In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 15):

The townsfolk shake their heads mutely at Maeve's description, then eventually disperse to continue about their business.

The P.A.R.T.Y. enters the inn to find it toasty warm and packed with townsfolk. Evidently the snow has put an end to most of the town's daily tasks.

A large woman wipes down the bar on one side of the room, laughing loudly along with her patrons. Three serving maids whirl about the common room, collecting dirty dishes and setting down piping hot bowls of what appears to be a leek, watercress, and potato soup. Two young boys scurry about the room, as well, lugging logs to toss onto the fire and sweeping crums off the floor.

A fair number of travelers can be spotted as well, set apart from the townsfolk by their style of dress and, in some cases, signs of wealth. A trio of sellswords sit holed up in one corner, throwing dice, while a merchant debates the qualities of Gaelian silks with a seamstress and a haberdasher near the fire.

The trenchers are populated by farmers, for the most part, along with the town's blacksmith, tanner, carpenter, herbalist, sheriff, and mayor. Everyone seems to know everyone, minus the travelers.

Such is the scene the P.A.R.T.Y. stumbles upon as they enter the building, standing wet, cold, and dripping in the foyer to take in the scenery. Eventually, one of the serving maids finds time to slip over to them.

"G'morning, travelers," she says with a slight curtsy. "Welcome to the Singing Nettle. As you can see we're full up, but I'd be happy to help you today if I can. What can I do you for?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:30, Mon 13 Oct 2014.

"Some hot drinks to fight the chill, and some breakfast, if you would please miss," Zuriel says with a kind smile.

To the PARTY, he says in an undertone. "They may be traveling under glamor. Let's write to Baldwin and have our breakfast. Lyriel can always prepare a magical luncheon, once we're all reunited."

Zuriel scans the crowd keenly, looking for anything out of place. "See any magical auras?" he whispers to Boreas.

Ah, hot drinks.  They really get me going.

Waiting for the beverages, Boreas does a scan of the room.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 18):

The room contains a variety of magical auras, most of which emanate from the sellswords, the merchant, the haberdasher, and the sheriff. None of them are consistent with a glamor, however.

"How many of you are there? Five?" the maid says, counting the P.A.R.T.Y. "I'm afraid all we have left is the bar. Will that do?"

Assuming the P.A.R.T.Y. remains agreeable, she leads them to five barstools and leaves them to the care of the barkeeper.

"Welcome, huns," the large woman behind the bar says, wiping down the counter in front of your new seats. "Here you go."

Five mugs of mulled cider and five plates of lumpy, doughy biscuits covered in thick white gravy are quickly laid out before the P.A.R.T.Y.

After waiting long enough to allow them to eat, the woman returns her attention to the group.

"Beastly weather, ain't it? You trying to pass through, or wanna wait out the storm here? I've got a few empty rooms left -- most of these folks live in town, y'see, so there's plenty of space."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:59, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Zuriel looks around to the rest of the PARTY. "We will be here at least one night. We're hoping the snow will be light enough that we can continue tomorrow, but..." he shrugs. "In any case, three rooms please, if you have them."

He finishes eating his plate of biscuits, looking to his comrades for seconds.

It's...simple. Simple but delicious.

"Cheers to that," Maeve says, nodding in agreement with Zuriel's plan.

Now where in the hells is Baldwin?

She scans the common room of the inn, wondering where the bard and their young friends could be.  Maeve decides to mingle after the meal, debating whether the sellswords or the merchant would be a better source of information for what's going on in the world.

"Leave the sellswords to me," she decides, murmuring to Zuriel.  "I doubt they'll warm up and be talkative with someone as. . . .clean as you," she says.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 20):

The woman nods, piling a few more biscuits onto Zuriel's plate with a smile.

"Room's $3 per night," she says. "Stay as long as you like. Meals change at midday, sunup and sundown. Enjoy."

Counting out the gold for the night's stay, Zuriel passes them over to the barkeep before returning to his breakfast. In between bites, he speaks in low tones to the PARTY. "Have we heard anything from the journal yet?" he asks anxiously.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 23):

Keef, after wolfing down his meal with usual gusto, wanders over toward the fireplace to warm up.

There he enters into an animated conversation with the haberdasher concerning the relationship between haberdashery, lion taming and cabin boy-ing.

In reply to Keef (msg # 24):

Keef nods excitedly and gestures wildly.  Whatever is being discussed, the haberdasher appears to be just as interested.

From his pouch, Keef withdraws the Lion Bag and shows it to his new friend.

[OOC: Preparing a Contingency this morning.  If Keef is ever falling from a dangerous height, he will polymorph into a young blue dragon]

Maeve watches warily as Keef produces the lion bag, undoubtedly recalling what happened the last time that it made an appearance in an inn.  Trusting the lad to do the proper thing this time, she makes her way to the table where the sellswords are occupying themselves.

"Gentlemen," she says (assuming they are all, in fact, men.) "May I?" Maeve inclines her head toward an empty seat at their table.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 26):

The Bar

Zuriel, Lyriel, and Boreas consult with the journal to see if there has been any new correspondence from the bard. Sadly, there is none.

The Sellswords

"Sure, sure," one of the men says, motioning to the chair across from him in a welcoming manner. "The more the merrier -- long as you're playing."

The men make for a curious sight up close: to Maeve's left sits a fellow who appears to be more of a dandy than a mercenary, though his clothing has seen better days. To her right sits a man with salt and pepper hair and close-cropped beard who might have once served in someone's army before he developed his impressive beer gut.

In Maeve's estimation, the speaker seated across from her seems to be the biggest threat, if it were to come to blows. Though his musculature is certainly not what one might call "chiseled," he seems athletic enough, and his movements are fluid and precise. Most notably, however, is the countenance that accompanies his solid stature -- a brash, confident demeanor coupled with a pencil-thin mustache that does little to mitigate the calculating look dancing behind his flint-gray eyes.

"We're playing Thirsty 28," the speaker says, explaining the game to Maeve. "There are three dice with six sides each. Two are normal, but this third one's different: it's got three sides that show a coin, two sides that show two coins, and one side that shows three coins. See for yourself."

He allows Maeve to take a look at the dice, then continues.

"We take turns rolling. Each roll, we total the two normal dice and add them to the game's score, which starts at 0. After you roll, you gotta add $5 to the pot for every coin showing on the third die. If you're the roller when the score hits exactly 28, you win the pot. If your roll would make the game's score go over 28, we subtract your roll from the game's score instead, and the game continues. Do you understand?"

When Maeve nods, the man smiles and all three sellswords slide some coins to the center of the table.

"Ante's $5, sweatheart. Let's begin."

OOC: Remember, Zuriel has a set of loaded dice in his pack... in case anyone's interested...

The Fireplace

Keef and the merchants continues to cheerfully discuss what sounds like lions and magical containers and garments... though you do think you hear the haberdasher ask Keef if he could show him how the sack works.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:23, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

After frowning at the blank pages for longer than he would like, Zuriel leans over to Lyriel. "Do you think you could cast a quick Sending to Baldwin? His silence is concerning. He could still be sleeping off last night's icewine, but..."

Suddenly, Zuriel gets a tingle along his spine, sensing impending catastrophy. He politely excuses himself from the bar and ambles over to where Keef is in conversation with the haberdasher.

"My," he says by way of introduction, "It sure is crowded in here." He looks  at Keef meaningfully.

[OOC Zuriel has not told anybody about the loaded dice, and does not intend to.]
This message was last edited by the player at 14:22, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

"Very well," Maeve says, counting out the appropriate coinage.  "I'm in for a game.  But just one.  Can't have you fellows cleaning me out entirely."

As they play, Maeve takes the opportunity to ask about the latest news, which was her intention for joining the sellswords in the first place.

"What news of the war?  The last time we passed through here it looked as though it was brewing, but now it appears to have well and truly arrived."

Lyriel, returns from their block of rooms upstairs and rejoins the PARTY in the common room. Baldwin is camping outside of town, she informs everybody quietly. He's been avoiding taverns, shockingly enough. We ought to join him.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:49, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 29):

The Hearth

"The snow'll do that to a place," the haberdasher says, giving Zuriel a slight bow in greeting. "Your... squire, is it?... was just telling me some most fascinating tales about an ordinary sack that can summon animals from thin air. What a treat!"

The merchant and the seamstress nod as well.

"I'm always amazed at what they can make magical items do," the merchant says. "And at the priorities of mages! I dare say we have enough singing teapots and lion-summoning bags. What we need are animated logging saws, self-emptying chamberpots, and the like. I'd make a fortune."

The Bar

Boreas watches Zuriel head over to prevent a lion-related accident, then watches Lyriel excuse herself to head to the P.A.R.T.Y.'s rooms (and Send to Baldwin). Once he's alone, the barkeep returns and speaks softly to him while polishing the countertop with a damp towel.

"You look like nice folks... lookin' for work?"

OOC: Lyriel's return will not occur for another 9 minutes.

The Dice Game

Maeve continues to slide coins on the table as the dice get passed around, with no one seeming able to hit the target number with any consistency.

"War?" the man with the pencil-thin mustache asks. "There's no news of any official war. Not yet, anyway. Though I hear the Empire has sent a few legions this way. The highborn prats have done the same. Haven't heard a peep from Lo'driel, so it's anyone's guess what happens next."

"They're taking their sweet time with recruitment notices, that's for sure," the dandy sniffs distastefully. "Came here expecting work, and so far? Nothing."

"The biscuits are good though," the soldier with a beer gut points out. "Mighta been worth the trip just for that."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:55, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Zuriel latches onto the change in conversation, hoping to steer the discussion further away from the topic of demonstrating the lion bag.

"A self-emptying chamber pot would be a godsend. I think you might actually have something there sir. Or how about a magical way to keep drinks cool, even in the summer? Or a magically automated town well?"

"Odd.  I'd have thought mercenaries would be in demand now. Smoke on the horizon and what not--literally and figuratively.  Lo'driel can't remain neutral in this for long."

Figuring that she's exhausted this particular fount of knowledge, Maeve decides to finish up the game and rejoin the others.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 33):

Emptying chamber-pot... well that's a simple one really.  The influx just needs to match the proper confines of the pot itself, and you can repeat it... I mean... it will be RELIABLE enough, the bigger problem is to set the egress properly...

Keef is lost in thought for a moment.  Then an expression of 'deep understanding' crosses his face.  He winks at Zuriel in a terribly non-seruptitious manner.

Oh.. I mean, I can show you the lion bag, but um... lions prefer the outdoors maybe?  We should go outside.

Keef begins to lead the Haberdasher and seamstress outside.

In reply to Keef (msg # 34):

It is at this moment that Lyriel reappears at the bottom of the staircase and heads over to where Boreas is chatting with the barkeep.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:52, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Boreas breaks off his conversation as tactfully as possible and joins the others to head outside and meet Baldwin.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 36):

Ignoring both the barkeep's side quest and the bitter weather, the P.A.R.T.Y. makes its way to the outskirts of the village and toward the logging camp Baldwin mentioned.

Tarps and hides have been pulled over the piles of wood that lay scattered around, keeping them as dry as possible, and the four sheds filled with tools and supplies are boarded up tightly. Despite the weather, now is not the season for logging -- the work's long been finished, with cords of wood sold and set aside for the hard winter ahead.

Trudging past all of this, the P.A.R.T.Y. heads to the treeline, beyond which they see a faint illumination. Following this, they soon find themselves in a sheltered clearing in which a large tent has been set up. Several tarps have been set upon stakes to create additional snow-free space, beneath which tables, chairs, and other such amenities have been set up. A humble fire crackles in the center of the clearing,over which hangs a small iron cauldron filled with rapidly melting snow.

Two humanoid figures stand with their backs toward you, tending the pot and chatting idly among themselves. At the clanking of Zuriel's armor, however, they whirl around to reveal a drawn sword and a loaded crossbow.

The tension reigns for less than a second as the weapons are sheathed and hoods are thrown back to reveal the smiling faces of Rachel and Oliver.

In short order, Baldwin himself steps out of the tent, leaning heavily on a tall staff and dressed in furs from head to foot. Karl -- the driver of the cart at the start of your adventure -- stands at his side, supporting him. Sadly, Filbert is nowhere to be seen.

In reply to DM (msg # 37):

To the faint sounds of a lion growling in the distance, Keef splashes and slips through the snow to catch up with the rest of his companions.

Sorry I... I mean... well I'm here now.

In reply to DM (msg # 37):

"Ah, my friends," Baldwin says, spreading his arms in welcome. "It's no tavern, but I trust you'll find our camp tolerable all the same. Let's get down t-"

He pauses, pulling out a handkerchief and wheezing into it for a few seconds. After the coughing fit has passed, he tucks the handkerchief away and clears his throat.

"-to business," he finishes weakly. "I want to hear all about your adventures in Fey'driel.... and to discuss my latest findings, of course."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:26, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Maeve shakes her head.  "First lunch, then we can talk business.  Lyriel can magic us up something nourishing and I'll make something warm to drink.  No offense Baldwin, but you don't sound so good."