Thanks, Gildor replied taking a seat. The name is Gildor Inglorion originally from Siverymoon and lately come from... The sea.

Coby smiles and tips his head.  "Jacob, Son of Koen, of the Sword Coast.  You can call me Coby.  What brings you to Aglarond?"

Duncan nods gravely in the newcomer's direction as he sits.  "And I am Sir Duncan Radhe, of the most blessed Order of the Faithful Blades.  A pleasure to meet you, Sir Inglorion, you are most welcome."

Gildor arched an eyebrow, Gildor is fine, Sir Knight, Gildor said nodding to both men, Well met!

"Well met," Coby smiles.  "Now.  What brings you here?"

Gildor sighed, he really didn't want to talk about it but decided not to be rude, I was on a ship hunting pirates.; we lost a battloe and were adrift for a number of days. The survivors got picked up by a merchant vessel and deposited here. I have been hanging around here for a couple days looking for work. I doubt I'll head back to sea for a while.

"Aye," Coby nods.  "I'm low on funds as well.  Sir Radhe however is on some sort of quest.  Perhaps if we accompany him, we can solve our financial difficulties."

"Indeed.  As Sir Koensson says, there is a task I must undertake in the woods nearby.  If it's reputation is anything to go by, I shall no doubt be sorely pressed, and the assistance of some experienced adventurers would greatly increase the chance of success.  If nothing else, it should unsure there is someone to carry on if I should fall.  Might you be interested, Master Gildor?"

Well, I have nothing better to do and no set plan. Correllon knows I need to find something to do. I may as well give yoiu what assistance I can. But before I commit to anything I would need to know the details of this quest. It doesn't make sense to agree before. For all I know it could be something that my skills while considerable may not be suited for.

"I am sure that whatever skills you lack the other two of us will compensate for in spades," Coby grins.  "Endeavors of these sorts are more a matter of companionship.  And if you fear yourself unsuited, what will you do?  Sit and wait in town for fortune to find you?"

The door to the tavern opens with a creak and in steps a short drenched figure.  Pulling back the hood of his cloak reveals a grim looking dwarf with metal armor and a horned helm.  Underneath the cloak it is clear that he carries a shield, crossbow and axe along with other equipment.  He is dressed in traveler's clothing and leaves a trail of water drops as he makes his way to the bar.

Getting the attention of the barkeep, he  grunts an order for a big tankard of ale and a chunk of rare beef with bread.  As he waits for his order, he notices an odd looking group sitting at a booth nearby.

"Mercenaries.  Harumph!  Out for a person's coin and nothing more.  Still...," still, his purse being a little light the moment, it might do to hook up with a band of scraggly mercs for a while and see what kind of work there might be in this area for a barbarian dwarf.

Grunting a primative 'thanks', Grom grabs his trencher and tankard and makes his way over to the table. "Room for one more," he says, sitting his food and drink down before anyone can reply.  "Name is Grom.  I be barbarian warrior from Tumesh.  I look for work to make money.  He digs into his food, his wary eyes watching the others for their reactions.

Duncan looks more than a little dismayed at the new fellow's utter lack of table manners (or manners at all evidently) but he is nonetheless welcoming.  Standing, he offers a short polite bow to the dwarf.

"Well met, Master Grom.  I am Sir Duncan Radhe, of the most blessed Order of the Faithful Blades.  My companions are Sir Koensson of the Sword Coast and Master Gildor, formerly of the ...  I'm sorry Master Gildor, you didn't happen to mention your former vessel, did you?

As it so happens, there is a task I must undertake within the woods outside of town.  Given the reputation of that forest, it promises to be moderately hazardous - such that I feel the assistance of a capable group of individuals such as yourselves might increase the chances of my success.

I'm afraid I myself am critically low on funds, as I've been forced to expend most of the stipend granted to me by the Blades searching outside the woods, so I can promise you no actual pay.  However, you can of course claim an equal portion of any treasures we discover in the course of the mission.  Also, my immediate, albiet temporary, master may grant you a reward upon our return.  I say may, for I cannot garuntee it.  Lastly, I would happily give up my portion of any wealth obtained to be shared among yourselves, if that will provide an additional incentive.

I'm afraid other than that, I can't really give much detail without your agreement to assist me - please understand it is a rather sensative matter and as such must be held in confidence.  Might any of you be interested?"

Having said his piece for now, Duncan looks hopefully round the table at the adventurers, still standing for now.

Coby bows to Grom.  "It is good to know you," he says in perfect Dwarvish.  "I am an explorer."

He turns back to Duncan.  "There's no "sir" in my name - my blood is as common as stone, and just as honest.  I'm not a noble, or a knight, or even a gentleman.  My father was an Illuskan barbarian, my mother a sorceress from Waterdeep.  And I will offer my services on this quest - IF I find it is a good cause.  Until you tell us what it is, I can offer no promises."

Grom nods his head as each member of the party is introduced, grease from the rare meat coating his upper beard.  Wiping it away with a dirty sleave, he says,"Me with him," pointing to Coby, "Grom join if job is an honorable one.  Grom no kill innocents.  Grom kill bad people or to save life."  Grom looks Duncan straight in the eye to determine his reaction.

Caera came back, platter of meals in hand. She was surprised to see two new patrons who had appeared in the interim. She handed out the meals to Duncan and Coby, collected their money, then smoothly asked Grom and Gildor for their orders, before gliding off again.

Jorn stomped the worst of the mud from his boots as he entered the tavern.  He flipped back his hood and wiped the water from the tips of his beard where it had hung down beyond the hood's protection.

He was carrying a peacock plume in his hand, apparently plucked from the streets, and as he looked up at the tall man who'd come in with him, his small knife was already busy shaping and slitting the quill to use as a pen.

"Well, Slove, I'm not too sure where here is, but at least this tavern's dryer than the streets.  Let's get something to eat and see what we can find out."

He glanced around the room, looking for a table, the proprietor, or both.

If slove could spit fire he would be.  His voice not the best at any time seems gone in over drive.  A black board with nails down it would sound sweeter.

"I told you I hate arcane magic.  I sooner face demon from hell than have first level wizard cast spell on me."

Slove looks around the inn.

"What ever happened to us I don't know but easiest answer is some stupid magic portal or teleport spell gone very wrong.  My senses says we move half way across the world and for what reason.  Who knows."

Slove does not remove his cloak and keep his face hiden in it.

"You had better to that talking.  Find us a bed see if some one will tell us where we are."

"Sorry," Coby calls to the newcomers.  "I already asked - this isn't an inn, just a tavern.  You're both welcome to sit with us if you'd prefer.  I'm afraid this is the last open table.  I'm Jacob Koensson - you can call me Coby."

Jorn looked startled.  He'd never encountered Slove's problem with arcane magic directly before.  Still, he shrugged and nodded toward Coby's invitation. He said, "Looks like that may be a good place to start.  At least they're friendly."

He led his friend toward the table and spoke as he pulled up a stool. "Well met. I'm called Jorn, and my tall friend here is Slove.  We just found our way here to this rather moist metropolis... by the way, where, exactly, is 'here' anyway?"

He started tamping his pipe as he looked around from face to face, trying to give the impression that it was an ordinary question.

Coby gestures at the remaining seats.  "Furthinghome, in Aglarond.  Teleportation error bring you here?  My mother was a sorceress, and that'd happen to us sometimes.  My father always told me never to be upset when off course, because adventure happens where you make it."

Slove sits down.  He still hiding his face.
"Aglarond you say.  Land of half elves and wild arcane magic users.  My luck just get better."
He turns to dwarven friend.
"At least we find work here."
He turns back to coby.
"Just two thinks you should know.  One, I hate arcane magic so please use it as far away from me as possible.  Two, a sea hag would win beauty contest against me so best not look at my face."

"Two things you should know," Coby replies.  "One.  You shouldn't judge people because of their professions or the skills they possess.  Magic is a tool like any other. not that I myself have any magical talent.  It is the intent of the user that is good or evil.  A war hammer killed my grandfather.  This doesn't make all war hammers my sworn foes.  An adventurer's greatest weakness is his self-imposed limitations."

He takes a sip of soup.  "Secondly, masks are more effective than hoods.  I knew a half-orc who had some kind of transparent silk mask - he could see out, but nobody could see in."

Jorn chuckled and looked at his friend, "And if it weren't for 'one', there are some simple spells that might take care of 'two'...

His grin said there was little mockery intended, he was just having a bit of fun.

"Aye," Coby agrees.  "More spells for that sort of thing available from the gods, I'd wager, even if it were a curse."

Duncan nodded a "Well met." to the newcomers, and set about his meal. The Helmite took a few sips of the soup, but perhaps something in the foreign spices didn't agree with him, for he soon excused him and clanked off to the water-closet as fast as he could. Whatever his mission was, it would have to wait. In his armour, it could take some time.

Caera reappeared, with a frown after Duncan's retreat, and professionally took the orders of Slove and Jorn, before drifting off again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:49, Thu 22 Nov 2007.