The atmosphere is lively and rambunctious at The Satyr's Flute. Here both men and women, noblemen, barbarians, and even fantastic creatures such as satyrs or nymphs gather together. They drink, flirt, and occasionally even fight in "friendly" bar brawls.  (Those don't tend to last long however, given the choice of bouncers that the tavernkeeper chooses to employ) You are gathered with your friends here tonight at your usual table. You've been trading stories of glory, those of ancient heroes like the mighty Hercules or clever Odysseus. Such heroes as they are inspirations, and they were the sort that were chosen by Gods such as Pallas Athena.  You also speak of monsters, such as minotaurs, or giants who terrorize the lands.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:41, Sun 20 May 2012.

In contrast to the lively atmosphere inside The Flute, outside the weather was torrential.  Some said that an elementalist must be in the employ of the bartender, given the amount of rain that had been falling in the past few days. The Flute was the natural escape for people in this small village of Thisio in times such as these, as little work on the fields or with animals could be done, and nobody wanted to be outside for longer then necessary, which ruled out a trip to the local temple for sacrifices.

The rain seemed to be easing down, at least for a brief moment, when a barrel chested man - a Northman by look of him - barged his way through the door, slamming it shut behind him.  The man was easily over six feet tall, and was dripping wet from head to toe. His large blue eyes scanned the crowd, until he saw an empty seat.

Of course, this empty seat is at your table.  And there is little you can do as he stomps over and flings his pack to the ground.  He gives a toothy grin to each of you before introducing himself "My name is Agmund, son of Annar." he says loudly in Minean, the common language. "The Gods have blessed me indeed, with this port in the storm." he continues "And perhaps they have granted me an opportunity as well." he says, appraising each of you at the table. "But opportunity smiles on friends, not strangers. So I ask you, what are your names?"

Agmund looks at each of you expectingly.

Petracles looks hard at the visitor, then clears a space on the table.

"You want to be friends Agmund? I don't have weak friends.  Arm wrestle me for the privilage to be my friend!"
Petracles adopts the pose on the table, awaiting a response to his challenge.

There was one patron, at least, who did not mind the rains.

She found them soothing - comforting.  Like a cloak drawn over and about the earth.   And she had a liking for cloaks. Of different sorts.  As well, when the skies above were shadowed with cloud - it was something like a meeting of the two things she commanded.   She'd not thought of it that way before; but found some amusement in it now.

For some, socializing in this way was common passtime.  But, for Dysis, it was a relatively new experience.  Her life hadn't much permitted such things, until fairly recently.   She was still sorting out how she felt about it.

But people were people, wherever one met them.  And she was comfortable enough in dealing with people.   The three she was sharing the table with now, were much as she remembered.

And as the sodden Northern looking man joined them, Petracles grabbed an opportunity to demonstrate it!  It was so much like the brash youth he'd been, she had to stifle a good-natured laugh.

For her part, she wished to hear the nature of this supposed 'opportunity', before being becoming 'friends.'  And she very nearly told Agmund son of Annar as much.  But, it sounded a little harsh, she supposed - at least in this environment. And much as she might like rain clouds, she didn't want to be one on this friendly gathering.

So, uncharacteristically perhaps, she was the first to give hers:  "Dysis," she said simply, her smile slight but authentic.  Then added, with a nod toward Petracles' awaiting hand: "But, it seems you've a challenge to answer first, sir. Before we hear the nature of this so-called opportunity." 

Agmund had looked with slight amusement at Petraceles' waiting arm, before looking back at the noblemans' eyes, ascertaining whether his challenge was serious. If he had any doubt about it, that was quashed by Dysis' comments. He looked briefly to her, stating "Indeed, lady Dysis, but I am honored by your friend's challenge." he looks back and locks eyes with Petraceles "Truly, the strength of a man's honor resides in his arms. Do not hold yourself back, Greek." he says, a wild toothy grin on his face.

With a loud *thunk* as his elbow strikes the wooden table, Agmund readies his massive barbarian arm on the table. His arm and hand is intricately tattooed with what looks to be one huge word from his shoulder down to his knuckles, though the language is not Minean. In fact, the fact that he has any words tattooed on his arm is strange given that, as far as civilized men knew, the barbarians and amazons had no proper written form of their language.

[Language unknown: "Oneconortort"]

"Are you ready? In my culture there is but one test. Either you win or lose. Let's play."

OOC: Petaceles, make *five* 1d20 + Might Mod rolls to determine your ability to keep your strength up during the arm wrestling. Each roll will indicates one minute of time passing.  You ideally want to roll above a 12 each roll. Rolls higher then that will indicate better chances of success against Agmund.

Petracles knuckles down, worried he has bitten off more than he can chew.  Win or lose he will fight anyhow.

23:17, Today: Petracles rolled 6,10,11,17,5 using d20+1, d20+1, d20+1, d20+1, d20+1. Arm Wrestling.
I have Wrestling as a Background Talent.  Any bonus for this?

As the two squared off over the table, her eyes caught upon the tattooing on the northman's brawny arm. It was not a language she'd expect to see on a Hyperborean. She wouldn't expect any language written on a barbarian -- but, this one?   Even less.

She learned it from her instructor in the art.  It had its uses, now and then; mostly esoteric ones.

Reading that single word, she wondered if she should warn Petracles.  But, she figured it too late.  He'd issued the challenge, and must back it up now.

She knew such contest was important to many men.  Who was stronger proved only that, in her book, however.  Nothing that would color her opinion, either way.   But she was now curious about this Northener.  Fairly sure this one came with an unusual story attached.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:00, Thu 24 May 2012.

It was nearly over in the first minute as Petraceles felt the rush of strength pulsing through the barbarian's hand and arm. It almost overwhelmed him, and he struggled to keep his arm aloft.

But then it seemed almost as if the Barbarian was toying with him, that is if the grin on his face was any indication of intention.  Perhaps Agmund was merely testing Petraceles in the first minute, to see how strong this Greek was? In any case, in the second and third minutes, Petraceles slowly began to even the playing field and his hand and arm began to level with the barbarian's.  Then, a moment of Glory as Petraceles found an advantage. He sensed a momentarily weakness, perhaps a loosing of the Agmund's grip, and he pressed this advantage, driving the man's hand downwards.

While Agmund's arm did begin to go down, it turned out to be a feint. Like in the first minute of their match, Petraceles felt another surge of strength in the barbarian's hand and arm, and he watched as the barbarian ended the match. The effort in the final minute seemed almost effortlessly by Agmond as he slammed Petraceles' arm to the table.

After a half a second, he withdraws his grip. "I believe I have won your name, Greek." he says.

Petracles roars with laughter andslaps the man on the back!

"Petracles is my name, and you are as cunning as an Amazon and strong as an Umbrian!"

Aleta comes walking up with a jug of wine and her glass. "Hello my friends, I see while I was gone, you added someone to replace me, though I think he is not as good looking" she laughs as she finds a seat and sets the jug on the table. "I got us more wine but I didn't get an other glass for our new friend here. I am Aleta, an actress of little renown but we are working on it."

Arthanos leans back in his chair and watched Petracles attempt to win the arm wrestle, laughing slightly as the big man beats him. As Aleta returns, he nods his thanks before pouring pouring himself some.

"We should keep this one with us. There aren't many people who can best you that quickly." he says jokingly to Petracles before topping up his cup.

Arthanos then stands,  turns to face the barbarian and stretchs out his hand.

"Greetings Agmund, son of Annar. I am Arthanos, son of Thesidius. What brings you here this pleasant evening?"

Agmund receives the rest of the group in equal good spirits, and repeats his introduction of himself to Aleta. "Truly the Thenaian people are hospitable indeed, after their cerberus' strength has been tested, anyway." he says with a jovial look to Petracles. He then stands as well as grasps Arthanos by the hand, returning his welcome. "What brings me here? It seems by the will of Cloud-Gatherer Zeus that I have sought shelter here in this strange place." he says in return, before returning to his seat. He waits for Arthanos to do the same before he continues on his tale.

"I am a wanderer, an outcast from my native Hyperborea. The story of my exile is long in the telling, and I will not strain new friends with such a full account of that sad tale, but what has driven me forth from my lands has been a vision." His smile starts to fade slightly "A vision of a lovely woman, truly as close of a beauty to Aphrodite as any mere mortal could hope to be, but her image shifts. It is most puzzling." He shakes his head sadly "I have sought help from your Oracles, and I have been pointed me back this way. I am to travel to the villa domain of Lord Joris, who resides outside the walls of Thena. It is there that my vision will be made clear to me."

OOC: Each of you have heard of Lord Joris. He is a Thenaian nobleman of some reknown. He was once a great warrior, said to be touched by Ares himself in the art of war, but that was many years ago. He has become something of a recluse now, and is seems content to live out the remainder of his days away from the public that he once fought for.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:41, Fri 25 May 2012.

Arthanos sits down after shaking hands and listens to the man's tale. The idea of the vision was intriguing, and the journey the man had gone through to reach them to solve his dilemma was impressive. He can't have had an easy time considering the reactions of some of the peoples to the men from the north.

When Lord Joris was mentioned, Arthanos finds that very interesting. He knew some of Sir Joris' reputation, good and bad, and wondered what the old man would know.

"Your visit there will be interesting friend." Arthanos says. He also looks around trying to catch the eye of a serving person or the barkeep, and when he does, he signals for an extra glass.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:14, Fri 25 May 2012.

Petracles seals the friendship with Agmund by sharing wine, musing the vision at hand.

"Lord Joris is a private man and may no take kindly to strange visitors from the North.  Allow us to escort you there
and announce you to the retired warrior.  He is familier with our families, and it would discharge my debt of honour to you in full."

Agmund inclines his head in agreement. "If you will all travel with me then I shall gladly accept. I feel the spirit of Philotes amongst us already." he says. "The Gods look kindly on those who provide such hospitality, and no doubt, opportunity and reward will await you." he say, a cryptic smile on his face.

The result of the contest of strength did not particularly surprise Dysis.  Like a Hyperborean to pull such a display.  She found it spirited, but not conclusive of anything atypical of his people.  And Petracles handled the result with good sportsmanship.

As to the rest...well, the men were already set to go with this.  Now that Agmund had demonstrated his mettle, and proven himself a little.

For her part, she was interested by this, but also a little suspicious.  Wandering in from the rain, finding them in this manner, seemed perhaps just a little too convenient.

Nonetheless, if he had been driven by a true vision of some sort, she didn't at all rule it out.  Although she disliked the idea of being swept up in some prearranged destiny.  She liked to think she was making her own, now.  At least, to some degree.

Wishful thinking, most likely, but still...

She had refilled her glass from the jug Aleta had brought, after thanking her, and took one idle sip, eyes reflectively upon the Hyperborean.

She returned his cryptic smile with an enigmatic one of her own.  "Zeus? Philotes?  So - you invoke the Gods of Olympus, sir.  Unusual for your people. But, you did say you are an exile.  And, a Champion I see." Her eyes drifted toward his arm.  "In some place where the Stygian tongue is in use.  I am sure there is a tale there much worth the hearing.  If you are willing to share it, then I am in for a trip to see Lord Joris."   

In truth, she would be interested in acquainting with him, herself.  A noble and successful warrior become recluse promised something of interest.  More so if he  actually did tie in with this barbarian's supposed vision.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:51, Fri 25 May 2012.

Aleta looks at Agmund "You spoke of a vision of a beautiful woman and I thought you where talking about me?" she says in a joking manner as she sips more wine "Well, I personally like to thank Dionysus for this wonderful wine he has provided us. I will go with you, maybe a pretty face will help us get in, you never know" Her friends knew her to be someone who liked to act it up and was rarely serious, unless she had to be.

Agmund responds to Dysis "You know the language? Not many do." he says with a wry grin. He takes a long swig of his drink and licks his lips. He then speaks in another language. [Language unknown: "T ektata latthalat t k stahi ainbleint p No asess ek Reseenard etnt latne Riacmoac Hasainati u Wheoulart, of wilanyeve korichtic, Te lo andbutint."] He speaks to Dysis, and the others can assume that the language he speaks is Stygian. The words he speaks sounds as solid and impenetrable as the river Styx itself. Agmund speaks it softly though, careful that other patrons should not overhear him.


He then continues in Minean. "I would gladly trade the tale of how I earned my marking, and perhaps other tales as well." he says, holding his arm aloft for the others to see. "But those would be perhaps better told another time, when Helios rides his chariot high above us." he says. Hearing Aleta's comments, Agmund laughs "Oh, it would be a lovely thing if it were so, Lady Aleta, but unless your hair, skin, eyes, everything about you can shift to resemble something completely different, I don't think you are the woman from my vision." he says in reply. "But for you to travel with me, might just be worthy enough of that vision." he says, laying it on a bit thicker.

He stops himself, and casually leans back looking at the others. "You all have been so curious of me, but I know little of each of you still. Pray, tell me of yourself and your people. From where do you hail, and how is it that you were together here in this tavern this evening?""
This message was last edited by the player at 04:26, Sat 26 May 2012.

"We are Thenaians, the seat of all virute, wisdom, and knowledge in the whole world.  We are old friends who have not seen each other for a while.
You can probably tell by my concise approach and martial bearing that I am a follower of Ares.  To tell you more than this I need to drink more wine,
and spill blood with you Northman."

"Well, I would like to learn some other languages but I want to learn another one that is commonly used, maybe I could get an acting job with it" she grins as she sips more wine.

She smiles at Agmund "As everyone else seems to be going and I have completed my acting job, I have no other plans. Anyway, as I said, you may need me and I don't mind being a vision of beauty" she giggles "Oh, I am an actress and my family was gypsies, so I have traveled a lot among the city states and met all of these fine people on my travels."

Dysis tried, and hoped she did credibly, to hide her surprise at his religious orientation.   She had no immediate response to it.   If it was true - and it was a very bold, foolish thing, to proclaim if it wasn't -- then perhaps this truly was some intersecting destiny...

However, she didn't offer her own allegiance in return.  Not just yet.   Petracles' response stood well as a general statement for all of them.   To it she added simply:

"These gentlemen I know from youth, Aleta somewhat later.  In Minea.  Where I also studied with a mentor, whom schooled me in a number of subjects." 

The rain continues for some time, keeping most of the patrons inside, but eventually it begins to subside.

After spending more time drinking with one another and swapping a few stories of adventure and of the Gods, Agmund announces "Permit me to pay for our rooms here, if you have not already." he says. As it turns out, nobody else has paid for their rooms yet, as this was merely a stop for them before heading back into Thena proper, but Agmund is insistent that he pay for accommodation.

"I shall see you tomorrow. I look forward to our journey to Lord Joris' villa." he says. With that, the man rises from his seat and goes to speak with the innkeeper, arranging rooms for his new friends before departing for the one that he arranged for himself.

OOC: Thus ends the prologue. Play continues in Chapter 1: The Sorrow of Joris.