The notice had been glued to the wall of the Stinking Stirge, just one among countless others layered dozens-deep.  This one was different in that it was part of the top layer, and still felt damp where the glue had soaked through, both of which pointed to its being a new addition to the collection.

It was also legible... always a good sign and, apparently, fairly unusual for the Stinking Stirge.

The opportunity had seemed too good miss.  The party had been planning on travelling to Bard's Gate in any case, on the road to Freegate and beyond, to Rappan Athuk.  The chance to get paid for a journey they were intending to take anyway definitely looked like a fine idea.  Possibly the best they'd had since deciding to risk a trip to the Dungeon of Graves.

Colwyn had summed up everybody's feelings...

"We'd 'ave ter be stupid not ter take this bugger's gold, wouldn't we?  I means, we's goin' there anyways, an' he's goin' ter pay us ter do it."

The interview with their potential employer had gone well, no doubt due, at least in part, to Colwyn having been warned beforehand, by a certain party who shall remain nameless, to keep his "froggin' mouth shut".

Corian Barade had proven to be as described in his notice - a young gentleman. He had been well spoken and dressed in clothing of reasonably fine quality, in a style commonly worn by the academics and intellectuals of the city of Reme.  He had explained that he needed to travel to Bard's Gate, somewhat urgently, to visit his uncle who, by all accounts, lay deathly ill.  And he had happily paid the 25 gp per person advance fee, after each of them had agreed to travel with him.

---

That had been the day before yesterday...

Today it isn't looking like such a fine idea.  The weather today has been abysmal, for late summer, with a constant cold drizzle interspersed with occasional bouts of heavier rain.  The wind comes out of the north, driving the cold and damp across the road, which is becoming more like a bog with every passing hour.

To make matters worse, as dusk approaches, it is rapidly becoming apparent that there is little shelter to be had nearby.

Until, that is, Colwyn spots a likely location.

The location is a small copse of trees in the lee of a hill, which should provide a little shelter from the elements.

The campsite is a small clearing in the heart of a copse of trees on the lee side of a hill located about seventy five yards from the road.  The hillside is steep and provides shelter from the wind, while the rain is kept at bay by the dense canopy of leaves overhead.  It takes a little effort to get a campfire started, but it burns well when lit, and soon a brace of conies are roasting over the flames, while wild onions and a few carrots are cooking in a pot alongside them, hinting at a welcome addition to trail rations.

As the group sits around the fire, waiting for dinner to finish cooking, Corian clears his throat nervously, and finally speaks.

"My friends, now that we are two days' travel from Reme, I feel that it is, at last, safe for me to reveal an important fact to you all.  You see, I'm afraid that I have brought you all on this jaunt under false pretenses.  I must tell you that I am not, in point of fact, bound for Bard's Gate.  But if you will just give me a few moments to explain, I'm sure you will find that the changes to our arrangement will be most acceptable... "

Damned to Hades and back again if he could read a froggin' word of the scratchings that caught Colwyn's attention, but as Oswald explained it, enough coin in his pocket to keep him in ale from Reme to the gates of Rappan Athuk itself, an' the chance to kill any creatures the weedy, city-bred puttock brought down on them, an' Aarnr could spit on his hand an' shake on the deal.  Just as long as they kept the puttock away from him !

-----------------------------------

Good weather.  A fine drenchin' rain and chill wind making these gleekin' eastern lands more like the fog-wrapped fens of his homeland.  An' the makings of a good meal in the pot besides.

Until the froggin' puttock opens his froggin' mouth ...

Fergus had been delighted to join up with a group of like-minded adventurers.  It had been difficult for him to make friends in Reme.  Most people he had spoken to had thought him simple-minded and laughed at his grand ambition of purging Rappan Athuk.  Fergus knew that he didn't fit in with the city folk.  Worse, he constantly felt that people were trying to take advantage of him.  He remembered the village tales of the thieves and scoundrels of the big city.

Fergus couldn't help feeling that Colwyn was one of these.  The weaselly man seemed almost proud of it.  But Colwyn had skills that Fergus lacked, not least of which he could read.  That the group had found someone to pay their way back east made Fergus very happy.

Things had been going badly since then.  Heavy rain and cold wind at the height of the growing season was ill-timed.  At best it would reduce the yield and might even damage the crop.  The livestock would need to be brought in lest they catch a chill.  Fergus had complained at length until at last he reminded himself that he wasn't on the farm anymore.

Now it seemed their employer had deceived them.  Fergus says only, "It's not good to lie." sounding sad and disappointed as he sat hunching his broad shoulders against the cold.

Ozzy found a comfortable niche in the roots of one of the trees providing cover for the night, and he is quick to set up his bedroll and break out the lute. As dinner cooked, he spent a little time tuning it to compensate for the humidity and a little more time picking out chords to warm up his fingers. He is strumming along as Corian begins to share his deceit, and the chords shift to the dark and dramatic.

"Make up your stories, Truth's so hard to say.
Brain is numb and your tounge will surely dig your grave...

You're a liar, liar, liar. Everyone can see.

Liar, liar, liar. It's all you'll ever be.

Liar, liar, liar. It's what you mean to me.

Lair, liar, lies.

Start trouble, spread pain. Piss and venom in your veins.
Talk, Nasty, Breathe fire. Smell rotten, you're a liar."

His voice trails off and the song goes softer, allowing their patron a chance to explain himself before the group became a small, bloodthirsty mob of vengeance. Surprisingly, the rainfall seems to keep perfect rhythm with his chord progressions as he adds the soundtrack to this little side venture.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:13, Mon 25 July 2011.

Aramil was quite confortable at the Stinking Stirge with all the patrons and locals. More like his home and easier to deal with what you know well. But the bug for adventure had bitten and Aramil knew he would not be content staying home or even in Reme. That didn't mean that he was sure about this agreement that he made to investigate Rappen Athuk was the best idea he ever had. And well the chance for some easy gold was a little unsettling, maybe too good to be true, and now his suspicions have been confirmed.

Cold, wet, and now being led on by this prancing pony that had hired them all, what a start to the adventure. But Corian was smart, well smart enough to wait and then tell the group this new piece of information. Most likely something that would have stopped people hiring on this job anyway. It had better be good, otherwise Aramil might just walk away. And being good would have to include some more money. Listening to Ozzy sing his little ditty made Aramil smile, but only briefly. Very soon they all may wish not to have added this job to the task at hand.

Erista walks over to Corian, ignoring the mud squelching through her toes, and pats his hand.  "Don't mind him," she says, probably meaning Oswald, but, really, leaving it open to interpretation.  "I think we all knew that already.  You wouldn't've needed to hire all of us just for what you'd said.  And a lie that can't be true is hardly a lie, right?  That's just a friendly little joke."

She sits down next to him, snuggling up comfortably.  "If you're ever doing something like this again, though, you might think about what your negotiating position's going to be, when you're all alone, two days out from the nearest guardhouse in any direction, surrounded by a bunch of people that all you really know about them is that they need money, and all they really know about you is that you have some, on your person, and whatever you're about to propose is probably going to be a whole lot more trouble than just taking that and going on to Bard's Gate like they'd planned."  She pauses for a breath, and then looks up at him with an innocent smile.  "I'm sorry - you were smart enough to set this all up in the first place, I'm sure you did think of that, and must know you have a good enough offer to make up for it, right?"