Redhaven is a large town (verging on a small city) on the Southern Trade Road, connected to Crosston far to the east, and on the way to Albion and Silver Citadel in the west.  It has particularly stout walls, as the town was founded by former soldiers mustered out of the king's army some two hundred years ago.  Even now the city tends to attract a lot of veterans of border skirmishes and fort posting.  Quite a few adventurers travel through Redhaven, due to the excellent smithies and availability of those with martial skill (for those who wish to gain or improve theirs).  Other than the high population of ex-soldiers, the down has a good selection of businesses for its diverse transient population, and is fairly peaceable, as its Watch is quite skilled at their jobs.  It contains several temples to preach to these needed masses, and includes a good-sized temple of Pelor, as well as a gymnasium/exhibition arena to Kord.

Walking the streets of Redhaven, you see the buildings are designed with defense in mind, with stone where feasible, bricks or sturdy wood when not, most coated with a red wash of iron powder and something like lime to protect against fire, rot, or chipping.

Guild Street not only has the large Adventurer's Guild, but also ones for many trades: Tailor, Leatherworker, Cobbler, Fletcher, Woodworker and Joiner, Moneychanger, Smith, Trader, Gravecrawler (morticians), Jeweler, Messenger, Hostlery, Locksmith, Healer, Brotherhood of Alchemy, and others.  While individual businesses are located in the Market district for some (smiths, leatherworkers, cobblers, tailors, etc.) those with more specific businesses (moneychangers, Gravecrawlers) have their business right in their guildhall, just like the Adventurer's Guild.

As befits a town on a large trade road, there are also many inns and taverns for those passing through - Heart's Haven, The Full Cup, The Empress' Law, The Staggering Titan Alehouse, The Wild Angel, The Golden Barrel Inn, The Laughing Harpy, The Cloak and Dagger, The Bloody Axe, and others.

The town offers a good place for a traveler to shake the dust from his shoes, from stables and inns, to bathhouses and eating establishments, a fine selection of guilds and taverns, and reasonably honest Watchmen and women patrolling the streets.

Dellas takes his sister's hand and leads her away from the others without really knowing where he would find Master Ironheart. After some time (and with his sister's help) they finally arrived. To him it looks (and smells) like a typical smithy, several tools, the anvil and who he presumed to be the smith. He stands on a nearby box and waved with his arms to attract the smith's attention. "May  I presume that you are master Ironheart? This lovely woman hiding behind her armor is Aberlyne, my sister. I am Dellas, wizard and adventurer." he raises one hand and bowed down. "My sister and I are in need of your truly skilled assistance. we've heard of you and your trade.. nay art it is. Truly for someone of your craftsmanship our task must be easy and probably not even a challenge. Yet we implore you to help us in our plight ans  and melt these two maces and refit them for our size. Of course you shall keep any leftover silver and pride yourself that you'll have  been of utmost  importance for us and those we aid with your magnificent weapons."

Ironheart Smithy - Redhaven Market Square

It is not hard to find Ironheart Smithy - in a town founded by soldiers, they value their weapons as much as their comfort, and the smithies hold pride-of-place in the Market Square.  The smith himself is a tall human man, heavily muscled, wearing the dark, stained leathers of his profession, with a scorched leather apron over all.  Sulfur and heat perfume the air of his shop as Dellas gains his attention, and the smith quenches a half-finished blade before turning it over to one of the four apprentices in the shop to keep going.

Master Ironheart is no dwarf, but he wears a beard like one, braided and tied off in true dwarven fashion, remarkably neat despite the sheen of sweat on his skin from his labor.  He listens to Dellas' request and holds out his hands for the maces in question.  Aberlayne hands them over, and Ironheart weighs them in his hands, then on a scale, turns them this way and that, and grunts something incomprehensible before speaking up in a gruff voice.

"Seems a sacrilege to destroy such workmanship, though I know why you need something better suited.  Are you needing the maces, the silver, or both?  Because if you're needing a silver mace for yourselves, I can trade you straight across for something I already have.  If you're just needing the maces, I have those as well, and would give you some coin back.  These that you've brought me are too fine to melt," he says, gazing at the weapons appreciatively.

The House of Sun's Favor - Shrine Street

Though it is late, and dark, it is the oddly the best time to speak with a priest of Pelor, as the rites of the sun god must be performed while His face shows in the sky.  Now that the sun has set, Pelor's faithful have the time to speak to those who wish their council.

Volsh and Farian find themselves there, bowls of fire on either side of the great door, highlighting the stone carvings of images from Pelor's teachings.  Inside, the church has a high-vaulted ceiling and many skylights that must turn the place into a blaze of light during the day.  Farian's holy symbol gets him immediate attention from the acolytes who are quietly discerning which parishioners are simply here to pray and contemplate from those needing aid.

"Brother, Father Valla will be pleased to see you and your companion," the acolyte says, bowing her head to Farian and beckoning them to come with her.  They are led past those speaking with other priests, back into the private sanctuary.  Father Valla is an older man of near sixty years, wearing the gold-embroidered robes of a High Priest, a golden holy symbol hanging around his neck.  Though now thin, with a bald pate and neat white beard, a few scars attest that Father Valla's service to Pelor had not always been peaceful.

"Brother Farian, welcome and Sun's Favor to you.  What brings you at this late hour?" he says warmly.

If Volsh and Farian wish, they can show Father Valla the blackened half-plate, the obsidian spear, and the golden crown with its black gems, as well as the regalia taken from the king's throne room.  The old priest regards them for a long moment, murmuring prayers under his breath, hands moving in deliberate patterns as they glide over the items, not touching them.

Farian explains how they were brought out of a tomb of the ancient House of the Sun, and the state of the old king they put to rest.

"You have found wonders, both of you.  The regalia...  I recall the House of the Sun from the history books of the church.  The king was also the high priest, and these things were blessed by the church at the beginning of each ruler's reign.  They were considered relics, and they were lost."  He touches the orb, scepter, and cloak reverently.  "You have found a great lost treasure, Brother Farian.  Now," he says more briskly, turning to the king's gear.  "These have the potential for great things, and while they are not, strictly speaking, evil, one must have some caution in using them.  The armor is enchanted to be stronger than it looks, and would even protect against the touch of ghosts, though paradoxically is also draws undead to the wearer.  I expect that is a side effect of its long incarceration into the tomb.  The spear is also enchanted to be more effective, and is unusually keen, though the wounds it causes would be bloody and tend to cause their victims to become crazed and focused on your death.  Together they could make one a trouble magnet of the highest order.

"Now, the crown is a pretty case.  It allows one to call down bolts of lightning, the skyfire we hold in esteem as Pelor's children, though in this case its long time in the tomb has made the call... somewhat darker.  The lightning would come down black, and tend to call forth the dead where it struck.  So while you might smite someone from above, you could find someone below answering the call unwillingly.  I think, given time, this effect could be reverse, though it would take years.  This thing would be better off in a vault, under a pool of holy water," Father Valla says, taking his hands away from the crown.

OOC:  Half-plate...got it.

Volsh listened to the priest with interest, trying to catch every detail of what the man said.  Some of the things he said bore weight, and required consideration, but there was nothing sounded like a curse.  volsh had no issue with his enemies being drawn to him.  That simply made it easier to kill them.  They had faced undead, and he had no fear of them, and it seemed that now he was quite well equipped to handle them.  In truth, his greatest concern was that the weight of the half-plate armor would slow him down.  However, the protection it afforded might prove more effective than his agility.  Even the most deft combatant was hit eventually, and metal was far stronger than leather.

"Father Valla, I am not knowledgeable in the ways of the Sun God, however in my village when the priests provided service they did so free of charge.  The families would offer the priest a meal, and comfort, and sometimes gifts, depending on the nature of the service.  I am not much of a cook, and I have no home, but I have these pearls, that I can offer, if you find them acceptable."  He held forth the blue and pink pearls for Father Valla to take if he wished.

He listens carefully and nods sometimes, at last he speaks up: "If you could trade this for one silver mace and make me a good offer for the second. While holding it earlier I noticed that it is kind of unwieldy, we would be grateful. I wish you and your business best of success. Oh before I forget it, would you be interested in purchasing one or two more of these fine quality weapons? Since you are obviously appreciating their craftsmanship." After he gets his money he turns towards his sister "Abby, I'll seek out our colleague Haazheel and purchase some scrolls. We will meet in the guild, yes?" As he goes to find Haazheel to get some scrolls he drops some coins off at the guild to pay for his stay in advance.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:37, Sat 22 Aug 2015.

Farian greeted the father with his own proper priestly greeting. "I am glad that the regalia has been properly recovered. I wonder, would this gear help me in my travels, or are they more ceremonial in nature? I understand about the crown, and I agree, it would be best cleansed. Although I prefer to defeat the undead, I do not wish to summon them with every blast of dark energy that would be released."

Looking at Volsh, "Also, although I have no quarrels with you taking the spear and the armor, are you sure you wish to be an undead magnet. These monsters can cause great harm to the unwary? You might be protected from their touch, but what about all your allies. I want you to think about this hard before you decide to take the armor and spear. If nothing else, perhaps we can request a transfer. A set of similarly enchanted normal armor and weapon, in exchange for the armament of the King."

Volsh considered Farian's words, but in the end shook his head.  "I do not think that my allies would be endangered.  If we were to encounter the undead, they would attack us regardless of the armor.  With the armor, I would become the focal point of the attack, perhaps making it easier for you to destroy them.  If anything, the weight of the armor poses me greater concern than this.  If given the choice I would prefer stouter armor than my leather, but that would still allow me to use my speed and agility.  Even so, this armor is well crafted, and would turn aside a weapon's strike.  It would be hard to match the quality, of that worn by a king."

In reply to Volsh son of Vor (msg # 8):

"Very well, I will not try to dissuade you further. If you feel this is the best course of action for yourself, so be it. I would then consider something to help fend off the undead's touch. Some are rumored to be able to sap your very strength, some your very health. Others are known to paralyze their victims. If you are planning to be such a target, perhaps some form of ring or amulet should be a priority for your protection. Just some food for though."

Volsh nodded, "Your words hold wisdom Farian, I shall seek out a talisman of this kind."  He was not sure what sort of talisman he was going to need, but it seemed wise to have multiple layers of defense against his foes.

The House of Sun's Favor - Shrine Street



"What you chose to donate to the church is up to you, my son.  The pearls you give us will be used to tend to training, to alms, to healing, to the services of our church that our Sun Father expects us to work for on our own.  For while it is good to be mindful of the glorious sun, if you do not watch your feet, you will fall ingloriously upon your nose.  Rays upon you, warrior," Father Valla says taking the pearls reverently.

-----

Ironheart Smithy - Redhaven Market Square



Master Ironheart considers the maces carefully.  "I can give you... 65 gold for an intact mace, and trade you straight across for a silver one more suited your size, or yours, Sir," he says, and Aberlayne nods in agreement.  Ironheart returns with a smooth-headed silver mace, much more delicately made, and Abby smiles as she gives it a few test swings.  He'll carefully count out change for the other mace to Dellas.  "If you have another, bring it by and I'll see what I can do," he says, running a hand through his hair thoughtfully.

With that, Aberlayne will linger a little, probably to talk shop with the blacksmith, while Dellas can return to the Guildhall to beard Haazheel in his lair.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:52, Fri 04 Sept 2015.

Volsh thanked the priest for his wisdom and service, before taking his leave.  He made his way back to the Guildhall to see if he could find someone to tell him the specific properties of his new armor and weapons.   What Farian said was still on his mind, but he could not make a fair trade with a weapon or armor smith until he knew what exactly he was trading.  What Father Valla had told him however was quite encouraging.

The House of Sun's Favor - Shrine Street



"The regalia does have power in it, power that would indeed be useful to your life as an adventuring priest, but the ceremonial use would be... very substantial, Brother Farian.  These are relics thought lost to the church, and their use to the Children of the Sun as a whole would be considerable.  Their light could be shown to all, instead of just a few," Father Vallan says, looking quite grave.  "Their value is something that cannot readily be calculated; no material thing the church could give you could compensate for them.  But consider the good you would be doing.  The cloak gives one the protection and heart of the sun, the scepter gives one the eyes of the sun, and the orb gives one the light.  Together they make a beacon of hope, and open one's heart to Pelor.  For certain the king never wore them during his grief, or he might have been saved from his darkness, and the Moon House and his entire country along with him.  Consider where the regalia would do the most good, Brother."

Thinking and watching Father Valla, "I understand the value of these treasures. I also understand that you can acknowledge the price and cost of living an adventure's lifestyle. I know that the value of these items could verily set up an adventurer for life. I will not request a King's ransom, but I will ask if possible that the Church recognize the efforts my team and I have went through and provide a one time resurrection service for each of my team mates. I know the price is costly, however, I believe by doing this it will better serve our Lord in the long run. How does this sound to you Father?"

The House of Sun's Favor - Shrine Street



Father Valla stares at Farian for a moment, and blinks.  Partially in shock.  Then he rallies quickly.

"Should your team die defending the tenets of Pelor, the defense of good, the promotion of healing, the destruction of undead, then yes, we will bring them back in gratitude for their liberation of these relics," he says solemnly.  "Now, Brother, if you will, I shall take these relics to the sanctum."  Father Valla will take the robes, scepter, and orb gently and reverently, taking them to the back.  He returns with several golden medallions, very much like holy symbols.  "For your brothers and sisters in arms, so all the temples will know, should they fall in a righteous cause."

Volsh, Father Valla will give you a more detailed description of the armor, spear, and crown's properties.  You have already donated some pearls and given the church back holy relics.

Nodding as I am given the amulets, I thank the Father again, donate 6 gold and 1 silver for my tithes, then head back to the rest of my team. Turning to Volsh, "Remember what the Father said, if you shall ever fall in battle defending the cause of good, then you will be brought back from the dead by any temple of Pelor. This will be one time only freely given. I hope that my decision was a right one. I believe that Pelor smiles on our band this day." Handing one of the medallions to Volsh, Farian then continues to head back to the rest of the group.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:30, Sun 06 Sept 2015.

Dellas and Haazheel can get directions to the Brotherhood of Alchemy very easily - it's just down the street, with the other guild halls.  It's sturdily built of stone, and exudes an odor of spice, incense, and chemicals.  Inside its stout stone doors, the place is either stone or tile, with mosaics along the walls showing industrious alchemists at their trade.  A long counter with many large, carefully-lettered signs is along the back wall of the small chamber inside the door - unlike the Adventurer's Guild, most of the relaxation areas for its members are less public.  Probably because alchemists tend to have... reactive substances around them and on them, and no one needs to accidentally drink something that's not actually edible.

Simply said, both can acquire many (if not all) the potions they need, brought out by apprentices in pale green robes, bearing the black gloves of their profession.

OOC: For the sake of speed, just roll for any potions wanted, and they are standard price.  Healing potions, of course, can be obtained most easily at the temple of Pelor.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:51, Sat 12 Sept 2015.

Averdante and Narthian make their way along the Guild Street to the town square, where they can easily find Catha Highstrung's shop.  She proves to be an older human woman with intensely green eyes, clear and bright, her hands long-fingered and strong-looking.

"What can I do for you, boys?" she asks cheerfully.  There are quivers of arrows behind the counter, and several different types of arrows wired to display boards on the walls of her shop (along with prices).  If you show her the silver arrowheads, she examines them carefully and strokes the edge carefully.  "Elegant little things these.  These are masterwork heads, meant to fly true and cut deep, and they'll require my best shafts and fletching to make arrows worthy of them.  Three gold for each arrow made, being as you already have the heads," she says, laying out selections of straight yew and huge gleaming golden feathers.


---

When done at Catha's, Averdante can head over to Kuri Tailor's for some clothing.  The proprietor here is a halfling woman with her hair in several high rolls atop her head.  Behind the counter, a half-dozen apprentices are hard at work on various garments, and she has a variety of fairly practical clothing on display around her shop.  Kuri seems to know her audience, as as Redhaven has a lot of ex-soldiers, she has a wide variety of fabrics that are forgiving for those who have an active lifestyle.

Kuri takes a long, penetrating look at Averdante, a look that seems to measure all he is on the surface, and then hops up atop her counter to speak to him face-to-face.  Her own clothing is of embroidered linen, clearly made with great care and love.

"Not soldier, not stiff enough, so adventurer, right?  Where you headed?  Mountains?  Plains?  Swamp?  Forest?  Wandering the roads?  Working for highborn?  Speak up my lad, and I'll find something to suit you!"  Her apprentices make a few titters of laughter at the pun, but don't stop working for a moment.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:21, Mon 05 Oct 2015.

With a glance at Narthian to confirm -- as if there were any doubt they would pay the cost, however pricy, to get these arrows made -- Dante digs out the required coins and lays them on the counter for the fletcher. "Do you make bowstrings as well?" he asks her, holding up the Moonbow. "I need to get a few for this."

--


"Aye, adventurer," Averdante confirms the halfing tailor's suspicion with a smile, "but I'm not sure where I'm off to next, just yet. The fen, possibly. Or not.

"At the moment, I'm rather more interested in something comfortable to wear when off the road. It needn't be overdone; I'm no lord nor have the pretensions of one. More something as pleasing to wear as to be seen in." He eyes the embroidery on her clothes though, adding thoughtfully, "Some subtle decoration would not be amiss." He meets her eyes again, feeling both challenged and challenging as he asks her, "What would you suggest?"

If they leave on a job soon, the new clothes won't likely be ready beforehand, but they'll be waiting for his return, and that's something to which he wouldn't mind looking forward.

Something else occurs to him, and he asks, "I'm interested in some gloves, too. Special ones. Dragonskin, preferably." Probably they'll not be so easily acquired, but worth asking after. And if not, maybe at least some well-fitted kidskin gloves would serve in the interim. Those, he'd like to have before heading out again.

Afterwards, he'll see if she can provide him with directions to the Brotherhood of Alchemy, in search of some anti-toxins.

Catha admires the Moonbow, touching it carefully as she measures it.  "You have a magnificent piece here.  Treat her well, and she will not fail you."  She will pull out four other bowstrings, each for four gold pieces.

--


Kuri nods and strokes her chin.  "I think we can find something to suit."  She goes and pulls several different kinds of fabric, a bit brighter than the explorer's outfits on display, with fabric in different patterns.  Subtle and sophisticated ochres, reds, rich browns, yellows, and dark blues predominate.  The fabrics are not the velvets and silks of nobles, nor the bright red, green, or purple that only the exceptionally rich can afford.  The fabrics seem to be somewhat softer versions of the hard-wearing traveling clothes made for adventurers, which mean they will last and not take all day to clean.  The patterns she pulls are more restrictive and stylish than those meant for adventuring, but she'll point out how she puts in laces and buttons around the arms, wrist, and waist so that one could loosen the clothes for action in a hurry.

"I have a lot of ex-soldiers and adventurers as patrons, dear, and while no one is trying to get into a fight in their town clothes, things do happen.  If your last set of traveling leathers has been clawed up by something or is still soaked with swamp water, well, you don't want to rip your last remaining dry tunic by doing an overhand swing because an unexpected band of kobolds tried to raid your camp.  Now, let's get you measured.  It'll be eight gold for each suit you want.  If it's just the one, I can have it done in a week.  If two or three, ten days.

"About the dragonskin gloves, I'm afraid not.  The Leatherworker's Guild might have them, but they're fairly uncommon.  Actually... Tally!" she calls back to one of her apprentices and asks her about, "That Chessman boy at the Leatherworker's you're seeing and no denying it!"  The girl blushes, and when Kuri asks her about dragonhide, the girl shakes her head.

"No, Ware said they haven't had any in a while.  Usually whenever an adventuring group brings in a dragon carcass, the leather gets spoken for very, very quickly."

Kuri shakes her head.  "Sorry, dear.  It is a dear thing to get."

---

At the Brotherhood of Alchemy, Averdante can easily pick up as much antitoxin as he wants at 50gp a bottle.  They come in a green glass vial, triangular shaped, with a wax stopper.

With the three new arrows in his quiver, and strings for his new bow safely tucked away -- except for the one now on the bow, ready to be strung and used -- and a new outfit of custom-sewn casual attire set into production, Averdante's stop at the alchemists is a only a brief bit of business. He'll pick up three bottles of anti-toxin, and also inquire about an easy way to carry them so they don't get broken, nor lost in the depths of his pack. A potion belt would work, although something he can secure just inside his pack would be fine, too.

If they don't carry such a related product, they'll know where to send him, and he can, hopefully, pick one up on his return to the guildhall. It feels as though it's time for dinner, and he's ready to indulge in a cup or two of wine.

The Brotherhood of Alchemy does indeed sell a potion bandoleer, which will run you 20gp.  One can retrieve any of the ten potions (or other vials) in the bandoleer's padded slots as a free action, though in battle this does make the potions a little more vulnerable from stray blows.

Averdante will pass on the bandoleer. It's a bit more than what he wants or needs at present. If he's still in town with free time tomorrow, he might visit a leather worker to fix up something similar, but smaller. Meantime, it's high time to return to the guild to relax with a bite to eat and a glass of wine.

You journey back from Fen-on-the-Fen.  Ethrain guides you to the Stone Tree, which now seems even larger, with a serene air of goodwill about it. Your horses, packhorses, and Dellas' donkey are all waiting here, seeming in a fine fettle for having a few days of rest under the care of the small god.

“From here, you don’t need my guidance anymore.  The Stone Tree’s blessing will see you to the edge of the swamp, and from there the path runs straight to the road.  Head west once you reach the road, and take no branchings until you reach Redhaven.  Blessings upon you, and may you prosper and grow,” he says with a bow.

His words prove true, and your feet seem to know the way until you finally reach solid, dry ground.  The surety you had had in the swamp leaves you as you leave the Stone Tree’s demesne, and you find yourself once again on the path.  The journey to the road is unremarkable, and you can rest once again at the same campsite you did as before.  There are no other travelers this time, just the usual scattering of ash from a fire.  With the heavy burden of treasure you pulled from the swamp, a pleasant campsite is welcome.

The night passes quietly, save for the sounds of birds and insects, and the occasional rustle and growl of the usual wildlife.  But whatever is there gives the scent of fire and people a wide berth, and with someone or other on watch through the night, any bandits or raiders who might be nearby decide to give your large group a wide berth.

You journey the long day it takes to get to Redhaven, the sturdy red walls of the town now becoming a familiar and welcome sight.  As you draw closer, you are joined by a small caravan of three wagons pulled by oxen, dour-faced guards riding on either side, a few single foot travelers, and a pair of weathered travelers with short gray robes, one man, one woman, who bear the holy symbol of Fharlanghn, the god of travel.

You outpace the caravan and foot travelers easily, but it has still been a long, long day's travel in the saddle by the time you reach the torchlit gates of the town, just after sundown.  The guards examine you briefly, and one asks, in a somewhat carrying voice, "Back from a successful adventure, eh?  I remember you lot taking out those mounts from Roscoe's Stables last week.  Looks like you did well."  He gives you a distantly friendly nod and lets you into the square inside.  The reason the guard had let his voice carry becomes immediate when you enter the ring of torches, lanterns, and magical lights that illuminate the Market Square after the sun goes down.

Adventurers returning laden with treasure is hardly a novelty in a place who owes its life to the Adventurer’s Guild, and a little bevy of opportunists await you as you enter the gates of the town, alerted by the guard's voice.

“A place to store your goods?  A fair appraiser you seek?  Duncan’s Goldsmithery is just the place to go!” exclaims one man with the badge of the Goldsmith's Guild.

“Have no need of some weapon or armament you unearthed in your adventures?  My master at Stone-Anvil Blacksmith pays good value!”

“In need of a finer berth to celebrate an adventure well-done?  The Sun and Moon Inn will help you celebrate in style!” an elegantly-clad half-elf says.

“Nay, the Saucy Wench is what you’re looking for if you’re wanting a good time that won’t burn all your gold out of your beltpouch,” a Halfling woman cuts in, bumping into the half-elf so that he stumbles.

“I, Gimble the Glib, can put your adventure to song for a modest fee.  Let me help make your reputation far and wide!” a gnome says, the head of a lute poking over his shoulder.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:41, Sat 15 Apr 2017.

As usual during the journey, Narthian and Thunder veer off the road several times, scouting the flanks as they are wont to do, and reappearing suddenly from the brush. They had nothing to report, though occasionally returned with fresh game for the evening fire, or the occasional pocket of herbs or berries. They almost seem sad to arrive at the town, but make the best of it.

"Some green space under the sky will do for us," he tells the half-elf and halfling dismissively, patting his wolf. "If it is allowed in the town." He ignores the gnome beyond a polite "No thank you."

Narthian will accompany whoever is going to sell the various art objects, out of curiosity.

"It's late," Lantamori said to the others.  "Let's just go to the Guildhall and sort this in the morning."

It had been a long ride and she was looking forward to a hot meal and a bed.  And truth be told, she was anxious to see what the job board had to offer.

Dellas rode back into Redhaven on Honeybee, his beloved donkey. He had spend a lot of time looking at his new toy and occasionally dreaming about what to do next but the welcome back into the soldier town surprised him. Holding his chin high he waves to the occasional onlooker and grins broadly. "I agree, let's get some rest first and divide the loot... we can do all the other things later." He steers his donkey towards the guildhall, hoping to drink a beer or two while looking over everything they have.
He gives the Gnome a second look and remembers his name before following the others.

Volsh was not sure what he would do in Redhaven.  They would likely, after a time, find more work, but in the mean time there were some things tickling the back of his mind.  For one, he had not come any closer to finding the men who had slaughtered his village.  Perhaps it was time to investigate further.

There are some disappointed noises from the various vendors, but when you make it clear you'll be checking in at the Guildhall before spreading any of your gold or stories around, the crowd disperses soon enough.  You can drop your mounts off at Roscoes' Stables, and finally make your way to the Adventurer's Guild.

OOC:  Move to the Guildhall thread, please.

Volsh makes his way out of the Adventurer's Guildhall, across the way and down the street to where the rest of the inns stand.  While the Guildhalls in general are welcoming spaces for their members, private rooms in all of them are limited, their menus don't vary too often, and one generally can't stay up late carousing.  Though Volsh hadn't been in "civilized" lands for to that long, the sheer noise level coming from some inns after dark make that observation plain.

The Wild Angel lives up to its name.  Though the words are likely carved into the sign (the writing is, as always, beyond Volsh; his people had little need when their own tradition of storytelling had always served them well), the sign itself was of a large, spread-winged angel with wide eyes, a laughing mouth, clutching a foaming mug in one hand.  That and the battered instruments nailed to the outside walls confirmed this was indeed the haunt of bards.  The door was propped open in the fine weather of an early summer's evening, spilling warm light, laughter, chatter, and music out into the street.  Unlike other inns, the music here was varied, one tune overlapping the other in a bizarre cacophony.

Inside, the large central room had no less than four different small raised stages.  There are two on the walls flanking the door, one containing a delicate elf woman with a flowing silver dress, playing a large lap-harp, the other a dwarf tapping out a complex tune on an instrument of tuned metal bells.  Against the left wall is an ensemble of half-orc drummer, halfling singer, and two humans with a metal-stringed gittern and some sort of horn, respectively.  The last stage is on the right wall, right above a large fireplace.  Literally.  The stage has several steps up to it, and where a mantel would be on any normal, respectable fireplace, there is instead a shallow stage with a railing to prevent performers from tipping over the edge.  It's occupied by a pair of gnomes with guitar and harmonica, making those near them laugh with what must be a comic song.

Between all the stages are several small tables and chairs, each painted one of four colors that matches the respective stage near them.  Nearly all are occupied by a colorful array of people dressed in clothing that clearly had no need to slog through rain or swamp or even a full day on the road with dust in one's hair.  These are brightly-colored town clothes for entertainers, meant to catch the eye and draw attention to the wearer.

Across the back of the room is a long bar with many tall stools down its length.  One third of the bar, towards one end, does not have anyone nearby pouring drinks.  Instead a white-haired gnome is tinkering with a lute or other small stringed instrument.  Behind him, instead of barrels or bottles of liquor, are lots of tools and coils of wire and pieces of wood, along with a few instruments.  The rest of the bar is thankfully given over to the serving of food and drink to its hungry and thirsty patrons at the hands of a human women of middle age, her red hair graying, but her green eyes lively and her smile wide and welcoming.

The wall of the Wild Angel are decorated with peculiar symbols of dots, some with lines sticking out of them, some with holes in them, arranged along parallel lines, often with flowing lines of script above them.  The place smells of ale, of some spicy food, and a whiff of various sweet scents, likely perfumes from the different patrons.

As Volsh steps in, he soon realizes the reason for the different colors of stage and tables - with four different songs playing, the place should be terrifically and confusingly noisy, but once he enters a particular "color", he can primarily hear the music only from its respective stage.  Through clever building (or some kind of magic), the sound is kept tamed to its part of the inn.

A few patrons eye Volsh as he steps in, admiring his height and strength and armament, but most are just enjoying the music.  A serving woman trots by with a heavy tray of ales, and waves at him with bright smile.  "Sit anywhere you like love, if there's a seat to be found!  I'll be around to get you what you need in just a blink!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:04, Thu 04 May 2017.

After discovering the colors and how they worked, he spent a little time in each one until he found some music he liked.  It was some kind of ballad, that had a slow rhythm which was just about his pace right now.

He smiled at the serving woman, and placed a silver on his table, figuring that might entice her to come sooner rather than later.   He sat down leaning his spear against the table.  He knew what he wanted but he was not so sure how to say it.  An ale woudl help him gather his thoughts and figure out how to approach someone about his problem.

The serving wench flies by a few minutes later, dropping a large foaming tankard in front of Volsh and scooping up the silver with deft hands.  The elf woman on the stage continues her song of slower, more thoughtful fare than the other parts of the inn, and the crowd here reflects that mood, settled back in their chairs rather than on the edge of them.

"There you go, love, Heartwood Ale.  It's on special tonight," she says, and rummages in a pocket for four copper.  "You overpaid a bit, unless you're wanting more?  Looking for something?  We don't get many spear-wielding warrior music-lovers in here."

Farian had already spoken to his fellow priests at the House of the Sun, taking their blessings, describing his encounters with the small gods, participating in a small rite of blessings.  They would expect him back for daylight rites, but for now, Farian is free to enjoy the night.  Though it has been a long day's ride indeed, he's decided to unwind a little with a fine drink and finer music (and perhaps more) at the Wild Angel.  Loud and lively, music and conversation are audible from the street before he even gets to the door.  Inside, all four stages are in full swing.  And curiously, Volsh is there near the front, listening to an elf woman play the hammered dulcimer, a serving woman putting down a large tankard of ale at his table.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 33):

Volsh was not so concerned about the silver, as he was there for another reason.  "You can keep it.  In my village, stories were often sung by the elders, but none had voices as pretty as hers."  He motioned to the singer.

"I have heard that the bards and minstrels who come here are well traveled and have news of other lands.  If I were interested in such, who might be willing to share their news with me for some ale and a few silvers?"

The serving woman smiles.  "Anyone and everyone here would be willing to spin you a tale for drink and silver, whether that tale be news or a story, 'twould be up to you.  But I'm guessing you didn't come in here for simple entertainment.  If it's recent news your looking for," she nods her chin over at a table farther away from the stage.  In one chair is a slime gnome with his hair dressed dangerously high, dressed in an eye-shocking shade of blue in clothes that are just one degree from being painted on.  In the other is a sandy-haired halfling man in conservative but very neat and clean traveling leathers, wearing a few silver and gold rings on his hands.  Both are conversing very quietly, the majority of their attention on the elf singer on stage.  "Those two, Brildeben in blue, Jaffen in the brown, make regular circuits.  Brildeben's been most recently in Andeluvay, and Jaffen in Albon, so they have a pretty good cross-section of news from about the country."

Farian looks around the pub as to see if he is being watched. Not noticing anything obvious he orders some wine from the curvaceous serving wench "Lass a glass of wine and 2 cups if ye join me. I will instruct you in the mysteries of Pelor."

The serving woman who comes by his table laughs lightly.  "Wine I'll bring you, but the mysteries of Pelor will have to come later," she says.  She moves off through the crowd, and comes back a short time later with a glass of red wine, which she sets down in front of him with a flourish, the bottle next to it, taking a silver in payment.  "What brings Pelor's own into the Wild Angel?  Just a love for heavenly melodies?"

Volsh nodded to the woman, and gave her another four silver, "I thank you, and please another round for me, and a round for my friends over there."  He smiled and motioned to Brildeben and Jaffen with a tilt of his head.  Once she had delivered the drinks he would see whether they came to him or he woudl have to approach them.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 38):

"I seek to spread the word of the mighty Pelor and his valiant St Bane.  It is especially sweet to share them with a lovely lass."

The serving woman winks at him knowingly.  "I know just the lovely lass in need of Pelor's light," she says, and leans over to so she can nod her head towards a nearby table.  Farian can see the woman at the next table is a lovely half-elf with her light brown hair swept up with small bits of gilded leather.  She wears a gown of fine tan and cream with blue embroidery and a gilded leather belt about her waist.  She has a very fine scar near her hairline, and her hands have some callus on them, so she is no stranger to work or danger.  That's not at all unusual in Redhaven.  She bears a dagger on her hip, but also a twin flute in a case that  matches her belt.  She is smiling at the music, occasionally toying with a cup on her table.  She looks over at Farian as if she can sense eyes on her, and nods at him in invitation.

If he is willing to go sit with her at her table, she'll dimple at him and introduce herself.  "Shalara Invare," she says, her voice a low alto.  "My sister seems to think I'm in great need of good company,"  Her laugh says she doesn't necessarily mind the interference.  "Who has she sent me this time?"

The serving woman nods and smiles, returning soon with a pitcher to refill his drinks, and two more glasses for the pair of travelers.  They listen to her, then raise their glasses to Volsh before drinking.  Once both have satisfied their thirst, they wait until the end of the current song before joining Volsh at his table.  They drag their own chairs over, ones suitable for gnomes and halflings so they don't have to peer over the edge of a table on a human-sized chair.

"Hail and well met, good fellow!" Brildeben says brightly.  "And thanks for wetting our whistles.  Daphne there says you're a man in need of news.  What news are you seeking?"

Jaffen just nods politely, attentive to what might need to be said.

Volsh motioned to the chairs at his table, so the two would be at ease sitting down.  "I am Volsh, son of Vor.  Daphne mentioned that you are Brildeben and Jaffen, so I would not have you at a disadvantage.  It is true that I seek information.  I seek some men, but I am not sure who they are or who leads them, but they all seemed to wear a symbol, so I am thinking perhaps the heraldry means something.  If nothing else, perhaps it can be used to identify them."  He described the symbol to them as best he could, "Have you heard news of men wearing this symbol in the region, or anywhere for that matter?"

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 41):

"Shalara Invare", "It is a great pleasure in meeting a seeker of knowledge. Will you join me in a cup of wine while we discuss Pelor and St Bane?"

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 41):

"Shalara Invare", "It is a great pleasure in meeting a seeker of knowledge. Will you join me in a cup of wine while we discuss Pelor and St Bane?"

"For such an invitation, I'd have to be mad to refuse," Shalara says.  She gives Farian a small smile as she sits at his table.  She plucks the cup from his hand and takes a sip before returning it back to him.  "What sun rays of wisdom will you shine upon this flower, Brother...?" she asks, prompting his name.  Up close, the woman does indeed smell of lilies and roses.

Brildeben ponders for a moment, then turns to Jaffen, who is already pulling out a sheet of foolscap and a stick of drawing charcoal from his pouch.

"Drawing's more Jaffen's talent than mine," Brildeben explains, and probes Volsh for more detail, Jaffen turning the drawing to Volsh several times until it looks as close to his memory as he can recall.

"Ah!  Now properly informed, let me think," Brildeben says, closing his eyes for a moment.  Jaffen instead pulls a leather-covered book and starts flipping through the pages examining the lines of small printed squiggles that civilized folk needed to organize their thoughts.

After several minutes, Brildeben shakes his head.  "There's bandit bands, raiding clans, and hostile tribes off the beaten track, for certain, but I don't recall that particular symbols, either seeing it, or having it described to me."

Jaffen, who had been utterly silent, points his finger at an entry in his little book, looking triumphant.  Brildeben looks over and his eyebrows arc up.

"Interesting indeed..."

Jaffen thumps Brildeben and gives him a pointed look.

"Ah, sorry.  Jaffen can't talk.  Had a run-in with a manticore and took a spine to the throat.  Nearly lost his life, so he counts his voice as a small cost.  But there's nothing wrong with his ears or his fingers.  His entry here has something he overheard in Albon, from a soldier at Fort Cross.  He says there was a raid on a dwarf caravan from Firegold Citadel to the Fort, and what wagons they didn't lose were slap-dashed with that symbol or something like it, sometimes in mud, sometimes in blood.  The survivors said the raiders moved well, even considering how dwarves can see in the dark, and attacked like rabid dogs.  If they hadn't had war boars pulling some of the wagons, they might have lost the whole caravan.  Hmm... the soldier's name was Harken Luden, and the dwarf he spoke to was Guthbar Ironmaw.  That's all he has written."

Sir Aberlayne, Narthian and Thunder, Dellas, and Haazheel head out to Market Street, lugging their items for sale.  About half the businesses are already open, and more are just setting out their shingles.  The scent of fresh-baked bread permeates the street from Gebbin's Bakery, and another whiff of fresh fruit comes from someone pushing a cart full of baskets of pears nearby.  Sir Aberlayne looks around, waving at the occasional person that she seems to know, before finally waving at a storefront painted in bright blue and gold, its sign showing the name, "Feld's Antiquities," along with a pair of spectacles, an urn, and a coin.  The front window is stuffed with what looks like a carved wooden helm sized for a giant, several candelabras made from choker hands, and a carved wooden screen made from some blue wood and pink ivory.

Inside it is equally crammed, looking in many ways like a more crowded version of the Adventurer's Guildhall, except that things are generally of finer materials, are not in need of repair, and bear hefty price tags.  Some things are behind locked, glass-fronted cabinets, and a few of the cabinets are behind a large counter.  Some subtle etching on the glass of those cabinets makes Haazheel and Dellas think that opening them would likely trigger a spell.  Likely an alarm spell, but it could be something more dangerous.

Behind the counter is an old gnome man, wearing golden spectacles upon his prominent nose, wearing a soft pink leather cap and a darker pink vest embroidered with magical beasts over a fine linen shirt and trousers of dark blue.  He looks up from a large tome he was examining, and waves them forward to place their items on the counter.  Not surprisingly, there are steps there for people with shorter legs than humans.

"A bargain, then?" he asks.

"A bargain, Master Feld," she says.  "From a kobold's treasure trove, unseen by civilized eyes, carefully prepared for your perusal..."  Sir Aberlayne tells no untruths as she describes and shows off the folk art bracelets, the colorful stones, the embroidered silver cloth, the cloth of gold crown, and the brass chest, but she does make them sound very special indeed.

Master Feld nods and examines each thing carefully, sometimes pulling out a magnifying glass, angling a mirror to bring in daylight for clearer sight, a couple of times consulting a book or scroll as he compares details to notes.

"I believe I could offer... thirty-five hundred gold for this mixed lot," he says finally, nodding.

Sir Aberlayne smiles, but scoffs.  "Master Feld, I did not fall off the hay wagon yesterday.  The crown has great history behind it, the chest is highly unusual.  Six thousand."

The two continue to haggle for some time, Master Feld poo-pooing the significance of the finds, Sir Aberlayne extolling their virtue, Master Feld claiming his profit margins would be nothing, for their was the transport to his markets in Albon to think of, Sir Aberlayne saying that he wouldn't let four adventurers starve, would he?  After a great deal of posturing and whinging, praise and cajolery, borderline insults and little side comments, the two finally shake their hands, satisfied.

"Four thousand, nine hundred ninety and not a copper more," Feld says firmly as Sir Aberlayne nods.  He snaps his fingers, and a young human and a middle-aged half-elf come out to whisk the items away to the back room.  "Now, shall I sent the amount to the Moneychanger's Guild, or are you going to be buying things in town and need the gold outright?"

Sir Aberlayne looks at the others, raising an eyebrow for their input.

Amongst the other things on the shelves are a lovely brass vase, inlaid with mahogany wood, a purple fur cloak with marble clasps, an ornamental limestone jewelry box set with an obsidian piece, an engraved pewter ring inlaid with bone, a strange blue silk hat that resembles a boar, a beautiful red silk cloak with silver clasps, a silver-framed painting of a knight in brilliant gold armor.

On the floor, you spy a beetle about the size and hue of a gold piece scuttle across from one side of the aisle to another, followed by at least five of its friends.  They're quickly followed by a calico cat.

OOC:  If there's anything you're looking for on the shelves, or any questions you want to ask, please do.

--

Lantamori heads down to Ironheart's Forge in the market square, already active and smoking, the sound of clanging metal ringing out clearly in the morning air.  In a town like this, with lots of former soldiers and a heavy adventurer presence, a good blacksmith is worth their weight in diamonds, and Master Ironheart is not one to rest of his laurels.  A tall and strong human man, he wears his beard in a braided dwarven fashion.  A scorched leather apron covers most of his clothes, and his arms are bare, sheened with sweat as he bangs away on what looks like an axe blade.  Apprentices are on either side of him, hammering away at their own commissions, or pumping the bellows, shoveling in coal, or other tasks, and do not look up when Lantamori enters.

Master Ironheart eventually quenches the blade he was working on, and turns to Lantamori, sizing up the small elf woman in a way that makes you think he's already determining what size of armor you'd need, what length of sword you'd want.

"What brings you here today?" he asks, his voice a little rough with all the smoke he must have breathed in over the years.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:37, Tue 30 May 2017.

Volsh could not read, but so he took what the fellow said as true.  This was the first lead that he had acquired, so he repeated several of the items to commit them to memory.  "I have not heard of these places, Firegold Citadel and Fort Cross.  Where are they?  Are they far from here?"

PM

Dellas listens attentively and tries to learn everything about haggling... at least for the first five minutes before his attention was drawn to an ornament jewelry box and what seems to be an old dresser. By the final offer he listens again and quickly counts "Around... 550 each? Well that's less than I had hoped for... but sounds fair." His face does show disappointment before he forces a smile "Master Feld, do you check all your items for magic by yourself?" He waits for his reply "I am Dellas, wizard and proud Blackwarden of the guild, have you heard anything interesting going on here? A man of your status and importance surely has heard a rumor or two."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:14, Tue 30 May 2017.

Narthian and Thunder watch the beetles and cat with interest. He wonders if there is any significance in the clan of beetles inhabiting this place.

Knowledge: Nature - identify the beetles: 20:17, Today: Narthian Goldleaf rolled 23 using 1d20+9 ((14)).

After finishing his breakfast, Averdante heads out with Preet into the morning's light. It doesn't take him long to find his way back to Threadneedle street. It's still early, but he's hoping the tailor's shop is open. He's looking forward to seeing how his new clothes look on him.

The Previous Night, the Wild Angel Inn...



"Depends on what you consider near or far.  A man like you, used to exercising your legs rather than your mouth, not terribly far," Brildebren says.  He points at some marks on the table.  "Sefina has a map on every table, just in case.  Look, all of this is the land of Low'verok," he traces his finger around the irregular edge of the markings, "And beyond those borders are the unclaimed lands.  Now, this oblong here is the Sea of Song, and this dot here near the bottom (which is southward) is the city of Albon.  That's a solid week's travel on horseback, a bit more on foot.  This dotted line here that goes across the southern part?  That's the South Trade Road.  Roads are dotted, rivers are solid on this map.  This large spot here represents Redhaven.  Follow the road westward from Redhaven and you reach Albon.  Turn south from Albon, and there is a road that leads to the Dragonspine Mountains.  See the jagged triangles?  That means there's mountains there.  Now, the road goes over the Deepwater River, at the Stone Bridge just before it gets to the mountains.  And on the other side of the bridge over the river and through a mountain pass is Fort Cross.  Across the Dragonspine Mountains, is Firegold Citadel, home of the Goldheart dwarf clan, amongst others.  It might take you another week to get from Albon to Fort Cross, and another good week or more to get to the Citadel from the Fort."

Jaffen pokes Brildeben and raises his eyebrows brings his hands together, as if making something smaller.

"Right.  Sorry.  I do natter on so."  He traces the route again.  "A week west to Albon, a week south to Fort Cross, another week or so west to Firegold Citadel, assuming good weather and a sturdy horse.  Maybe a month all told to get to the Citadel, assuming the occasional delay of weather or bandits.  Being you're a strapping young man, I doubt it would be hard to find a job or three trending in those directions."

At Feld's Antiquities...

Haazheel examines some of the items on the shelves. 




Sir Aberlayne murmurs to Dellas quietly, "A better profit for him would have been less than that by a long shot.  We could have hauled everything to Albon ourselves to sell them, but I doubt we wanted to do that."




"I do check my wares for magic myself.  I have a knack for that.  I think you'll find nearly every resident of Redhaven walked the Adventurer's path or something similar for a while.  As for rumors?  Who doesn't have a passel?  Albon's having their Pearl Festival in a week, there's rumor of things coming out of the Forbidden lands according to my cousin in the south, the Black Butterfly was said to have been seen in Port Lyalee, and supposedly the church of Pelor is hunting for some destined soul recently awakened who might be able to wake the Queen from her cursed slumber," he says almost absently, writing things down in his ledger.

All of you know that Queen Falshan, wife of King Xargo, has been in a sort of enchanted trance for going to twenty years.  Many people have tried to break the curse or found its maker, attempted to heal her or intervene with the gods for her, but she remains still asleep.

The Black Butterfly is almost a figure of myth, supposedly the King of Thieves, and dangerous beyond belief.  No two people can agree on what he looks like or even what race he is, but all agree he has a tattoo of a Black Butterfly on his face.



Narthian ponders the insects he knows. 

---



Kuri taylor's shop on Threadneedle Street is indeed open, and a pair of her apprentices will see you in, taking your clothes off of a dummy for you to take to a curtained-off area to try out.  They are colorful enough to be handsome and draw some attention, not so much as to make every eye light on him.  The fit is good, and the apprentices smile at him winsomely as he makes a slow turn.

"Lovely," she said.  "And able to stand up to road dirt, sweat, and the occasional light arrow or claw-slash."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:01, Wed 31 May 2017.

[Ironheart's Forge]

"I would like to commission a shirt of mithral armor for myself," she replied to Master Ironheart.

"Could you help me with that?"

She thought it unlikely to find something ready to hand in her size and expected to retrieve it when next they returned to Redhaven.

"Interesting bugs that your cat found, Master Feld," Narthian says over his shoulder, stalking along with the cat with interest. "Are they yours?"

Dellas laughs "Indeed, we all have heard rumors though some have more than others. I thank you good man and I think that we should like money now. We've some shopping to do, thank you very much." He looks at the others "I'm planning to go and see if I can get some spells or similar... I also need some spicy peppers. Is anyone here going to the guild?  Or do we know where the others went? I didn't really pay attention."

Alright, I wanna buy some scrolls and some adventuring gear maybe or a cart.

Diffidently, Haazheel asks "The ring...may I try it on?..but I fear it's too expensive anyway."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 12:44, Sun 04 June 2017.

After looking down at himself to admire the neatly tailored lines of his new outfit, Averdante gives Kuri a pleased smile. "It's very nice indeed, Mistress Kuri. Thank you for making your expertise available." While predominantly dark blue, there are accents in lighter shades that serve as both a touch of ornamentation, and draw attention to the fine fit. Adjustable lacings allow for easy movement as well; as she'd promised, he could move freely enough to fight if the need arose.

Not that he's looking to, anytime soon. He'd rather enjoy his new clothes a while before risking damage to them.

"You know, I think something this nice requires a nicer cloak than the one I have. And gloves to match, of course. Maybe a slightly... smokier... color?" Something a little mottled, perhaps, to break up an outline, just in case he has reason to follow someone surreptitiously one evening.

"You do embroidery, too, do you not? Given how well this has turned out, I'd be interested in having another set made, but embroidered. Something subtle and deceptively understated rather than boldly obvious." He has some ideas in mind, if he can arrange a time when she or one of her staff has the time to work it out, with him.

Volsh scratched his chin, thinking it would take a month just to get there.  If it was just himself, this would not be a great concern, but to embroil his companions to travel for a month with nothing but a few questions asked, and maybe some answers to show for it was asking a lot.

He stared at the map for a while longer, "Thank you, this was very helpful to me.  It seems to be quite the journey, so i shall have to make plans and acquire provisions.  Is there anything else you can tell me about the road there?  You mentioned bandits, are there any known hazards the wise traveler would avoid?"

Ironheart Forge



Master Ironheart calls back into the shop, and one of his apprentices leaves her task to come up to him.  "Miss, we can certainly do that.  Kayla, measure her for a mithral shirt," he says.  He turns to pick up what looks like a square of thin wood from a box nearby, as the apprentice Kayla whips out a tape measure and measures Lantamori's size.  She writes down the numbers on the proferred square of wood, then hands it back to Master Ironheart.

"I sold my last shirt to a fellow going north two days ago, but they're popular enough that I keep supplies on hand.  'Twill take me a week or so, once I get started three days hence, and I use a dash of magic to make certain everything is true and swift in its crafting.  Mithril's too dear to waste otherwise.  Costs about 1,300 gold, and I will need at least half up front before we start," he explains with a quirked eyebrow.

----

At Feld's Antiquities



The gnome gives a long-suffering sigh.  "Yes, yes they are.  Not by choice, I'll tell you that!  Some came in with a lot of stuff I purchased sight-unseen from someone acting as a broker.  Luckily I found them before they'd gotten too deep into my coffers, and chased them all out.  But even with the gold locked up, the bloody things think this is their home territory now.  Glib there keeps them to within manageable bounds until the druids in the park come up with a better place to stick them.  Or I sell them.  I've met a person or two that could think of a good use for some goldbugs.  One gold for the lot, if you want 'em."



Feld smiles at Haazheel's question.  "You certainly may."  He takes a key from the ring on his belt and unlocks the cabinet, lifting out the ring for Haazheel's perusal.  It would fit neatly on his left index finger.  "It has basilisk bone in it, and is some four hundred fifty years old, once belonging, far as my research has shown, to the Thangborn family who lived a trifle east of here.  They mostly merged with the Ullaras family through marriage about a hundred and fifty years ago, but you can still find a few Thangborns around.  Wild oats and distant cousins, for the most part.  The family was supposed to be lucky in hunting, but bad with their money, hence why they had to marry into a family who had it!  I have that ring priced at..." he bustles back behind the counter and looks through a ledger.  "Fifty gold pieces.  An old piece of history, good craftsmanship, unusual bone insert."



"Well and good.  A moment.  If you're going to be spending it all in town, or at least a goodly chunk of it, I'll give you markers from the Moneychanger's Guild for the amount.  The merchants here will take it, deduct from the amount, and when you're done buying, just go to the Guild and turn in the marker, and they'll give you the rest in coin while paying out the merchants what they are owed.  Easier by far than lugging about all that gold whilst doing one's business."  Feld pops off to a different part of the counter, and with some prompting by Sir Aberlayne, writes out nine separate markers, dividing the money equally.

"Our thanks, Feld.  I'll let my brother go spread the wealth," Sir Aberlayne says, handing out markers to everyone here.  "And I'll go find the others and make sure they get theirs.  A cart's not a bad idea, really.  And another mule or two to pull it.  Or even a horse.  Roscoe's Stables probably has both for sale."  With that Sir Aberlayne will bustle off on her self-appointed errand.

Those looking for regular adventuring gear have no trouble finding it in the Market Square.  The Brotherhood of Alchemy's Guildhall also has a small section devoted to the Mage's Guild.  Those seeking to buy scrolls can go check their boards and see what's available.

OOC:  There's a 75% chance of any first or second level spell available, go ahead and roll percentile dice on your own to see if they have what you want.

All other adventuring gear is at regular PHB prices.

---

Kuri Tailor's Shop



"Ah, smokier.  Stealthier?" she says slyly.  She claps to two of her apprentices, and they head back into the mounds of fabric that make up her shop, examining several selections they bring out, waving away a few before smiling at once.  She lays them out on the table for Averdante's perusal.  The cloak is heathered blue and gray, drifting almost dreamily from one shade to the other throughout the fabric.  The gloves tend closer to the blue, with hints of gray.

"Tight-woven, oiled wool, with a good hood, gloves similar, but much thinner.  They'll hold up against some fair storms and save you from the worst of a dousing.  Five gold for these two," she says.



"Of course!  I have patterns from several parts of the country, as well as elven, gnomish, and halfling designs.  Dwarven embroidery is mostly in precious metals, which isn't much called for in Redhaven.  You can take a look through my pattern books to see what suits you.  For a full suit of clothing will be twenty gold, and likely a fortnight before it's done," Kuri says.

---

Last night, at the Wild Angel Inn...



"Jaffen?" Brildeben prompts, and waits as Jaffen looks through his book and points at several things.  "Bandits yes, mmhmm, mmhmm...  Bugbear tribe with an ogre leader named Thonrick the Hewn haunts the road between Albon and the Stone Bridge, but disappears for months at a time.  Hmm.. ah, supposed to be a troll or three under the Stone Bridge.  The guards posted there heave goats under there every couple of days to keep them away.  Firegold Mountains supposed to be the haunt of red dragons, though you don't see them often.  But their offspring are around quite a bit.  More than one raider band lead by a half-dragon.  A couple rogue xorns, those are earth elementals, a sort of weird-looking creature that can swim through earth and rock like a fish through water.  Wyverns are always a problem.  A couple touchy small gods, The Agate Tortoise and the Well of Winds.  Hmm, that's about it."  Brildeben looks at Volsh.  "Most people can get through the mountains all right, provided they have a good guide and stick to the path.  You want to be careful of shouting too loud and causing landslips and avalanches.  Or falling off a cliff.  Or being in a gully during a rain and being swept away by a flash flood.  For all of that, it's not a harrowing trip, but one to be undertaken with caution."

Dellas takes the markers and thanks the man "I'll be off... please give the others their share and get a nice cart." He quickly is out the door and walks towards the Brotherhood of Alchemy's Guildhall, waiting for anyone who wishes to join.

He pays little attention to the building itself and enters at once, looking for the first person to ask for the board.
Eagerly he looks over the scrolls and other items available and frowns "Several spells I wanted to get are unavailable... maybe I can find someone to teach me?" He asks the next person if there is someone he could learn spells from after asking for the price of his chosen scrolls.

Alright... here are the scrolls I'd like:
- 2 Detect magic
- 3 Protection from Evil
- 2 Magic Missile

I'm looking for someone who can teach me:
- Magic Missile
- Continual Flame
- Shocking Grasp (though, I'm not sure with that one yet)

Haazheel carefully removes the ring and sets is gently down on the counter. "It fits, and it would be nice...but it's as I feared." He sighs. "Thank you for letting me try it on and for your accurate description."

He steps back and waits for the others.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:33, Tue 06 June 2017.

"I do not believe we would need any goldbugs just now," Narthian says with a smile. "I am glad that you know what they are, and will leave them to the capable hands of the park druids."
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 02:32, Tue 06 June 2017.

"That should suffice," Lantamori replied to the smith.  "We'll be heading out soon for a week or two so there's no hurry.

"Do you prefer payment in gemstones or gold?"

She didn't challenge his price.  She had the funds to cover it and there wasn't much else she was looking for.  If she found she could get better value in Albon, she'd remember that in the future.

Averdante just smiles at Kuri's speculative comment. She's clearly on target with his desires, though, given the selection she offers him. The cloak's variable coloration is ideal for breaking up an outline. "That looks perfect, Mistress Kuri. Thank you."

He's sure, likewise, that he can workout what he wants in something embroidered, as well. Pricey, which he'd expected, and maybe more so by the time he's done. Something in an existing pattern will probably be fine as the foundation, though, and gives him a place to start; it should help him pull a still somewhat nebulous idea into focus. "The time and cost isn't a problem," he assures the halfling tailor. This is a whim, after all, although it may find a useful purpose down the line as well. And what was the point of gaining wealth if one didn't indulge a little in finer things? "If you'll point me to your books, I'll see if I can find something I like."

Volsh nodded, wondering how he might traverse the roads on his own.  It would be risky, but he could not just assume he would have help.

'You gentlemen have been very helpful, can I buy you another drink?"

OOC: I can stop here if you want to move on.

Feld's Antiquities, and beyond...



The thin, studious half-elf fellow behind the counter at the sign of the Mage's Guild (which shares of a corner of the Brotherhood of Alchemy's Guildhall), will peruse down a ledger, and nod.  "The scrolls you want are twenty-five gold each.  I believe we have... two people with those other spells in their spellbook, Nadia Swift with magic missile and shocking grasp, and Kelwen Thok with continual flame.  Kelwen's involved in some creation right now, so he won't be available for two days, but Nadia will be available tomorrow.  Fees for teaching those spells will be fifty gold each spell, provided you have your own ink and writing supplies.  Shall I put you down on the schedule mister...?"



Feld nods. "I understand.  But if you change your mind, do come back!"



"Oh, believe me, the first time I met them I was much younger and more ignorant, and the results were...  Well, they were comical for anyone other than me.  Opening my chest of coins and there they are, all gold...bugs.  The merchant laughed until he was nearly sick, but that didn't let my debt off the hook!  Good luck to you all in your endeavors!"

---

Ironheart Forge



"Either will suit.  I know someone who can grade gemstones well, so I know what value I'm getting.  In this town, you get used to getting payment in all sorts of ways."  Master Ironheart will accept the payment in whatever way Lantamori will choose to pay, and then bring out two small thin metal tags.  These he will use a nail on to make symbols for Lantamori's purchase, name, date, and the amount of her payment.  One he hangs up on a pegboard full of similar tags, the other he gives to Lantamori.

"Just in case.  I've had adventurers show up weeks late due to problems on the road or with a job, and by then sometimes they've plumb forgot what they ordered or how much they owe."

---



Averdante can spend some time pouring over the design books until he finds something that he likes.  Elven designs tend towards stylized natural botanicals, with patterns of various leaves, trees, and flowers predominating.  Halfling styles tend to be more free-flowing, like water and paths, along with a lot of round symbols reminiscent of wagon wheels.  Gnome designs trend towards stylized forest animals, often with a humorous twist of one animal peeping out of unlikely places.  Human designs tend towards heraldry, making one's lineage or allegiance clear at a glance.  Dwarven designs are much more regular and blocky, like stone, but very intricate within their rigid forms.  The few orc designs Mistress Kuri has incorporate weapons, skulls, or animal tracks in different stylized forms.

Once he's found what he likes, he can then find his way back to the Guildhall, where the others have drifted after their various endeavors.

---

Last night, the Wild Angel Inn



"A friendly drink is always welcome," Brildeben says, and Jaffen nods eagerly.  They signal for more drinks, and clink them with Volsh's when they arrive.  "To you quest," he says.  He sets down his mug after taking a gulp and regards Volsh seriously.

"Volsh, I may be giving you advice unwarranted, but Jaffen knows that a fellow like yourself, strong and tough and scarred and bearing an Adventurer's Guild badge wouldn't just be seeking out information for the sake of it.  If this were for a job, well, I'm guessing you'd have more of your group than yourself here to get the information.  So this is for you.  If your group is anything like the fine folks Jaffen and I have traveled with, I doubt they will begrudge you seeking out something so important to you.  If they are true friends, they will even come with you.  Albon is a big country, but there is much to do everywhere.  I have no doubt that you could find a few jobs to bring you within easy striking distance of those you seek.  If I'm poking my nose where it's not wanted, then I'll take my carcass elsewhere with apologies, but if there's some threat out there, don't wait for them to show up on a job board."  Brildeben smiles, and Jaffen gives Volsh a little salute.

They'll listen to the next song, then depart back to their own table.

--

OOC: Let's move back to the Guildhall thread.  Assume Sir Aberlayne was able to find everyone and give them their 550gp from the collective lute at some point during the day so you can pick up whatever else you'll think you'll need.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:33, Wed 21 June 2017.

Dellas purchases a few scrolls "It's alright, I take these scrolls. Thank you." Without taking the service of the other wizards he turns to leave for the Guildhall.

Lantamori, the stables most recommended in town is Roscoe's Stables.  Heading over there, a highly cheerful half-elf woman meets you.  Her bright red hair is pulled back in a tail, and there are smile lines at the corners of her green eyes.  She might be middle-aged, but is fit and lean, wearing sturdy leather trousers and boots and a tough linen shirt.

"Welcome to Roscoe's Stables!  I'm Hillane Obsfor...  Ah, I recognize you!  Your group rented those horses for that trip out of town a week or so ago.  Tell me your name again, and what you're looking for, and I'll see what we have."

Once Lantamori has let it be known she's in the market for a mount (and is new to riding), Hillane nods. "Ah, so no warhorses then.  All right, let's go see what we have."  She'll lead Lantamori around to the barns and paddocks in the back, heading into one barn in particular and stopping in front of a pair of mounts.  One is the color of buckskin with a dark, nearly black mane and tail, while the other is dark brown with a long white blaze on its face.  "These are both palfreys; smaller horses with a smooth gait, well-suited to your height.  The buckskin is a gelding, and we call him Talent.  He's a sweet boy, a good swimmer, and is very gentle.  The mare with the blaze is Jess.  She's very calm and will do about anything for an apple.  I also have Red."  She points out into a paddock where a speckled roan is rolling in the grass.  "He's also a gelding, a bit younger than the other two, a bit friskier, but well-trained."

If asked about the price, any of the three horses can be had for 75 gold.  Basic tack is at the usual price, but Hillane will point out a small selection of more decorated tack and blankets.  The blankets are woven in several different colors and patterns ("from Crosston's weavers," Hillane will explain) and can be had for 10 gold.  The saddles and tack can be dyed to order in a couple days for 8gp above the usual cost.

The composite longbow Lantamori would like to get can be gotten at Felthorn's Bowyer and Fletching, right next door to Master Ironheart's shop.

Lantamori tried not to be distracted by the decorative tack and asked, "How much different is it to ride a warhorse?  We are expecting trouble on our next ride."

She'd just spent a few weeks in the saddle riding out and back to the Fen and wanted to think she wasn't that new to riding.  If war horses weren't too much of a difference, it might be advantageous to have one.  They were, after all, expecting to fight alongside the caravan in it's defense.

After watching Lantamori with the horses, Hillane chuckles.  "All right, all right, forgive my assumptions!  You have some good skill.  The main differences between a palfrey and a warhorse are size and training.  Even a light warhorse is broader in the beam than most riding horses, because they're designed to take people in armor, often heavy armor.  And they have their commands to attack of course.  Different knee-squeezes and rein commands, a few with verbal commands, depending on who trained them.  Come with me to the other barn."

She takes Lantamori past several stalls of hulking horses that seem more suited to carrying a half-orc in full plate than anything else, to several smaller versions.  None are as dainty as the palfreys she had seen, but they are smaller than the monsters at the other end of the barn.  There's one which is a solid dark brown all over, a slightly smaller one who's entirely white, except for a black mask, a very solid fellow in dappled gray, and a tall cream-colored one with a brown mane and tale.  Hillane says, "The brown one here is just being stabled, but the other three are available.  The white is Mask, not surprisingly.  She's the smallest we have, but a little older.  She's seen a few things.  Her owner sold her to us when he muscled up and started wearing heavier armor.  The dapple is Rockbreaker.  Used to be owned by a dwarf axemaiden, so he's well used to wearing armor himself.  The cream is Cloud, fresh from training, a very eager little lady."  Hillane pats Cloud with a smile and turns to Lantamori.  "Any of these interest you?"

The elf held her hand out to the cream colored horse to stroke it's neck.

"I'd like to try this one," she said sliding her hand down to it's shoulder.  "I don't think I'll be putting any armor on her and that one with the mask looks like it would make off with my gear in the middle of the night."

Bruenor takes his leave of the others at the Guild Hall, and walks down to Roscoe's Stables.  Seeing the elf there he shouts out a greeting as he approaches..."Hail Lantamori! That's a good looking mount.  Pretty solid, too."

He pats the cream colored horse's flank, and turns to look at the proprietor.  "When you've finished with the lady, perhaps I can ask your assistance?"

Lantamori can get Cloud a nice set of blankets and gear, and can spend some time over the next few days getting to know her.  She's indeed eager, and sometimes has to be reined back from going too fast, but seems to be good-natured and wants to please.

--

Bruenor, Hillane will take your measure after she gets done with Lantamori, questioning you about your riding experience and what sort of fighting you intend on doing and in what armor.  She'll even have you mount a couple of their training mounts (both riding horses and warhorses) to watch you ride.  When she hears you have full plate, she sucks her breath in through her lips and nods solemnly.

"I'd recommend a heavy warhorse for you.  You're a big man, you have heavy armor, and you have enough training and riding experience that it'd be useful for you to have a horse who won't run away if you're confronted with a bandit attack or something."  Hillane will take you to the other end of the barn, where the tall, broad warhorses with their heavy muscles and broad heads are waiting.  "Most of these are being stabled, but I have four available right now."  She taps the stall of a brown horse with a white star on its forehead.  "Comet, about six months out of training, he'll serve you well for years to come."  Turning to a silvery-gray horse, who nudges his head out to snuffle her and you, she says, "Silver, very friendly, will do about anything for an apple or a carrot, but he's a whirlwind on the road."  The next stall has a nearly white horse with black socks.  "This is Jack.  His trainer works with dogs as well as horses, so he gets along with other animals very well, if that's a concern."

Hillane hesitates slightly before touching the last stall, but does it anyway, and is rewarded by a squeal and the thud of a kick on the back wall as an all-black horse is briefly visible in the dimness of the barn.  This horse is exceptionally tall, and its teeth gleam unusually white.  And sharp.  "This is Demon.  Supposedly his great-great-grandam was a nightmare, and as far as we can tell it's true.  In addition to whatever grazing and grain he gets, he will hunt and eat flesh about once a week.  Usually a rat or a squirrel, just so you know.  He's ill-tempered, but if you know his commands, he's death on four hooves if you ask it of him.  And I expect once he finds an owner who'll keep him for more than a month he may settle down some.

"So, any of these beauties interest you?"

Satisfied with her latest jaunt with Cloud, Lantamori returned her to the stable and brushed the mare down.  She was quite pleased with the horse and the decorative tack that she'd picked out.  She was looking forward to their trip and hoped that Cloud was as well.

After settling the horse, the elf headed next door to see if her bow was ready.  Her short bow had just not looked right while astride her new beast and Felthorn's told her that what she wanted would be ready today.  They'd needed a few days to craft one to match her pull.  She was quite looking forward to seeing how it turned out.

She headed over to the bowyer next door to see if it was ready.

Felthorn's Bowyer and Fletching has her bow and arrows ready for her, the bowyer in question looking pleased as he shows her the draw and points out the streaks from the compositing process.  "Yew and good horn from landshark plates.  Just need a touch, but it works wonders for really going the distance with an arrow, or getting it in deep enough that some bastard knows he's been hit, eh?  And fine ash arrows with gray goose flights, two quivers for you.  May you use them well!" he says, and takes her payment with a flourish.

Averdante will, if possible, arrange to visit Roscoe's for a mount and a pack animal with Sir Aberlayne. He knows only the basics of handling a horse -- mostly learned on the trip to Fen-on-Fen and back again, so he'd prefer to have an experienced eye along to steer him toward the right mount.

No offense to the staff at the stable, but he trusts the opinion of someone he knows over a stranger's -- particularly a stranger who is trying to sell him something. Not to mention she's already proven her skills at bargaining; hopefully buying a pair of animals and their gear will gain him a discount over the prices of each individually.

In his lessons with the paladin, he wants to insure he can use his bow without spooking the beast -- and that Preet's presence, regardless of size, causes no alarm.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:14, Wed 19 July 2017.

Sir Aberlayne will happily give her opinion on mounts recommended by Hillane.  "Considering how far we're going, it might not be a bad idea to have a warhorse," Aberlayne says. "Even if you haven't fought on horseback, at least the horse will be more able to defend themselves, and if you get hurt, you can have your beast fight for you.  Warhorses are a bit steadier too, less nervy."  Sir Aberlayne takes a look at the two remaining light warhorses (as Averdante, as an elf who wears lighter armor, doesn't need one of the heavier beasts).  "Mask is the older one, so he's likely seen enough things that he will be much less inclined to balk at anything.  Rockbreaker looks like he's a bit tougher, likely more hardy."  She watches as Averdante as he gets a chance to mount both beasts and take a quick turn about a corral.  "I'd say Mask; he'll stay steady under you through a thunderstorm."

Of the pack animals, they're much of a type, mostly differing shades of brown, with occasional stars, blazes, and/or socks.  They're bred for strength, docility, and stoic demeanor, and she can find you a gentle one named Polly easily.

A warhorse seems excessive, but then, Dante has little experience with horses. He'll follow the paladin's advice. At the very least, there should be no issues with the snap of a bowstring startling the animal. The white color isn't particularly appealing; aside from likely showing every least bit of dirt, she'll fairly glow in the dark.

Still, old enough to be steady does pretty well match his preference for a quiet, undemanding ride -- and one that won't unexpectedly move and spoil his aim. Now whether he can stay on if she gets involved in a fight... that, he's probably going to have to learn the hard way.

The choice of pack horse, too, he accepts; it's a horse, to his eye, and that's the extent of the qualifications he can assess. The paladin knows the beasts, not he. Turning to Hilane, he tells her, "I'm inclined to follow Sir Aberlayne's recommendations. She probably knows what I need better than I do, where horses are concerned. What will it cost for the pair of them, with whatever gear is needed so they can serve their purpose?"

Whatever the answer is, he intends to confirm with Sir Aberlayne that the price is fair, or if there's something more to it that he should ask about. He's not concerned with the animals gear being new, or particularly fancy -- only that it's safely serviceable.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:31, Tue 25 July 2017.

Bruenor nods, and considers the four horses.  He peers back into the last stall and looks at the black horse again.  He's realizes he's likely personifying the creature, but he can't help seeing something of himself in it.  Perhaps misunderstood; struggling to fit in; searching for acceptance.

He answers quicker than he should..."This one.  Demon.  Can you teach me his commands?"

Hillane nods and opens the stall.  While she's not fearful, she's definitely less easy than she was with the other horses.  She motions you back as she takes Demon's halter and leads the snorting horse out into the corral.  Demon pauses once and tries to rear, and she shouts at him, "Behave you misbegotten son of a she-devil!"  Curiously, that seems to impress Demon, and he gets to the corral without further incident.

Once there, Hillane will hold Demon's head and talk over the combination of rein-signals, leg motions, and verbal commands (in a harsh, unfamiliar tongue) that signal Demon's various war maneuvers.  Hoof slashes and bites, high kicks and bites, charges and tramples, she had Bruenor mount up and try them against some straw-stuffed dummies.

Demon is not easy to handle, but point him at a target and he is quick to pounce.

"If you want him, I'd recommend a little friendly bribery in the form of jerky or some other meat instead of fruit, sugar, or carrots, if you need to sweeten his temper," Hillain says.  "He hasn't tried to bite you, so I'd say he likes you."

Demon turns his head to direct an eye at Bruenor, snorts, and flips his head aloofly, a lock of his black mane falling just above his eye like a vain young man.

"Well, then?" Hillane asks.

Bruenor chuckles as Demon snorts and gives him a look that one can only describe as 'full of attitude'.  Bruenor's got a bead of sweat running down his back from the intense session riding the horse, but he's a capable enough rider to have managed.  The techniques and commands Hillane shared with him seemed to work well enough, and like with most animals, the communication should only get better with time.

At Hillane's suggestion, Bruenor rummages in his pack and pulls out a dried portion of meat...trail rations...and holds it out towards Demon's muzzle.  It's not fresh, but he thought it'd do for a snack.

He reaches out to pat the horse's black, shiny neck, "That's it, boy.  We'll have some adventures, yet, I think."

Realizing he hadn't yet answered Hillane, he nods and says, "Yes...I'll take him."