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.