blue eyes and a week's worth of stumble on his face nods at several people that welcome him. He looks tired but in good spirits and he seems to be taking the measure of all those in the room as he waits for his drink and food.
@Fergus
Al perks up when he hears someone speaking about magic and looks over to the elf standing by the dwarf. He then notices the armoured warrior come in and order food and drink.
I've seen him here before...quite a lot actually. Maybe he can give me some direction he thinks looks the fellow over.
Getting up and maneuvering across the crowded room, Alistair approaches the fellow.
"Greetings. I have seen you here a number of time before...are you a local? Regardless, I was wondering if you knew what the plan was to investigate the troubles in Sterich? Sorry, I did not introduce myself...I am Alistair Orm, wizard and adventure."
Mazrak listens to the Cleric. Then responds, "Pleased to meet you, Naji."
"Aye. The grub here is better than trail rations." Mazrak responds to Vakmu also nodding in agreement with his plans for shelter.
When Mazrak sees the Catfolk enter the tavern, he responds in a voice that can only be heard by those near, "Hmmmph! I don't think I saw milk on the menu." Like Vakmu, Mazrak has heard of the Catfolk, but has never seen one.
When Eldric talks about bedroll and blanket, Mazrak speaks up, "Aye, that is what I am use to."
Overhearing the Half-Elf's talk of proclamations, and Edric's talk of mustering, Mazrak speaks up, "Hmmmph. I came to Garethsford for supplies. I have never been interested in quest for quest sake. But giants are enemies of my people. I will gladly join any group that chooses to go against them."
Mazrak listens to Vakmu, "Ogres have been sneaking around the Jotens. And Ogres don't sneak. Ogres are not uncommon to the Jotens, but what I have seen looks purposeful. Planned! Ogres don't plan."